Working on Sword of Sedition was a treat and a terror. We spent so many years creating The Republic and introducing a cast of characters, and then Jordan Weisman asks me to take it, add a secondary cast, larger plotlines, nitroglycerin, and shake it all up. Never a dull moment. And with support from so many good people, we’ll keep bringing you more and more surprises.

Thanks to Jordan and Dawne Weisman and everyone at WizKids who continue to work very hard on this universe. A special thanks to Sharon Turner Mulvihill, who labors tirelessly with the authors to get our work out there. I’d be lost without her. And a big welcome to Liz Scheier, our newest shepherd at Roc books.

Big-time appreciation to Kris Rusch and Dean Smith, incredible teachers and even better friends. Allen and Amy Mattila, for their friendship. Randall and Tara Bills, Bryn and Ryana and now Kenyon Aleksandr, who are a large part of our lives. Phil DeLuca, Kelle Vozka, Erik, and Alex. Peter and Kathy Orullian, and Cheyenne. Russell and Bobbie Loveday, and Dwayne and Raven.

Mike Stackpole, Herb “Snuggles” Beas, Chris Hartford, Christoffer “Bones” Trossen, and our “cartographer” Øystein Tvedten. “Team Battle Tech” members Pete Smith, Chas Borner, Warner Doles and now David Stansel-Garner, without whom BattleCorps.com would never have gotten off the ground. Also, Alexander “Wild Knight” Strong, who gave me a good laugh and contributed to the “newswire” clips.

And to the new generation of writers it is my privilege to work with on BattleCorps.com : Ilsa Bick, Kevin Killiany, Phaedra Weldon, Louisa Swann, Steve Mohan, and Dan Duval. Welcome to the neighborhood.

Always—always!—the deepest of thanks to my wife, Heather Joy, for her love and generous support. My children, Talon, Conner, and Alexia, who are growing up far too fast. And yeah, the cats. Chaos, Rumor and Ranger. Our local “nobles.” And Loki, our neurotic border collie and court jester.

Kathil

Federated Suns

17 December 3134

Julian Davion hunched over the ConstructionMech’s controls, working backhoe scoops as they broke apart pale green sod and exposed the rich black soil.

Clawing down into hardscrabble and clay.

Widening the foundation for a new perimeter-gun emplacement at Kathil’s Yare Industries.

The machine’s cab smelled and tasted of diesel fumes. And honest sweat, though not Julian’s own. The reversed buckets required a firm hand to control, in contrast to the responsiveness of the weapons systems of a BattleMech, and when the internal-combustion engine labored, growling under the load and coughing oily smoke into the air, there was no comparing this machine to the war avatar the prince’s champion normally piloted.

Wasn’t even in the same class.

Not yet.

Julian’s “handler,” standing on the edge of the excavation, gave him two thumbs up and then made punching motions. Both men wore sound-dampening headgear, a must for anyone spending long hours on the construction site, and didn’t even try shouting to each other. Julian simply nodded, and lifted the full buckets up to the machine’s chest height.

Throttling back on rocker pedals, he slowly reversed the bipedal machine away from the planned emplacement. One step. Two. A loud, shrill beeping warned others away from the lumbering ’Mech. Julian stopped, then pivoted in a shuffling sidestep to swing the buckets over the back of a dumper, clutching the triggers on each control stick. The buckets up-ended to dump sod and dirt and clods of red clay into the truck’s low-walled bed. In a new trick he’d learned from Buddy Harris, Julian twisted the control sticks inward to knock the heavy steel buckets together. More clumps dropped out, shaken loose by the beating. Only then did he ease off the triggers so the buckets tucked back under long double-jointed arms. He swung the machine back around, ready for another go at the growing excavation.

And saw the site foreman and Duchess Amanda Hasek standing next to his handler.

Buddy frantically waved one arm for attention and made a familiar throat-slashing motion, as common on any battlefield as it was on a construction site.

Julian chopped at the kill switch, felt the engine die with a couple of hitching coughs. He sagged back for a few breaths, felt the seat’s hard, premolded plastic through the thin padding someone had pressure-taped into place. Shook his head. It had been too good to last.

Rolling down the wrinkled sleeves of his chambray work shirt, Julian refastened the cuffs at his wrists and did his best to brush the wrinkles flat. He hung his ear protection on an overhead hook, but kept the yellow hard hat, which was only common sense on a work site. Then he patted the cab’s dashboard with something like affection, or apology. Before Christmas, he knew, the ConstructionMech’s yellow-tinted foul weather shroud would be ripped away and true ferroglass armor added in its stead. One of the machine’s back-scooping arms would be replaced with a light autocannon or missile-pack refit. Technicians would then rivet red danger signs over the construction-classic bumblebee striping, warning against fire or intense heat and giving proper loading instructions for the ammunition case, and care of the machine would afterward be shared with an ordnance specialist.

This ConstructionMech and others like it were to be added to Kathil’s local garrison, requisitioned into military service. Julian had signed those orders yesterday.

Just one of many changes coming to Kathil as the Federated Suns prepared for war.

The ’Mech’s engine ticked off the seconds as it cooled. Cranking open the narrow door, Julian grabbed an overhead rung and levered himself out of the cab. From an easy perch on the ’Mech’s blocky hip joint, he took a quick survey. Yare Industries’ geothermal plant lay a kilometer back, hunkered down between two low hills, dominated by the massive, twenty-story-high tower dish used to beam microwave energy up to orbiting Kathil spacedocks. Staggered between the plant and Julian’s excavation were four other active work sites. IndustrialMechs labored alongside dozers and cranes. Crews of men and women, all working on the fortified bunkers meant to house soldiers and equipment, scurried around the large equipment.

And a short jaunt to one side, half-hidden behind tall, blooming dogwoods, was the executive VTOL that had ferried Duchess Hasek to the site. A small security contingent secured the area, including a pair of Pegasus scout vehicles and a squad of Infiltrator Mark II battlesuit troopers. Security Service agents in their suit jackets and dark glasses spread out in a wide fan to keep anyone else from approaching either the duchess or the site foreman, David Styles. Lines had already started forming.