And then crowning the formation, an Enforcer. Fifty tons of metal and myomer, standing in a wide-legged stance. Its rotary autocannon pointed safely at the ground, but ready. Always ready. Not Caleb’s preference, though Julian—if he’d been here—would likely rather have rode out the ceremony inside that sweaty cockpit than on stage.

By the expressions on the cadet’s faces, Julian would not have been alone.

Eagerness and desire. Oh yes, Caleb knew that look. A few of these cadets hoped for selection by lottery to one of the nearby garrison posts, where they would see several years of advanced combat training and join a true regiment in the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns.

House Davion’s military.

His military.

“Eighty-five years ago,” Caleb said, beginning his short address, “when he was not much older than many of you here, Victor Ian Steiner-Davion graduated from the Nagelring. A fine institution, in what was then the combined state of the Federated Suns and Lyran Commonwealth. He graduated with honors. And that was also the way he lived his life. With honor.

“He was a student of war first, and of politics second. A leader for his time, when generals ruled the Successor States and warfare ravaged the Inner Sphere. Those times needed a leader such as him. They were fortunate. And so were we to have known him.”

And because The Republic was now making a big deal over the passing of an ancient hero, Caleb would be allowed to return home and accompany his father to Terra. That was what was important here, he wanted to say. But a leader—even a future leader—had to remain above such obvious claims.

Instead, Caleb merely nodded his signal to the bandmaster, who struck up a mournful dirge of “Taps” as the cadet honor squad lowered the academy flags to half-mast. Caleb turned around, presenting his back to the audience while he watched the ceremony. The flag of the Federated Suns came down first, leading the way. Firgrove’s flag and the ensign of the military academy itself followed.

When it was done, Caleb turned back to his captive audience.

“We wish we could honor Victor with a nationwide period of mourning, but the ComStar Blackout makes this hardly possible and certainly not practical. Instead, every world has been directed to observe thirty days of respect for our fallen cousin. Take this time to reflect on the hard work it has taken to get here, and the sacrifices you may yet be called upon to make.” He allowed a passing few seconds of silence. “Take this time to think on the life of a hero who gave of himself so selflessly.

“Victor fought the invading Clans, and defeated them. He helped fight the Jihad. He led ComStar as its Precentor Martial and joined Devlin Stone in the formation of a new Terran Hegemony… The Republic of the Sphere.

“Victor Ian Steiner-Davion was many things to many people. His passing lessens us all.”

From there, Caleb departed from his carefully prepared speech. He leaned forward, gripping the sides of the polished lectern, conveying, he was certain, a sincerity in his directness.

“And now, in honor of his memory,” he said, “I travel home. Back to New Avalon. In this period of mourning, and with services to come on the birthworld of mankind, it is important that I take my rightful place at the side of our First Prince, my father.”

With that, Caleb straightened to assume strict military bearing. He knew the routine from here, could go through it on automatic, and often did.

The commandant called his cadets to attention. “And salute!”

Caleb snapped off a smart salute, proud of these young men and women who had devoted so many years to the betterment of the Federated Suns.

“Ready… to!”

Five hundred arms sliced down. Strong arms. Strong enough to carry Caleb back to New Avalon.

Though Commandant Gadbois was sorry to see the heir leave. He buttonholed Caleb as the cadets passed in review to a somber step set by the academy’s bandmaster.

“You must be off so soon, Sire Davion? Your schedule was to spend a week on Firgrove, was it not?”

It was. But that was before events began to move so fast and so far away from the backwater worlds of the Periphery March. Having already paid a brief and final visit to Duke Marsin in June, Caleb had raced ahead of schedule to Firgrove to make this ceremony. He wouldn’t wait on the ground one moment longer than necessary. “My DropShip leaves within the hour. New Avalon calls me home.”

His aunt had, at least. And his father would be glad to see him, certainly. Would Caleb be left as regent on New Avalon? Or taken to Terra at his father’s side, to see and be seen? That was the only question remaining.

“Duke Marsin will be sorry to lose your support,” Gadbois said, trying to play politics, and not very well. “Your long tour among our worlds meant a great deal to the people of the Periphery March.”

“I’m sure,” Caleb said agreeably. Though he wanted so badly to use Mason’s earlier rant. The one they had laughed over during the DropShip’s landing burn.

Babysitting a backwater March that has delusions of equality. The Marsin dynasty were commoners when our families sat on thrones of worlds and nations.

And while the Davions raised up the Marsins, Mason’s family had finally lost everything when the Draconis Reach grew to envelop Harrow’s Sun. Hardly equitable.

“It was my pleasure to live among the worlds of the Periphery March,” Caleb lied. The final rank of cadets passed by and left an empty parade ground behind. He traded handshakes and salutes with the academy commandant, and nods with the last few someday-soldiers.

And finished at last, Caleb barely waited for his security agents to fan out ahead of him before he abandoned the stage for the brisk walk back to his personal car. Mason caught up on the brisk walk, but said nothing. His secret smile said it all. Mason, too, was happy to be leaving Firgrove, which had never been more than a necessary delay before heading back to New Avalon. And home.

As for Victor, Caleb shrugged off the man’s passing. A distant relation, and met only once in Caleb’s thirty-five years, the young lord had no strong feelings either way. Victor Steiner-Davion had been very old, older than Caleb’s father, and had had his time.

He had also been one other thing that Caleb had deliberately left off Victor’s list of accomplishments. The honor Victor had chosen to give up, which Caleb could never understand. The position that Caleb cherished above all else, and would someday have for himself.

And perhaps then he could speak it without worry of sounding too eager. Too young.

When he was First Prince of the Federated Suns.

New Avalon

Federated Suns

24 January 3135

Julian barely arrived in time, walking briskly along the wide flagstone paths of Avalon City’s Peace Park, jogging only when he felt certain that a screen of green foliage or the slope of a nearby hill hid him from sight. His bootheels scuffed against polished stones with insistent strides. The heavy scent of spring flowers in full bloom perfumed the damp, morning air, daffodil and early roses and delicate daylilies. Dragonflies darted across the path and around his head, bluejays complained about all the morning activity, and the chatter of background conversation led him to the natural amphitheater where First Prince Harrison Davion would call an end to the official thirty days of mourning on New Avalon.