“Hilton Head Island was the de facto capital of Terra during ComStar and, later, the Word of Blake years.”

The professional narration continued even in the stairwell. A soft feminine voice, but serious.

“A seat for powerful organizations that controlled a virtual monopoly on all interstellar communication throughout the Inner Sphere. ComStar’s formidable military strength was first suspected in 3025, when a glimpse of the island’s underground warrens by outsiders proved the organization had safeguarded or restored several regiments of pristine, Star League–era BattleMechs.”

Another turn. Another flight of diamond-grate stairs.

“When ComStar emptied their vaults to defeat the Clans at Tukayyid in 3052, it was thought that most of Hilton Head’s extensive complex fell into disuse. Until Word of Blake captured Terra, in 3058, and restored the underground complex.

“Exactly what resources these facilities lent Blakist forces preparing for and conducting the Jihad, we will never know. At least one nuclear warhead in the fifty megaton range detonated far below the surface of the island, collapsing the tunnels and great caverns. The island’s center imploded even as other weapons—conventional and strategic—blasted its surface. What once had been a landmark of beauty and power, one hundred twenty square kilometers of cultivated forests and a sprawling, modern complex, was reduced in the space of a single hour to scorched bedrock and radioactive debris.”

“And that,” Aaron Sandoval said firmly as Julian finally gained the upper observation deck, “was nothing less than the entire place deserved.”

Aaron Sandoval wore a double-breasted suit rather than noble’s finery or the paramilitary uniform he’d adopted leading his Swordsworn to the aid of Prefecture V. Today, he appeared more the businessman or a conventional politician on a junket than one of the most powerful men in The Republic.

The enclosed deck stretched wide enough to open up smoke-tinted portals on both sides of the narrow-bodied shuttlecraft. The two men had it to themselves, as the view from here was poor compared to the port and starboard lounges below, with their ferroglass walls and better angle on ground-based landmarks. Even the large digital monitors at the front and rear of the deck offered a better vision of the shattered island than the side portals, which posed the problem of seeing down over the curve of the shuttle’s hull.

Standing near the forward monitor, Aaron turned down the volume on the nearby intercom system, leaving only a soft whisper reaching them from aft.

“Do you really believe that?” Julian asked the duke and lord governor. As he approached, Aaron stepped forward and the two men shook hands. Brief but firm.

“Why not?” Aaron said. Shrugged. “ComStar, and especially Word of Blake, caused more than their share of misery in the history of the Inner Sphere. And we’re still reaping this particular whirlwind. The Blackout. Why didn’t we learn decades ago the hazards of being so dependent on HPG communications?”

There was a nearby table with a tray of iced drinks on it. Fresh; the glasses still sweating. Aaron had thoughtfully provided refreshments, as well as the conspicuous absence of service personnel. Julian helped himself to a glass of sparkling sweet seltzer. A sip helped clear the dry taste from his palate while he thought.

Aaron’s question had sounded rhetorical, so he left it alone. Instead, he answered the lord governor’s first statement.

“Their fair share of misery… There are few who could withstand that charge historically, Davions and Sandovals included.”

Did the duke flinch? Julian couldn’t be certain.

“And House Kurita most recently,” Aaron said.

“Yes.”

There wasn’t much else Julian could say. For the last five days, people had talked about little else, in private or public. Including the young scions, who continued to mingle carefully, and in meetings at the highest levels of power, which Julian continued to audit at Prince Harrison’s request. News of the first skirmishes between Draconis Combine and Republic forces eclipsed the expanding Liao war effort as headlining news, and also the ongoing struggle between Senate loyalists and Republic nationals happening right here on Terra.

“Vincent Kurita maintains that his realm has no official standing in the conflict.”

“And you believe that?” A hint of the Sandoval paranoia regarding the Dragon peeking through. And extra emphasis on the you. Aaron helped himself to a shallow glass of a dark scarlet wine.

Julian sipped more of the sweet seltzer. He wagged his head. Not committing himself, or his prince, in any way. “It could be just as he says, two renegade leaders wrapped up in their own honor. Katana Tormark has certainly been agitating worlds on both sides of the borders. Warlord Benjamin could be simply following in the same form.”

“But what do you believe, Julian? The Dragon’s troops on the march? You must have a personal opinion.”

There was no way to be certain if Aaron Sandoval asked on behalf of The Republic, the powerful Sandoval dynasty, or himself. Which was Prince Harrison’s trouble in trying to deal with the lord governor; the man played his cards far too close, and bet conservatively.

“I think House Kurita has always been a formidable foe and, at times, a strong ally. I would never seek a war with them.” Especially as the Federated Suns continued to prepare for certain hostilities with the Capellan Confederation. But there was no need to mention that to Aaron Sandoval.

And no need to preempt the prince’s decision, either.

“But if the Combine stepped over the line, I would not hesitate to meet them.”

Aaron smirked. “A sentiment you proved with your recent showing in the simulators. A fine performance, by the way. Though I’m sure the prince must have hoped for a more unambiguous victory, especially with bootleg roms of the entire battle already available on the market.”

Julian’s turn to wince. This would be his second political headache involving simulators. His and Callandre’s both. Though because of it, he had been approached with quite a bit of cautious praise. The young nobles and even some of the experienced delegates still weren’t sure what to make of one another, but it helped when they had an icebreaker. Like discussing the finer points of the simulated battle, or what Julian thought of his opponents, or his allies, in the honor match.

“Regardless,” Julian said, “Prince Harrison is taking good advantage of the moment. I’ve hardly had a moment to myself since that day.”

“And now I am intruding with my request for this meeting. I could tell you that I’m sorry, but it would be a shallow apology, I’m afraid.”

Shaking his head, Julian pointed out some nearby seats they could occupy, nodded the lord governor ahead of him.

“Don’t worry about it. This is my third tour of the violent scars left behind after the Jihad. And the worst of them all, I think, though I have the Manhattan ruins and Gorst Flats still to visit.”

No matter the mounting tensions or shifting political landscape, Harrison Davion continued to insist that Julian visit the militarily and politically poignant historical landmarks of Terra, either in the prince’s company or with other important leaders from around The Republic and Inner Sphere. Not many cultural centers or museums of art in the champion’s future.

But Harrison had something in mind. That was becoming more apparent every day. Julian exhaled heavily. “Though after this excursion,” he said with great seriousness, “I may see to chartering a private flight.”

Aaron laughed, calm and steady: a politician’s laugh. He took a seat at the same time as Julian, easing his tall frame into one of the leather-backed tube-constructed chairs that were so common in executive shuttles and civilian DropShips.