The Governor hesitated. “Well, it’s short notice, but I suppose I can have the chef make room for one more at the table—”

Aaron chuckled and shook his head. “No, Governor, you don’t understand. I wasn’t trying to crash your dinner. I was inviting you to mine. I’d like you and your guests to dine with me here tonight. Have them bring their spouses as well, if you wish. We can slip aside and discuss our business after dessert.”

The Governor was puzzled. “Dinner there? Where? At the spaceport?”

“On my ship, Governor. I’d like you to accept my hospitality on the Tyrannos Rex. ”

The Governor blinked back his surprise. “Really, Lord Governor. If you think I’m going to trade my palace chef for some …mess hall, then—”

“It’s not like that at all, Governor. Let’s see.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “Chef Bellwood has given me a menu. We’ll begin with a Foie Gras Sauté au Framboises and a Tarte d’Escargots de Tomate et l’Estragon. The main course will be Thai Saumon Oriental in a sweet cream ginger sauce—”

The Governor’s eyes widened, and he waved for Aaron to stop. “I apologize, Lord Governor. I would be… fascinated to see what you have to offer.”

Aaron smiled broadly. “Very well, Governor. Would seven, local time, be agreeable?”

“But of course. I look forward to it. Until tonight.”

The screen blanked, and Aaron’s smile became even broader, and perceptibly more genuine. “The opening salvo of our campaign has landed squarely on target.” He turned to Clancy. “I’m headed below. Call Ulysses and tell him I’m ready to meet the press at any time.”

The press conference had been ordered up, catalog-style, by downlink as they were approaching Ningpo. A semicircle of modular risers and seats had been set up near the base of Tyrannos Rex. In the middle of the seating was a raised dais with a podium, positioned so that the speaker would be just, and only just, above the eye level of most of the reporters. A silk SwordSworn banner was draped over the front of the podium, and a larger one was draped from a backdrop behind the speaker. Both were dwarfed by the Tyrannos Rex. with its gigantic version of the symbol looming over everything. Any symbols of The Republic were conspicuously absent.

The orientation of the seating was such that the reporters would be near, but not in, the shadow of the ship. It would be back-lit in a spectacular way that would show off its silver paint to best effect. It was what the press people like to call “good holo.” Aaron fully expected the image to be on almost every home Tri-Vid screen on the planet that night.

Even the reporters had been “ordered” after a fashion, press releases going out to all those news sources likely to be most favorable to the SwordSworns’ proposal, and to only a few who wouldn’t be friendly at all. A few hostile questions would place the Duke in a sympathetic light, while giving the whole thing a stamp of legitimacy.

Aaron stood just inside the Tyrannos Rex. looking through a small window of one-way glass at the jammed seats, and at the podium, which was surrounded by holocams and microphones. The window was located in a small security room off the grand lobby that was the formal entrance to the ship.

To his left was the “hole” Captain Clancy had complained so mightily about—a Greek revival entrance framed by two columns. A stairway and a red carpet led from the door to the podium. Some of the architectural elements were now permanently fixed to the ship’s hull. Others were built in the temporary shops that now filled much of the hold in bay number three, and had been attached after landing.

Aaron stepped into the entrance lobby, inspecting the grand stairway leading up to his quarters in bay number one, the wildly impractical crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling (and retracted into a padded garage for flight), the paintings on the walls. The effect, he hoped, was not one of hopeless luxury, but rather of classical elegance. The air was perfumed to hide the ever-present mechanical smells of the ship, and soft music issued from hidden speakers.

Aaron smiled. He felt confident, ready to face his public. He turned to Ulysses Paxton, who struck an imposing figure in his gray pin-striped suit and dark shades. “You did an excellent job preparing the news conference, Ulysses.”

Paxton frowned. “You realize this is a security nightmare, don’t you? As for the rest, you really need a press secretary.”

Deena Onan rushed down the stairs, took Aaron by the shoulders, and turned him so she could look. She straightened his collar, ran her fingers down the creases in his pants, and finally produced a handkerchief to polish a spot on his boots. Aaron looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head to inspect his topknot. “You’ve both done an outstanding job, you know—taking roles you were never hired for and doing them well. It will be rewarded.”

Deena glanced up at his face for a moment, and then went back to her preening. “I expect so,” was all she said.

“Ulysses, see what you can do about lining up some press-secretary candidates while we’re here. Quietly and discreetly, as always.”

“Certainly, Lord Governor. Assuming you survive the press conference.” He gestured at the door. “Shall we get this over with?”

Aaron grinned and they stepped out through the incongruously conventional-looking wood-paneled door, Paxton leading the way. Cameras turned toward him like fame-seeking missiles.

In the near distance, he could see the glass walls of the terminal building filled with curious onlookers. He waved. Amazingly, people surged forward. Children waved back. Most of them probably had not a clue who he was, but they wanted to know!

This is going to work. In my hand, this sword will win my war.

Paxton stepped up to the podium. “I present to you Duke Aaron Sandoval, Lord Governor of Prefecture IV.”

Aaron made a show of surveying the assembled crowd. He worked on projecting the impression that he cared about them, each and every one, as individuals. He had to reach them so that, by the time he brought his proposal to the Governor, to refuse it would seem like a betrayal to his people.

“People of Ningpo, I bring you greetings from Tikonov, the SwordSworn, and House Davion.” There was a murmur among the assembled as he said “SwordSworn,” which became much louder as he said “House Davion.” “I have come to your world with important matters to discuss with your Governor. I should not detail those matters until he and I have had time to discuss them privately.

“I will say, however, that I stand before you today to extend a hand of friendship and cooperation in a time of confusion and fear. The universe has been plunged into darkness, and there is much disorder and uncertainty. But I have come to tell you that there is still strength and stability in the stars—that there is still a sword that stands against aggression and tyranny.

“I have said we are SwordSworn, and this may puzzle some of you, anger you, even frighten you. You may wonder why I invoke the name of House Davion rather than that of The Republic. I remind you that I have served The Republic loyally for many years, and in many capacities, most recently as Lord Governor of Prefecture IV. I do not renounce this, nor do I regard those years with anything but pride.

“But our universe has changed, and—as the incursion of House Liao has shown us—without the HPG network, The Republic no longer serves us, no longer can keep us safe or free. In the current situation, the universe is too vast to maintain order. Terra is too distant to aid us. Even the regional governments are failing. My Prefecture remains strong, but to my great sadness, Prefecture VI has bowed to the Capellan aggressors, and sold out their people to the enemy. Your own Prefecture has known war, border raids, and uprisings at the best of times, and now stands on the brink of disaster.