There were cheers and chants to applaud the end of Conner’s impromptu speech. Fists thrust into the air. Righteous fire alight in so many eyes. Tara saw now how this former knight of the realm had pulled together so much support. For all his youthful impulses in the past, Conner Rhys-Monroe was a natural leader. Charismatic and forceful, daring in a way that people responded to, and so few nobles ever attained.

Quite simply, he was a very dangerous man.

A man coming into his own at exactly the wrong time. One, Tara felt certain, who could eventually have made a great paladin and some day become exarch. But that budding talent had been twisted with the suicide death of his father. A death Conner placed squarely on the shoulders of Jonah Levin and his paladins.

“I wish I could hold a mirror up to you right now.” She said this softly. For his ears only. “You sound bitter and very much alone.”

“Alone? Look around me.” He stepped back a pace and basked in the adoration of officers and a few proud lords.

There were no other senators, not now, but it was enough to make a good impression for the cameras.

“Step in at our side, Tara.” Conner turned back to her, his peridot eyes aflame, extending his offer with burning intensity. “Join your voice to ours. The exarch will have to listen then. With the great leaders of the Inner Sphere arriving soon, we can force him to the table. Everything can be put right once more.”

“Everything can be put to the flame so much easier,” she said, challenging him openly once again. “You’re playing with fire, and in doing so you risk lives, worlds and perhaps The Republic entire.”

She willed him to listen. To hear her. Her words reached a few of those around him, and by nightfall they would be discussed around supper tables and in many closed meetings, but Conner was wrapped up in his own grief and his fresh purpose.

“Left to the military, The Republic is now caught up in a two-front war. We are surrounded by enemies, and have seen even the paladins corrupted by circumstance in the last year. Don’t lecture us about what we risk.”

There was a great chorus of cheers, but not so many as before. Enough, though, for the rogue knight.

“Join us. Help lead, if you would, as only the warrior nobility can. As a member of the loyal opposition.”

A role Conner no doubt thought he filled.

Tara stepped away from him, instead. It wasn’t a hard choice to make. She’d walked away from more enticing offers in her life. And to her, The Republic came first and foremost.

“I can’t hear you, Conner,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Your voice has become nothing more than a whisper, behind very tall walls.”

Hectar. What a wonderful tale.

Erik Sandoval-Groell trailed along at the edge of the crowd surrounding Tara Campbell and Conner Rhys-Monroe, sipping at a bottle of lukewarm water and straining his hearing to follow the sparring match underway. Elbows jostled him, and the stench of unwashed bodies pressed close. But a little discomfort was a small price to pay for such valuable instruction. So far he had to give Conner more points on raw emotion and delivery, though the countess’s subtle play seemed more suited to win a victory in the long run.

Regardless, both leaders made for an interesting study. Tara for her subtle nuances and the way in which she worked the crowd and let the crowd, at times, work through her. From landed aristocrat to tough-as-nails warrior, she made the changes as easily as Erik might step across a threshold. And no one seemed to notice that she simply played a part, or when she changed roles right in front of them.

And Conner, as knight or senator, proved more baffling but far more interesting. Youth and vigor and a complete disregard for Tara’s subtle play. Not much older than Erik, if at all, the onetime knight showed much of the same righteous energy that Erik had once felt for the Sandoval dynasty. Maybe it took someone with a history of similar problems to recognize it. And he did. Doglike devotion. That had been one of his problems.

That, and a complete confidence in his own superiority.

The events on Mara changed that, when Erik’s cousin threw in with the Stone-blind population and rallied enough military force to stop his Rangers from taking (and holding) the world for the Draconis March. He had left the world, believing his life to be in ruin. Sent into the company and care of his uncle, Duke Aaron Sandoval. Aaron’s plans were far more subtle, and yet reached farther than Erik’s father had ever considered: the return of dozens of Republic worlds to House Davion, and even a dream of Terra as a Federated Suns holding. Aaron had taught Erik, through trials and terrible errors, how to play a long game.

How to recognize himself as a pawn on a very large board.

“What does not kill me makes me stronger,” the young noble whispered. Then listened as Tara Campbell played more to the cameras and Conner’s direct supporters than to the ex-knight. Fascinating.

But was it useful? And was it in time?

Lord Governor Aaron Sandoval was now on his way to Terra after narrowly avoiding a Capellan push against St. Andre. Aaron had made it look like Paladin Kessel all but threw him off the planet, which was playing well on other planets secured by the Swordsworn and the various planetary militias in Aaron’s coalition. And Aaron owed his timely departure to Erik, a fact he would make certain his uncle did not fail to remember.

There would be questions asked, ones that Erik had no intention of answering. Time to advance across the board.

“I can’t hear you, Conner. Your voice has become nothing more than a whisper, behind very tall walls.”

True, in a way. But Tara might do well to worry about the words that did make it over. They had a way of shaking worlds, at times. Erik’s had. And if the Sandoval scion had been too preoccupied to realize when he pushed a losing hand, well, that’s what the next ante was for, wasn’t it?

What does not kill…

Tara stalked off, playing the disenchanted voice of reason, and Erik lagged further behind, now that the scene seemed to be breaking up. Also, some of the newsvid journalists were turning to the bystanders, seeking that ‘common touch’ on the news, and Erik had better things to do than be caught here. With the exarch and Senate shuffling through their game of brinkmanship, there were opportunities to be had.

For Aaron.

For himself.

The stronger each side played their hands, the greater the stakes for all concerned. Nothing would be beyond their reach. And Erik had several ideas how to force the game to higher play.

He still had a black business card burning a hole in his pocket. With an exchange number on it.

One he was willing to bet worked here on Terra.

JumpShip Stargazer

Zenith Station, Kyrkbacken

Republic of the Sphere

5 April 3135

At the head of his table, Caleb Hasek-Sandoval-Davion half stood from his chair, raising his highball highest among all those toasting his generosity and good health. A raucous cheer swept the three tables in his party, a discord of merriment that nearly drowned out the ten-piece symphonic band doing its best to force nuevo jazz from classically trained fingers and lips.