He flashed his diplomatic credentials at the entrance, and had the guard direct him to the rotunda. He walked half the length of one wing, passing through only a single security checkpoint before entering the more public rotunda area. The security was amazingly lax to Erik’s eyes, but these people had known peace and safety for a long time. That, of course, was part of Erik’s problem.

The rotunda was a vast, three-lobed space, symmetrical except for the public entry located at the juncture of the two eastern wings. The three domes overhead were painted with murals of trees and mountains. At the juncture of each wing, a five-story glass wall admitted natural light, and the grand entrance to each wing was marked with a three-story marble arch, carved in beautiful relief, depicting the heroes of some unfamiliar ’Mech battle. The floor was a mosaic inlay of many kinds of stone, representing a somewhat dated star map of the Inner Sphere.

He spotted Kinston sitting on a bench near the entrance, reading a newspaper. Kinston stood as Erik approached, and greeted him with a handshake. “I’ve got maybe half an hour, then I need to get over to the Hereditary House.” He looked up nervously. “Sound plays tricks under these domes,” he said. “Someone across the room could be listening in on us. Come on, I know somewhere safer.”

He followed Kinston through one of the archways, past another low-security checkpoint, and into a side corridor. They entered a glass-walled room full of neatly packed bookshelves and small tables. Gold letters on the door said, LAWLIBRARY1-B. Kinston glanced back into the stacks to make sure they were alone.

He returned and beckoned Erik to sit across from him at a small reading table. “You did well last night. I’ve scheduled a follow-up meeting tomorrow with Senator Prescott based on the groundwork our little midnight meeting established. If we can revise your accord to his satisfaction, we’ll be a long way toward getting a favorable result next time it’s before the Hereditary House. Who knows? We might even come up with something the Legate likes and shortcut the whole process.” He smiled apologetically. “But probably not.”

Erik sighed. His initial feeling that he might be able to ram things through and sign Shensi to the coalition was fading. He seemed as mired in the local politics as ever.

“Chin up, Commander. This is going nearly as well as it could, under the circumstances.” Kinston put his briefcase on the table and opened it. He pulled out an envelope. “I’ve got a new draft of the accord for you to examine here. It removes all the Capellan trade restrictions that were in the original draft.”

Erik blinked in surprise. “What? No trade restrictions? You expect to go on selling ore to our enemies?”

“Understand, Commander—that’s at the heart of the accord’s initial failure. This planet has strong historic ties to the Capellans, and they’re important trading partners. The actions of House Liao surely don’t represent the entirety of the Capellan Confederation, and even they are only trying to recover those worlds, historically theirs, that were ceded to The Republic.

“The conservatives are leery about the current incursion, yes, and might be willing to lend some material support to a stabilizing resistance. But not to the extent of losing a substantial portion of the trade that gives them their power.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“But it may be inevitable, if you want to get this accord accepted.”

He looked faintly embarrassed. “There’s also one other matter—a technicality, really. The original document never explicitly mentions The Republic. The agreement is worded so that it’s a pact directly with the Duke and ‘his allies, present, and future.’ One might assume that such language refers to him as a representative of The Republic, but it’s not explicit.”

Despite the many things already troubling him, Erik was able to maintain a proper poker face. The omission of Aaron’s role as a Lord Governor of The Republic had been intentional and carefully calculated. In a way, Erik was surprised it hadn’t been noticed before, but negotiation of treaties usually comes down to small details. Politicians were often so quick to focus on those details that it was possible to miss the big, obvious things. The SwordSworn had gambled that it might work.

An agreement with the Duke that included The Republic would muddy the waters considerably when they openly pledged themselves to House Davion. It might hold if they were too far down the road to turn back, but it would make it easier for the alliance to be broken. “The Republic,” Erik said, “is implied here. It’s a given. I don’t see why we need to make changes just for the sake of making changes.”

Kinston frowned. “I don’t know how extensive your diplomatic experience actually is, Commander, but nothing is a given in these matters.”

Erik looked straight ahead, saying nothing.

Kinston studied Erik’s face, looking for some sign of capitulation. “Look, you have both versions of the agreement here for comparison. Underline where you have problems, cross out what’s totally unacceptable, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow morning.” He pushed the envelope over to Erik’s side of the table.

He seemed to shake off the previous difficulty almost immediately, and his smile returned. “Now, we need to review last night’s meetings so that I have a better idea of where we stand, and what needs follow-up on my part.”

“You were there for most of it, other than the mingling and casual introductions. Chitchat, mostly.”

“Nonsense. You were gone for quite some time early in the evening. I assume you were pulled aside by one of our Senators or senior staffers for a conference. I need to know the details.”

Erik was silent.

“You were in a private conference?”

Despite everything, Erik found himself grinning. He felt like a teenager again, but not in a bad way this time.

Kinston’s mouth opened, and hung that way for a moment. “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh! You were alone with Miss Harrad.”

Erik felt his grin spread.

Kinston took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Commander, excuse me for prying into a client’s private affairs, but you have the look about you of a man who is smitten.”

“Smitten?” He sighed. “I suppose that’s possible.”

Kinston pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Oh, this is awkward. I assumed you knew. I assumed that this was all part of one of those espionage intrigues that you House Davion types always have in your holovids, that you were just—playing her.”

He frowned. “Kinston, what the devil are you talking about?” He said it, and yet he knew. At some level, all along, he’d known.

“Miss Harrad is a Capellan spy.”

The restaurant where Elsa had arranged to meet him was located just across the street from the Hereditary House. Once he and Kinston had finished their business, he offered the facilitator a ride. There was an awkward silence as they stood waiting for the car.

The drive was only about a kilometer, but they were quickly snarled in city traffic.

Erik looked at the thick envelope in his hand, feeling sorry for himself. “You don’t have any real evidence, though?”

Kinston looked up from where he was sitting, across from Erik. “About what?”

“Elsa. Being a spy.”

“Evidence? No, I suppose not. But it’s a well-known fact that she collects information for them. I mean, it’s not like she’s stealing people’s files or breaking into places and photographing our secrets. She really is an art student. She merely has other interests on the side.

“She’s… tolerated. As I said, Shensi has deep historical ties with the Capellans. In a sense, I suspect many people in the government are glad that they’re keeping tabs on us. Perhaps they even consider it their right.”