to the ears.

The Duke had begun explaining the situation in his deep, sonorous voice. Tara heard the words with enormous clarity but without deriving sense from them.

But she didn’t need to. She already knew.

Although it played no part in The Republican scheme as outlined by Stone, Duke Gregory’s father had formed a Chamber of Deputies, popularly elected, to “advise” the planetary governor. The real point had been to bleed confrontational steam from a population possessed of two large minorities bitterly opposed both to The Republic and each other. The people of Skye would be granted a voice, precisely to keep

the fractious talking instead of busting heads. But the Chamber possessed no actual legislative power.

So now the Deputies had got the bit in their collective teeth. Wishing to spare Skye and the rest of Prefecture IX the horror the whole world now knew had been visited upon Chaffee, Glengarry, Ryde and Zebebelgenubi, they were preparing to vote on a resolution calling upon the Duke to capitulate to the least fearful of the invaders.

“Which is treason,” Duke Gregory concluded. “So, yes, Countess, I am preparing to dissolve the Deputies for the duration if that’s what it takes.”

“Your Grace, is that wise?” Tara demanded.

“Wise? To counter treason?” Solvaig made great show of shaking his head. “Why must we listen to this— this—”

“Add a noun to that,” Tara Bishop said, deadly quiet, “and I call you out.”

As he turned puce and sputtered, the Countess continued: “I grant there is no provision for such a body within the Republican Charter. Nonetheless, having consented to seat such a body, to suppress it by arms for fulfilling the function you tasked it with would, I submit, violate the spirit of that Charter. It would smack of plain tyranny. And cowardice.”

Everybody else in the room talked at once, quite loudly. Except for Captain Bishop, who contented herself with a brief, low whistle at Tara’s back.

Tara stood her ground, head up, not bowing to the storm. The tiny hairs upon her arms seemed to tickle her individually, so keen had her senses become. When the tumult died down—the others needing more or less simultaneously to draw breath—she went on in a tone of reason backed with steel.

“Should we betray the principles they’re fighting for,” she said, “such as freedom of speech—whichis in the Charter—we shall alreadyhave surrendered. We shall ultimately be no better than the Clans or the most oppressive Great Houses. We might as well be Dracs ourselves—or Wolves!”

Surprisingly Duke Gregory had subsided. “Grant me the wit at least to have thought of that, my lady,” he said evenly. “But tell me—cowardice?”

“In retreating from that position your father took and you assumed,” she said. “Giving your subjects a voice and then shutting it up when it speaks words you’d rather not hear .Fearing mere words—defending yourself against them with bayonets and bullets.”

The Duke’s face crumpled in a frown. But it was a pensive expression, not angry.

“Curious that this Countess should be so ready to take up the cause of traitors,” Solvaig sneered. “And in the face of the Clans.”

Eyes aflame, she rounded on him. “It is not those who preach surrender I champion—although I understand their feelings, as you who have never faced a foe in battle, seen friends die—heardthem die—cannot. Iknow what it is like to see my home world devastated by Clan brutality.

“I have suffered at Clan hands. I ordered my ancestral castle—myhome, in which I was raised from childhood—blown to rubble to prevent the Steel Wolves befouling it like the beasts they are. I saw my world’s beautiful capital city, the city whose name I bear, destroyed out of nothing but spite. I saw Terra itself invaded— and my troops and I it was who threw the Clanners back.

“So do notpresume to tar me with the brush of treason, Mister Minister, when I stand forth for the rights of Republican citizens to free expression.”

Solvaig’s face worked like a bagful of fists. He turned pink and red and white by turns. Before he could find words, Legate Eckard spoke again, quietly yet with a firmness Tara had not heard from him before.

“I have sworn an oath to uphold The Republic and all its principles, intact. So have we all. I intend to honor that oath. And I do see the force in your arguments. But before we go further—Countess Campbell, have you seen any notice of weakened resolve on the part of the troops actually charged with fighting for this world?”

“I have not, Legate. They are ready to face the Falcons’ worst.”Emotionally, at least, she thoughtBut one worry at a time, here. . . .

“They don’t pay any attention to debates in the Deputies,” Tara Bishop said. “They don’t give a rat’s—don’t care what anyone says there.”

Without looking Tara raised a hand to forestall her aide saying more. She was right, and her words to the point; but they had entered a zone where it was risky for juniors to be seenor heard.

Eckard turned to the Duke, ignoring a glower from his nominal superior Brown, who had resumed her chair and sat with arms folded tightly across her rib cage. “Your Grace, in truth I see no sign of this debate in the Chamber weakening anyone’s resolve in such a way as to justify shutting it down. Your Republic Skye Militia will fight, you have just heard. The Countess’ Highlanders, veteran soldiers of unquestioned quality, will fight. And your people, the people of Skye, continue volunteering for Countess Campbell’s ... special initiative faster than our clerks can process their applications. Have you reason to believe the Assembly will actuallypass a measure suing Galaxy Commander Aleksandr Hazen for terms?”

The Duke looked to his Chief Minister, who still hovered by the door like a pudgy pale thundercloud. “Augustus?”

“No, your Grace,” he blurted. “But—but still, that such a question should evenbe debated, it demands decisive action, theharshest action—”

The Duke held up his hand again. Solvaig sputtered to a stop.

“I am no tyrant, Countess,” Duke Gregory said. “Neither am I coward. And I understand that you imputed neither to me, only to actions which remain at this moment hypothetical. Which I think you will admit is just as well for all concerned.”

Tara nodded. Child of career diplomats, she knew in her marrow when to yield as well as when to stand.

“Credit me, please, with understanding what I undertook in consenting to allow the Chamber of Deputies to continue to sit since my accession. I uphold my father’s wisdom in creating it. My commitment to The Republic and its ideals has not wavered and never shall.

“Yet in the end I fight for the people of Skye. I will not sacrifice them to principles—not even Devlin

Stone’s. If that makesme a traitor I will answer for it—afterwe have whipped the Falcon scum back to their Occupation Zone!”

Tara snapped to attention. “Your Grace, I have said harsh words. I regret the necessity of saying them. Yet I would never presume to name you traitor for choosing your people’s welfare over all other considerations. I only thank God I did not have to choose between Northwind and The Republic.”

“Fair enough,” the Duke said.

Then he sighed. “Very well. You have made your case, Countess, in a most eloquent and emphatic manner, if one as unorthodox as your fashion sense. I shall permit debate to continue unrestricted—so long as it remains no more than debate. Should the Deputies actually go so far as to pass a surrender resolution, then I shall feel compelled to take decisive action—to preserve the integrity of Prefecture IX and The Republic, as well as the welfare of Skye.”

Her first day of training as a Mech Warrior, her one-eyed, one-legged, one-armed instructor had said, “Whatever else you learn, learn to know what victory is.” Tara Campbell had taken those words to heart—and suffered when she neglected to observe them. She nodded, and made herself do so briskly.

“On behalf of The Republic of the Sphere, I thank you, your Grace.”

Prefect Della Brown frowned at her rival’s presumption in speaking for The Republic. She said nothing, though.She’s not the house I’m playing to, Tara Campbell thought grimly.

“Perhaps if your Grace spoke a few words in the Chamber yourself, it might help keep minds right,” Legate Eckard said.

“The Duke is not allowed to make personal presentations to the Deputies!” Augustus Solvaig crowed as if it

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