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.”
Aaron took another bite of food, but he seemed to be too distracted to taste it.
“You know I’m right,” said Erik firmly.
Aaron swallowed. Sniffed. “Good ideas. I was thinking along similar lines myself. Only I was thinking Justin Sortek would command the second army.”
“I was thinking he would be my second in command.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Aaron sipped his wine, then the corners of his mouth twitched up just a little. “I’ll consider it,” he said.
“You do that,” said Erik. He watched Aaron, imagined the wheels turning inside his head. There’s something else, Uncle—something else you’re waiting to drag out. What is it?
“I’ve heard some curious reports,” he said finally, “about a woman. That this woman had somehow followed you halfway across the Prefecture, and that you have her locked in an isolation cell here somewhere.”
Erik smiled slightly. There it is, then. “Not anymore,” he said. “I don’t have her in a cell anymore.”
“What happened to her?”
“She was a Cappie operative. I played her for a while and extracted what information I could from her.”
“So where is she now?”
“I personally eliminated her as a threat,” he said, just before popping a piece of Geef into his mouth, “and cast her into the sea.”
“Just like that?” He chuckled. “Erik, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Erik smiled knowingly, remembering how it had happened. No, Uncle, you don’t know me at all.
Elsa Harrad huddled miserably in the little cell, watching a drop of condensation slide down from the corner of the ceiling to water the crusty lichens growing on the wall. She’d heard the sounds of battle outside, even through the thick, reinforced walls. Several times, dust fell from cracks in the ceiling, and she wondered if the cell was going to fall in on her.
But then the explosions faded, and she heard the happy, celebratory voices. It could only mean that the SwordSworn had won.
Won!
She didn’t see how it could have happened, how they could have survived against such an overwhelming attack. But they had, and she had one more woe to add to her list of many: She had picked the wrong side.
She was cold. She was filthy. She was hungry. She was lonely.
Bedding down on the tiny bunk was like sleeping on a slab. It seemed that no matter how she tossed and turned, the hateful thing tried to push some part of her skeleton out through her aching flesh. Yet when it came to the malice and evil of inanimate objects, she saved her true hate for the cold and exposed toilet standing in the corner.