Each one had come served in a shot glass.

The door rattled in its poorly hung frame as someone outside pounded again, gave up, and simply barged into his room in the company of more painful sunlight. “Dogs and togs, MechWarrior. Going to be a busy day.” Tassa Kay.

Raul groaned, fell back to his pillow in a flop that, he felt, conveyed his sense of enthusiasm for Tassa’s early company. He pulled the top sheet over his head, which lasted all of five seconds before his visitor stripped his bed in one brutal yank. Raul scrambled to cover himself, then realized that he had gone to bed in slacks and socks and a white undershirt.

“I do not have the time or patience to play, Ortega. Get up or get left behind.”

More awake this time around, Raul blinked some moisture into his eyes, noticed that Tassa also looked a little less polished than normal. She had pulled her hair back into a severe tail, secured by a leather tie. She wore camouflage pants and a black tank wrestled over firm breasts. Her eyes were well shielded by a pair of leather-wrapped, reflective aviator’s glasses, the kind that rested right up against the brow and let in very little light.

Memories from the previous night came staggering back as he stumbled from his bed in the studio-style apartment to the kitchenette sink. Cold water slapped against his face and on the back of his neck helped put them back in order. He had matched Tassa Kay shot for shot, trading tips, technical facts and history in between rounds of Glengarry amber. Even half-drunk, Tassa had said very little about herself. Raul remembered something about her meeting Evan Kell of the famous—or infamous—Kell Hounds. More about her fighting alongside Exarch Redburn. She had seemed curious—pleasantly so, even—when Raul told her about Jessica Searcy and their differing opinions on duty to the Republic, and…

And why was she here so damned early?

“What happened?” he asked, knowing that Tassa had not volunteered for wake-up duty. “The Wolves?”

“Round-about,” she said. “More like your Swordsworn. Erik Sandoval stirred up a hornet’s nest last night. Sir Powers is taking a formal call from Star Colonel Torrent in about fifteen, and he wants us there.”

“They’re not my Swordsworn,” Raul reminded her, gathering up a fresh uniform and slipping into the small closet of a bathroom to change. He listened through the cracked-open door as Tassa filled him in on Erik’s ambush, the destructive tactics Sandoval had favored against support units, and Torrent’s likely violent response.

“All right,” he finally said, emerging from the bathroom with a toothbrush clenched in one hand. “So Erik caught the star colonel’s forces in an ambush, using overmatched firepower. Sounds like sound military doctrine to me. Why would the Steel Wolves be insulted?” He scrubbed the first layer of paste from his teeth and tongue.

“Clan warriors limit damage to civilian and support forces whenever possible. It is considered the epitome of skill to take their target with the fewest possible forces, concentrating on opposing leadership and important front-line units. Sandoval’s assault borders on treacherous—even cowardly—tactics. In Torrent’s eyes,” she added as an afterthought.

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Leaning back against the standing locker, Tassa massaged her temples. “What would you do?” she asked. “You have suffered a large military set-back. Additionally, you feel that your personal honor has been smeared in the process. How do you regain your equilibrium?”

Although part of Achernar’s older Latino population, Raul had never subscribed to the same level of machismo honor as so many of his counterparts. Still, he felt he could place himself into Torrent’s shadow enough to draw a few conclusions. “I would challenge Erik Sandoval to a duel. Hombre-en-hombre.” Except that that was thinking too much with emotion, and not a head for strategy as well. “No,” he decided. A chill shook him. Leadership and important front-line units. “I would challenge Sir Powers.”

“Count on it,” Tassa agreed. “And we have about ten minutes to be there when it happens, if we want a chance to get in on it.”

Raul spit into the kitchenette sink, rinsed his brush out with tap water. “You think that Powers will accept?”

“Jousting is back in style, or have you not noticed?”

He had. Raul used a handful of cold tap water to slick his dark curls back. Icy trickles bled down his neck, but he trusted to Achernar’s bright sun to dry him off before the two of them made the command center. Grabbing some dark glasses for himself, he nodded toward the door. “I still think it’s a risky proposition, even for a Sphere Knight.” He half blocked the doorway with his shoulder. “Unless there’s something more?”

“There is always something more, Raul.” She shrugged. “Today, though, is about a challenge.”

“And what will tomorrow be about?” he asked, pushing at her for more information.

Tassa paused, exhaled her frustration, then elbowed her way past him, ducking into the bright, warm morning. “The Steel Wolves have landed assault forces on Ronel.”

That was something more, all right.

Tassa had picked up a military jeep somewhere, and left it idling in a parking space out front. Grinding the transmission into gear, she jumped it back out of the stall and then forward on a wild pace across the small military base. Speed limits meant little to her and stop signs even less, it seemed to Raul, and she finally slammed the vehicle into a spot near the central command building that was marked as officer’s parking only. From there it was two minutes and a short, painful jog down the last hallway before the two of them slipped in through a knot of junior officers and senior enlisted men to grab a patch of wall in Blaire’s command post.

The large wallscreen was back in working order, and Torrent’s large visage already filled it in a portrait of barely-checked rage. Everyone stared at the face of their enemy. But where were Powers and Blaire? The station reserved for senior officers was abandoned and dark.

“Our practices and traditions will be honored,” Star Colonel Torrent demanded, looking down from his position. “If they are not, I can only name you among the stravag treachers who raid out of the Confederation, and I should just as easily believe the Republic capable of hiring assassins and stabbing in the dark with a poisoned blade. This is unacceptable!”

Raul had no idea what the term stravag meant, but it did not sound complimentary. He was still searching for Powers, to watch him give his reply, when Tassa elbowed him in the side and nodded toward a small auxiliary station not four meters past them along the same wall. Sir Kyle Powers stood, looking down into a camera pickup and a diminutive screen filled with Star Colonel Torrent. He wore his full military dress, no doubt anticipating the formal occasion. “Perhaps,” he offered, “you should direct your attention to Lord and Captain Erik Sandoval-Groell. I believe it was his force that threw you out of the Tanager pass.”

“As I have seen no honor among your subordinates, Kyle Powers, I demand satisfaction at your expense instead.”

The Knight Errant considered that for a moment, long enough for Raul to see his purpose behind using the auxiliary station. Facing away from the main wall, Kyle Powers could not be intimidated by Torrent’s looming presence. Instead, the Knight Errant kept his opponent carefully scaled down to manageable size. It might not mean much against the Steel Wolves’ grand scheme for Achernar, but not even a small detail escaped Powers’ attention.

“What if I should refuse you?” Powers finally asked.

“Do you seek total war? An assault on civilian transportation lines and the local industrial base? Aerial bombardment of the HPG station? I can bring that to Achernar if it is your wish.” The thought sent cold chills walking up Raul’s spine. “The Steel Wolves will not be denied.”