Then he sneezed. Dammit.

But Ortega acted as if the conversation had not been interrupted. “Yes. That sounds right.” He nodded. “I am from Achernar. We heard about the offer, and the exarch’s reply.”

Then the knight took a careful step forward. “In fact, even with the flare-up of fighting between neomilitary factions, most of us agreed with that decision.”

This peace token offered, Raul Ortega finally accepted the glass being offered by Lord Faust. Julian accepted one as well, but did not drink. The dark, plum-flavored wine was sweet and strong—it filled his sinuses with a pleasant, warm scent totally alien to the pollen-and-rotting-weed odor. But he simply cradled it easily in his right hand.

“May I ask what changed your mind?” he asked.

“As you said. Two years of war. House Liao came at us, and then the Jade Falcons. We cannot even control our own military. Katana Tormark runs wild along the Combine border, inciting pro-Kurita fever. Jasek Kelswa-Steiner gutted Prefecture IX when he formed his Stormhammers.”

Ortega drank, considered. “Perhaps if we’d showed greater foresight, accepting the offer of your Duke Sandoval to our Lord Governor Sandoval, we could have prevented some of these catastrophes.”

Now it was time to extend his own olive branch. “Or perhaps,” Julian offered, “the March Lords inside the Federated Suns would have used it as an excuse to annex the border worlds for their own. And now The Republic and Federated Suns would be at war.”

Lord Faust swallowed his next sip of wine with great difficulty. Colonel Torris had waved aside his chalice, intent on the discussion.

“That has also occurred to us,” the knight-errant admitted. “Lady Janella Lakewood and I discussed the problem at some length before she dispatched me here on The Republic’s business. We both believe, in fact, that Aaron Sandoval’s long-range plans involve just such an idea.”

Julian nodded. Satisfied for the moment. It had to have been a hard admission, that last part. “Let’s sit, shall we?”

Faust seemed more than happy to lead the small party to a waiting set of matching suede sofas facing each other over a low table. The sofas were large and overstuffed, and all four men chose to perch on the forward edge of their cushions. Torris was the only one who did not carry over a wineglass. The rest all grabbed marble coasters from a small stack at one end of the table.

At the other end, a chessboard stood ready with pieces carved to represent forces of House Davion and House Liao. The white king had long, drooping mustaches the same as the New Hessen noble, and wore a long, sweeping robe of the kind Capellan nobles usually favored. It could only be Maximillian Liao, who ruled the Confederation before and during the Fourth Succession War. And the bishops were his daughters, Romano and Candace. Liao always had had a thing for divinity.

The knights were men unknown to Julian, and the rooks fashioned as BattleMechs. Vindicator s. Pawns dressed in House Liao uniform and carried dao broadswords. They faced off against black, with smaller infantry bearing sabers and the royalty looking suspiciously like Hanse Davion and his brood. This was an old set. And the disposition of colors confirmed what Julian already suspected of Faust’s family origins.

Regardless, the noble seemed very eager to please the knight. A good sign.

“Perhaps,” New Hessen’s steward began. “Perhaps we should discuss joining forces against the Liao interlopers.” He toyed with one of the silver beads weighting his mustache. “They are, after all, a common enemy. And we do share a border with The Republic.”

Julian shrugged. He set his glass aside, untouched. “We share a much longer border with House Liao’s Confederation.”

Raul nodded, but slowly. “You share a very checkered history with the Capellan state, as well. In the Fourth Succession War, House Davion decimated the Confederation. Then there was the Marik-Liao offensive of 3057. And the more recent flare-up in which your Capellan March seized Victoria. Hardly a history of peaceful coexistence.”

“Besides which,” Faust said with a small toast in the knight’s direction, “it is New Hessen with which we are concerned. We border The Republic.”

“Give it little more time,” Julian offered. “If things keep going the way they have been, very soon New Hessen will be facing a stretch of space belonging to the Capellan Confederation.”

Ortega offered a tight smile, totally without humor. “I’d like to prevent that.”

Truth be told, so would Julian. But he would not bargain from a position of weakness. The Federated Suns would be at war with the Capellan Confederation soon enough. His job was to push that out for as long as possible.

The tension in the drawing room had not exactly abated, but Julian was fairly satisfied where things stood. The knight had neither apologized nor bridled at the champion’s behavior. He had retreated, tactfully, but not surrendered the battlefield.

“According to the reports I’ve read”—and with this, Julian nodded to Colonel Torris—“House Liao has landed irregular troops on New Hessen. Mercenaries. Possibly privateers.”

Raul Ortega shook his head. “If so, they are very well organized and ordered. My squad skirmished with some of them eight days ago. The Capellan forces behaved well under fire.”

Torris accepted the knight’s appraisal. “So veteran mercs, or Confederation troops masquerading as same.” He shrugged. All the same to him. “They’ve seized the mountain area west of Mei-ling. Hard ground. Difficult to pry them out of there.”

“But not impossible.” Julian reached down to the chessboard, and advanced a pawn from the Liao side. He toyed with both sides of the board a moment, thinking, spreading out the pieces into classic attack and defense strategies. “Conventional strategies suggest we don’t have enough forces to hit the Capellans where they are strongest. Not without serious losses of our own. And if we do not strike them soon, we allow them to stage for new raids deep over the border into Republic territory.”

Or deeper into the Federated Suns.

Ortega leaned over Julian’s solo play, studying it. His dark eyes followed the rapid movements carefully. “My squad is more of a reconnaissance in force,” he said. “But it puts a few extra pieces on the board. I can turn over a Legionnaire and a strong assault lance.”

“Not a lot of good without the manpower.” Julian put the black king into check. “Which I suppose means you are putting you and your men into the game as well?”

“It works nicely that way.”

Julian pulled the Davion king out of check, and studied his opponent. “What if I decide against it? You force the issue and we end up in a three-way struggle?” Check, and retreat again.

Ortega frowned, glanced down. “Doesn’t look like this board is set up for three players. In fact, I think you are doing just fine by yourself.”

“Still,” Torris offered, “having an extra knight could be handy.” The colonel certainly had a stake in the negotiation. After all, it would be several of his men being asked to put their lives forward.

And Faust wanted no future troubles with The Republic. “I think we’ve come to an arrangement,” he said.

Check, sacrifice. Check, retreat.

Checkmate.

Raul Ortega studied the board as Julian pulled the second black rook—an Enforcer–from the table. Reaching out, Ortega tipped the Davion king over onto its side. “Nicely won,” the knight said.

Julian met his gaze openly. “Do you play?” he asked.

“I think I’m about to.”

Terra

Republic of the Sphere

The sun arced high overhead, looking down with favor on the German countryside and the white stone mansion. From a third-floor balcony, Conner Rhys-Monroe surveyed the wide-reaching grounds of Senator Lina Derius’ Darmstadt estate. Manicured grass. Heavy stands of cultivated mahogany and oak. A prizewinning rose garden that spread over two full acres and wafted perfumed scent across flagstone paths, and marble fountains. The trappings of the rich and the powerful.