Her eyes widened, and she grinned just a little. “So you work for the Duke because he’s hated and expendable?”

“Not in so many words, but—Well, if nobles can be pragmatic, why can’t we be, too?”

“Then perhaps that’s why I work for the Duke as well. He’s a force of nature, a power—the kind of power I’ll never have. But perhaps I can steer a little of his energy to my ends, to do some kind of good in the universe. Let’s face it: The power will be there whether I am or not.”

“I’m not sure I can say the same if I’m fulfilling my job description. But then, perhaps my good work enables your good work. Together, we may have a net positive influence on the grand scheme of things.”

“Oh,” she said, fishing in the side pocket of her trim velour jumpsuit and pulling out a card. She handed it to Paxton. “This is the private intelligence firm you asked me to hire to look into the sabotage of the DropShip. They’ll be communicating through a series of anonymous mail drops. I’m still not sure what the point of this is. Won’t SwordSworn intelligence do their own investigation?”

“As time allows, but they’re new, and their resources are limited. Gathering strategic intelligence has to be their highest priority. But a private firm, properly funded, will be able to make it their first priority, and they’ll have more freedom to operate on New Canton. The Duke has instructed SwordSworn resources to concentrate their efforts inside The Republic’s territory that House Liao has taken. We have a few assets there, though not many.

“The Duke believes his assassination was a condition of the agreement between New Canton and House Liao. He’s hoping their failure may throw the agreement into doubt.”

“You think otherwise?”

Paxton sighed and glanced around to be sure nobody else was within earshot. “I believe the Duke greatly overestimates his own importance in the eyes of House Liao. I believe that only if the SwordSworn succeed in thoroughly bloodying their noses will they even be aware he exists. New Aragon may have put him on their scanners, but that’s a matter of their own priorities. The Duke would never admit it, but there are worse things than going unnoticed.

“Still, I think that New Canton’s Prefect ordered the attempt with little planning, and on his own authority. It was a crime of opportunity. House Liao would have never ordered such a clumsy attempt. Perhaps, uncertain of his position with Liao, the Prefect thought he could curry some favor by delivering the Duke’s head to them.” He grinned. “Imagine the Prefect’s surprise if he’d succeeded, went to them with his prize, and they looked at him and asked, ‘You killed who ?’”

A rumble emanated from the structure of the Rex, like a first peal of distant thunder. Something in the guts of the great ship was stirring to life.

“All hands,” Captain Clancy’s voice echoed from dozens of hidden speakers, “stand by for boost. One-G acceleration in twenty seconds from… mark.”

“Well,” said Paxton, as he pushed himself down the wall so his feet were against the deck, “I guess the commander is off, and we’re on our way to Azha.”

She nodded, accepting his hand so he could pull her down against the deck. “It’ll be a distraction at least. I’ve been on the downlink most of the last day, while waiting for you to arrive, but there’s still a lot to arrange before we reach the planet. Time to do some shopping.”

It was a six-day round-trip from the jump point to Azha and back, and Aaron wished to maximize their short stay on the planet. For his plans to go forward, a great deal of material would have to be secured and placed aboard Tyrannos Rex. as well as a virtual battalion of craftsmen who would begin installing it immediately, continuing the process during the voyage.

It would have been far more reasonable, and less expensive, to do all the work in port, but at this point Aaron had far more money than time.

There were certain matters that could only be handled while the ship was grounded, and for that Azha was well suited. The abandoned Capellan supply depot at the capital city of Casella had been equipped with excellent ship-service facilities, which had been converted for civilian use.

The Tyrannos Rex would need structural modifications that could not be handled in space, and she would need to be repainted.

Aaron had secured a team of the best available shipwrights and craftsmen for the modifications. As for the paint, a huge hangar there housed a system that once had applied protective hull coatings to freighters. It had been converted to a computer-controlled ship-painting system. The company that operated it boasted they could apply a custom paint job, even a complex design, to the largest vessel in less than a day.

Aaron was going to put that to the test.

Until then, the best thing most of the occupants of Tyrannos Rex could do was get out of the way.

A limousine arrived at the apron below the ship shortly after landing, and picked up Aaron and his entourage. Though the car came with a driver, Ulysses Paxton insisted on taking the wheel. The original driver handled opening doors, loading bags, and navigating. They were soon on an elevated expressway, headed into the capital.

The landscape was low and dry. Wide valleys covered with sagebrush, dry grass and cactus were surrounded by low hills. Low, umbrella-shaped trees with purplish leaves, probably native to the planet, were scattered among the sage.

Small herds of long-necked mammals on thick, stumplike legs—each adult bigger than the limousine—fed on the purple trees. They were no species Aaron had ever seen, and were probably indigenous. Flocks of strange four-winged birds, pale blue and as tall as a man, flew overhead in swooping circles, or walked among the herds, looking for some mysterious food source.

To the southwest, they could see the skyline of the city—a central core of metal-and-glass towers dwarfed by a handful of massive arcologies. Beyond the city, a shimmering field of silver near the horizon marked the beginning of the southern ocean.

Aaron rubbed the leather seat cushions. They were exceptionally soft and beautiful. He leaned forward and tapped the intercom to the forward compartment, where the driver navigated while Ulysses drove. “Driver, what are these seat covers made of?”

“Tunna-beasts, those big things you saw grazing near the highway a ways back. They’re not much good for eating, but the hides make the best leather in The Republic.”

Aaron turned to Deena. “We’ll need some of this. This car is nice, too. See if it’s available in an armored model, and if so, buy two.”

Deena crossed her long legs and looked at him. “Any particular color, Lord Governor?”

“I’m partial to green,” he said, “or perhaps gray. One of each would be good, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” she said, taking a few notes on a pad in her lap.

He pushed the intercom button again. “Driver, I’m told that the Chipley Arms is the finest hotel in town. Is that so?”

“Well, my Lord, I haven’t stayed there myself, mind you, but I’ve heard nothing but good reports from my passengers, and the travel guides give it the highest ratings. I also hear that they have the finest French-Chinese chef on the planet, perhaps even the whole Prefecture.”

Aaron smiled knowingly. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m looking forward to sampling his cuisine.”

The car wound its way past the arcologies and into the core of the city, through wide canyons of concrete and steel.

The Chipley Arms was a fifteen-story tower of white marble on top of a low hill, with a view of the water. Ornate trim and carved scrollwork covering the building gave it the look of a cake decorated with white frosting. A portico supported by Corinthian columns marked the entrance.

As they pulled into the drive, uniformed doormen dashed out to meet them. A red carpet was rolled out to the limousine. He was getting a good feeling about the hotel.