Tormana Liao. sweating in the green and silver uniform of the First Ariana Fusiliers, stood on a balcony with his family and waved to the crowds His lean body was tense with the habit of risk, and he was darker than the others, tanned by years of service under alien suns. Waving steadily with his right hand, he ran a finger of his left inside his collar and undid the button.
His sister Candace. the planet's ruler, had placed him at her left, shielded from the rest of their family. To her right stood Maximilian Liao, their father and Chancellor of the Capellan Confederation. His red and white robe covered ceremonial armor, and a helmet shadowed his reptilian eyes. Tormana pictured the armor as a cobra's scales. At the Chancellor's right stood his wife Elizabeth, wearing the green and tan of a Home Guard Colonel for purposes of morale. She'd even dyed her hair brown to go with the outfit. Beyond her stood the Chancellor's second daughter, Romano, also in uniform and not bothering to smile.
Leaning toward Candace, Tormana murmured, ‘Where are my replacement Fusiliers? I thought they were going to march, too. After two months' leave, they ought to look as sharp as any of these palace-yard dandies.’
His sister's diamond-encrusted headdress wobbled dangerously. ‘Palace-yard dandies? That's part of the LuSann Warrior House down there!’ She spoke without altering her frozen smile, and her hand waved in a steady rhythm. ‘Anyway—your transfers from Hsien have already been loaded aboard the Thunderfist.At least their Mechs have. You'll meet some of the Warriors at my party tonight. If you'd come last week, as I asked, you could've gotten to know them before shipping them out to that hell-planet of yours.’
Tormana lowered his right arm with a groan, massaged the biceps through the cloth of his uniform, and then resumed waving with his left arm. The noise of the parade kept everyone but Candace from hearing his words. ‘I might have, if you hadn't told me Father was coming. Did you expect me to believe he really wanted a reconciliation? He hates me as much as ever. He's proven that in just one day.’
‘He said he wanted the family back together on New Year's Eve,’ Candace said. ‘I didn't expect him to hand you a list of your faults!’
‘Well, it made nice confetti.’ Tormana massaged his cheeks with his free hand. ‘How can you keep smiling like that, hour after hour? Will the parade be over soon?’
‘I can't see any farther down the street than you can.’
Swinging one leg over the balcony railing, Tormana leaned far forward to peer down the street. There were cheers and good-natured laughter from the crowd below. ‘A couple of bands, another dragon, and a lot of guys on horses,’ he reported. ‘And then the street sweepers.’ Ignoring the Chancellor's stare, which had the force of an icy draft, he swung himself back in and grinned at his sister. ‘After this, we can go soak our arms.’
‘No. Then we put on our costumes for the party,’ she corrected him. Her generous mouth relaxed bnefly into a natural, wry smile. ‘And I wish you'd try harder to behave like royalty, Tormana’
He shrugged and started to wave at the crowds again. ‘I'm not cut out for this work. That's the one thing Father and I agree on.’
True to his sister's prediction, an hour later Tormana found himself at the end of a reception line In the vast and glittering ballroom of Palace Llao, exchanging bows with a stream of nobles, diplomats, captains of industry, and MechWarriors. Though the majordomo announced each guest in turn, by the time they reached the end of the line, Tormana had no Idea who they were. Their clothes were no clue, for it was a costume party. He bowed and smiled to demons and cyberpunks, knights in armor and a man dressed in nothing but a bath towel. Tormana himself had come as a Japanese corporate warrior of the 21st century, a costume hastily assembled from his kimono-style bathrobe, a blood-red obi made from a curtain, and a borrowed katana.
A large white rabbit holding a pocket watch stopped in front of him and bowed. The face, fringed with white fur and topped by floppy ears, was that of a portly and dignified Caucasian with watery blue eyes.
Tormana bowed and repeated, for the hundredth time, ‘Welcome to our humble homeworld. You honor us with your presence.’ He was tired of saying it. but Candace had warned him not to improvise.
‘The honor is mine, Lord Tormana.’ The rabbit thought for a moment, as though sifting through his memory for raw data to make small talk. ‘I understand you've acquitted yourself well along the Oavion border. Duke Michael's men used to hope they'd face the Ariana Fusiliers in battle, but no more.’
‘Hah! That's true.’ A wide grin split Tormana's tanned face. ‘What we lack in equipment, we make up for in skill. Last month, we jumped over to Bushlau to beat up a regiment half again our size—part of Sharp's Cavaliers. The second regiment. I think, nicknamed the Stompers. They like to stake out civilians and step on them with BattleMechs. It was a real pleasure to kick their butts out of Capellan space. Not as good as killing them and salvaging their Mechs, of course, but they ran too fast.’
Looking indignant, the white rabbit bowed slightly and walked away. There was a lull in new arrivals just then, and Tormana glanced at his sister Romano, who was next to him in line. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
Romano lifted a thin eyebrow at him. She wore a silk reproduction of an ancient Terran costume that she called ‘jeans and tea shirt,’ special garments for drinking tea. In her hair was an ornament made of tiger fangs, which, Tormana knew, was actually a recording device. He wondered who would later be privy to this conversation.
Her smile twisted into something colder as she said, ‘You've blown it again, brother dear. That rabbit was Edgar Bentley. He's a mining tycoon on Valexa, but he's here as a mouthpiece for Michael Hasek-Davion. Bentley’s son just happens to command Sharp's second regiment, and now you've called the kid a war criminal and a coward. Not realizing what a null-wit you are, Bentley thought you insulted him on purpose.’
‘But what I said is true!’
Laughing, Romano turned away to greet another flurry of incoming guests.
A few minutes later, freed at last, Tormana headed across the huge room toward the bar. He knew that was where he was likely to find his troops, probably in costumes as hastily thrown together as his own. The orchestra was playing background music now. but soon there would be dancing, a form of combat at which he did not excel. He wanted to collect his MechWarriors and escape before Candace made him waltz.
Halfway there, amid a press of revelers, a hand caught his arm and a woman's voice said, ‘Tormana, talk with me.’
He stopped and looked down to see a diminutive white-haired woman in a black monk's robe smiling up at him with unreadable eyes. She was, among other things, the Director of the Maskirovka, the Capellan secret police. She was also his godmother, but they'd not been close for years., He bowed. ‘Lady Ling.’ The old woman bowed lower than he and held it longer, as though gently reproving his careless manners. Then she caught his hands in hers. ‘How brown you've grown since you went away. Tormana! And something about your face is harder. Yet I still look at you and see your poor mother's eyes, clear as a child's. Or is that an illusion?’ Her obsidian eyes studied his face with an intensity that belied her light manner. ‘Let's go where we can talk.’
‘Actually,’ Tormana said, trying to get his hands back without seeming rude. ‘I'm not planning to stay much longer. I've got an early liftoff tomorrow.’
‘You can't go yet! All the young ladies would blame Candace! Don't you know you're the most eligible bachelor here?’
He laughed. ‘A disinherited younger son? An exiled Mandrinn? All I really am these days is a warrior from a very unglamorous regiment.’ With a touch of defiance, he added, ‘Besides, I'm no bachelor. Hanya No Cha will always be my wife.’