I smiled and swirled my brandy around, inhaling the rich aroma. “You threw in with him.”

“I did. Some of the histories will have it that I was the first person to bare a sword, lay it at his feet and swear fealty to him. That’s not true, for The Republic was a dream at that point, and the swords I was entitled to wear would be laid at the feet of no man. I did, however, introduce him and his programs to some of the leaders of the Successor States—to Hohiro, and to Peter and Yvonne. I introduced him to Morgan Kell and, through Phelan and Hohiro, Stone met with the leadership of the Clans as well. He made his case to all of them. Those who felt they could lend him support in one form or another did so, myself included, and the Reformation began.”

I nodded. “I read one history that suggested you intended to use him as a puppet and take control of the Reformation. I know that’s not true, but when you met him, did you think he would succeed?”

“It was hard to look in those dark eyes, Mason, and not read success there. The people fighting against the Word of Blake forces were fighting for freedom, while the leadership of those worlds wanted a return to antebellum society. Stone’s leadership showed that power truly flowed from the people. Nobles who forgot or fought that notion went away, because the more people saw what Stone accomplished, the more they turned to him. In many ways, it was the culling of the weak, which made society that much stronger in its wake. Stating things so easily in evolutionary terms can be harsh because those who were stripped of power or killed were humans, but they had abrogated their responsibility to the people they led. Society could not have survived had they been left in place.”

“And you will not survive, grandfather, without some sleep.” Nessa Davion, Burton’s youngest daughter and Victor’s aide, entered the study and gave me a smile. “Good to see you, Mason. I don’t see any bruises from the trouble on Helen.”

I returned the slender woman’s smile. Her white-blond hair had been plaited into a thick ribbon with a pale blue thread running through it. That blue matched the hue of her eyes which, in contrast to her grandfather’s eyes, were flecked with gray highlights. I’d known her for years and thought of her as a cousin.

“They didn’t do that much damage, Nessa.”

“Not what Janella suggested.”

“It’s because she wasn’t in a position to smack them back for me.” I finished my brandy and set the snifter down. “My lord, it is late. I should be retiring.”

Victor glanced at his granddaughter, then nodded. “You’ll find you have plenty of work tomorrow, Mason, so perhaps a good night’s sleep is in order. Thank you for keeping me company.”

“The pleasure was all mine, my lord.”

“I’ll see him out, grandfather, you just wait right there.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “She fusses a great deal.”

“You are a great deal to fuss about,” Nessa quipped. She took my arm and guided me to the door. “How does he look to you?”

The worry in her voice demanded the truth. “Like events are nibbling away at him. He still looks good, and his mind is as sharp as ever.”

She nodded. “It takes its toll, but seeing you was good for him. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.” I patted her arm and kissed her on the cheek. “Given how things might break down, I wouldn’t wonder if he outlives us all.”

“He thinks that, too, sometimes.” Nessa gave me a grim smile. “I think that’s what worries him most of all.”

Knights’ Hall, Santa Fe

North America, Terra

Prefecture X, Republic of the Sphere

9 December 3132

I hate dreams. I am lucky in that I don’t remember too many of them, but my dreams know that. They seem to be content to labor in obscurity. They lull me into this false sense of security then just dump the mother lode of anxiety dreams on me. I thrash the night away and wake up haggard and worn.

This particular dream was just nasty. I was back in school, not even ten years old, looking at a big holographic projection of the Inner Sphere, only it wasn’t the map I was used to seeing. When I’d grown up, Stone’s Republic of the Sphere formed the hub of humanity’s interstellar empire. All the other nations were spokes—some fat, some thin, some barely there—or were patches on the rim. As far as the Federated Suns were concerned, The Republic was an ally, and since we were pretty sure Stone was originally from the Suns, we could lay claim to everything he did.

That map wasn’t there anymore, not really. Instead it was an older map, the sort my grandfather had known. All of the Successor States were much bigger and their borders all converged in and around Terra. Along those borders wars had been waged for centuries. That had been part of Stone’s wisdom, for he laid claim to worlds that had been sore spots for generations. Not only did his reforms take away the means of making war on a grand scale but, in many cases, it took away the reasons for it as well.

I could still see the ghost of The Republic superimposed over the old map, but throughout its confines and down along the borders I could see little flames burning on various worlds. The Federated Suns’ border with the Capellan Confederation was a line of fire. The Draconis March likewise burned, but the greatest concentration of fire was within the worlds that had once been in The Republic. Forces from outside were tearing into it, and forces from within were trying to burst back out.

I heard a voice—all stern and booming. “Thus is the lot of Mankind forever. War flows with our blood and can only be quenched by drinking the blood of others.”

It went on to say some other things but, being a dream, they wandered into insensibility. Some of them likely could be judged to have been prophetic—foreshadowing, if you will—but I didn’t see it at the time. If my subconscious wants to tell me something important, I’d prefer a direct message, not something I need to puzzle out.

The message of the voice was pretty clear. Stone’s dream was dying. There would be warfare and a lot of people would die. The fact that BattleMechs remained in the hands of a select few did little to reassure me. Digger and Maria were more than capable of destroying a lot of real estate and the people living in it, and having a militia mount machine guns on or further modify such a ’Mech was easily done. Mankind is frightfully inventive when coming up with the means for killing someone.

I didn’t wake with a start, but instead slowly emerged from the dream. That’s the worst, as far as I am concerned, because reality melds with the dream’s fantasy. It didn’t help at all that thunder crashed outside, and brilliant argent light limned my curtains.

I scrubbed a hand down over my face and understood Victor’s weariness. The shutting down of the communications grid was akin to a huge thunderstorm that touched off countless little fires. Before they could be put out, they had to be identified, analyzed and remedies had to be sought. That all took time, and the problem was that time only served to let the fires grow further and hotter. On top of that, we didn’t know if the storm would be back or where it might strike next, so while we were fighting the little fires, it would do maximum damage.

In short, we had to do everything and prepare for yet more things of a nature and timing unknown to us.

I dragged myself from bed and considered, just for a moment, pouring myself more whisky. The drink would have been bracing, and I would have stopped at just one. The difficulty was that I wouldn’t have wanted to stop there, and getting drunk would have just increased the frustration I already felt simmering in my chest.