Riposte

Dan stared at the half-naked, unkempt man across from him and knew that he was speaking the truth, however improbable his words might seem. Dan looked quizzically at Morgan. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Morgan opened his hands and shrugged helplessly. "I couldn't. For the very same reasons that Patrick, Salome, and you were perfect to lead the Kell Hounds, I could not tell you why I was fleeing or why I'd sent the others away. None of you are stupid, but you all tend to see action as the solution to most problems. In the situation that I saw, to act would have been to die."

Dan shook his head. "I still don't understand why you couldn't have told us. We would have followed your lead."

Morgan smiled. "Would you? If I had told you I must go away because of one man, would you have refrained from seeking him out and destroying him? I don't think so." Morgan sighed heavily. "Worse yet, Dan, I myself came only gradually to realize what I've just told you. When I first left the unit, my emotions, my hopes, dreams, and fears were a jumble. Intellectually, I could sort things out enough to act upon some of them, but emotionally, I felt as though I were drowning. I felt—I knew—that I would be condemning you all to death if I spoke my thoughts."

Dan nodded slowly. "And all this has something to do with Yorinaga Kurita and the battle on Mallory's World?"

"Yes." Morgan turned and stared out across the desert. "As long as he remained in exile, there was no danger. Now, despite the pain I caused, it appears that my precautions were worth the effort." Morgan fell silent for a moment, then shivered despite the heat and turned back to Dan.

"You recall what I asked you to tell the Abbot?"

Dan nodded. "To give me the messages for ComStar and to carry them to Starboro so they can be sent."

Morgan smiled. "Yes. Add one thing more. Where are the Kell Hounds now?"

"Northwind, Federated Suns. Our contract's with the Lyran Commonwealth, but we've been on Northwind since June because the Archon loaned us to Hanse Davion at his request. Salome is Acting Commander."

Morgan nodded. "Good. Send her a message. Ask her to take the Kell Hounds to Thorin. She'll get further instructions there. Then wait for me in Starboro. We'll be shipping out in two days."

"Bound for Thorin?"

Morgan shook his head. "Tharkad. I must speak with the Archon." Morgan's face had changed, his expression became remote. "Now, if you will excuse me, I wish some time alone."

Dan nodded. "Morgan?"

"Yes?"

"Though I deeply regret the circumstances," Dan said in a low voice, "it feels so right to have you back."

7

New Avalon

Crucis March, Federated Suns

22 October 3027

The Davion Heavy Guards troopers who had gathered at the Fox Den Tavern cheered as Morgan Hasek-Davion's image again appeared on the video screen. Morgan, as he had done in the ten previous replays of the news segment, shook hands with Hanse Davion on a balcony overlooking a cheering throng. "It is a great honor to be asked to serve as best man at your wedding ceremony, Prince Hanse, and I gladly accept the duty and responsibility that goes along with it."

Seated deep in the tavern's darkest corner, Morgan Hasek-Davion watched his own image on the screen. Part of him recognized that he was the tall Mech Warrior with flowing red hair and the broad, strong build that many called his Davion traits. It was true, he thought, that he and Hanse Davion looked more like brothers than uncle and nephew. Morgan shuddered as the image froze on the screen, then blurred away as the helpless tavern keeper rewound the tape once more in response to the Heavy Guards' demands to see the segment again.

Morgan shook his head and looked down at the half-drunk beer in his hands. I know that was me on the screen, but at the same time, it's not.Looking up at the screen again, he sighed. That Morgan Hasek-Davion harbors none of the doubts and concerns I have.Morgan pushed his chair back from the table and slowly waded through the crowd toward the door.

One of his lancemates, Leftenant Ben Colson, spotted him and called out to him. "Hey, Major, where are you going? We're not done toasting you yet."

Morgan smiled broadly. "Just want to get some air, Ben. I'll be back." He looked around the room, then pointed to the holovid screen. "Been in crowds all day ..."

Colson nodded and winked conspiratorially, then turned back to the screen. Morgan wormed through a couple of tight spots, then escaped into the cool night air. The Fox Den's door shut behind him, and except for the hum of the sodium streetlights, silence enfolded him.

Morgan began to walk. Though he had no conscious destination, his feet soon took him to the Davion Peace Garden. The huge trees arching overhead formed a dark, solemn tu

Morgan remembered his image on the holovid screen and the commentary of a woman from the Social Functions Administration. "Morgan Hasek-Davion is Prince Hanse's nephew," she had said, "the son of the Prince's half-sister, Marie. You can see how much he resembles the Prince. He has the broad shoulders and that characteristic red hair of the Davions." Well, she got it half-right, at least.

A slight breeze plucked at Morgan's long hair and blew a lock of it across his face. He pushed it away and unconsciously coiled the strand around one index finger. She never mentioned how I wear my hair long, as does my father. Nor she did point out that I have my father's green eyes, or that my muscular build was inherited from the Haseks. In seeing so much Davion in me, she's as blind as my father.Morgan again looked around and saw that his wandering had carried him deeper into the park—almost halfway to the NAIS. Off to the left, down in the bowl of a grassy amphitheatre, he saw the dark silhouette of the park's latest monument. Morgan stepped over the walkway railing and approached the stone and steel statue.

The flickering golden light of a memorial flame flashed highlights across the trio of figures that comprised the tableau. On the left was a panther—stylized enough to reflect oriental origin—as it recoiled from the middle figure. That figure, a wolfhound already torn and bleeding from several wounds, bared its fangs and lunged at the big black cat. The dog's defiant spirit was expressed in the suicidal assault, for its injuries were portrayed as nearly mortal. Behind the dog, crouching in horror, a child peeked at the warring animals through splayed fingers. A rope bound around the child's waist extended enough above the sculpture to suggest the child's imminent rescue and to validate the hound's courageous sacrifice.

Morgan looked down at the bronze plaque set before the burning flame, and read aloud: "In Memoriam: For those who gave their lives to save the hijacked DropShip, Silver Eagle,26 June 3027. The fruits of your sacrifice will live forever." Morgan listened to the echoes of his words drain away into the darkness, then glanced at the list of names immortalized on the plaque. Heading the list was the name of "Lieutenant Colonel Patrick M. Kell."

Morgan shook his head. I mourn your loss, Patrick, but how I envy your sense of duty. You suffered no confusion. You knew what had to be done and you did it.Morgan again looked up at the steel wolfhound. I feel as torn and battered as that dog, yet I ca