Tomorrow the Steel Wolves would take their first step toward conquering Prefecture IV.

Taibek Mining Corporate Headquarters

Achernar

15 February 3133

Erik Sandoval-Groell stood at the bronze-tinted window of his fifth floor office, listening with perhaps half an ear to Michael Eus’s daily report. A steaming mug of brandy-laced coffee warmed Erik’s hands, his afternoon vice. The spicy aroma filled his nostrils as he breathed deep over the mug, and the brandy taste trailed a comfortable glow down into his gut.

From Taibek Mining’s Corporate Headquarters Erik looked out over the sleepy mining town of Hahnsak. Below, the streets filled up as the 1600 shift change bled over into what passed locally for close-of-business rush hour. A car might have to wait through two traffic lights. Lifting his gaze past town, past the river and Taibek Mining’s sludge-dumping processing plant, past the rail line which fed down out of the mines themselves, his hard gaze bore into the Taibek foothills which separated Hahnsak, himself, and his growing military force from River’s End.

“And finally, Phillip Mendosa—he’s your mine manager,” Michael reminded him. “Mendosa forwarded another warning concerning the fall-off in production. With the conversion of so many of our IndustrialMechs, it is impossible to make quota.”

Erik took a calm sip of his coffee. Brandy knocked off its bitter edge perfectly. “You pulled three more MiningMech’s?” he asked. “One from each shift?”

“And reassigned their best drivers to field training,” Michael confirmed. “Accounting bumped their pay, as ordered. I should mention that the profit-and-loss reports from almost every mining facility are grossly unbalanced with so many workers on paid—”

“The new conversions will be done on schedule?” Erik interrupted Eus’s worry about the P and Ls. He was far more interested in the three lasers he’d finally worked out of Customs, and their installment on the IndustrialMechs.

“I understand there is some trouble, adapting the lasers to a conventional power source.” Michael paged through screens on his noteputer, seeking information. “The engineers are attempting to install the necessary power amplifiers.” He looked up. “Currently they are limited to a reduced rate of fire.”

Eric had expected that. “Will they be ready on schedule?” he asked again.

Michael Eus was Taibek Mining’s operations officer. He was not a military man, but he knew how to take orders and when to be politic. “Yes,” he said.

Erik knew that somehow the corporate officer would get the job done. That was all that mattered. “Then the mines’ failure to make quota doesn’t matter.”

“Local titanium buyers will begin to ask questions,” Michael reminded him. “Our export schedule will fall off as well.”

“Fill local orders first. All off-world shipping goes through Tikonov, yes?” He barely waited for Eus’s nod, caught it in the man’s ghostly reflection in the window. “Start filling those shipping containers with raw ore, tailings, old equipment—whatever it takes.”

“Duke Sandoval will not be pleased.”

Erik’s gaze slid away from the Taibek Hills, rolling back into town along the network of rust-streaked rails and rough roadways. He turned away from the window and spitted his corporate officer with a hard glare and a dry smile. “My uncle is well aware of the need to cut back on regular operations, Michael. Keep to schedule. That will please him.”

Still, Erik could not help his nervous glance at the data crystal that waited for him on the corner of his large, kidney-shaped desk. The hardcopy communication had arrived on the latest DropShip. Michael had brought it in, delivering it before his report. From Lord Governor and Duke Aaron Sandoval. A reprieve from exile? Orders for a new operation, or modifications for Achernar? So few messages from Aaron Sandoval had held good news since Erik’s failure on Mara that he wondered, and worried.

“Is that everything, Michael?” His tone came off more curt than he’d intended.

Michael Eus slid his noteputer into the pocket of his charcoal-brushed suit coat. Youthful, steel gray eyes seemed at odds with his salt-and-pepper hair. They also showed the intense will of a man determined to rise in the Sandoval empire. “I intercepted another call from Legate Stempres. He’s still concerned that he failed to separate that new Ryoken from Customs.”

“He’s concerned about losing my family’s investment in his career.” Erik laughed, short and dark. “That man has hedged every bet since being named Legate under the planetary governor’s emergency powers. Can you tell he’s insecure in his job?”

“What would you like me to do about him?”

Erik did not miss the way Michael Eus immediately promoted himself as overseer to Brion Stempres. He smiled, and then took another taste of his brandy-tipped coffee. He savored the momentary warmth, deciding how he wanted Stempres cared for. “Handle him, Michael. Keep him at arm’s length for now.”

It also was not inconceivable that Stempres might try to convert Michael Eus into an asset of his own. In the legate’s place, that’s what Erik would attempt to do. The young noble wasn’t too worried—Michael seemed to realize that power was gravitating around Tikonov, and Erik’s uncle. Still, Eus bore watching. Erik had learned on Mara that he couldn’t trust family. He wasn’t about to trust a corporate suit with an eye on advancement.

“Now get out of here, Michael.” Erik waved the man away with an imperious gesture. “I have some things to think about, and I don’t wish to be disturbed. Not unless it is something you cannot personally handle.”

The confidence playing over the other man’s face said that he doubted there was any such situation. Michael Eus bowed shortly from the waist, spun and padded softly from the plush office.

Preparing himself for the coming one-sided interview, Erik strolled around the large and mostly-empty office taking the most circuitous route back to his redwood desk. His feet sank into plush carpet. The entire room still had a new-office smell to it that spoke of a lack of permanence to Erik. He paused over a small, glass-encased model of the new Achernar Industries MiningMech—the same model he was now ripping apart and rebuilding into military conversions—and again at a wide bookcase that contained almost every handy reference book one might need with regards to mining on Achernar.

The leather-bound volumes across the top shelf had little to do with mining, though. Michael Eus had stocked the office with a complete history of the Sandoval dynasty (Robinson Press, 3130 edition): twelve volumes, six centuries of family activities and profiles. Erik knew that a few events were missing from that “complete” history. He’d checked. Those were the secrets and dirty laundry the family would never allow a public airing.

Still, running his hand along the leather spines, feeling the raised lettering under his fingertips and watching some of the gold gilt flake off to the shelf’s dark walnut surface, gave Erik a sense of the history that pushed at both his uncle and himself.

Early volumes where the Sandoval dynasty came to power, and had briefly stood in line for the throne of the Federated Suns. Princes of the realm.

Middle volumes. The fall of the Star League and the Succession Wars which followed. Here the Sandoval dynasty secured themselves as undisputed rulers within the Suns’ Draconis March. Those stories involved so many tales of battle and heroics against House Kurita’s Draconis Combine that Erik could reread them ad infinitum. The leather itself felt charged with electricity, jumping small sparks to Erik’s fingers.