Over eighty-five percent failure. In Prefecture IV, that meant Ronel and Achernar might have the only two working HPG stations. Was it any wonder the Steel Wolves were here? And if so, what about—

“Regardless,” Knight-Errant Powers interrupted Raul’s train of thought, “what we have to deal with is right in front of us. The Steel Wolves are making aggressive moves, cloaked under Kal Radick’s questionable authority as Prefect, and we have to deal with that accordingly. Lord Erik Sandoval is here at my request, representing Republic forces who have swung their nominal allegiance over to his uncle, the Lord-Governor.” He raised a hand. “That is not under debate at the moment. We all have a vested interest in keeping Achernar under local authority.

“We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately,” Powers said.

“Benjamin Franklin.” Erik Sandoval was quick to identify Powers’ quote. “At the signing of a Declaration on ancient Terra.” He smiled. “All in all, a fitting maxim.”

Raul bit down on his tongue until it throbbed, staying his own opinion on making any deal with Erik Sandoval and the Swordsworn. He trusted that Kyle Powers knew what he was doing. The Knight-Errant’s not so subtle warning in the ancient quotation, and the terms of the alliance which he put forward to the entire group over the next two hours, proved that he did. He placed Erik in the chain of command, on par with Colonel Blaire and under the jurisdiction of Legate Stempres. Kyle Powers himself retained the Exarch’s authority on all matters military, placing himself as a watchdog over the entire operation.

“My Swordsworn will carry our end,” Erik Sandoval promised. “And I can offer more than a dozen tanks and my own Hatchetman. We have converted several of our IndustrialMechs over for military use—six of them, to be exact.” That number more than doubled what anyone else in the room had thought, and Raul noticed the way a few eyebrows raised at the claim. “We lost one of those recently, coming to the aid of a Republic patrol, but even so an extra lance of converted MiningMechs thrown into a battle can do a lot of good.”

Hanging out there, unfinished, Erik seemed to be saying, Trust me, I know.

Sandoval kept far too many secrets for Raul to completely trust him. Still, Powers seemed to have the young noble’s measure and Raul doubted the Knight-Errant would get caught unawares.

“Excellent,” Powers agreed. “And on the militia’s side, I understand we are welcoming back a MechWarrior?”

Isaac Blaire nodded. “Captain Charal DePriest is returning to active duty as my adjutant and will oversee BattleMech logistics. Raul Ortega will continue to pilot the Legionnaire, however. Charal has been assigned our one converted ForestryMech to pilot as necessary.”

Raul saw the wince of memory on Erik Sandoval’s face, wondered where the noble had run into a converted ForestryMech before. A flush warmed his own neck, of pride and embarrassment both. Charal should have moved back to her position above him, taking the Legionnaire. Part of him had hoped that she would, he realized, saving him from the burdens that seemed to add to the pile with each day of conflict. A stronger part did not want to give up the BattleMech. Everything he had ever dreamt of… thought that he had wanted… it was still there for the taking.

Wasn’t it?

Morning marched steadily toward noon as Powers turned the meeting to recent battles fought with the Steel Wolves. Raul spoke up to direct questions, but otherwise felt content to sit back, observe and learn. The room smelled heavily of stale coffee and melting doughnuts by the time Colonel Blaire queued up gun-cam footage from the most recent battle, where Raul and Tassa had taken down the Blackhawk. Raul swallowed back the bitter aftertaste of his coffee and narrated his own footage, trying to give the Sphere Knight an idea of the larger battle not shown on the video.

“This Steel Wolf MechWarrior,” Powers asked after the footage had run through again showing Tassa Kay stomping the Blackhawk’s cockpit into ruin, “what was his name?”

“Yulri,” Charal DePriest answered, consulting a file on her noteputer, “of the Carns redname. I’ve been rereviewing his secret.”

Legate Stempres leaned in. “His what?”

“Codex.” It was Powers who answered. “Clan-descended warriors still follow the tradition of carrying some kind of data crystal on their person—a complete record of their personal victories and awarded honors.”

Charal pulled up a new screen. “Yulri’s secret proves that he is from a promising red-redname, and has risen slowly but certainly through the Steel Wolf ranks. Most of his greatest trophies have come on the coattails of Star Colonel Torrent, though. He’s a follower.” She frowned. “Although that doesn’t debate his offers to stab his former commander.”

“What’s that?” Powers asked.

“It seems that Star Commander Yulri is making repeated offers to bolt sides and d-dance for The Republic.” Charal huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Is very insistent on it, in fact.”

Powers frowned, his eyes glossing over as if looking inward through mental files for some explanation of the Steel Wolf’s behavior. “Maybe it’s time I met with this prisoner,” he finally said. “Colonel Blaire, if you would accompany me?” To everyone else he said, “We’ll meet again after lunch, and discuss plans for a stronger defense of Achernar. Thank you.”

Raul rose with the others, waited for the Knight-Errant to pass behind him before stepping away from the table intent on Charal DePriest. He had just laid a hand on her arm when Kyle Powers called from the doorway, “Mr. Ortega? I’d like you to accompany us as well.” Powers was out the door before Raul responded.

He nodded at the Knight’s back, but did not follow immediately. He met Charal’s unsteady gaze with concern. “Are you okay with this?” he asked.

“Okay with what, Raul?” Charal blinked hard, as if clearing her vision. Her sapphire eyes did have a glossy look to them.

“You should have the Legionnaire back. It was your ’Mech before you got hurt. I”—he swallowed hard—“I don’t want to give it up,” he admitted, “but it’s not right to keep you sidelined.”

Charal smiled sadly. “I appreciate that. I nod.” She screwed up her elfin face into a frustrated scowl, then slowly eased it back toward a disciplined, false calm. “The hopscotch diagnosed me with… with Nonfluent Aphasia. It’s a brain dysfunction that interferes with my speech patterns. I substitute worms without meaning to.”

Hopscotch? It took Raul a few seconds to understand what Charal meant. “The hospital?” The other MechWarrior nodded. “Is it serious?”

“It’s a brain dysfunction, Raul. My neural connections are a bit spilled up.” She glanced away from him. “I’ll never pilot a real BattleMech again.”

Not when a finely tuned neurohelmet might read her crossed brainwaves and trip up one of the near-priceless BattleMechs. But a converted IndustrialMech, with its much more basic neurocontrol system, that she might be allowed to pilot. If the situation was desperate enough to allow her on the field. Raul winced. “I’m sorry, Charal.”

“You’re a fine pilot, Raul. I’m glad it’s you.” She nodded after the absent command officers. “You do… gold… by Achernar.”

Not sure what else he could say to her, Raul simply nodded and left. Her words chased him from the briefing room. Do good by Achernar. That was what she had meant to say. And he was trying, dammit.

He was trying.