In fact, Julian knew there were billions of people who still remembered Victor as their onetime prince and ruler. And as the man who had been forced to raise an army in the Steiner-Davion civil war, to remove his sister, Katherine, from the throne she stole. Julian’s grandfather, Jackson Davion, fought on the wrong side of that war, honor-bound to serve the so-called archon-princess until finally he could overlook Katherine’s transgressions no more.

Banishment had been too good for her.

Such simple words were far from enough for the man who had helped save the entirety of the Inner Sphere not once, but twice.

“Victor gave so much to the Federated Suns in the course of his life,” Harrison continued. “Sterling military service. Peace, when he could. Justice, when he felt the need. We will not debate his choices or his life. We will simply remember him in whatever way each of us deems appropriate.”

An interesting turn of phrase. Harrison’s speech writers were earning their pay on this one, carefully walking the prince through a political minefield. Remember Victor as First Prince, Commanding General of a failed Star League, or veteran of the Jihad—he deserved the coming moment of silence.

“Victor Steiner-Davion lays in state on the world of Terra, and will be so honored by The Republic of the Sphere until his formal funeral service later this year. And though we raise our flags back up today after a month-long salute, we do so knowing there are worlds out there yet to hear this sad news. We invite them to share in our mourning as they see fit. Here, on New Avalon, I ask for one moment during which all may say their personal farewell.”

Julian glanced at his own watch. Perfect. Noon, straight up. Harrison had abridged his speech, timing it with a master’s touch to end just as a planet-wide moment of silence, planned and organized during the past thirty days, began. All city traffic lights would burn red for those sixty seconds. Radio and trivid broadcasts would observe the moment as well. As near as Harrison’s administration could arrange it, New Avalon had just come to a complete standstill.

An entire world, holding its breath.

Nearly everyone in the amphitheater stared at the ground or closed their eyes, hands clasped in front of them or arms folded across their chest. A semblance of prayer, if nothing else. Julian snuck a look at Sterling McKenna, who stood next to him with hands clasped at her waist and a tolerant smirk on her lips as she stared up—eyes wide open—into a blue sky.

Clan traditions differed so greatly, and Julian wondered what she thought about. Victor’s martial record? That would be very Clan, where a warrior’s codex, the record of his accomplishments, was all that mattered and death was welcome so long as the warrior proved himself worthy of the breeding program.

At least Sterling McKenna observed the respectful silence, even if not in the true spirit of the proceedings.

“Thank you,” Harrison said at the end of the appointed minute, and life returned to New Avalon.

He remained strictly nondenominational, though there were whispers of amen and glory be and even a few mutters of finally which Julian hoped did not get picked up by the newsvid journalists.

Harrison Davion would not use this event for political means. He simply nodded to the hillside full of people, to the cameras and to his realm. On the upper rim of the amphitheater, an honor squad from the Davion Guards surrounded a white-painted flagstaff, and raised the flag of the Federated Suns back to full mast.

“A life of service,” Harrison said. “Long and full. We should all be so fortunate. Blessings on New Avalon, and the entire Federated Suns.”

It was the end of the broadcasts, certainly, and the end of the official ceremony. On a normal day, Harrison would take time to mingle and meet people along the rope lines. Off-the-record stuff. Goodwill building.

Today he turned from the stage front and stepped back to where Sterling and Julian waited. She attached herself to the prince’s side, standing as his equal as well as his escort. Julian was reminded of Amanda Hasek’s injured feelings, and wondered again how she could deny her brother-in-law something so simple as a second relationship.

“If I don’t shake a few hands,” Harrison said quietly, “the rumor mill will move into overdrive.”

“Take your time,” Sterling said, acknowledging the undercurrent of tension running between the two men. “Your people need you.” She gave him a chaste hug, which he returned with strength.

He offered a similar clasp to Julian. The kind any two men might exchange at such a solemn service.

It allowed Julian to lean in and pass along two simple words. Nothing significant, just to be safe, but a warning nonetheless that Harrison should not wait too long before taking a private moment with his champion.

“It’s started.”

New Avalon

Federated Suns

24 January 3135

Julian finished briefing Harrison as they rode a private elevator into the sublevels of the Davion palace. The opulent cab had a thickly padded bench seat that neither man used, a mirrored back wall, and a communications panel on one side that rivaled the sophistication of most military command cars.

It was also keyed to Harrison’s DNA, and was one of many areas inside the palace routinely swept for surveillance gear, just to be safe.

“How many worlds again?” Harrison asked, his brow building into the start of a heavy frown.

“Only the three. But it’s which three that make the difference. New Hessen, Demeter and Chesterton. Those worlds all have—”

“No,” Harrison interrupted. “Don’t tell me. Something…” The large man snapped meaty fingers together, as if trying to spark a memory. “Damn.” He hated being a step behind anyone, even the man he had chosen as his chief military aide.

Julian bent his knees slightly, absorbing the cab’s rapid stop as the elevator glided to its destination. A secure lock buried within the heavy doors ratcheted open, and a seam split wide as they trundled apart with mechanical reluctance. Six inches thick, with alternating plates of titanium and ferrosteel. After the Jihad, no expense had been spared to make the prince’s private corridors and rooms as secure as possible. The palace could take a thermonuclear weapon hit, and the deep bunkers would allow Harrison and his command staff to survive it.

Perhaps a bit of overkill, but once bitten…

The size of the prince’s private war room was nothing compared to the massive structure built beneath the AFFS Watchtower, Julian knew, but there was something to be said for proximity to power. The small chamber was still staffed twenty-five hours of a New Avalon day, and possessed the resources to monitor and prosecute a war on any planet in the Federated Suns.

Of course, lack of access to the hyperpulse generator network made that monitoring a bit difficult, forcing the team to rely on reports keyed in through Watchtower computers, but it served as well as anything might for the first prince.

Two armed men guarded the elevator entrance and two more a set of doors across the room the only ways in or out. All four snapped to attention as their prince entered.

Julian nodded them back to at-ease.

Several large monitors angled down at the floor from where the walls bent into a cathedral ceiling. The room was dimly lit, the better to read workstation readouts and overhead screens. It smelled of warm electronics. And strong coffee, the staple of military watches everywhere.