The haunted look around Christian Kell's eyes vanished as he bowed, then took Victor's right hand into both of his. "I'm surprised to see you here, cousin. There were rumors that you were out in Trail's caverns with a cutting torch and survival knife while the invaders were still crawling over that planet."

Victor laughed and shook his cousin's hand. Chris knew that Victor would never willingly have left his station. "Crazy rumors, I guess, but I do want another go-round with the Jade Falcons. I owe them for the Twelfth Donegal Guards, and we both owe them for Phelan's life."

Chris nodded. "A debt we will repay in full."

Victor smiled gravely, then freed Chris's hand and turned to Kai. "I'm glad to see you here, Kai. These Jade Falcons are unbelievable."

Kai glanced down sheepishly, then met Victor's gaze and warm handshake. "I'm glad you're here, too."

Having greeted them all, Victor became more businesslike. "What's the agenda?" he asked Morgan. "How much time have we?"

"I don't know exactly," Morgan said, "but we're scheduled to meet here over the next eight weeks to study all the data we have on the invaders. By the end of that time—and sooner, if necessary—we'll have gathered the troops and

supplies needed to implement whatever plans we come up with."

Victor looked up at his cousin. "Will I get a command?"

Morgan showed him the barest hint of a smile. "You've already been transferred to the Tenth Lyran Guards at your present rank of Kommandant. Whether or not you'll see combat depends upon what you and the invaders do over the next two months."

Victor nodded grimly. Well, then, I'll just have to prove myself. I may have been born heir to the Lyran Commonwealth and the Federated Suns, but here and now is where I begin to earn the right to rule them.

"Let us go, gentlemen," he said, pointing to the door. "We have a war to plan and to win."

26

JumpShip Dire Wolf , Rasalhague 7

Darkside Rasalhague System, Rasalhague Province, Free Rasalhague Republic

7 July 3050

Water dripping from his face, Phelan Kell straightened up from the sink and stared into the eyes of Kenny Ryan's reflection in the mirror. Behind the pirate chieftain, a half-dozen Periphery bandits stood in a rough semi-circle blocking entrance to the lavatory. Further back, Griff Picon watched the whole scene with an amused look on his face.

Phelan turned slowly. "Sorry, Kenny. My dance card is full." He pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped his hands.

"Funny, Kell." The small, unkempt man narrowed his rat eyes. "Real funny. You won't be doing much dancing if we decide to take your kneecaps off." The men backing Kenny smiled coldly.

"Oh, I get it." Phelan smiled courteously. "You had a thought, a realthought and you decided to let me in on it. That's real swell, Kenny, and very considerate of you, but I'm not interested." He turned back to the sink full of soapy water, but a hand on his bare shoulder spun him back around again.

"You don't get the picture, Kell." Ryan's cruel expression and greasy brown hair reminded Phelan of a wet rodent. "You've got an in with that Ranna and you're getting special treatment. You're going to help us get the same, or we'll make sure she doesn't think you're so pretty anymore. Got it?"

Ryan started to jab a finger into Phelan's chest, but he never completed the move. The mercenary grabbed the front of the pirate's jumpsuit, hoisted him up, then turned and jammed him, butt first, onto the sink. Warm water splashed everywhere and soaked up through the seat of Ryan's pants, Phelan's left hand slipped up to grab him by the throat and jam his head back against the mirror. Then he half-turned to address Ryan's henchmen. "If any of you interfere, you'll never visit the bondswomen again! Your choice. Walk away now or look forward to being your own best friend for a good long time!"

As the knot of men at his back dissolved, Phelan returned his attention to his captive. "I suppose this has been coming for a long time, quiaff, Kenny? I was hoping you'd behave and maybe even learn how to survive here with the Clans. I guess you're just too stupid to do either."

Phelan released the pressure on Ryan's throat, letting some of the reddish-purple color drain from his face. The pirate knotted his face in a ferocious leer, but his sputtering voice betrayed his fear. "Y-you've done it now, Kell. I've held them back from killing you or hurting you because I told them you'd be useful. No more. You're a dead man."

The mercenary slapped Ryan once, hard. "Don't try to scare me, you jackal. Those monosynaptic, evolutionary anomalies think with their gonads and I just convinced them—without much of a struggle—that my goodwill is their passport to paradise. You also decided, when I first joined this little community, that I could be physically intimidated because of how weak I was back then." Phelan's eyes burned angrily. "Back then, I was coming off months of chemical interrogation. Now I'm back in form, and perhaps even a little bit better, thanks to Ranna and Khan Ulric. I've half a mind to tear off your head and spit down your neck just to prove it to you."

"Go ahead." Ryan locked both of his hands around Phelan's left wrist. "If you think you can do it, go ahead.

You'll find me a little bit more difficult to kill than you think."

The young Kell Hound laughed to himself, then released Ryan and took a couple of steps back. "I'm not going to do it, but not for the reasons you think. You haven't learned the first thing about these people, or our status among them, have you? You don't realize how important it is for me to stay in their good graces, do you?"

"What are you doing that's so special, aside from sucking up to the Khan?"

Phelan let the barb pass without comment. "What you should understand about our masters is that each jump is taking us deeper and deeper into the Inner Sphere."

Ryan cackled contemptuously. "Delicious! And soon High-and-mighty Hanse and Teddy-bear Samurai will be joining us here!"

Phelan snapped Kenny's head back with a slap, denting the mirror. "Idiot! This isn't some holovid drama or staged Solaris championship. People are dying in droves. The Clanspeople are toying with us. They only send down enough troops to make it a good fight. You remember how quickly they went through your people! That's happening all across the Inner Sphere."

The pirate tugged unconsciously at the braided cord encircling his right wrist. "Why should I care about that? Why should I care whether or not the others are getting what I got?" He spat at the floor.

The scorn in Ryan's voice echoed through Phelan's head. He's right, quiaff? It's the arrogance of the Successor States—the same sort of blind stupidity that got DJ killed— that's making them vulnerable to the Clans. You can see, just from working with Ulric and Lara on the Rasalhague bid, that the Clans are not invincible. Others should be able to see the chinks in their armor, too, but they're too busy hanging on for retirement or studying up to win that next promotion. They just don't think anymore and you don't owe them a thing.

He shook his head to clear away such thoughts. "Civilization is dying around us. The Clans strip away the best and the brightest from the worlds they take. They impose martial law. They're crushing Rasalhague and destroying the hopes of millions. Someone has to stop them."