“The Lady of the Stars told him that, in the crucible of the dragon’s heart, the arm and the sword melted together and were made one. Forevermore, the sword is in his heart, his blood, and his hand.

“He is given dominion over the people, to act as their guide and protector, and thus, anything he holds in his hand, be it a pen, a paintbrush, a hammer, or the tiller of a ’Mech, that will be his sword in this great task.

“And so he became the first Knight, the first Prince, and the first noble. He sired a lineage that lives today, and his blood runs in the veins of all nobles—even mine.” He shrugged. “The Tyrannos Rex is my sword, Deena, as much as any ’Mech or weapon. I wield it for the greater good.

“That is the lesson of the story.”

She licked her dry lips. “And is Erik your sword, too?”

“He is—and the story also shows us that you must not, for fear of losing your sword, fear to commit it.”

“So if your cause is just, you think he’ll be returned to us?”

He took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “He is a Sandoval. The blood is his, too. If he does not return to us, Deena, then it will be because he did not deserve to return.”

Terragate Office Complex, Whitehorse

Klondike continent, Shensi

Prefecture V, The Republic

20 November 3134

Shensi was a world rich in natural resources: those of material value, such as timber and ore, but also those of the spirit—or so the locals claimed. Erik Sandoval-Groell had to admit it was a beautiful world, relatively unspoiled by the last major war.

The forests were vast and spectacular, the mountains high and jagged. Much of the northern continent was a frozen tundra—harsh, vast and savage in its beauty. The southern continent was covered with flat plains drained by wide, meandering rivers, its rich black soil dotted with farms that fed the world.

Though mining and mineral extraction were a large part of the economy, careful application of advanced mining techniques had minimized the impact on the environment. Likewise, the people of Shensi were caretakers of their forests, harvesting selectively, and in a strict rotation that kept their ecologies wild and diverse.

Like all worlds, it carried some scars from past wars, but it was perhaps as idyllic and unspoiled a world as Erik had ever seen.

He was enjoying it not a bit.

The Shensi people prided themselves on “government by consensus.” At first glance, the structure was like dozens of others, a planetary Governor, a military Legate, a Parliament with three houses: Elected, Appointed, and Hereditary. As with many worlds, the Governor and the Legate shared great authority over the rest of the government, and could likely have entered into the coalition without any further approval—if both had wished to.

But only Governor Rivkin seemed at all interested. Legate Tarr felt the current advance would bypass them, and that—given their historic ties with the Capellans—a nonaggression pact was both possible and the best course of action. On other worlds, this might have resulted in a power struggle between these two dominant figures.

Not on Shensi.

Instead, the stalemate caused the issue to be passed down to the Parliament. There it was debated for two days, then voted into yet another deadlock: The Elected House supported it, the Hereditary House opposed it, and the Appointed House stalemated to an undecided result.

The situation seemed hopeless.

The Shensi Governor told Erik that he needed a hired agent called a facilitator. The Governor recommended an old family friend, and off Erik went.

The facilitator’s office was located in a low granite office building just outside the city’s Central Park—an easy walk from any of the houses of Parliament, and a short trolley ride from the Capitol itself. The building was quite old, and was neither run down nor meticulously restored. The wooden banisters on its stairways showed the wear of years of use, and the granite cracked in places that had not been repaired.

But the dark blue carpets were new, deep, and plush, and the potted plants that seemed to be everywhere—a signature of Shensi buildings, Erik had noticed—were green and well cared for. He found the name, OZARKKINSTON, FACILITATOR, on a directory. To his surprise there were no guards in the lobby. A series of escalators took him to the third floor.

He found the name repeated in gold-leaf letters on a heavy walnut door. He turned the glass knob and stepped inside. There was no lobby, no receptionist. Just a large desk stacked with paper and periodicals, where a moon-faced man with red hair typed on a computer with machinelike speed. The desk was surrounded by packed bookcases that ran from floor to ceiling—stacked not just with books, but with more papers, magazines, and enough gewgaws, awards, and souvenirs to stock a junk store.

The man continued typing for several minutes, during which time Erik supposed he must have typed the equivalent of several pages. He then slammed down on a key triumphantly with his right index finger, and looked up at Erik. “Commander Sandoval.” He stood and extended his hand. “I was told by Marjori—the Governor—to expect you. Please have a seat.”

There were a couple of wooden armchairs in front of the desk, upholstered in a rich fabric printed with burgundy and cream-colored stripes. Though none were visible, the room smelled strongly of cashews and something like spiced gumdrops. Erik was reminded of a candy store, and suspected a hidden cache of snack foods somewhere in the desk’s many drawers.

The man ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Where shall we begin?”

“I suppose I should tell you about the coalition.”

“Oh, I know about your coalition and your proposed agreement. I think most everyone in the capital does. That isn’t your problem.”

“You’re a facilitator. Is that like a lawyer?”

“Not at all. Lawyers deal with existing law. Facilitators deal in the creation and modification of law.” He grinned. “Think of us as midwives.”

“A treaty being just another flavor of law in your mind?”

Kinston smiled. “Exactly. I’m here to advise you, help you through the process of understanding how we do things.”

“Do facilitators, like lawyers, have a rule of client confidentiality under planetary law?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

“Good, then let’s just make this brief. Who do I have to bribe?”

Kinston blinked. “What?”

“Who do I have to bribe to make this happen? I’m authorized to be quite generous, if necessary. There are also other intangibles I can offer. Preferential contracts with the many Sandoval-held companies, for instance.”

Kinston shook his head sadly. “Commander Sandoval, that is not how we do things here. It’s strictly forbidden for any of our officials to take bribes. There’s a death penalty on the books, and it has been enforced in the last decade.”

“Death penalty? For the official or the person making the bribe?”

“Both,” Kinston said dryly. “I wouldn’t advise trying it. You’ll frighten away far more support than you’ll attract, and while getting caught might only get you deported, rather than executed, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“So, what do we do?”

“I’ll approach certain members of Parliament with close ties to the Legate. I’ll let them suggest various changes and alternate wordings of the proposal. We’ll rewrite it in those terms, and you can take it back to the Governor and the Legate.”

“And if the Legate still doesn’t like it, or the Governor doesn’t like the new version?”

“If there’s a split opinion, then it goes back through the Parliament for another vote.”