The Prince's expression darkened. "What would you have me do, Quintus? I refuse to send her back through uninhabited solar systems. If a single JumpShip has a helium failure, she'll be stuck there—and with this damned Interdiction, I'd never know about it. No. She must go through inhabited worlds so repairs could take place in case of an accident."

Quintus rubbed his fingertips against his temples. "Highness, I understand your concern about helium failures, and I respect that concern. What I fear—treachery on Ridzik's part—could be avoided by sending Melissa back through the Terran Corridor."

Hanse shook his head sharply. "And risk another Kurita incursion? Last January, they almost cut us off on that frontier. We know all their strength is not committed to the battle with Wolf's Dragoons in the Galedon district, nor is it involved in driving back Lyran troops. Need I remind you that Melissa and her JumpShip were abducted from Fomalhaut two years ago?"

The Prince glared defiantly at the spymaster. "Ardan will order Ridzik to clear his troops from the systems through which Melissa will travel, and we'll be done with the problem. Kurita will not strike into Tikonov, and Liao cannot strike there." Quintus stood abruptly. "Listen to yourself, Highness! If it were anyone else, you'd be thinking more rationally. Nothing happened to Misha Auburn on her journey here through the Terran Corridor. That way is safe—safer, to my mind, than the path you have selected."

Hanse drew in a deep breath and forced his anger to dissipate. How do I explain my sense of doom whenever he mentions Melissa traveling through the Terran corridor? I know his objections are valid, and I should heed his advice, but I can't. I know, somehow, that if Melissa travels through the Corridor, I will never see her alive again.

Hanse exhaled slowly. "Quintus, old friend, please try to understand. I know what you are saying, and I hear the wisdom of your words." Hanse opened and closed his hands as if unable to grasp what he really wanted to say. "Trust me. Do what I have asked. The decision is made, and to change it now would invite disaster."

The plea in the Prince's voice touched something within his Minister. Quintus capitulated with a weary nod. "The orders went out for Ardan to relay to Ridzik yesterday, so it would be difficult to change things now." He gave the Prince a reassuring smile. "I do trust you and your judgment, sire. But I must make sure, for the sake of the nation, that you do as well."

The Prince stood and offered Quintus his hand. Gripping the older man's hand tightly, he pumped his arm firmly. "I doubt I will ever be able to repay you for the sacrifices and services performed by the Allard family, but I want you to know they do not go unappreciated. You give me a luxury only the leader of a great state can truly cherish—someone whom I can trust implicitly."

Quintus lifted his head high. "And you, Highness, have given the same gift to me." Quintus broke his grip with the Prince. "By the way, on a totally different subject, your decision to funnel the liquor and foodstuffs that arrived from the Lyran Commonwealth into a random distribution network has done wonders for morale here on New Avalon. People are already referring to it as the Lyran Lottery, and voter registration has climbed sharply over the last two days so more people will be eligible for the drawings."

The Prince clapped his hands. "Excellent! I'd hoped for good results from that move. Two things I do not want on New Avalon are charges of elitism among the nobility, and a thriving black market in consumer goods. That's why I was so glad to hear of your daughter and Morgan organizing an impromptu party for the folks at the hospital."

Quintus smiled proudly. "Riva was pleased that all the media attention for the party has resulted in an upturn in volunteers at the hospital. I guess it takes some exposure to let people know others have suffered far worse in the war than they have." Quintus ran his fingers through his white hair. "The newsvid coverage of the event made many people realize how many wounded warriors at the NAIS are far from their homes and that their loneliness is sometimes worse than their wounds."

Hanse tapped his left index finger against his chin as he thought. "Good point. I think we should encourage more contact between the citizenry and the warriors at the NAIS Medical Center. We need to show that the people on New Avalon are concerned for the sons and daughters of people from the frontiers." He fixed Quintus with his gaze. "Even though Michael is gone, those who backed him still might be encouraged to stir up trouble now that the war has become more difficult and costly."

The Minister of Intelligence, Information, and Operations bowed his head. "Consider it done, sire. We've struck the head from the snake. Now we'll make sure its thrashing does no harm."

26

New Avalon

Crucis March, Federated Suns

20 July 3029

Blue-white moonlight fell across Melissa's face as she slept. Standing in the shadowed doorway to their bedroom, Hanse watched the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and smiled. Sleep well, Melissa, for tomorrow a DropShip will carry you away from me again.

With that thought, a sadness bubbled up inside of him. He recognized it instantly and grappled with it like a physical foe that he could break and conquer. The emotion evaded the logical traps he set for it, then spread like a fog throughout his body, bringing with it fatigue.

Hanse stepped into the room, and turning away from the bed, slowly unbuttoned his uniform jacket. He was sad that she had to leave, yet felt guilty over the deception that had kept her here— a virtual prisoner on a world he hoped she would come to know and love as he did.

"Hanse, what's wrong?" she whispered.

He composed his face in a smile and turned slowly to face her. "Nothing, dearest."

Sitting up in bed, with the moonlight glinting in gold highlights from her hair and electric blue from her silken nightgown, Melissa looked like a goddess. She draped her arms casually around her knees, but the look in her gray eyes pierced his soul. "Please, tell me. I know it's no catastrophe because you're here, and not in your 'den' dealing with it. That means it's something inside you ... something you cannot share with your advisors." She held out a hand to him. "That means it is something you mustshare with me."

Hanse walked around the end of the bed and sat on its edge facing her. He took her hands in his, then swallowed hard. "I'm sorry for how you've been treated here, and I'm incredibly reluctant to see you go."

Melissa gave his fingers a squeeze. "What are you talking about, Hanse? I'm very happy here ..."

The Prince touched the fingertips of his right hand to her lips. "Don't say that to make me happy, because I know it's not true." He stood up and looked out through the gauzy curtain over the window. "I saw your face light up when Misha stepped off the Caracol.In that instant, you were the happiest you've been since we married."

Her denial came quickly, but lacked just enough emphasis to convince the Prince it was the complete truth. "That's not true, Hanse."

The Prince smiled, clasping his hands behind his back. "Ah, but it is, Melissa. You're a social creature. I've watched you charm all those who have met you, and I've watched you deftly deflect Morgan Hasek-Davion's thoughts away from his desire for a command time and time again." He turned toward her. "I've kept you in a gilded cage and denied you the freedom to be yourself. We did not even travel here together, you and I, from the wedding. Had I the chance to do it again, it would be different."