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diplomatic types, which was Havoc shorthand for snooty blue-flamers who were heavy on ambition and light on ethics. Captain John Havoc was in his full dress uniform for the ceremony later that day, decorations studded across his chest, cap secured under his arm, feeling resplendent and ready to engage. He was of the age where defeat was an abstraction – something you needed other people for, just so that you could be the winner. An age where the overwhelming weight of your unjustified overconfidence is the only thing that carries you over the top and secures your success.
    She had alabaster skin, blue eyes and long blonde hair. Like everyone else, she’d already turned to look at him. Her gaze was cool. She probably got hit on fifteen times a day and had perfected a suitably disincentivizing gaze as a result. He didn't care. He had already failed to secure the objective once by not taking his earlier opportunity and no self-respecting member of 112 th Strike Corps, and Strike Alpha to boot, was going to allow that to happen again. Failure was not an option. He strode forward. Unusually for him, he had no idea what to say. He was sure something suitably inspiring would come to mind in the heat of battle. Conflict makes men, his commander liked to say.
    “Hi,” he said, low and cool.
    If only he'd had his shades. He wondered how to play it.
    “Hi,” she replied, looking a bit uncertain.
    He still didn’t know how he’d arrived at the next step of the plan.
    He dropped to his knees in front of her, his arms outstretched with cap in hand, while she stared at him, wide eyed and clearly disturbed, and declared, “Marry me. You are gorgeous.” He accompanied this with his most winning smile and whilst simultaneously trying to indicate his sheer helplessness in the presence of her beauty.
    Everyone in the lift erupted into laughter and fortunately that included her.
    “Do you promise to get up?” she asked.
    “Whenever and wherever you want, Ma'am.”
    She turned red and glanced away. One for the Corps, right there, he thought. He stood up and stepped forward. She gazed warily at him. He offered his arm.
    “However, right now I have to go to Windham House for a presentation ceremony with Senator Ames. We are encouraged to bring a partner along and I would be delighted if you would do me the honor of escorting me, Ma'am, looking so beautiful as you do in your blue frock.”
    The elevator chimed its arrival. The doors opened onto a crowded lobby while the elevator occupants looked on. Havoc stood with his arm extended to link with her.
    One second.
    Two seconds.
    Three seconds.
    “Alright.”
    The spontaneous applause from the elevator rippled out into the lobby, whose occupants had no idea why but hey, this guy must be some kind of war hero. And what a beautiful couple . The men in the lift looked awestruck – so that’s how the military boys go about their business.
    He marched out with her on his arm, the crowd parting before them as if they were royalty. The applause spread across the lobby and followed them out of the building. People were still applauding through the windows as he turned to make the short walk up Kensington Avenue to Windham House.
    She squeezed his arm.
    “Call me Stephanie.”
    He nodded.
    Victory!

 5. 
     
     
     
     
    Four years earlier.
    Seles, Capital Planet of the Karver Republic, a region of the Tyurin Republic.
     
    Forge stepped into the parliament surrounded by his honor guard and marched straight for the heart of the assembly. Now was his time. He would demand his rightful position and lead the Karver Republic back to greatness.
    He'd planned for every eventuality, got all the necessary agreements in place. Edwin Karver, the head of the most powerful family in the sector – with enough military strength to suppress any Tyurin resistance or Alliance interference – had given his tacit approval. Karver and his cronies were in the hall and ready to unify around Forge’s