"Tourneville is my father's creature," he said, as though that explained everything about the man. "He is a bad echo of the Coordinator's short-sightedness. My father should be glad I have a regular, careful lover who is loyal to the Dragon. Here, in the heart of restless Rasalhague, I could be running around making bastards and creating future pretenders to the throne."

"This is not a joke. Tourneville is dangerous. It's bad enough that you insist we live with his bugs and his peeping, but his talk when you are not around is insufferable. Why did you choose him for your command lance? With the selection privilege as first graduate of Wisdom, you could have chosen another fine Mech Warrior like Sandersen. One who would be as loyal to youas Tourneville is to Takashi."

"Tourneville is a spy I know, and he is not very good at his job. That is exactly why I chose him. Had I chosen someone loyal to me, I would never know who of those around me worked for my father. This way I have some control over what the Coordinator hears about my actions. After all, we always know where Tourneville's bugs are." He reached out to caress her hair. "It's not important what they think. I want you with me."

Tomoe shook her head. "I am enough of a scandal. It wouldn't be wise to flaunt me before your mother and the courtiers."

"To the seven hells with them," Theodore said. "Cursing won't change it," she insisted. "I'm only thinking of your political welfare.”

“To the hells with politics, too."

"Get used to it, lover," she snapped, stepping away from him. "Politics will be your bedfellow for the rest of your life. Politics is your duty."

Theodore scowled at her. He hated it when she wouldn't listen to him. "If you won't go under your own power, I'll carry you. Naked, if I must," he said, making a grab for her.

Tomoe slipped to one side. He felt the firm, smooth curve of her breast just before she seized his arm and twisted. He landed in a heap on top of the rumpled blankets.

"Go on with you," she said, turning her back on him. "Do your duty."

"Damn!"

Theodore stood and smoothed out his rumpled uniform. Grabbing up his combat vest, he started for the door. As he opened it, he thought she said something. "What was that?"

"I said," she repeated in a very small voice, "spare me a little more time before I lose you."

"All that I can."

He closed the door so that he would not hear her cry.

Teary-eyed and naked, Tomoe turned to the computer and called up the duty files. When the commander was off partying, the executive officer had to run things. She scanned the lists and began to enter commands.

"Damn duty," she snarled at the empty room.

9

Inbound from Rasalhague Jump Point

Rasalhague Military District, Draconis Combine

22 September 3019

Senior Tech Beom Karlborgen looked down at the small green tablet lying in the palm of his hand. He stretched his thumb over it and rolled it around. It was smooth, hard, and cool. And deadly.

Three days ago, CommTech Fletner had passed him a personal communique. Fletner's face showed what he thought was the proper amount of sympathy. The message stated that Beorn's brother Alfred had died in the crash of a commercial air flight into the capital. Fletner had been impressed with Beorn's fortitude upon receiving the message.

As for Beorn, he had never had a brother named Alfred.

The message was from the Rasalhague underground. He was to proceed with Plan A, as in Alfred. He was to implement that plan on this incoming flight.

For weeks, he had been making subtle alterations to the control systems of Tai-shoSorenson's DropShip. He had smuggled on all the components of the bomb and installed them under cover of normal maintenance work. No one had suspected or questioned him. Why would they? Had he not served loyally as Sorenson's chief technician for two years? Had he not uncovered three bombs planted in various vehicles that the Tai-showas to have used? The Tai-shohad complete confidence in him. Indeed, Beorn was a man considered above reproach.

He was a sleeper agent. A time bomb.

Three days ago, the message had come to activate him. The shift of plans meant that Takashi Kurita would die before the wedding. The ceremony scheduled for tomorrow would certainly be postponed, but the leadership of the underground must be confident enough that it could still take place after the official mourning period. At least, they were confident enough to take a chance, and use this rare, and perhaps unique, opportunity to dispose of the tyrant.

With Takashi dead, Theodore would be under more pressure than ever to produce a legitimate heir. A marriage arranged by his father could hardly be ignored, especially when that marriage would calm a potentially rebellious portion of the realm.

Beorn looked at the junction box on the wall in front of him. From here, he could activate the assassination devices. Concealed among a myriad of ordinary instructions were the override programs. Once activated, there would be no escape for Takashi. The bomb would detonate at fifty meters above Rasalhague mean sea level, almost exactly ten meters above the runway of the Reykjavik Starport. The explosion would gut the LeopardClass DropShip. Its flaming mass would continue on the course he had locked into the autopilot and then plow straight into the Kurita military sector of the starport. There would be no survivors.

Innocents would die, both aboard the DropShip and at the port, but that could not be helped. This was war. A dirty and undesirable one, but war nonetheless.

A klaxon sounded through the ship. First warning to take stations before final approach. The stress aboard would be nothing like the three-G press they had endured under the Coordinator's orders, but the captain would want everyone safely strapped in anyway, taking no chances while the Kurita tyrant was aboard.

Beorn looked again at the tablet in his hand. Closing his eyes, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed it. There was no turning back now.

He slid out the wire support frame, unlocked the box, and lowered the lid onto the frame. Carefully, he tapped the activation codes onto the membrane keyboard in the box lid. Three green lights flashed within the box. Satisfied, he closed the lid and reinserted his maintenance key into the lock. From his tool box, he took a hydrospanner, and with a sharp rap from the tool, snapped the key off in the lock.

Those on board were doomed, but they would never know it until the pilot tried to adjust the ship's approach vector. By then, it would be far too late. The ship and its passengers would be irrevocably headed for impact with the Kurita military sector of the starport.

Beorn squeezed his eyes together, suddenly drowsy. They had said it would be fast. Legs numb, he slid to the floor. Goodbye, Hilda. I wish there had been more time for us.

Beorn Karlborgen closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

Theodore frowned at Tourneville's fussing.

"Shouldn't you have had the unit flash on your cap changed, Sho-sa?"the man chided. "We are no longer with the An Ting Legion. After the wedding, the lance moves on to the Twenty-second Regulars. I realize that you will not join us on Heiligendreuz for several weeks, but you areour commander, and it's only proper that you wear current insignia on your uniform. If you had gotten a manservant, as I suggested, all these little details would have been cared for."