“Aff, Star Colonel. I would. Except that I find Achernar’s position to be a poor wager, and I have learned not to bet against you regardless.”

Torrent rose, leaning over the table and fixing each of his advisors in turn with a hard stare. “Always a good lesson,” he said. A predator’s grin slowly crept up on his face, stretching the edges of his wide, wide mouth. “Now, let us go teach it to Achernar.”

River’s End General

Achernar

Every tri-vid on the floor—likely in the entire hospital—was turned on to the announcement. Jessica Searcy caught snatches of the beginning from every door as she made her rounds, then finally stopped in a room once she understood what was happening. A public address by Star Colonel Torrent of the Steel Wolves: another challenge.

“For the safety of all,” Torrent was saying, “I ask that you remain indoors and away from the spaceport, the industrial sector, and any location where our opponents have gathered. That Prefect Kal Radick’s orders have been ignored, rebuffed, forcing us to bring violence to your world, is a tragedy. Do not let it visit unnecessary hardship on you or your families. Do not come in between the Steel Wolves and their prey.”

The hard glint in Torrent’s dark eyes, his savage appearance with the shaved head and white, white teeth—Jessica shivered with a cold thrill. This man meant exactly what he said. And more. The warning was meant for the militia as well as any civilian. The Steel Wolves were coming for Sandoval and his Swordsworn forces.

Coming tomorrow.

“Dusk,” Torrent promised. “Our forces may be met at the spaceport or at any venue between us and our goal. As the challenged party, that decision belongs to your defenders. It is the final decision they may make. All of mine against all of theirs. That was the bargain struck. That is the bargain they must now live up to.

“Bargained well,” he said without warmth, “and done.”

The video cut back to a long shot of the San Marino spaceport, and the Steel Wolf DropShips commanding the field. Then it switched back to a news anchor, and Jessica slipped from the room.

Questions paraded through Jessica’s head and her legs shook with sapped strength. She leaned back against the wall in the deserted corridor. One way or another, it looked as if tomorrow was going to decide the fate of Achernar. Had Raul had enough time? Would the militia wait and form an underground resistance, or move to meet the threat now, while they could?

Did she truly believe anymore that her resident honor saved her from taking a stand, if not for The Republic, then at least for Achernar? As Raul had said, there was no glory in war. But there was duty. Didn’t she have the duty as well, citizen or no?

It was a very lonely question, and the empty hall at River’s End General contained no remedies. If it was answers she wanted, she would have to look elsewhere. And she would need one other thing, she knew then.

Help.

From the person least likely to give it. And the one she should be least likely to ask.

Achernar Militia Command

Achernar

18 March 3133

Achernar’s sun was barely a hint on the northeast horizon, a pale smudge hardly discernible against the black of night when Raul Ortega arrived in his jeep at the command post staging grounds. Warehouse and hangar doors had been rolled open, spilling yellow fluorescent light across the blacktop in deep, yellow pools. Headlamps and spotlights on two score of military fighting vehicles brightened up the staging grounds to an artificial dawn. Technicians and logistics corps ran everywhere, servicing equipment and turning out every last tank, battlesuit and VTOL.

Tassa Kay and Clark Diago met him near the pool of utility vehicles, coming up together as Raul shucked off his jacket and stripped from a jumpsuit to the cockpit-ready gear of fatigue shorts and a gray cooling vest. The pre-dawn chill bit at him, puckering his lean arms with gooseflesh. Clark clapped Raul on the shoulder, gave him a stiff shake.

“The old man wants a word.”

Tossing his gear into the jeep, Raul slapped some warmth into his arms and then nodded Diago ahead of him. “Your team ready to go?” he asked Tassa, falling into step with her.

She thrust her chin at the two nearest of eight military VTOLs. “Both of those are loaded—overloaded, in fact—with gear and good men. You are certain that this will work? This is not your newest attempt to deny me a separate command?”

“Deny you? Tassa, I’m counting—desperately counting—on you making rendezvous with…” Raul trailed off at her poorly hidden grin. Suckered. He licked his lips. “Just don’t go haring off after Erik Sandoval before I give the word, all right? And remember, that’s a fifty-tonner you’re in today. Don’t expect it to hold up like your Ryoken, and bring it back in as intact as you can.”

“You still don’t trust me.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know you.”

“You know me,” Tassa said. And this time her words carried on more than one frequency.

Raul smiled, but not with the same amount of interest he might have once.

The two of them had stepped lightly around their brief liaison since Tassa’s recovery under Jessica’s care. Raul knew that—while the passion was there between he and Tassa Kay—there wasn’t the emotional bond he truly wanted. In between planning sessions and on-site reviews these last few days, Raul had tried to mention that to her. Talk to her. Tassa had shrugged off his attempts, working first at becoming healthy and then gearing herself up for today’s battle.

Though he still wasn’t certain whether to feel relieved or slighted that she had set him aside so readily.

Bright, hard white lamps drew them through the maze of vehicles and personnel to the militia’s Tribune-model mobile HQ. Colonel Blaire waited for his three MechWarriors under a rollout canopy, studying a contour map of River’s End and the surrounding area. The old officer carried himself in full field uniform today, with sidearm and sword. You couldn’t tell, until he tried to walk, that he balanced on a prosthetic leg. Once the task forces moved off on their objectives, there wouldn’t be a fighting man left to command inside the base perimeter. Blaire would follow Raul’s larger force, offering them the direct benefit of thirty-six years of military experience.

Raul had readily accepted. He knew they’d need all the help they could get.

Blaire glanced up from the map, on which he had drawn force lines and time indexes for every stage of the day’s maneuvers. “It’s a very dangerous game we’re playing today, Raul.” He shrugged. “Ah hope you’re certain.”

A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth. “You can court-martial me if it doesn’t work. Sir.”

“Give me one of your kay–det grins, Captain, and Ah’ll wipe it off with low-wattage laser. You’re the one sitting in the jaws of the trap. If it doesn’t work, you’ll be dead.”

Raul smiled fully, though no humor touched his dark eyes. “There is that.”

The colonel gave each one of them a once-over, then nodded his approval before pulling Raul aside. “You know what we’re up against and what we have to do today. If you need to make any last-minute changes to the force allotments, now is the time.”

He didn’t think twice about it. He barely thought once. “I trust each member of the task force with their part today, Colonel.”

“All right. Ah trust you, and that’s good enough. Post,” he ordered the younger man. To Raul’s back, he said, “And you make Kyle Powers proud of you, Captain.”

Raul nodded, but kept quiet. Jove waited.