Michael returned to his desk, where he took from a drawer his leather-bound copy of the Lyran classic, Origins of the Three Great Families,by Thelos Auburn. Without committing anything to paper, he mentally composed the message he wanted to send. Then, thumbing through the book, he assigned a three-number code—corresponding to page, paragraph, and word numbers— for each word in the message.

As he did so, he cupped his artificial hand in his good hand and pressed his flesh and blood fingers against the joints of their artificial mates. Executing simple, natural, and almost indectectable motions, he recorded the appropriate numbers in a RAM cache that Capellan scientists had implanted in his hand during his first visit with Maximilian Liao. Even the closest observer would see nothing more suspicious than the Duke skimming a book while massaging his artificial hand.

The Capellan engineers had also equipped the hand with a tightbeam, high-speed data pulser that would broadcast information in one incredibly short burst. Limited to a range of about four meters, its onboard programming prevented operation unless activated by a signal sent from a receiver—a receiver of the type built into the local Capellan Ambassador's prosthetic leg. Then, by pressing his thumb to the base of his little finger, the Duke could pulse the message out.

Michael closed the book and returned it to the desk drawer. Scanning the stacks of documents on his desk, he quickly selected one showing the local Capellan Ambassador's letterhead. Michael read the text, then stabbed the button on his personal intercom. "Agnes, tell Ambassador Korigyn that I expect him in my audience room in two hours."

His personal secretary hesitated, her fear almost crackling through the speaker. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but the Ambassador is not in the capital right now . . ."

"I don't want you giving me his excuses, Agnes!" he snarled. "If that idiot thinks we're going to increase his embassy's yearly shipment of vodka from the Confederation just so he can sell it on the black market here to keep his mistress, he is sadly mistaken. Two hours, Agnes, or there will be hell to pay."

Michael never heard her reply. He patted his left hand and smiled to himself. In two hours, the Ambassador will get this information Hanse has so graciously supplied me. Korigyn will turn it over to ComStar and their HyperPulse generators will flick it across the stars via their communications network. Liao should have it in a matter of days, and then he will act. Through him, I shall light the fuse that will throw the Successor States into one final Chaos, and from the ruins will I rise to rule supreme over all. . .

2

Sian

Sian Commonality Capellan Confederation

15 October 3027

Justin Xiang smiled as his subordinate, Alexi Malenkov, handed him a stack of blue files. "I appreciate this very much, Alexi," he said, setting the files on his desk and idly covering them with his left hand. A black leather glove sheathed the prosthetic limb, and Justin chose to ignore Malenkov's look of repugnance as his gaze fell on the lifeless hand.

Nodding his blond head, Malenkov quickly recovered his composure. "I assumed, Citizen Xiang, that you would be especially interested in our reports on how the Davion unit you once commanded had done in the recent military exercises. The First Kittery Training Battalion will be shifted, in a month or so, from probationary status because of their performance, and will become part of the Davion Light Guards, First Battalion."

Justin smiled easily. "Is Captain Redburn still in command, or did they provide a new commander for the unit?"

Malenkov seated himself on the edge of Justin's desk and lowered his head to just beneath the level of the gray cubicle walls. "It's all in the reports, Justin. Because of Redburn's loyalty to you during the trial, Count Vitios recommended that he be replaced. Apparently, however, the MechWarriors in the battalion protested and he was retained."

"Good." Justin raked his right hand back through his straight black hair. "When do you anticipate your analysis team will finish up with their assessment of the Moravian part of Operation Galahad '27? Lady Romano is quite concerned with the units used in that battle. She maintains that the First Bell Training Battalion was configured along the lines of Marion's Highlanders, the 'Mech regiment serving on her world of Highspire, and she was upset at the 'casualty reports' suggesting that the defenders, the Sixth Crucis Lancers Regimental Combat Team, ripped the Bell Battalion apart."

The analyst from the Tikonov Commonality of the Capellan Confederation shrugged. "Your father has his Counter-intelligence Division working overtime to give us plenty of false data about Operation Galahad '27." Malenkov smiled weakly. "The report Romano Liao is talking about has been utterly discounted."

Justin pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That's something."

Malenkov nodded, then a pained look came over his face. "Unfortunately, the real report about that exercise is almost as dismal as the fake. About the only thing the Bell Battalion did right was to capture a mining center, but that was because it had been abandoned during a hideous blizzard in the area. The Bell Battalion got lost in the same storm and stumbled upon the mine—which was never the objective of the exercise."

Justin chuckled softly to himself. "Were the Highlanders able to accomplish as much against the overwhelming forces pitched at their surrogates, we'd be more than happy."

Malenkov raised his head and looked around toward the other cubicles, then hunched down and nodded enthusiastically. "Just don't let Lady Romano hear you say that."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "My dear Alexi, remember, weare the Maskirovka. Others must fear that we will overhear them utter disloyal truth, not the other way around." Justin shot a glance at the appointment book on his desk, then looked up at Malenkov. "See if you can get a preliminary report from your people in the next two days. I..."

Justin hesitated as a slender, smiling man framed himself in the cubicle's doorway. He shared Justin's oriental features, dark hair, and brown eyes but the sharpness of his expression—while not unhandsome—gave him a calculating, cunning look. He smiled at Justin, and nodded respectfully at Malenkov.

"Excuse me, Citizen Malenkov. Justin, we have been summoned immediately." The visitor pointed toward the ceiling with his index finger as he spoke. Silhouetted against the bronze flesh of his hand and wrist, Justin saw the ten-centimeter long nails on the last three fingers of the man's right hand.

Justin stood and stretched. "Do you know what he wants, Tsen?"

Tsen Shang shook his head. "No. The message just came down from Chandra Ling's office. She told me to collect you and to report to the Chancellor without delay."

Justin nodded thoughtfully. Summoned to a meeting with Maximilian Liao by the head of the Maskirovka. I hope this is more than one of Liao's temper tantrums.Justin turned to Malenkov. "Alexi, light a fire under your analysts. I want you at your desk, or easy to reach, while I'm in conference—just in case I need you to bring me some data."

Malenkov nodded and Justin swept past him. Shang led the way from the Analysis Division to the elevators. The two Death Commandos flanking the elevator up to the Palace checked their identification papers and radioed for permission to allow the pair passage.