A dozen military technicians and a captain serving as today’s watch officer manned various workstations. Monitors set above them displayed regimental rosters and force movements, maps and a queue of orders that had passed from the room to any of a number of other installations. Two screens showed the progress of a battle simulation being run on one of the room’s computer consoles. A replay of the battle for Huntress, Julian saw.

Harrison made straight for the center of the room where a dark, glassy pit crouched within a waist-high rail. Workstation controls had been built right into the polished metal balustrade. Julian joined his prince just as Harrison ordered up a map of the Federated Suns.

A blue mist welled up in the open pit, filling it with a low level of light. Like fireflies, pale golden sparks swam up within the thin cloud. A hundred suns. Two hundred. More. Finally, a bright line of spun gold sketched around the holographic display tank, outlining the Federated Suns and dividing it off from the neighboring realms of the Draconis Combine, Raven Alliance, Taurian Concordat and House Liao’s Capellan Confederation.

Near the stretch of space that bordered on The Republic of the Sphere, three golden worlds pulsed between gold and danger-red.

Worlds where fifteen months of fighting between House Liao and The Republic had finally spilled over into Davion space.

“The Chesterton Commonality,” Harrison said, catching from the stellar map what he had been unable to pull from memory. “That is what worries you, Julian?”

“Somewhat,” the prince’s champion admitted.

The Chesterton Commonality was worlds annexed by House Davion five hundred years and three Succession Wars ago in a move sanctioned by the original Star League, though in a rather one-sided arrangement. And Capellans had long memories.

“I’ve spoken with your Marshal of the Armies, and we agree this could be Liao’s opening gambit.”

Making adjustments to the controls, Julian brought up a war plan that showed “force lines” where troops would spill into the Federated Suns through that narrow corridor. Setting up the dominoes. Chesterton through Sanilac to Bristol. Secondary assaults spearing over the border at Kathil. At New Syrtis.

Worlds fading from Davion gold to a cold, Capellan green.

“So fast?” Harrison asked. He stared at the calendar key, a series of amber-burning numbers near the edge of the holograph tank, ticking upwards.

He shrugged. “Our labors on worlds such as Kathil have not yet been programmed. And Daoshen is obviously better prepared than we are for a campaign.”

“At the moment,” Harrison added, but it was empty bluster. They both knew it.

The Capellan Confederation had stolen a march on everyone. Preparing, certainly, before the Blackout ever hit, and likely laying groundwork as far back as their forced downsizing as stipulated in the Tikonov Accords. Part of that was in their national interest. Not one Successor State or Clan military, Julian assumed, had ever decommissioned as much equipment as they claimed. Everyone held back a little. Five percent. Ten. Enough to feel superior. Safe.

But House Liao had saved more, perhaps as much as thirty percent. Prince Harrison had some of his best intelligence analysts as well as auditors in the military’s General Accountability Office working in special teams, reviewing old files to figure out how it had been done. Assessing the damage. Learning from the enemy in case the Federated Suns ever found a use for the technique.

It was a catch-up game, all the way. House Liao had an early lead, but work proceeded apace along the border. Given another year…

“How likely do you think this is?” Harrison asked, studying the holographic model. He held up his hand, stopping him from giving the pat answer. “What do you think, Julian?”

“I think House Liao is still some time away from looking in our direction. No matter what we’ve led Amanda Hasek to believe.” He shrugged.

“But?”

“But the Confederation never formally relinquished these worlds, even though during the time of Sun-Tzu Liao and his Xin Sheng reforms it was heavily implied the Confederation would finally let that sleeping dog lie. Daoshen Liao, however, has proven less …predictable.”

“Barking mad, you mean.” Harrison did not bother to hide his concern or his disgust. “His claims of divinity notwithstanding, he threatens a generation of peace and spends thousands of lives to reclaim a dozen worlds from The Republic?”

“There are Federated Suns loyalists on either side of our border with The Republic who would risk the same,” Julian reminded his prince.

“Marcher Lords.” The name was a curse. “Sandovals, mostly. Haseks generally have better sense than to poke at a wounded lion.”

Generally. But not always, they both knew.

Julian wrapped his hands around the railing’s metal balustrade. Smooth, and cold to the touch. Staring down into the holographic map of suns and systems, he let his silence answer for him.

Harrison’s father had been a Sandoval; the prince declined to use the hyphenated Sandoval-Davion to avoid Duke Corwin reading too much into it. And Harrison had married into the Haseks. So his only son was within two generations of both powerful dynasties.

Caleb wore their names like a mantle.

Family ties notwithstanding, however, House Davion stood in a very precarious position. Julian could have pointed out how the Hasek dynasty was still protecting its victory against Liao from thirty years back, when they seized Victoria and a large chunk of the Confederation’s Victoria Commonality. They were as reluctant to share their wealth as they were eager for another bite. The Sandovals, meanwhile, lived with the Draconis Reach, a no-man’s-land between Houses Davion and Kurita where low-level warfare was a daily plague, and into which the once-powerful dynasty continued to push money and manpower. Under the guise of economic and strategic relief, of course.

Both had stepped up “defensive” preparations in the last two years. Generally. But not always, they both knew.

Both had withdrawn a great deal of their support from Crucis March worlds. From New Avalon.

Which had led to Julian’s preparations on industrial worlds such as Kathil. To defend the throne, if needed—but more!—to ready the Federated Suns for a preemptive strike at House Liao. When war became inevitable, the better choice was to attack first. And it was no small benefit that the nobles were likely to rally to the throne in such a time. War would galvanize the nobility, and turn the fraying tempers of Ministers Hasek and Sandoval away from New Avalon.

If it should come to that. If they still had time.

When the silence had run its course, Julian froze the map with Liao colors owning half of the Capellan March. Time elapsed: one year. “Regardless. If Daoshen turns his gaze from The Republic to threaten the Federated Suns…”

“We aren’t ready,” Harrison finished. He nodded. “So we trade Republican lives for our own. Perfect.” His voice suggested it was far from such.

The idea left a sour taste with Julian as well. He was trained to put his life on the line for prince and nation, not hide behind the misfortune of others.

“And we need to shut down these skirmishes at once,” Julian said, “or at least one of them. We show Daoshen Liao that he does not want to come knocking on our door. Not while fighting a hard-pitched war with The Republic.”

Harrison went very still. “What if Daoshen strikes a bargain with The Republic, and settles a peace now that he possesses the world of Liao and a dozen others besides?” He looked over at his champion. “What if he uses the funeral services being held on Terra as a way to settle up and then move against us?”

That had not occurred to Julian. Icy hands twisted his guts. “I had not credited the chancellor with that kind of political acumen.” It threw all the war models out of sync. He was already running through force strengths in his head, figuring out where he could pull more troops. His fingers itched for the keyboards on any of the nearby workstations. “You believe it is a threat?”