Terra
Republic of the Sphere
1 June 3135
Asomber pall smothered the Chamber of Paladins, draining the energy of the room—which Tara thought could have been more upbeat, if still severe.
As twilight rolled up on Geneva, the day spent, all but six paladins had returned to the chamber and their stations. Always in motion, they conversed with each other, or with handfuls of the twenty or so knights milling about awaiting missions or a request for data. Occasionally, one would be called away, but never for long. It had all the trappings of a war room, and the war was going well. Better than could have been expected, all things considered.
But then, Meraj Jorgensson was dead. Another name lost to the rolls of the vaunted paladin corps.
She had not really known the giant man, but she’d respected his position and his history of accomplishments. Sad, yes. But there seemed to be something more lurking under the surface. A grim determination as the paladins monitored the last remnants of fighting, the retreat of the senators and their supporters, and culled names from the Republic’s roster of active servicemen. Separating those who had supported the loyalist cause from those who had remained steadfast.
Tara put a hand on Gareth Sinclair’s arm as he and Heather GioAvanti finished up a hasty conference and returned to their comrades, and their own stations. “What’s left?” she asked.
No one had spent much time or energy to freshen up after battle. After cleaning up the fighting around Chateau-Thierry, Tara and Gareth had grabbed simple jumpsuits to pull over their combat togs. Heather GioAvanti had found a moment to drag out a working uniform, but her hair was also still matted down from wearing a neurohelmet.
Gareth sipped at a lime-flavored sports drink, still hydrating himself after the long day spent inside a cockpit. He toasted the paladins working at their stations with it. “They’re tracking down the last of the on-planet holdouts. Some small skirmishes being put down in Sverdlovsk and Sao Paulo.”
“We can’t be certain how many loyalist supporters made the final DropShip exodus, either,” GioAvanti said. “It will take some time to set Terra to rights. But we’ll get the job done. David McKinnon will bring in part of the Seventh Hastati after all, to supplement our losses. We’ll rebuild.” She glanced at one of the darkened stations set in the circle. “And tomorrow we’ll bury Meraj in a small ceremony.”
“That doesn’t seem right. Especially after the trouble The Republic went through over Victor Steiner-Davion.” Though there weren’t many who could compete with Victor’s resume. Next to his life, most paled.
Gareth and Heather were far more practical. They both began to speak, both stopped. Heather nodded at the younger paladin, ceding the floor to him. “What’s not right is that we put Victor through the trouble to begin with. No paladin wants their death to be a long, drawn-out affair. It’s what we do with our lives that we want to matter.”
“Also,” Heather reminded them all, “Meraj was Clan. He kept his codex up to date. A copy and his DNA gifttake will be returned to the Dominion. He’ll be remembered through new generations.” She paused, glanced at her colleague, and then offered, “You will, of course, be asked to attend the service for Paladin Meraj.”
Tara nodded. “I would be honored. But is there anything more I can do, today?”
She didn’t feel up to much more. And her BattleMech wasn’t ready for anything but a long and detailed overhaul. But the offer had to be made.
She hadn’t come back to Terra to stand back and watch.
Paladin Mandela walked by and slipped a wave and a glance in GioAvanti’s direction. Heather checked back toward the door, and then returned a quick nod to her comrade. “I guess that is going to depend,” the paladin said.
She turned Tara toward the entrance to the chamber with nothing more than a directed look. The exarch’s chief of staff waited there. Héloïse Montgolfier. Scanning the room. Heather nudged Tara with a light touch on the elbow. “I suspect she’s here for you.”
Jonah Levin played bartender, pulling three glasses out of a Chippendale and pouring healthy splashes from a clear bottle. His staff would frown later, seeing that he hadn’t properly called for one of the servants who existed for such menial tasks. But Levin had had enough today of letting others handle the workload around him while he sat, and waited.
“I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to storm out of my office today, and take to the field.”
Cradling all three glasses in his hands, he carried them over to the small sitting area. The Bullet had curtains drawn over its windowed alcove and lights set to eight percent. As close to an intimate setting as he could make it. He handed one glass—carefully!—to Tara Campbell. Julian Davion looked ready to refuse, but the exarch nodded.
“It’s flavored water.”
He had learned many things in the last few months regarding the Federated Suns’ champion. Levin had made it a point to find out, the moment Harrison Davion insisted that the young man stay and sit in on that first meeting. Knowing that Julian would refuse an alcoholic drink was only one piece of valuable information.
Knowing why was another.
Both Tara and Julian sipped politely, still standing. The exarch joined them, taking a seat on one of the leather chairs, letting the supple material form around him like a glove. The others sat after him.
Julian set his aside first. “I imagine the exarch taking to the field would have been looked on as a reckless act to some,” he said.
“To most, Julian.” Jonah sipped, letting the fresh hint of lemon wash away the dry taste that had plagued him all day while pacing floors in his many offices. “People forget so quickly that I came up a warrior. Was a paladin before I was ever exarch. When news came of Jorgensson’s death, that was hard. But it wasn’t the hardest part of my day.”
“What was?” Tara asked.
She had remained distant, almost cold, since being escorted up by Héloïse. Even now, the questions seemed to be pulled out of her by some outside force. Jonah recognized it instantly. He was getting to know all too well the pressures of “outside forces.”
“When I noticed that they had come into my office, in my absence, and changed the seal.”
He nodded over at the carpet inlay. The normal ensign of The Republic ran a knot-work banner through a globe of Terra, surrounded by a field of ten golden stars to represent the various prefectures. And the motto: Ad Securitus Per Unitas. Through unity, freedom.
But now the stars all burned red, not gold, and the banner had been replaced by a sword. A not-so-subtle reminder, meant expressly for the exarch, that fighting had come to Terra itself. “Damien Redburn did not mention that customary change, which must also have happened during the Steel Wolf assault last year.”
There were many things about the job that Damien had failed to mention.
“Still,” he continued, “Terra is secured. Mostly. The Republic stands.” For now. “I don’t think I need to tell either of you how desperate things have turned in the last half year. You saw a great measure of that today. But I did want to thank both of you for your efforts.”
“And the senators?” Tara asked. “What happens to them now?”
“Well, that depends on what they try next. Conner Rhys-Monroe, we expect, will return to Markab. Ptolomeny, Riktofven, Vladistock to their own worlds. We hope that some will come to their senses and split the loyalist ranks, especially when they have to deal with outside threats without the full support of The Republic military behind them.
“Regardless, it is a problem for tomorrow. One I hope to meet with my allies,” he nodded toward Julian, “and… my paladins.”