“Having a rough day, Lord Davion? It can’t be any worse than the shuttle’s starboard lounge, where my ticket sentenced me.”

“Julian, please. And I don’t know about that. It’s been …an experience.”

Aaron Sandoval leaned forward, suddenly energized. “All right, I’ll play my hand against yours. What have you got?”

If Julian thought Aaron was serious at all in an attempt to show his true hand, he’d be far more worried for his uncle’s absence. Still, this was a game safe enough for now. “A pair of Captains-General,” Julian said. “Anson Marik and Cameron-Jones. You can put those two at the same table or across the entire lounge, and they’ll hold a bitter conversation at volume over whom should resurrect the Free Worlds League.”

“Never admitting that it is simply beyond the resources of either one,” Aaron interjected.

“Exactly. And the one thing they can agree on is that they will oppose Jessica Marik to their last coin and final bullet.” In fact, only the low-level pass over Hilton Head’s ruins had silenced them both, for a moment, until Anson made a point, loudly, of how Cameron-Jones’ ancestors had been among those to welcome the Word of Blake in the old days of the League.

“So?” Julian asked. “What’s your hand?”

“Three Dracs,” Aaron said, deadpan. “Warlord Toranaga, Yori Kurita, and one of the coordinator’s advisors.”

Julian didn’t hold back his grimace. “It must be very… polite in there.”

“To the point of screaming. Bowing and smiles, and cold, murderous looks. Their arrival killed all conversation before takeoff, and the bounce from Geneva was very chilly. And apparently no one’s office of foreign affairs considered the inherent problems in seating a Sandoval, even one from The Republic, so close to high-level members from the Draconis Combine. I half-expected a katana at my throat when I moved too quickly for the viewing window earlier.”

Annoyed Julian might be, but his professional relationship with the “Marik” leaders stopped far short of personal animosity. “I think I’ll fold to your raise,” he said. Then: “What’s on your mind, Lord Governor?”

“Aaron, Julian. Aaron.” He took a tentative sip at his red wine, untouched until now, then nodded his approval. “We’re close enough to family and political companions to make titles superficial.”

“How is that, when I champion the Federated Suns and you are one of The Republic’s most vaunted administrators?”

But to this, the lord governor of Prefecture IV and Duke Caselton merely smiled, and took another sip of his wine.

One point to Sandoval. It served Julian right for asking the question directly, trying to get the man to tip his hand. In the awkward silence that followed, he might try to speculate on the relationship, and see if Aaron would lean one way or another. Might.

Instead, he turned to the video monitor, watching the trivid display as the shuttle swung around one last time to view new highlights. On the backside of the twisted framework of metal girders Julian had seen earlier, lying in five meters of water, the outlines of two rusted-over BattleMechs could be seen lying prostrate on the lifeless shoal.

It amazed him, the clearness of the water here. But then there were no seaweed beds or thick algae in these waters. No living coral. Only a touch of silt, washed up from deeper floors.

Chilling.

“You must understand,” Aaron said a moment later. “Except for joining the prince for the viewing of Victor’s remains, my access to Harrison Davion has been less than optimal. And it is exactly my position within The Republic that prevents me from making too strong a push for an audience. My exarch, I believe, would rather I kept my distance from House Davion.”

Fair enough. “We have received much the same …impression.”

“Your schedule, at least, is slightly less daunting.”

Julian nodded. “Which is why you sent your nephew, Erik, ahead. To feel out the waters.” Julian glanced at the monitor again. Saw the unnaturally clear ocean rolling over shattered bedrock, and swallowed hard. “So to speak.”

This time the lord governor did not exactly confirm Julian’s supposition. “Erik’s report was not encouraging, though the boy rarely knows what it is I’m looking for.” Keying up the point that Julian could not be certain, either. “Still, given your resistance, and the prince’s unavailability, I’ve been content to be patient.”

“And now?” Julian asked.

But Aaron waited. Waited for him to open with one of the two most-obvious gambits. The Dragon again, which dealt the Sandoval dynasty into the game, or local politics, which brought in the exarch. This man was a master player. Julian chose to gamble conservatively.

“Tikonov,” he guessed.

“What have you heard about Tikonov?” Aaron asked, very, very still. Giving away neither pleasure nor disappointment in Julian’s choice.

How to answer that? “Everything Prince Harrison knows, I believe. I’ve been kept abreast of most reports concerning the fighting here on Terra and around The Republic.” Which said a lot, and not much all at the same time.

“Have you?” Aaron asked. “That is interesting. And yet Caleb Davion was hard pressed to say what planets are currently being contested by House Liao.”

Harrison had arranged for Aaron to meet with Caleb? Or had Erik slipped into the young heir’s schedule? “Caleb has his priorities. Harrison Davion has mine.”

“Does he.” It was not a question, this time.

Julian simply shrugged, letting the stakes stay on the table. He saw no reason to mention that such had been his father’s advice, when Julian first looked toward a life in the military under Harrison’s sponsorship. “Being a prince’s man, Jules, will often demand your very best. I know you have that to give. But it must come without reservations and without hesitation.”

Julian had not always lived by such a priority. And regretted those years when he had not, taking the prince’s favor for granted. His father, as was so often the case, had the right of it. A little early on his advice, as if knowing he did not have many years left in him, but, ultimately, right.

“Taking the Swordsworn into Prefecture V,” Aaron said, “relieved a great deal of pressure against local Republic garrisons. But it opened my worlds to attack. Tikonov is the nerve center of Prefecture IV and of the Swordsworn. These recent raids could be nothing more than flanking assaults, meant to drive me back into my own territory, leaving New Aragon open for a major blitz.”

“But they could be something more,” Julian said. “Probing attacks to test your strengths and weaknesses at home. And Tikonov was once one of the crown jewels in the Capellan crown.”

“Precisely. And I should not need to point out that if Tikonov falls, it would destabilize the border between The Republic and the Federated Suns.”

Implying that House Davion had a major stake in keeping the world secure for Aaron Sandoval. Or, possibly more on point, that having a Sandoval in power along the border was good for the Suns’ long-term interests in the region. There were reports that the Draconis March lords had already moved “peacekeeping” forces into the area, to supplement Swordsworn positions. There was no proof that the lord governor had invited such assistance, but neither had he protested very strongly.

Was Aaron Sandoval playing both sides for his own benefit? Or was there more in play here than a stable border?

“Certainly Exarch Levin could be persuaded to put a regiment of the Principes Guards or Hastati Sentinels on Tikonov?” Julian suggested.

The lord governor gave him a sickly smile. “Certainly. Though I would hate to tax The Republic when its forces are needed against Liao and the Jade Falcons, and now House Kurita as well…” He trailed off suggestively. Then: “Let me ask you, Julian. Would you consider The Republic a strong ally?”