The ship loitered for days, waiting for its JumpShip to finish charging, and for the remaining booked passengers to arrive on other vessels. Erik spent most of that time alone in his suite, watching Tri-Vids, reading outdated status reports from the forces on St. Andre, and trying not to think about Elsa or the Duke.

Finally, it got to be too much. He didn’t crave human company, but he needed something to distract him from the uncomfortable thoughts filling his head. He wandered over to the ship’s nearly deserted casino. Other than a handful of people playing slots, the only activity was in the poker pit, where a handful of people sat around a table engaged in Texas Hold-’em.

Like everything else on the ship, the poker table was designed to work even without gravity. The chips were magnetic, the tabletop covered with thousands of tiny holes and equipped with a suction fan that kept the cards on the table. Dealing without gravity was, of course, a specialized skill, but the croupier running the table handled things expertly.

The buy-in limit was five hundred C-Bills—just large enough to be interesting, but not so big that the game wouldn’t stay friendly. Erik bought his chips and was dealt in. He looked at his cards. Three-seven off-suit. He sat the hand out, and the next several, as well. Meanwhile, he learned a little about the other players.

Two—a man and a woman—were businesspeople from St. Andre, rushing home so that a Liao takeover didn’t strand them away from home and family. Another fellow was a would-be mercenary, headed into the war zone hoping to fight for the highest bidder. Erik decided if the man didn’t fight any better than he played poker he was going to have a hard time selling his services, especially to the SwordSworn. The last, a younger man with dimples and too-perfect hair, was an Interstellar News Network stringer, hoping to send back some dispatches from the front.

Next hand, Erik turned up an ace and a two. The dealer turned over another pair of twos and a king at the flop, which was good for Erik, but which spooked most of the rest of the players out of the game. The mercenary hung on for the distance, finally going all-in. Erik cleaned him out when he proved to have only a king, making two pairs against Erik’s three of a kind.

The frustrated mercenary unfastened his seatbelt and stood up too quickly, helplessly flailing toward the ceiling. Even the dealer laughed, and the red-faced wanna-be merc managed to reach a handrail and beat a hasty retreat.

Erik raked in the pot, and began stacking his chips in a rack.

The male business traveler seemed to be working up his courage to ask something. “So, Commander, is war really coming to St. Andre?”

Erik glanced warily at the reporter. “Is this on or off the record?”

The reporter grinned. “Off, if that’s the way you want it, Commander Sandoval. With the HPG network gone, it isn’t likely to be an issue, anyway. By the time I can file a story, it will have happened—or not, as the case may be.”

Erik shrugged. “My crystal ball is no better than anyone else’s. House Liao is moving around past the planet on either flank, and could bypass St. Andre completely. But I doubt it.”

“But you—the SwordSworn”—the name rolled off his tongue awkwardly, like an unfamiliar word in a foreign language—“you’re going to fight for us, right?”

“That’s the plan; hopefully we won’t be alone.”

“But,” asked the man, “can you win?”

“We’ve beaten them once already, on New Aragon, and the situation is better here. It’s always better to fight a defensive action. House Liao is spreading itself pretty thin, and hiring excellent mercenaries—like our departed friend.” That generated chuckles around the table. “They’re vulnerable.”

Erik heard another person buying chips, and so wasn’t surprised when someone slid into the empty seat across the table from him. But he was surprised when he looked up to see Elsa Harrad. “Can somebody deal a lady in?” She looked over, made eye contact, and smiled coyly. “Good evening, Commander.”

He looked at her, but said nothing.

The cards were dealt. Erik glanced at his; jack-ten of diamonds. He checked, and Elsa opened with a fifty-C bet.

The dealer turned over the flop: a five, a six, and a three. No diamonds. The businesswoman and the reporter folded. Erik saw Elsa’s fifty, as did the businessman. Elsa raised another fifty.

The next card over was a jack of clubs, giving Erik a pair—not bad, but very beatable. He looked at Elsa. Did she have a straight? A pocket pair that could beat his jacks? Two pairs? Three of a kind?

The businessman was out.

Next card was a ten of spades.

What did she have? Well, one way to find out. “All in,” Erik said. He’d just bet his entire pile on this hand.

Elsa stared at him.

He stared back.

She grimaced. “Fold.”

“So,” he said, “what did you have?”

She tossed her cards back to the dealer, facedown. “You’ll never know,” she said.

Erik took his pot, and pushed it to the dealer. “Cash me out. I think I’ll call it an evening.”

He signed off as the winnings were credited to his account, then headed away from the table without looking back. He was almost out of the casino when Elsa, still struggling to stuff chips into her purse, caught up with him. “Quitting just when things were getting interesting?”

“No action at that table,” he said without slowing down.

“Looking for some action, are you?”

He stopped, turned, and glared at her. “I don’t have time for games, Elsa. That was an INN reporter at the table.”

“Did I say anything? Do anything? I knew who he was before you did, Erik. While you’ve been hiding in your cabin, I’ve been circulating around the ship.”

“Looking for me?”

“As a matter of a fact, yes. You’ll notice I was discreet enough not to come to your cabin.”

“How good of you,” he said sarcastically. He looked around nervously. “We can’t talk out in the open.”

She moved to a nearby door marked Sauna 2. A movable sign indicated that it was unoccupied—hardly surprising considering how empty the ship was. She poked her head inside. “It’s not even on,” she said.

He followed her inside and locked the door. The room was lined with cedar planks, and benches lined the lower and rear walls.

“So,” he said, “you are a spy.”

She laughed. “I told you what I am. My friends knew that the Duke’s forces were massing on St. Andre, and I’d hoped you’d be heading there. I used some of my connections to put myself along one possible path and waited at the jump point. I was on the lookout, and checked the passenger manifest of every other ship through.”

“And if that hadn’t worked?”

She shrugged. “I’d have gone to St. Andre and tried to contact you there, but that would have made it much more difficult to be discreet. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone, before you got stuck neck-deep in command responsibilities.”

“So you can pump me for information on our defenses?”

“Erik, I could give a dead moon about your defenses. I want you.”

“You want me, or Liao does?”

“Both, Erik.” She licked her lips. “I helped you before, and I’m going to help you again. Erik, I’m betraying my friends by telling you this, but St. Andre is going to fall.”

“You know this for a fact? If you like playing spy so much, tell me their plans. We can pay you as much as they do—maybe more.”

She laughed. “You don’t think they trust me with their battle plans, do you? They just told me that St. Andre was going to be theirs, and I believe them. They told me I could make you an offer.”

Klaxons sounded, warning that the ship would shortly be making the hyperspace jump to St. Andre. Never having been troubled by jump-sickness, he paid only passing attention. He looked at Elsa. “An offer?”

“Switch sides, Erik. Convince St. Andre to surrender. We don’t know how many of your forces are committed there, but it must be significant. At the very least, it would wound the Duke’s reputation, and demoralize the SwordSworn.