But you, Patrick Kell, you had it easier than I did. Once you learned that your cousin Melissa Steiner was trapped within theSilver Eagle, your duty was clear. You only faced a superior Draconian force. You shed your blood to save your blood, but I am trapped between my two halves.

Morgan turned from the memorial and trudged across the grassy field toward the walkway and the NAIS. I am a Davion. First and always, my duty is to my Prince and the Federated Suns. I know Hanse originally brought me to New Avalon to guarantee my father's good behavior, but it didn't matter to me. He brought me home! I respect him as my leader and my kin, and I cherish him as a friend.

At the same time, though, I feel as though I am betraying my father. I know that he and Hanse fought a secret but no less nasty battle to see who would become Prince after Ian died on Mallory's World, and my father lost. What's worse, though I love him, I know my father was wrong. I want to bring the two of them back together again, but I fear that accepting the request to be the Prince's best man will only drive them further apart.

A woman's loud squeal of fear came suddenly from the darkened grove to Morgan's right, shocking him from his brooding. He vaulted the walkway railing and burst through the shrubs at top speed. Swerving at the sight of the woman and her three assailants, he tackled the tallest of the men. Slamming his shoulder into the man's stomach, Morgan knocked the wind out of him. They both went down hard, but Morgan rolled to his feet instantly and whirled to face the other two muggers.

The blond woman struggled and broke free of her captors. Clutching torn clothing, she cowered as the hoodlums turned with evil grins toward her rescuer. The one closest to the girl— his right eye already blackening where she'd hit him—taunted Morgan, "Ain't got your machine, robogrunt. . ."

Morgan roared defiantly and lunged forward, stabbing a stiff-fingered hand into the other man's stomach. When the hoodlum folded around the blow, Morgan straightened him up with a knee to the face. The thug jackknifed backward and out of sight into the shrubs.

The last man swung a roundhouse left to the side of Morgan's face, snapping his head around. Morgan half-stumbled, then caught himself and rose grinning. "Is that the best you can do, little man?" Balling fists the size of grapefruits, Morgan towered over the mugger. "I don't need a machine to take you apart."

Morgan took a single step forward, which instantly inspired the thug to turn and attempt to run off. He slipped first, giving Morgan the chance to administer a savage kick to the man's posterior, ejecting him from the grove through a thornbush. Screaming more from terror than pain, the man vanished into the night.

Morgan spun, but the other two hoodlums had by now also made good their escape. Knowing that he was safe for the moment, Morgan crossed to where the woman crouched. He dropped to one knee beside her. "Are you hurt?"

She looked up at him and stared as though not understanding his words. She hugged herself tightly and shivered. Fear shot through her blue eyes like laserfire, but then her eyes cleared. "My God, they were going to . . ."

Morgan settled his huge hands on her shoulders. "Take it easy. They can't hurt you now. Are you all right?"

She swallowed and shook her head. Her blond hair, a bit shorter than Morgan's own red locks, brushed the backs of his hands with the movement of her head. "I, I think I'm fine— physically, I mean. They didn't hurt me, really, just tore my chemise."

Morgan instantly unzipped his uniform jacket and swung it around to cover her. As the blue woolen coat settled over her shoulders, she pulled it tight. "Thank you. It's so warm." She looked up and saw that Morgan now wore only a sleeveless t-shirt beneath the jacket. "No, you mustn't. You'll be cold."

Morgan shook his head and pulled the neck of the shirt down so that she could see the thatch of thick red hair covering his chest. "It's like wearing a sweater all the time. In fact, it's hell in an overheating 'Mech. I'll be fine. Do you think you can walk?"

She nodded, and Morgan helped her to her feet. Leaning heavily on him, she smoothed out her plaid woolen skirt and brushed away some leaves and twigs that clung to it. Smiling, she took one step forward, but her right ankle collapsed. "Oh!" she cried out, falling against him.

Morgan caught her easily. "Did you twist your ankle?"

She nodded ruefully. "Actually, I injured it two weeks ago while fencing. I must have reinjured it."

"Well, you're not walking anywhere on that ankle tonight." Morgan smiled broadly. "Put your arms around my neck."

She frowned but complied cautiously. Once Morgan felt her hands on his shoulders, he dipped and scooped her up into his arms.

"Wait a minute, mister," she began. "I don't just let strange men carry me around . . ."

Morgan laughed. "I saw that earlier, remember? Come on, I'm in Davion's Heavy Guards. You can trust me."

She raised an eyebrow. ". . . said the spider to the fly." She studied his face, then smiled. "I'm sorry. You're right. You did save me ..."

Morgan nodded and walked them both from the grove. "Well, just so you won't think of me as a strange man, permit me to introduce myself. I'm Morgan." He half-expected her to recognize him, but somehow he was pleased when she didn't.

She smiled warmly. "Well then, Morgan, introductions all around. I'm Kym Sorenson, and I'm very grateful for your help."

"Where to, Kym?"

Kym pointed off toward the NAIS lights. "My apartment is just this side of campus. If you want to put me down, I can probably limp along to it."

Morgan shook his head firmly. "None of that. We Heavy Guards are known as 'The Strength of the Davions,' and this is my chance to prove it." Holding her tightly, he thought about his ruminations of only a few minutes before. "Would that all my duties were so sweet..."

8

Nashira

Dieron Military District, Draconis Combine

23 October 3027

Chu-saNarimasa Asano and Sho-saTarukito Niiro bowed deeply toward their leader. "Konnichi-wa, Tai-saKurita Yorinaga -sama,"said Narimasa as he led his subordinate toward the white satin cushions opposite the low desk. Each man had removed his shoes at the door to pad silently across the polished wooden floor.

With a wave of his hand, Yorinaga Kurita wordlessly invited his junior officers to be seated. Setting aside the report he had been reading, he respectfully bowed his graying head toward them. Folding his hands into his lap, he waited for Narimasa to begin the briefing.

Having been raised to be polite, Narimasa avoided staring at Yorinaga. "The Genyoshais now up to the full level of strength you have requested, Tai-sa,with the exception of one staff officer. We have replaced the men and machines lost in the battle against the Kell Hounds on Styx, and additional recruiting has brought us to forty-eight individual MechWarriors. This fulfills the Coordinator's desire for us to be a reinforced battalion of four companies."

Sho-saTarukito nodded as Narimasa turned toward him. "The Azami company is fully operational, though some friction exists between them and the two mainline companies. The Azami jealously cling to their Islamic beliefs, which has led to some misunderstandings with our own citizens. I believe, however, that this reaction to the Azami is based on the superior scores they have achieved in all exercises.