He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re coming here. I’ve contracted the Tyrannos Rex to act as my personal flagship. This brush with death has opened my eyes, Erik. It’s a new age we’re living in, and a great many things are going to be changing.”

The screen blanked. Erik frowned. Aaron was hardly back from the dead five minutes, and already he was ordering Erik around like a dog. We’re going to have to have a talk about that.

Erik glanced to one side, and realized that Captain Ricco was staring at him.

“What’s up, Commander? A SwordSworn DropShip isn’t good enough for the Duke any more?”

Erik shook his head. “I’m as puzzled as you are. I suppose the only way to find out is to go over there and ask the Duke myself. Have a Battle Taxi made ready for launch.”

“Aye. It’ll be ready by the time you get to the bay.”

“This Captain Clancy—who is he?”

The captain shrugged. “If by that, you mean his background, I don’t have a clue. I’ve never understood how a lowborn ended up owning an Excalibur, either. But he’s a tough old bird, and he runs a good ship, if that’s what you mean. Beyond that, all I can say is… well, he’s a character.”

Despite his fearsome appearance, Doc, which was the only name by which anyone on the ship seemed to know him, seemed to know his medicine. Aaron had avoided complications and seemed to be healing well. His two staff members, likewise, had been well taken care of. One more reason that putting his faith in this ship seemed well founded.

Since he awoke, he’d spent most of his time consulting with Deena and Ulysses, and writing dispatches and orders to be distributed by the makeshift courier system that had been set up in the aftermath of the HPG failure. Some were bound for the capitol in Tikonov, or his palace there. Others went to his various bases and field commanders, and to outposts of his industrial and financial empire. And then there were the ever-important press releases.

There was a great deal of business to catch up on, and many changes to be made, but the dispatches took on even more importance now. Rumors had gone out reporting his death. That could destabilize his entire Prefecture, and throw his empire into chaos.

He had to make his presence felt, as soon and as widely as possible. He also knew that he was going to have to go public with his allegiance to House Davion. That was a dangerous move—one that would change his status from that of rogue Lord Governor, one who might return to the fold, to that of traitor to The Republic. But he knew that he’d already waited too long.

Even now, he was tearing up letters to key officials and replacing them with audio recordings, which would provide more tangible assurance that he was alive. He’d considered including video as well, but decided, given his appearance, that it might do more harm than good. The language of the messages was carefully chosen—peppered with mention of current events to date them past the assassination attempts. His rhetoric, without mentioning House Davion, also failed to mention The Republic. It was a first step to a more direct declaration of his loyalties.

He couldn’t afford to look weak, and he certainly couldn’t leave doubts about his health or control over the SwordSworn. He was entering a time when appearances were everything.

Another class of dispatches went out to brokers and agents on the worlds he planned to visit, authorizing purchasing of fixtures and materials to be installed on the Tyrannos Rex. He also needed to hire workers to install his improvements, and staff to replace those lost on New Canton.

Finally, there was the most important dispatch of all—one with no signature, which described the location of a number of secret, numbered accounts, each containing a large quantity of untraceable cash. This he entrusted to Deena, and sent her to covertly deliver it via the first available transport. She would be traveling under an assumed identity—one he had previously obtained for a large sum of money, in anticipation of just such an occasion.

That left one matter to deal with before his troublesome charge, Erik, arrived. He called Captain Clancy to his cabin. Clancy took his time arriving, and made it clear upon his arrival that he wasn’t at Aaron’s beck and call. With the skill of a longtime spacer, he parked himself in midair just inside Aaron’s cabin door, arms crossed over his narrow chest.

As soon as Doc approved it, Aaron had been moved to one of the largest officer’s cabins on the Tyrannos Rex. Aaron had heard that the captain’s quarters were slightly larger, but he wasn’t going to make an issue of it.

By Aaron’s usual standards, the room might as well have been a monk’s cell, and taking over Clancy’s quarters wouldn’t have improved the situation enough to make it worth the bother. Aaron’s cabin was three by three by two and a half meters, plus a small extension for a compact private bathroom and a minute closet. Most of the furnishings were designed to fold into the wall: a bed that might be big enough for two very friendly people, a table with two folding chairs, and a desk with a com station.

The metal walls were painted an institutional green, unadorned except for a few decorative magnets shaped like tropical fruit, left by some previous occupant. Aaron had moved them to his desk area, where they currently were keeping an array of reports and correspondence from floating around the room.

A tiny nook held a water dispenser and an automatic coffee machine, both designed to operate with or without gravity; a good thing, since they were currently in free fall, and the only thing keeping Aaron from floating out of his bed was a sleeping bag attached to the frame with Velcro.

If his foot had been on the deck, Clancy looked like he would have been tapping it. “What you want, Duck? I got me a ship to run, and your big plans don’t make my job no easier.”

Aaron frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘Duck’.”

Clancy smiled just a little. “That all you called me down here for? Then you’re wasting both our time. You may be the Duke, but on my ship, I’m the king, and I calls them as I sees them.”

Aaron sighed. “How about if you just hold the disrespect till we’re out of earshot of guests? Appearances are very important here, Clancy.”

“You got a deal, if’n you remember that on my ship, you calls me ‘Captain’.”

“Good enough—Captain.”

“That’s better, Duck.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow.

Clancy feigned innocence as he looked around the room. “I don’t see no guests around, do you?”

Aaron chuckled and shook his head.

Clancy nodded. “We’ll do that a while. Things work out all right, I might even let you start calling me ‘Gus’.”

Aaron considered. “There might even come a time when I started to prefer ‘Aaron’ to ‘Duck’.”

“I’ll think about it, Duck. Now is that really all you wanted?”

“I did want to talk about names. I want to rename the Tyrannos Rex.”

Clancy’s expression turned to one of disgust. “No, no, no way! Not for all the riches on Tikonov. Not wrapped in a purse made out of your tanned hide. No way.”

“It’s just for appearances again. I don’t care what you call the ship. I just want to change the name on the hull and the registration papers. You could keep calling it anything you want.”

“No. Can’t be done.”

Aaron sighed. He hadn’t anticipated this would be more of a problem than anything else he’d negotiated with Clancy. Though Clancy made a great show of resisting, he’d ultimately been quite accommodating on any number of issues, from use of his cargo bay, to Aaron’s subcontracting his off-duty crewmembers to work on his project.

Clancy was an easy man to figure out. His primary concern was always the ship, as was his secondary. His tertiary concern was probably his pride, but his pride seemed to be tied up in the ship. Aaron’s plans were in the best interest of the ship, and Clancy understood that. To Aaron, he was that rarest of men: someone whose interests were simple, obvious, and for sale. As long as Aaron maintained the ship, he considered Clancy totally trustworthy.