“I’ll give you two minutes.”

“What’s the rush? In a hurry to reach Terra? The funeral service ain’t for another two-three months, you know.”

So Farrell knew that much about Erik’s mission. Well, it was hardly secret anymore, Paladin Victor Steiner-Davion’s death. And certainly the lord governor would attend the funeral.

There was a question, though, of what kind of support Aaron still enjoyed within The Republic. Several officials had turned less than cordial when Aaron recently stepped forward as leader of the Swordsworn, reading into the situation—quite correctly—the lord governor’s pro-Davion leaning. But then the Swordsworn had saved Prefecture V from a Liao offensive. And with the public staring match between exarch and Senate heating up, and the Senate’s call for nationalized powers, it was a difficult time—maybe even a dangerous time—to challenge him.

Of course, since Aaron couldn’t know for certain, he sent Erik first.

After two years, Erik was getting used to his position as the lord governor’s lightning rod. How many times had he been left to his own devices, even in the face of almost-certain death? Achernar and Hunan. Shensi! That one had been close, and a situation completely engineered by Aaron Sandoval.

“Live and learn,” Aaron once told him. And Erik had.

“You asked for this meeting,” he said now, reaching for a second chip. Then paused as his drink arrived in a wide-bodied glass rimed with a crust of salt. Erik sampled the mouth-warming salsa again, and took one careful sip of the tequila-flavored drink. Cold and quenching. Perfect.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“The duke, is he listening?”

That would be for Erik to decide, wouldn’t it? Information was power. If not, why the long dance by Farrell?

But Erik knew when to play his trump card. “He is. For another sixty seconds.”

Farrell glanced at nearby tables. Carefully. Out of the corner of his eye. Erik didn’t believe the one-eyed rogue was checking on partners of any type. Farrell seemed the kind of man who preferred to work alone. Maybe he was checking for any backup Erik might have brought, but the young noble trusted his agents to be inconspicuous. He knew where they were, and Farrell looked right past them.

“Okay. He said you wouldn’t be much for fun and games. And he does want you to know that this is a serious offer.”

“Who?”

Farrell gave him one of those looks. “The first taste is free. After this, it costs. So here it is. Get Aaron Sandoval off St. Andre. Now. ”

Interesting. A warning of a Capellan offensive about to launch? He hadn’t heard anything out of Elsa Harrod, his own double agent against House Liao, so he doubted it.

A direct threat against Aaron’s person? Now that would be just too bad, wouldn’t it? Remembering Shensi, and the mercenaries that had struck under Liao colors… Erik thought perhaps he wouldn’t say a damn thing.

Regardless, it was worth another few moments. Especially when their food arrived. Both men made a show of taking a few bites, neither ready to look foolish in front of the other by not eating. Farrell had ordered Erik a steak burrito, the meat wrapped with rice and beans inside the tortilla. Warm, but not hot. A good meat-spice flavor. Erik chewed thoughtfully and considered the cryptic message. Get Aaron off St. Andre. Now?

“He won’t leave now.” Not until Erik cleared the way to Terra. Besides: “St. Andre is one of the safest worlds in Prefecture V, thanks to our intervention.”

In fact, New Aragon and St. Andre were the crux of The Republic’s position in Prefecture V. As the Capellan Confederation pushed forward on either front, securing its hold on Liao and Gan Singh and Styk, Menkar and Algot, the secure garrisons on New Aragon and St. Andre were a knife held to Daoshen Liao’s belly. These worlds played host to a number of knights and, with the exarch’s election over, several paladins as well. What force The Republic could muster in the defense of Prefecture V was concentrated on those worlds.

“Lord Governor Sandoval came down out of Prefecture IV just in time, all right.” Farrell nodded. Swallowed. “Everything I’ve heard, Liao forces didn’t expect much opposition from the Swordsworn.”

“No reason they should,” Erik admitted. “No love lost between The Republic’s standing military and the Swordsworn.” So many of whom had once been regular army. And Aaron’s private plans, he knew, involved turning dozens of worlds over to House Davion in one swift, bloodless action. A bold move that might instigate the full collapse of The Republic. If the dominoes fell right.

And there Aaron would be, Minister of a new Davion March.

But coming to the aid of Prefecture V had gone a long way toward disguising the Sandoval plans, promoting Aaron to the top of a large list of leaders all vying for legitimacy. The successful military operation was even playing well back on Tikonov and throughout the rest of Prefecture IV. Winning over worlds without a shot fired or a ’Mech on the field.

To turn and run now…

“Is this about Bannson?” Erik asked.

That struck a nerve. Jack Farrell started, his fork falling against his plate with a clatter.

“What about Jacob Bannson?” Farrell responded. He didn’t try to feign nonchalance. “What do you know?”

“Just what I’ve heard on the political grapevine. That the corporate magnate sold out the world of Liao and a number of others to the Confederation. There’s a rumor he stomped some toes on Terra and Northwind as well by being involved with the Black Paladin, and that he disappeared right after that debacle. And that for years, his corporate headquarters happened to be on St. Andre.” Erik decided to bluff a bit as well, leaning in with a conspirator’s whisper. “And, of course, you are a known agent of his.”

Cold ice glittered in Farrell’s one good eye. But he did not deny it.

“You are well informed.”

“After Prefecture V, Bannson Universal’s largest investments are in IV. That’s Lord Governor Sandoval’s holding. It pays to stay informed.”

Farrell took a drink of water, then set his glass down with a rattle of ice. “No,” he said. “It costs to stay informed. Now I’ve done my part.” He pulled a dog-eared black business card out of his breast pocket. He threw it into the puddle of water sweated onto the table by his glass. “You call that number and deal with him direct.”

Erik fished the card out of the water. Nothing on it but a common exchange number, centered on one side in silver ink. “It doesn’t even say what planet,” Erik said, tossing it back down.

Farrell shrugged, stood.

“Wait,” Erik said. Reasoning through it fast. So One-Eyed Jack worked for Bannson, but he was not the one making contact through him now. Was Farrell selling out his own boss on orders from a third party? “Why you, Jack?”

“Why me?” Farrell repeated the question, as if he didn’t understand it. He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth.

Erik spread his hands. “If I’m to take the offer seriously, I have to trust the source, don’t I?”

Another shifty-eyed glance. Farrell was obviously ready to be away from this place, but something held him. Maybe worried that his job wasn’t done satisfactorily. Yet.

“Because this was part of our price,” he said, his rough voice pitched extra quiet. “And we want to keep on good terms with him.”

“Still doesn’t tell me who.”

Farrell nodded. “And you ain’t gonna hear it from my lips, either.”

But he did reach back down to the table, dipping his finger in the puddle of water and tracing a quick outline onto the red-grained wood tabletop. A triangle, or pyramid. He used a few more quick strokes to section off each of the three corners.

Then he tossed his napkin into that puddle and walked quickly away.

Erik watched him go, suddenly not believing anything the man had told him. Things just weren’t done this way. Of course, he really had no idea how such meetings were supposed to go, but this didn’t seem right. He watched Farrell leave, the rogue never once looking back.