“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.”
5
Seginus was hit hard by expeditionary forces of Clan Jade Falcon in what could only be described as a raid of petulance, punishing the world for giving aid and succor to Anastasia Kerensky and her Steel Wolves. The casualty count is coming in now. . . .
—Newswire, ComStar InterStellar Associated, Terra, 27 December 3134
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.
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 hologra
phic 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?”
“I believe Liao is always a threat. Only a fool turns his back on a junkyard dog. Even when it is quiet.”
“If that is true, then you should cancel your state visit to Terra. Send an ambassador to attend Victor’s funeral and treat with the new exarch.” Julian frowned at the red-flashing worlds. “Do not put yourself into their hands.”
Harrison laughed, unable to hold it back any longer. It was strong and commanding, like a drill instructor’s voice on the training grounds. “Good to see there are some things left to teach you, Julian. This is precisely why I must go. Why we will both attend the funeral of my uncle, your cousin. For Exarch Levin, we remind him that we are, and have always been, his willing ally in peace.”
“And for Chancellor Daoshen?” Julian asked, sensing an unspoken caveat.
“That the Federated Suns does not run from a fight.” Harrison’s face tightened down. “Ever.”
For a moment, Julian felt a thrill of fear for the power his prince wielded. Let Daoshen—or any leader—make the mistake of coming after the Federated Suns throne. It would be Harrison himself who met the charge, shoving it back down their throats.
With Julian fighting right alongside him!
“That’s your final answer?” Julian asked, knowing it was, but his military training forcing him to ask. A commander’s orders had to be clear. Always.
Harrison never took affront at this. He had been the one to sponsor Julian into the best academy in the Inner Sphere, after all, and requested instructors from the New Avalon Institute of Science to tutor his nephew in history and political sciences after academy officers admitted they had little more to teach him. If anything, Harrison enjoyed it when Julian put his education to use.
And, of course, he had already forgiven Julian much more in the young man’s life than simple clarification of orders.
“It is my final answer, Julian. Victor was family. We take care of our own. You and I—and Amanda as well—will be there to see him off.”
“And Caleb,” Julian reminded the prince.
“Yes. And Caleb.”
Why that caused the leader of the Federated Suns to sound sorrowful, Julian wasn’t certain. Wasn’t certain he hadn’t mistaken the tone, in fact. Regret? Harrison’s decisions weren’t always popular with the nobility, but Julian had never known him to waste time on regret for any one of them. It wasn’t his nature to worry over such decisions once made.
“I wonder if she’ll be there,” Julian asked then, staring down into the swirl of suns as they floated in a blue-black mist, and hardly seeing it.
Harrison grunted. “If Melissa Steiner deigns to show up, you might see Callandre in the entourage. But you know better than to dig at that old wound.”
“Hardly an old wound, Uncle. Just an old friend.” It sounded weak, even to his ears, and Harrison wasn’t buying.
“I’m speaking about the Archon, Julian. She expelled you from Lyran space after the two of you caused half a million kroner in damages and stumped the Nagelring’s honor board system. It took three years to restart the student exchange program. Stay away from her.”
Sword of Sedition Page 5
