Hotel Duquesne, Geneva

Terra, Prefecture X

17 December 3134

Jonah had long known that, sometimes, the most advantageous terrain for a battle was a place where your enemy felt safe.

Hesperus was renowned across the Inner Sphere for its rugged, inhospitable terrain, but one of Jonah’s favorite spots for combat on his old home was perhaps the friendliest spot on the planet. About five hundred miles south of Defiance Industries’ headquarters, the mountains briefly smoothed into a broad valley. Armies who found this spot immediately headed for the center of it, out of reach of weapons fire from hidden stations in the mountains. There, in the treeless valley, they believed they could encamp safely. And there, on a number of occasions, Jonah had waited in a narrow crevasse whose opening was invisible to anyone more than thirty meters away from it. He’d wait for his quarry to relax, then spring.

He certainly didn’t think of Gareth Sinclair as his enemy; he was reluctant to even consider him his quarry. But he needed Sinclair to speak openly, and the element of surprise generally allowed you to get past people’s initial defenses.

Jonah had requested a meeting on Sinclair’s home ground, or at least what passed for it in Geneva: the Hotel Duquesne. Sinclair would be in comfortable, familiar surroundings there, while Jonah would be out of his element. He’d make sure Sinclair noticed the disparity, and allow it to sink in, before he made his move.

Jonah nodded to Emil the concierge as he entered, walking quickly past before Emil could exercise his flamboyant brand of hospitality. He entered the dining room, the echoing footsteps of the lobby giving way to the muted conversation and quiet piano of the restaurant. He was, as he had planned to be, a few minutes late. Sinclair was waiting for him.

He stood as the maitre d’ led Jonah to his table.

“Paladin Levin!” he said happily, extending his hand. “Thanks for joining me!”

Jonah shook his hand. “It was Jonah before you were a Paladin, so it certainly should be Jonah now. Sorry I’m late.”

“Not at all,” Sinclair said kindly. “I know how busy you are.”

“It’s not that,” Jonah said with an embarrassed smile. “It’s the size of this place. I can never get used to it. I must have spent five minutes just wandering through the lobby.”

“I understand. It confused me when I first came here as well.”

“But you adapt quickly,” Jonah said, then continued as Sinclair tried to interrupt. “No false modesty, Gareth. I know you and your reputation well enough—you have a gift for sizing up a situation and adapting yourself to it.”

Jonah hated himself for his friendly tone, for calling Sinclair by his first name, for everything he did to conceal the real purpose of this lunch. I’m playing the game, Jonah thought to himself with disgust. They’ve finally drawn me in, and I’m just another politician.

He thought again of Hesperus, of hiding in the crevasse. Same technique, different battlefield. You’ve always known how to do what’s necessary, he told himself.

“Of course, I don’t believe you’ve ever had to size up a situation quite like the one in front of you now,” Jonah continued. “How are you adapting to your new position?”

Sinclair looked up from his menu and smiled. “I’m sure I haven’t yet. I have no idea how a Paladin is supposed to act, supposed to speak, or anything. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.”

“A Paladin is supposed to act just as you act,” Jonah said, happy that he could talk honestly. “You define the position. Don’t let it define you. Anders Kessel is a good man in many ways, but he’s let the position determine who he is, until everything he does is measured in terms of politics and support, of building blocs and scoring points. He now acts as if doing what’s right and doing what’s politically smart are one and the same.”

“Sounds like your polar opposite,” Sinclair said.

We’re becoming more similar than I’d like, Jonah thought. Aloud, he said, “Not entirely. As I said, he still has many admirable qualities. I think what he’s forgotten, though, is trust. You have to trust people to understand the choices you make, to think about issues seriously enough that they’ll understand why you do what you do. That’s leadership. Letting the masses lead you around by the nose, sculpting your actions to what they think they want, isn’t.”

Sinclair nodded soberly. Jonah knew that, if he’d had a pen, Gareth would be taking notes.

Their waiter, a man with hair as dark and smooth as his black tuxedo, slid to their table, quietly took their order, then drifted away.

“Remember that the office belongs to you,” Jonah said. “You don’t belong to it.”

“Isn’t that the kind of thinking that got Katherine Steiner-Davion into trouble?”

Jonah laughed. “Excellent point. Yes, it is, to a degree. But she had twisted herself, she was still caught up in the trappings of power. She so desperately wanted to rule that she bent her soul to the sole end of gaining and keeping power. Part of the idea of placing yourself over the office is knowing you can leave it, because the ideas that guide you are larger and more important than the office itself.”

“But this only works for people who want to do good in the first place.”

“Yes,” Jonah agreed. “But that’s the way power always has been. Power has a much greater chance of making a good person bad than doing the reverse. That’s why you must always keep it at arm’s length.”

Sinclair nodded. “I appreciate your counsel. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I plan to look to you as an example of how to hold this office.”

We’ll see if you still feel the same when we’re done talking, Jonah thought.

“There are others, too,” he said aloud. “Each has their own strengths. You can learn about charisma and persuasion from Heather GioAvanti, determination from Tyrina Drummond, honesty from David McKinnon, and lack of pretense from Meraj Jorgensson. We have plenty of flaws scattered throughout our council, but plenty of gifts as well.”

All right, Professor Levin, he told himself. Class is over. Time to get the real discussion out of the way.

“And one of us is about to be the next Exarch,” Jonah continued. “I thought, by this point, a clear leading contender or two would have emerged, but the election seems more muddled than ever.”

The tuxedoed waiter brought their food. Sinclair’s eyes brightened, and he dove into his duck a l’orange with relish. He seemed, Jonah noted, quite comfortable. Jonah did little more than pick at his venison.

“Why do you think that is?” Sinclair asked through a mouth full of carrots.

“It’s because of Victor. His speech was going to be a rallying point. It was thought that his words would point to one candidate that he supported, and then Kessel, Sorenson, and their group would organize behind an opposing candidate. But Victor never made his speech, leaving everything wide open. Not to mention the fact that we have two new voters, and we don’t know what to expect from you.”

Sinclair grinned. He was a battle-tested MechWarrior, as deadly as they come, but at the moment he looked like a boy who had just found the keys to his father’s hovercar.

“I’m a wild card, huh? I kind of like that.” Then he grew more serious. “Does anyone know what Victor was going to say? Did he leave behind any copies of his remarks?”

Jonah carefully watched Sinclair’s face, but it seemed as open and ingenuous as always.

“No. He’d been keeping his work under wraps, and no one’s been able to find a trace of it. Until recently.”

“You found something?” Sinclair said—eagerly, without a trace of apprehension.

“Yes.” He brought out a piece of plain writing paper, unfolded it, and laid it out on the linen tablecloth in front of Sinclair. “Can you tell me the significance of this?”