"The hell you say!" Victor grabbed Kai by the shoulders and turned him around. "Listen here. We worked out this plan with you in it, at the head of your lance. Dammit, we have your whole battalion slated for crisis management because some of your people are best at thinking on their feet—and you top that list, my friend."

Kai hung his head. "I appreciate the pep-talk, but that won't get Yen-lo-wanghere any faster." His head came up. "But don't worry. I wouldn't miss this for all the worlds in the Tamar March. I'll be there, in the command post or wherever else you want me. I'm not trying to weasel out, just facing facts."

"Kai, the facts are these: I want you there, and I want you in a 'Mech at the head of your lance." Victor frowned. "What the hell good is it being the son of the Prince of the Federated Suns and the Archon of the Lyran Commonwealth if I can't get a friend a 'Mech?" He sighed. "It's not likely to be Yen-lo-wang,but it could be something similar. Don't you worry. I'll find you a war-horse."

Kai smiled gratefully. "Do I have to wait twenty years to thank you?"

Victor laughed, draping his arm over Kai's shoulder and steering his friend down the hall. "Yeah. I think that's a good idea. That way we're both certain to still be around."

"I'll be there, Highness."

Victor smiled to himself. And with your help, Kai, so will I.

32

JumpShip Dire Wolf , Assault Orbit, Engadin VII

Radstadt Province , Free Rasalhague Republic

30 August 3050

 

Phelan Kell flopped down on his bunk in the dormitory and groaned as his legs stretched out. "God, I'm exhausted."

Griff, walking past, slapped Phelan on the thigh. "She's keeping you up nights, eh?"

Irritation flashed over Phelan's face, but he let it slide. "No, that's notthe problem. It seems Engadin had a Home Defense Force just bristling with Inferno missiles in handheld launchers. There are apparently stockpiles all over the place on numerous little satellite assembly plants. They're giving Star Colonel Marcos absolute fits, and Lara's been having me go over intelligence reports to advise her what sort of support she should allow Marcos in the assault."

Griff stared incredulously at the Kell Hound as he dropped onto his own bunk. "One commander is rationing supplies for a rival?"

The mercenary shrugged. "It's a screwy system, but it doesn't seem to have slowed their advance any. In fact, as I hear the rumors, the other three Clans are madder than hell about the Wolves getting their fourth wave off a month ahead of everyone else. Also, the Wolves are deeper into the Successor States than the others. It's all really weird."

"To put it mildly." The older man smiled and winked at his friend. "With them keeping you so busy, I thought you'd want to spend what little free time you have with Ranna." He smiled sheepishly. "I was going to appropriate your lockpick and make a run over to the women's quarters."

"I've only had one real chance to speak with her but Vlad made sure he found something else for me to do instead," Phelan said gloomily. "I don't know where she is now."

The Periphery bandit leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Your voice is saying something different than your words."

Phelan sighed. He knew he had to trust someone, and maybe talking it out would keep him from blowing it all out of proportion. "I don't know if it's a problem, really. I mean, I think things are going very well between Ranna and me, but every so often something happens that just doesn't feel right. When I suggested getting together, she said she wanted time to herself."

Griff frowned. 'That can be a good sign and a bad one. You haven't been having any other ... problems, have you?"

"No, all systems are go," Phelan said with a laugh. "Though I have to admit a few instances of automatic shutdown because of overheating and sensory overload."

"Is the problem that you're only a bondsman?"

"Maybe, but I don't think so," Phelan said. "What it could be is more insidious than that. Unlike most of the others, Ranna isn't just a death-machine pilot. Remember I told you about her pet, Jehu, and the paintings? She's ... we're ... intense, I guess you'd call it passionate, in a way that's got to be more alien to her than to me. I think she finds that intensity incredibly seductive, but at the same time dangerous."

"So what lures her also repels her," Griff grunted.

"And the tug of war is ripping her up. What's worse is that I don't think she sees it clearly, and so she's got no way of dealing with the conflict." Phelan shrugged. "Of course, this is all pure speculation about a problem that may not even exist. The real explanation is probably a lot simpler."

Griff chuckled evilly. "Yeah, she's probably just found a younger stud from that last crop of bondsmen captured on Rasalhague."

"Yeah, there you go." The Kell Hound gave his friend a withering look. "And I suppose that's why you want the lockpick? Going to properly welcome the new women to our little community?"

"Service with a smile. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it." The bandit's voice dropped in volume. "And I have another little convert mission to perform. Kenny and I want to leave Vlad a token of our appreciation for giving us a double-shift to unload junk from Rasalhague into the storage holds of the Dire Wolf.I'd invite you along, but I don't think you need any more reasons for Vlad to hate you."

"No, I think I'll pass on that," Phelan said, rolling over on to his right side. Snaking his left hand beneath the mattress, he pulled out the small box. He handed it to Griff. "I'm not so sure visiting Vlad is a good idea. You might want to reconsider it."

Griff shrugged. "We'll see."

"Whatever." Phelan lay back down on his cot, his right forearm across his eyes. "Have fun."

"Yes, mother. Don't wait up."

Phelan bolted upright as Griff ripped his mattress back and tossed the lockpick beneath it. All through the dormitory, ex-pirates dove into their beds and pretended to be fast asleep. Griff let Phelan's mattress flop back down, then hopped onto his own cot and draped the blanket over himself.

Phelan blinked twice, then peered through the gloom at his friend. "What the hell happened?"

"Nothing." Griff slammed a fist angrily into his pillow. "Just go to sleep. It's better if you don't know."

Kenny Ryan's voice cut through the darkness. "Tell him, Griff."

Ryan's weaseling tone and Griff's quick denial told Phelan that whatever had happened, it was a disaster of major proportions. "Dammit, Griff, don't leave me hanging. You used my lockpick, and that means I'm involved. What happened?"

"Tell him, Griff, or I will," Ryan insisted.

"No, you son of a bitch. No!" Griff rolled over onto his side to face the young mercenary. "We went to Vlad's room. We opened the door. He was there. End of story. Now go to sleep."

Phelan stared at Griff. "Did he see you?"

"No. It was dark. At most, we were silhouettes in the doorway. There, now you know what happened. Go to sleep."

Before Phelan could ask another question, Ryan's voice broke in. "Tell him all of it, Griff. Do it, or I will, and you know I'll enjoy it."