Justin looked down at his feet and folded his arms around himself. "You were fighting in that Vindicator. . ."

Candace nodded. "And you, Leftenant Justin Xiang Allard, fought in a Blackjack."Candace bowed her head until her hair hid her face. "I had nightmares about our running gun battle through the jungle. In the dreams, you continued to hound me and pick my 'Mech apart with your autocannons. Never the coup de grace. Just the endless chewing and grinding of my Vindicatorinto scrap. Everywhere I turned, everywhere I ran, you were there, and another piece of my 'Mech would vanish."

Justin studied Candace silently, then let a respectful grin onto his lips. "Believe it or not, I relived that battle on a fairly recurrent basis as well. I never knew you were the Vindicator'spilot, but now it fits. You never gave up. I thought I'd shot the hell out of your 'Mech. I knew you were running hot, but whenever I'd get too close, you'd fire your damned PPC at me. In my nightmare, I'd come across your Vindicatorall rusted and overgrown with vines and creepers. I'd raise the Blackjack'sarms to blast your machine into scrap, and it would trigger one last PPC blast. It'd hit the cockpit, and I'd wake up in a cold sweat."

Justin grimaced. "I saw you eject after the gyros went. I hoped you got away in one piece, but I saw the canopy afterward." Justin stepped closer to her and reached out his right hand toward her shoulder. "Ejecting is always nasty when the canopy doesn't blow away cleanly. That safety glass can turn into a mouthful of razor teeth."

Candace flinched as his hand touched her bared shoulder. Justin brushed his fingers lightly over her skin as though he could smooth away the twisted scars. He stroked her shoulder gently and breathed in deeply, enjoying the warmth and smoothness of her skin. Her perfume replaced that of the garden.

Justin's fingers touched the silk of her robe and the chill in it shocked him. His hand recoiled as from fire, and he took a step back. "Forgive me, Duchess, I did not mean to . . ."

Candace pressed her left hand to his lips and stilled his protests. "No offense taken, Citizen." She smiled and slipped her arm back into the robe's left sleeve. "Doctors rebuilt the deltoid and tricep with myomer fibers, but the initial job was done in the field, and so wasn't very good. Acupuncture keeps the pain under control, but I have a restricted range of motion." She held her left arm straight out from her side, but could barely elevate it above shoulder height.

Her words took a few moments to register as Justin's mind raced. He felt the same icy tingling in his guts as when he saw her for the first time. Despite those feelings of doom, he hungered for the woman who caused it. Dammit, Justin. Smarten up! You're tired. It's late. You're not thinking clearly. You're the one who caused her injury. That's more than enough reason for her to hate you.

Justin narrowed his eyes. "You never underwent physical therapy for that injury, did you?"

"Ha!" Candace scoffed. "I was surrounded by nurses who wanted to help me, but the sycophants could not bring themselves to make me work. At the first sign of fatigue or discomfort, they'd scatter for fear they'd anger me . . ."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you didn't make it easy for them. But you should have had the discipline to do it yourself, for yourself."

The moonlight skittered blue through her hair as she shook her head. "Weights and moving my arm in circles bored me to death. Then I was summoned back to Sian and given my present duties as the Treasury's Regulator."

Justin chuckled lightly. "T'ai chicould restore that mobility, and it's not boring. It's both meditative, and when speeded up, a formidable martial arts discipline."

Candace brought her head up and stared into Justin's brown eyes. "You will teach me."

Justin hesitated. "Duchess, I am certain there are far better teachers here on Sian than I."

Her eyes flashed argent. "I do not wish servitors who will be afraid to tell me when I'm not working hard enough. You will teach me, Justin, and you will call me Candace. I get enough of titles from those who are not sincere. I'll not have it from a MechWarrior worthy of my respect."

"Very well, Candace," Justin said with a slight bow of the head. "When would you like to begin?"

Candace smiled. "Here. Now."

Justin returned her smile. "Fine. We begin with breathing." So I can control mine as well as show you how to control yours. Face it, Justin. You're lost. You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, but now you’ve gone looking for trouble and found it in spades . . .

Book II

Recovery

12

New Syrtis

Capellan March, Federated Suns

27 December 3027

Duke Michael Hasek-Davion nibbled absentmindedly at the synthetic thumbnail on his lifeless left hand. Staring at his office's wooden door, he willed it to open, then snorted derisively when it failed to do so. Just as well. If I found a way to channel my fury into some undiscovered telekinetic ability, I'd probably tear the door apart.He narrowed his eyes. That is a display I'd prefer to save for his Grace, the Ambassador.

Michael's hair, worn unbraided for the formal ceremonies during the holidays, hooded his face until he impatiently thrust its darkness back over his shoulders. How could Liao do that? How could he order an attack on my people? What sort of a fool does he think I am ?

Michael again glanced at the Ministry of Intelligence, Information, and Operations' preliminary report on the Shaoshan terrorist attack on Kittery. It is well the attack failed utterly, or I would be forced to punish Liao's presumptiveness.

Suddenly Michael stiffened. Could it be that the Maskirovka launched the attack without authorization? Does someone suspect I'm sending inaccurate information to Sian, and this is their not-so-subtle way to check up on me?

A knocking at his office door snapped Michael out of his worries. For a half moment he considered standing to greet his visitor, but decided against it. No. Let's break the rules of diplomacy so he'll know how furious I really am.Michael set his face, then said, "Come. The door is unlocked."

The smile on the tall man's face died a slow death as he came through the arched doorway. Sweat almost immediately began to glisten on his bald pate, but his brown eyes showed neither fear nor deceit. Reading Michael's mood with uncanny accuracy, he spoke but did not approach the Duke. "You summoned me, Duke Michael?"

Muscles bunched at Michael's jaws. "Indeed I did, Ambassador Korigyn. I wish to know, with no prevarication or obfuscation on your part, just what the void Maximilian Liao was thinking about when he ordered the attack on Kittery?"

The Ambassador brought his stocky body to its full height. "I do not know the Chancellor's mind, Highness." Korigyn let some of his anger at being addressed so sharply bleed most undiplomatically into his voice. "I do know, however, that the orders did not originate with Maximilian Liao."

Michael heard the tone in Korigyn's voice, but hid the feelings of superiority it aroused in him. Good, Korigyn. You detest me. You think of me as a traitor—a puppet who dances when your master pulls the strings. Excellent. You’ll reflect those sentiments in your dispatches and Maximilian will share your beliefs. Then, when I turn on him, he will have had no warning and will find no way to escape . . .