We solved the problem of the security folks by letting them know that I was Mason Dunne, Republic functionary whom Lady Lakewood knew. After I had first been brought into Overton, she recognized me and quickly recruited me to investigate the GGF. Since, as our story went, I’d been there investigating the lumber industry, I was already a trained investigator, so the shift was not wholly implausible. The two of them accepted the tale, which is not the same as believing it, but they didn’t push the story so the cracks would become too obvious.

By the time we arrived at Terra our reports had been completed and we sent them on ahead of our arrival. Janella looked for incoming information about another assignment, but we got nothing more than hearty thanks and assurances that once we were planetside we’d have plenty to do. We were urged to relax, which isn’t easy to do on a small DropShip with nothing but survival rations, recycled water and bunks that make curbstones both broad and soft by comparison.

It’s also tough to relax when returning to Terra. It’s weird because I was born elsewhere and was close to being an adult when I made my first journey there. Terra is the cradle of humanity—everyone knows that, no matter how far away their world is located. Men have lived, thrived and prospered on worlds that are incredibly diverse, but we were only bred to survive on one: Terra. Until you arrive there, you don’t how special a world it is.

I watched the white-streaked blue ball grow larger through view ports and couldn’t help smiling as we went into a braking orbit, then began our descent. I really did feel like I was arriving home, and it was because of more than my residence being there. The air smelled sweeter, the trees looked natural to the eye, the water tasted better and the animals had subtle little aspects from our shared evolution that meant they didn’t feel alien even though I’d not seen them before.

The pilot brought Valiant down as smooth as Janella’s cheek and rolled us up to the main Republic spaceport terminal in Albuquerque. By the time he cracked the hatches and the loading ramps had slid down, a shuttle arrived to gather the four of us and run us across the terminal to the maglev lightning train. Janella and I took the rear compartment of the single car while Jack and Jill went forward and strapped in. The train headed north, and fifteen minutes later we were in Santa Fe, at the Knights’ Hall.

The fact that we landed in Albuquerque didn’t surprise me, but once again suggested things were worse than I’d ever let myself imagine. The Republic had facilities all over the planet and most often I used the Knights’ Hall in Zurich as my base of operations. The Santa Fe facility had everything needed to deal with knightly affairs, but moving the martial part of the Knights out of Zurich meant a decentralization which suggested The Republic wanted to make its key personnel hard to hit.

In Santa Fe we were met by three individuals. The first paid great deference to Janella and conducted her off to the rooms that had been prepared for her. A military officer took her bodyguards off, while a clerk was there for me. He was a skinny kid with big eyes and a goofy grin that made me think of him as the younger brother I never had.

“I was sent to get you, Mr. Dunne. This way, please.”

His emphasis on my name made me suspect something was going on, but he didn’t feel inclined to let me know what it was. I shrugged, then worked my shoulders around to loosen them up. I followed him through the twists and turns of the sprawling complex. Its corridors featured golden wood walls and large windows that looked out over the countryside. The facility had been constructed to run with the natural landscape and blend with it, so it shot amoeboid pseudopods around hills and down into valleys linking various buildings.

He was taking me off to one of the newer wings. I knew the chambers there were not as sumptuous as the ones Janella would be given, but blue blood hath its privileges. I did recall, rather fondly, the huge bathtub she had last time we were here and decided I was willing to settle for one half that size in my room.

The clerk brought me to my door and handed me a passkey. Without so much as an “I’ll get your luggage,” he turned on his heel and left. I caught the strains of some tune being hummed, which again struck me as odd, but taking odd as it comes is part of my job.

I opened the door and had to smile. I glanced quickly down the hallway to see if I could spot the clerk, but the last of him vanished around a corner. I think he’d been watching for my reaction and, given the job he’d done, I hope he caught it.

The rooms I’d been given matched my Zurich apartment down to everything but the small triangle of dust on the bottom shelf beside the fireplace. The furnishings looked identical, and the dark green of the living room walls contrasted perfectly with the dark wood of the shelving. I couldn’t tell if the framed holograph over the fireplace was a copy or my original, or if the keepsakes on the shelves and mantel had been duplicated or transported, but all of them were right where I’d last seen them.

Without looking right, toward the bedroom door, or left to the kitchen, I knew everything would be perfect. That someone had gone to all that trouble meant a lot. I knew I’d have to find that clerk and thank him. In fact, I was tempted to run down the passage and find him, but one anomalous detail stopped me.

I dropped to one knee and bowed my head. “My lord, I am at your service.”

The man sitting in the chair beside the fireplace lifted a cut glass half full of amber liquid. “And I am at yours. You’ve always had good taste in whisky. Get up off your knee, boy. I’d rise to greet you, but I like where I am right now.”

I rose as commanded and couldn’t help but smile. Victor Steiner-Davion wasn’t a big man—in fact, he was quite small, but the force of his personality filled the room. When my gaze met his steady gray eyes I could see life burning fiercely in them. His white hair and beard were trimmed and the hand holding the glass was rock steady. He looked much as I remembered him—as I had always seen him.

Then I noticed the cane beside the chair. He’d used it after having his right hip replaced several years earlier. He’d worked hard at rehab and had given the cane up in time for his hundredth birthday, so going back to it wasn’t a good sign. I noticed the slight sag of his shoulders and the deepening of the lines around his eyes.

He was beginning to look his age.

Victor Steiner-Davion is someone people either love or hate, and many love to hate him. Right before I went off on the Helen assignment, I read Gus Michaels’ biography of him, Victor Ian Steiner-Davion: A Life. The book was pretty good and painted a strong picture of the man who was born to the throne of the most powerful of the Successor States and had it all crumble around him. Attacked from without by the Clans, betrayed by his family, he watched the nation his father had built through war and alliances just erode. He survived the murder of his first and greatest lover, Omi Kurita, the death of his son, Burton, and the death of his second love, Isis Marik.

I’d first met him shortly after her passing, while I was still pretty much a kid, but I had no clue about the weight of tragedy on his shoulders. I knew who he was, of course; I mean, I knew the name. To me he was just an old geezer, and it wasn’t until he fished an old coin from his pocket and let me examine its profile and his that I believed. He’d still been strong then and, until I saw him now, I’d thought he would continue on forever.

He nodded to the chair on the other side of the fireplace. Another tumbler of whisky waited there on a side table. “Please, make yourself at home.”

I smiled at the joke, and he smiled too, which made me feel better. I sat and raised the glass. “To your health.”