The armored bridge doors were just ahead. A marine stood at guard outside, assault rifle across his chest, back rigid, feet held to the deck by Velcro tabs. Erik didn’t envy him. It was work to keep your body at attention without gravity. A full watch could be agony.

The human body liked to assume something called the “neutral position” in space, but to the military mind, that was more appropriate for a floating corpse than a trained soldier. So “attention” was still the order of the day.

The marine recognized him and saluted—another formality that wouldn’t have been practical for a floating guard. Erik glanced at the weapon—a standard model except for the blue stripes on the barrel, stock, and magazine, indicating it carried fragmenting ammo that would shatter before penetrating the ship’s hull or ferro-glass windows.

Erik held his security pass near the lock, and the door slid open. He slid through the blackout curtains and felt the elastic closures snap shut behind him.

The lights on the bridge were dim and red, to protect the crew’s night vision. The bridge crew was strapped into acceleration couches. Only Captain Ricco floated free, watching a computer display that Erik knew showed the point where the incoming ship would shortly appear.

In one of those quantum-mechanical paradoxes associated with hyperdrive travel, while they knew where, and approximately when, the ship would arrive, it actually hadn’t left yet. The trip, from their point of view, was instantaneous. It was one of those technical curiosities Erik had long ago stopped trying to wrap his head around.

The captain held his position with one hand, hanging from a grab bar over his head. He looked over at Erik. “Could be a big one, Commander. Big enough to be a threat.”

Erik felt his stomach tighten. He knew it was probably nothing. Even if it wasn’t, his little fleet awaiting transport numbered six full DropShips—more than enough to take care of itself. Still, it was as though the fall of the HPG network had filled the universe with shadows, from which they were always waiting for something to jump out. It was getting tiresome.

“There it is,” said the navigator, studying a holodisplay floating above her console. “Merchant class, one DropShip attached.”

Erik felt himself relax a bit. Merchant s were normally just that, hauling cargo and virtually unarmed.

“Wait a minute,” said the navigator. “DropShip is a big one, military—an Excalibur —and I’m not getting a SwordSworn IFF signal. I don’t know whose it is.”

Erik frowned. The Excalibur was an elliptical DropShip, the biggest military vessel of its type, capable of transporting a full combined-arms regiment in its three huge bays. In addition, it carried enough armor and offensive weaponry to be a formidable threat on its own.

The captain pulled himself over behind the navigator and ran his fingers through his blond, close-cropped hair as he studied the display. He smiled. “I know that ship. It’s not military anymore, it’s a freighter conversion. It’s Tyrannos Rex, Gus Clancy’s ship. Jeri, open a ship-to-ship channel.”

He turned, and a flat-screen display in the middle of the bridge lit up, displaying an older man with collar-length gray hair and a beard.

“Hey, Gus,” said the captain, “how’s business?”

“Hey, Ricco, business is, surprisingly, pretty good. You should pull out the good china. I got nobility aboard. Paying passenger.”

“Doesn’t sound like your style. Who is it?”

“Duke Aaron Sandoval, the high and mighty Lord Governor himself.”

Despite himself, Erik gasped. Once again his emotions were complex. Since receiving the erroneous reports of Aaron’s death, he had publicly downplayed the possibility, but privately acted on the assumption that his uncle was gone. He’d been working on plans to keep the SwordSworn from falling apart, to salvage what he could of the action against House Liao, and of course, to gain personal control of as much of his uncle’s assets and power base as possible. Now, in a stroke, all those half-formed plans were swept away.

Yet he was relieved as well. Rationally, those plans had little hope of success, at least not without striking alliances with other parties, notably other members of the Sandoval family. Though Aaron’s death would have given him the opportunity to have everything he ever wanted, it was far more likely that he would have ended up with nothing. Or perhaps with a knife in the back.

The captain’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The bridge crew members were all looking at each other, grinning, but Erik wasn’t ready to believe it yet. He leaned in front of the captain. “Are you sure? There were reports he was killed on New Canton when his DropShip crashed.”

Clancy scowled out of the screen, his eyes narrowed. “Who in blazes is asking? Guess you must be SwordSworn or you wouldn’t be on Ricco’s bridge, but you ain’t nothing to me.”

“Commander Erik Sandoval-Groell.”

Clancy nodded. “Family, then. Guess that gives you the right. He’s got a few holes in his hide, but he put his thumb out on New Canton and I was going his way. Picked up a couple of his hired hands, too. Never too busy to help somebody who actually works for a living.”

Erik felt his jaw tighten. This Clancy was annoyingly impertinent. Maybe he was intentionally digging at Erik. In any case, it was working.

“Is he conscious? Can I talk to him?”

“Hell if I know, and even if he is, I don’t know if Lord high-and-mighty is taking calls. Reckon I’ll ask him.” The screen went blank.

“Wait,” sputtered Erik, but the channel was already closed. “Call him back.”

“That, Commander,” said Captain Ricco, apologetically, “would only annoy him. I’ve dealt with this guy before. He’s all right, but he’s not much for protocol. You’ve got to do things his way.”

Lord almighty, how did Uncle Aaron hook up with this lout? He must be badly injured, or he’d have thrown the man out an airlock long ago.

A light flashed on the navigator’s console. “Call from the Tyrannos Rex. Putting it on-screen.”

The screen lit up, and Erik was delighted to see Aaron’s face; bandaged, unshaven, and battered, but still recognizable. “Uncle, you’re alive!”

“Thanks for the update, Erik. I’ve traveled all the way from New Canton for that INN news flash.”

“We’d heard reports you were dead—that your ship had an accident on takeoff.”

“Except for the ‘dead’ part and the ‘accident’ part, that’s reasonably accurate. The ship was sabotaged. A clumsy assassination attempt—the messy sort that kills nearly everyone but the target.” He sighed. “We lost the Kiwanda with all hands. Ulysses Paxton, Deena Onan and I managed to escape in my ’Mech; I’ll be needing to raid your parts stores to get it operable again. If there’s a system I didn’t manage to damage or overload, I’m not aware of it.

“As for the mission, obviously, we won’t be getting any assistance from New Canton. Quite the contrary: they’re groveling to House Liao now.” His eyes drifted away from the camera for a moment. “Judging from the number of our DropShips here, the news from New Aragon is either very good or very bad.”

“New Aragon is secure, Uncle. Liao has completely withdrawn from the system. We’ve left a token force, mainly symbolic, and returned security to the local military. In addition, they’ve pledged a regiment of infantry, two light armored companies, and a few IndustrialMechs to the coalition forces, with more to come as they rebuild.”

“Well, there’s that, then. Erik, this coalition is now more important than ever. Without an accord with New Canton and Prefecture VI, every world that signs on is vital. This can’t wait for me to heal. We have to work twice as hard, and we have to start now.”

“Uncle. The news about the Kiwanda is regrettable, but not unexpected. I’m delighted you’re alive. I’ll have the captain prepare quarters for you. You’re well enough to be moved?”