Part of Erik said yes, but a calmer, more rational part told him to wait. If he lashed out now, he’d destroy himself right along with Aaron Sandoval. Take care of yourself first!
Ironically, it was his uncle who had taught him that. That was one lesson, at least, that Erik had learned well.
15
This is Sword [garbled] JumpShip Martyoff [static] incoming House Liao JumpShip [static] [garbled] pirate point! [static] Five—no, six [static] May be jamming my [static]. Advise Command [unintelligible] immediately! [static] Mayday! [garbled]—opened fire [static; transmission ends].
–Radio transmission, intercepted off St. Andre, 12 December 3134
Monarch-class liner Boiler Bay
Ningpo jump point, en route to St. Andre
Prefecture V, The Republic
12 December 3134
Lieutenant Clayhatchee, having traveled by a more indirect route from Shensi, arrived at the Ningpo jump point eleven hours after Erik, in time to rejoin him for the trip to St. Andre.
Erik inquired after Elsa Harrad, but Clayhatchee reported she’d kept to herself after they managed to secure passage on a hurriedly departing cargo ship. He knew only that she’d remained on the JumpShip that had taken them out of the Shensi system, and seemed intent on finding passage elsewhere. Clayhatchee wasn’t privy to her destination.
Erik was disappointed, but unsure what he’d been expecting. A love letter? Coordinates for a secret rendezvous? He couldn’t blame Clayhatchee for failing to be more diligent in collecting information. He’d simply told him to get her off-planet, not spy on her movements or grill her for information.
In fact, he’d failed to tell anyone that she was, at the very least, a House Liao informant. There was a certain seductive danger that he was coming to appreciate in keeping secrets. As with the knowledge of the Duke’s treachery, this secret pleased him, made him feel more secure and powerful. He found himself wanting more.
Not wishing to stay on his uncle’s ship any longer than was absolutely necessary, Erik and his aide took a freighter back to New Aragon.
At the jump point there, Erik and Lieutenant Clayhatchee managed to secure passage on a Monarch–class liner, the Boiler Bay, bound directly for St. Andre. He took some small pleasure in charging their first-class accommodations to the Duke, but was slightly disappointed when the charges came to a relative pittance.
According to the ship’s steward, while passenger ships leaving the threatened planet were jammed, returning ships ran nearly empty. The Boiler Bay had two hundred and sixty-six staterooms. Fewer than fifty were currently booked, all in first class, all sold at cut-rate prices. The second-class deck had been turned over to the ship’s crew, who enjoyed the relative luxury.
The ship loitered for days, waiting for its JumpShip to finish charging, and for the remaining booked passengers to arrive on other vessels. Erik spent most of that time alone in his suite, watching Tri-Vids, reading outdated status reports from the forces on St. Andre, and trying not to think about Elsa or the Duke.
Finally, it got to be too much. He didn’t crave human company, but he needed something to distract him from the uncomfortable thoughts filling his head. He wandered over to the ship’s nearly deserted casino. Other than a handful of people playing slots, the only activity was in the poker pit, where a handful of people sat around a table engaged in Texas Hold-’em.
Like everything else on the ship, the poker table was designed to work even without gravity. The chips were magnetic, the tabletop covered with thousands of tiny holes and equipped with a suction fan that kept the cards on the table. Dealing without gravity was, of course, a specialized skill, but the croupier running the table handled things expertly.
The buy-in limit was five hundred C-Bills—just large enough to be interesting, but not so big that the game wouldn’t stay friendly. Erik bought his chips and was dealt in. He looked at his cards. Three-seven off-suit. He sat the hand out, and the next several, as well. Meanwhile, he learned a little about the other players.
Two—a man and a woman—were businesspeople from St. Andre, rushing home so that a Liao takeover didn’t strand them away from home and family. Another fellow was a would-be mercenary, headed into the war zone hoping to fight for the highest bidder. Erik decided if the man didn’t fight any better than he played poker he was going to have a hard time selling his services, especially to the SwordSworn. The last, a younger man with dimples and too-perfect hair, was an Interstellar News Network stringer, hoping to send back some dispatches from the front.
Next hand, Erik turned up an ace and a two. The dealer turned over another pair of twos and a king at the flop, which was good for Erik, but which spooked most of the rest of the players out of the game. The mercenary hung on for the distance, finally going all-in. Erik cleaned him out when he proved to have only a king, making two pairs against Erik’s three of a kind.
The frustrated mercenary unfastened his seatbelt and stood up too quickly, helplessly flailing toward the ceiling. Even the dealer laughed, and the red-faced wanna-be merc managed to reach a handrail and beat a hasty retreat.
Erik raked in the pot, and began stacking his chips in a rack.
The male business traveler seemed to be working up his courage to ask something. “So, Commander, is war really coming to St. Andre?”
Erik glanced warily at the reporter. “Is this on or off the record?”
The reporter grinned. “Off, if that’s the way you want it, Commander Sandoval. With the HPG network gone, it isn’t likely to be an issue, anyway. By the time I can file a story, it will have happened—or not, as the case may be.”
Erik shrugged. “My crystal ball is no better than anyone else’s. House Liao is moving around past the planet on either flank, and could bypass St. Andre completely. But I doubt it.”
“But you—the SwordSworn”—the name rolled off his tongue awkwardly, like an unfamiliar word in a foreign language—“you’re going to fight for us, right?”
“That’s the plan; hopefully we won’t be alone.”
“But,” asked the man, “can you win?”
“We’ve beaten them once already, on New Aragon, and the situation is better here. It’s always better to fight a defensive action. House Liao is spreading itself pretty thin, and hiring excellent mercenaries—like our departed friend.” That generated chuckles around the table. “They’re vulnerable.”
Erik heard another person buying chips, and so wasn’t surprised when someone slid into the empty seat across the table from him. But he was surprised when he looked up to see Elsa Harrad. “Can somebody deal a lady in?” She looked over, made eye contact, and smiled coyly. “Good evening, Commander.”
He looked at her, but said nothing.
The cards were dealt. Erik glanced at his; jack-ten of diamonds. He checked, and Elsa opened with a fifty-C bet.
The dealer turned over the flop: a five, a six, and a three. No diamonds. The businesswoman and the reporter folded. Erik saw Elsa’s fifty, as did the businessman. Elsa raised another fifty.
The next card over was a jack of clubs, giving Erik a pair—not bad, but very beatable. He looked at Elsa. Did she have a straight? A pocket pair that could beat his jacks? Two pairs? Three of a kind?
The businessman was out.
Next card was a ten of spades.
What did she have? Well, one way to find out. “All in,” Erik said. He’d just bet his entire pile on this hand.