Erik stood. “Justin, you’re a good soldier, and a good friend. My anger is with the Duke. I would never betray you.”

Sortek put down the sandwich and looked at him, a puzzled expression on his face. “Of course not, my Lord.”

But Erik was already walking away. Then he stopped and turned back. “Justin, wait. Scratch what I just said. If the Duke is willing to dine late, after I take care of some pressing business, I’d be happy to take dinner with him.”

Sortek seemed relieved. “You’re sure?”

“What kind of fool would I be to sleep in a hovel, when I can have a palace?” They both shared a chuckle. “I’ll sleep in the Duke’s soft bed, I’ll eat his fine food, and I’ll drink his best wine. After all, I am a Sandoval. Aren’t these all my things as well?”

Sortek smiled, assuming he was joking. “I’m not sure the Duke would see it that way, Commander.”

“How the Duke sees things is less important than how I see them. I’m starting to understand that now.”

His “business” finished, Erik managed to find a dress uniform and an operable shower before heading for the Duke’s ship. He showered, shaved, and groomed himself as though headed for an affair of state, which, in a way, he was. He checked himself in the cracked mirror, adjusting his collar and the ceremonial dagger on his belt

He emerged from the barracks to find his uncle’s limousine waiting for him. Ulysses Paxton was at the wheel of the otherwise unoccupied car.

He entered without a word and sat down.

The short drive to the Tyrannos Rex took only a few minutes, and Erik would have been content to pass it in silence. It was not to be.

Paxton looked at him in the mirror. “I’ve been reviewing the events before our landing, Commander. I compliment you on a brilliantly fought defense against overwhelming forces. One for the textbooks.”

“They write books about generals who claim victories, Paxton, not soldiers who fight wars.”

“For the masses, perhaps. But the warriors will hear about this one. They’ll know.”

He leaned back in his seat and nodded. “They will, and for now, that’s all that’s important to me. For now.”

Paxton looked at him but did not respond. The car pulled to a halt. “We’re here,” he said.

Erik waited as Paxton came around and opened his door. He walked up the red-carpeted steps, past the guards and through the grand entrance. But instead of proceeding into his Duke’s quarters, he took a side service door out of the lobby, leaving the theatrical façade behind.

He took a lift to the upper decks and wandered the corridors aimlessly, not even sure himself what he was doing. Until he saw Captain Clancy, and Clancy saw him.

They were alone in the corridor, one deck below officers’ country, in an area dominated by mechanical gear for one of the weapon turrets.

Clancy gave him a sour smile as he walked past. “Guess we pulled your fat out of the fire, eh, pup?”

Erik spun, one hand grabbing the front of the captain’s shirt, the other reaching for the dagger at his belt. Erik was more than a head taller than Clancy and far heavier. He slammed the little man against a row of power conduits, pinning him, and put the knife against his Adam’s apple. He leaned in close to Clancy, until their eyes were inches apart.

“Listen to me, Clancy. I don’t care how you treat my uncle, and I don’t care what you think about me. But understand this. If you ever call me ‘pup’ again, I will kill you. I don’t care if the Duke is standing behind me, I don’t care if he’s standing between us. I don’t care if the ship is plunging into a star and you’re the only person alive who can save us. I—will—kill you.”

Clancy looked at him, licked his lips, and to Erik’s surprise, smiled. “Well, well, the young Sandoval shows some backbone after all. Bravo …Commander.” He said the honorific slowly, and precisely. “I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you.”

“Do we understand each other, Captain?”

“Oh, I understand very well, Commander. Since you feel so strongly about it and all.”

Erik released the captain who, his feet still off the floor, dropped as Erik stepped back and sheathed the blade.

The captain just grinned at him and nodded. “Now this,” he said, “could make things interesting.”

Erik turned and walked for the nearest lift. It could, indeed.

Erik and Aaron sat at opposite ends of the long mahogany dining table. Music from a string quartet played softly through hidden speakers, buffering the silence between them. There might have been a time when Erik would have found such a silence awkward—a sign of some disapproval on Aaron’s part. There might have been a time when he would have felt compelled to inject himself into that silence, seeking some sign of validation or approval from the Duke.

Not today. Not ever again. The Duke was no longer the center of Erik’s world, the focus of his attention. Aaron was merely a force to be reckoned with—one that could not be ignored, but which, when taken into account, could easily be maneuvered around, as a DropShip maneuvers around a star.

A pair of stewards entered the dining room bearing plates with the main course. Though both stewards seemed to move in timed unison, Erik noticed that Aaron’s plate was placed just a second or so before his. Erik glanced at his plate. Palm-sized circles of thinly sliced red meat in a dark sauce, surrounded by intricately carved steamed potatoes, radishes, and carrots.

Aaron picked up a knife and fork, and began to slice his meat. He glanced up at Erik. “Rare medallions of Geef in a burgundy sauce. Delicious, and all the more so as spoils of war.”

Erik considered his plate for a moment. It did smell delicious, but he was determined not to be like a loyal dog, diving immediately when his food was presented. Taking his time, he reached for his utensils, cut a small bite, and tasted. He chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. “It’s excellent.”

He took a sip of wine, a fine Tikonov vintage. Marvelous stuff. Erik made a mental note to remove a case from the Duke’s cellars before they parted company. He did not intend to ask permission. “What news from the rest of the front?”

Aaron put down his fork carefully and dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a lace-trimmed napkin. “We believe that House Liao stripped many of their forward units of ’Mechs in order to build up the invasion force here. They took heavy losses at Ravensglade and at Georama, and we were able to destroy one of their departing DropShips. Though they’ve advanced past St. Andre on two flanks, my hope is that we’ve stemmed that advance, and that they may even have to withdraw and regroup. That will give us time to build on our momentum, to extend our coalition, and use the resources we’ve gained to expand our forces.”

“It will also give House Liao time to rebuild their forces,” said Erik. “When we next face them, they’ll be stronger than ever.”

Aaron looked it him, seeming to sense that something was different. “That can’t be helped.”

“No, it can’t. You’d best focus your efforts on building the coalition. We desperately need allies, and clearly you’re the better diplomat. But our forces will need to be honed to a razor’s edge—coalition units trained to mesh with our SwordSworn troops. You can leave that to me.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“It’s where my skills can best be put to use. You already know that. And there’s another matter.”

“Which would be?”

“We’ve captured or salvaged a good deal of House Liao hardware, between here and the main continent. I think that by the end of this operation, we may be able to put together a full brace of assorted ’Mechs. It’s not going to be top-grade equipment, but it would be a good starting point for an independent combat group under my direct command. It would be the first step to building a second army. Liao is already advancing on multiple fronts. We need to be able to fight on multiple fronts as well.”