Fortress of Lies

She was laying it on pretty thick, and Erik was buying none of it. A man in his position attracted a certain type of power-hungry female, gold-diggers seeking some advantage. He usually sent them packing immediately—and even when he didn’t, he’d quickly catch them making eyes at the Duke.

He sensed this woman was not one of those, despite her obvious attempts at manipulation. A politico of some kind? A reporter? Some sort of financial player seeking a hook into his family fortune? Well, whatever she was, he found her exceedingly pleasant, and a game of cat and mouse could be just the sort of distraction he needed to keep this planet from driving him mad. Besides, he thought with a smile, in a game of cat and mouse, sometimes you get the cheese.

“You know my name.”

She laughed, and it was like the ringing of tiny bells. “I’m a frequent visitor to the mansion, and everyone there knows you by now. Everyone talks about your proposed accord. Not all positively, I’m afraid.”

“What about you? What’s your opinion on the matter?”

She looked apologetic. “You were walking somewhere. I interrupted you. I’m very sorry.”

“To my hotel, the Fairview.” He gestured.

“I know where it is. Do you mind if I walk with you? I love the park this time of year.”

A likely story. “I’d be honored,” he said.

They struck out along a curving walk that snaked among the low hills. It wound halfway around the shore of a pond, whose waters were navigated by native waterfowl and remote-controlled sailboats piloted by children on the banks.

The hotel, which had seemed very far just a few minutes before, now looked altogether too close, and he tried to slow his pace. “You were going to tell me how you felt about my accord?”

She laughed again, and it made him feel warm all over. “Actually, Commander, I don’t have one. I’m very apolitical, and not even local. I’m an art student, and my parents run an interplanetary mining conglomerate. It’s just that somehow I’ve fallen in with a political crowd here.”

No one just falls in with a political crowd.

She continued. “Even if I don’t care much for the politics themselves, I find the people fascinating.”

“I imagine they find you fascinating as well.” I can lay it on thick, too.

She blushed slightly and averted her eyes. “My social calendar is often very full, I’ll admit.”

“Then I imagine you’ll be at Senator Prescott’s party tonight.” He gri

“I think I have an invitation somewhere. But to be honest, the Senator’s parties are a crashing bore.”

He groaned theatrically. “You’ve just delivered a death sentence. I’m told it’s a political necessity that I attend, and I was grasping at straws.”

She looked up at him and gri

“Am I being too hopeful, or was that an invitation to make an invitation?”

“It might have been.”

“Then please, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to tonight’s boring party?”

“I’ll allow you to escort me,” she said, “but it won’t be boring.”

It was raining when Erik’s limousine pulled up in front of Elsa’s apartment—an elegant little brownstone perhaps a kilometer from the Capitol complex. A uniformed doorman held an umbrella over her as she slipped gracefully into the car, and Erik couldn’t help admiring how her simple black dress showed off her legs. He felt his heart rate kick up a little, like a soldier going into battle.

She wore diamonds. A choker, earrings made from clusters of smaller stones, and a bangle bracelet on her right wrist—the sparkles sharp against her tan skin. Her hair was still down about her shoulders, but held back from her face by a pair of diamond hairpins. The complex elegance of her jewelry beautifully offset the simplicity of her dress. He wondered what those diamonds represented. Family heirlooms? A wealthy lover’s gift? The spoils of ill-gotten gain?

He looked at her. How could anything so beautiful also be so dangerous? Yet the potential danger was part of what made her exciting. Or was it her at all? He’d known warriors who stormed headfirst into danger, simply for the glory and excitement of it. He’d never thought of himself as timid in battle, but throwing himself into danger for its own sake—simply for the thrill, and consequences be damned? He’d never understood such suicidal behavior. Until now.

But if his interest in Elsa was about courting danger, it also served his legitimate purposes. His mind flashed ahead to the coming party. He thought about what Kinston had said about making an entrance, and smiled. Everyone would be watching him. Everyone.

“I’m just a simple soldier, Elsa. I don’t have words that can do you justice.”

She smiled, and for a moment outdazzled every diamond she was wearing. “Commander, you are a soldier, but simple? Never. You honor me.” She settled back in the limousine as casually as one might in a comfortable armchair. She was clearly used to such comforts.

“That seems to be quite a nice apartment you have. When you said you were an art student, I might have imagined more spartan quarters. Your family—”

She seemed embarrassed. “People of a certain breeding are not allowed to live in hovels. Part of me wishes I could, just for a year or two. It would be part of the ‘experience’.”

He laughed. “I understand more than you know. A Mech Warrior doesn’t live like a foot soldier, of course. But I’m pampered, pulled from the heat of battle to run,” he waved his arms, “diplomatic errands like this one. I’d like, just once, to actually be a simple soldier, answerable only to fate, the fellowship of my equals, and my own skill in battle.”

“Your uncle keeps you on a tight leash, doesn’t he?”

He laughed. “Again, you seem to be one step ahead of me. How is that?”

“The Sandovals are hardly a low-profile family. Plenty of information in the public databases—a great deal more about your uncle than you, I’m afraid. Of course, anything since the HPG network went down is sketchy.”

“I thought you weren’t interested in politics?”

“I’m interested in people, Commander. I find you very interesting.”

“Would you stop calling me ‘Commander’? I feel like I should be asking you to salute. ‘Erik’ would be fine.”

“Erik,” she rolled the name off her tongue. “I like the way it sounds.”

So do I. He glanced out the car window. They were headed out of the center of the city. “Where are we going? I assume you’ve been there before?”

She nodded. “Senator Prescott lives in the High Bluff neighborhood. Very exclusive, old money. He’s in the Hereditary House, and it shows. It also explains why I warned this could be a dull party.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s related to the success of your accord. The Hereditary House of Parliament is conservative in all respects. Skeptical of change, terrible dancers. Of course they voted against you.”

He laughed.

She continued. “Elected House: mostly new money, self-made men and women, reactionary, volatile, and most can cut a rug with the best of them. They voted with you.”

“And the Appointed House?”

“A mixed bag, dominated by whatever the political flavor of the moment is. The current group? Bad dancers coming in, good dancers on the wane, but still holding a power base.”

“So my real strategy should be teaching people to dance?”

It was her turn to laugh. She put her fingertips to her lips for a moment, and when she lowered her hand, it fell casually, and lightly, on his knee. “That’s not really my area, but if you want to meet people, that I can help with.”