Chapter One

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Cyrano blinked his way through several monotone speeches during the Cadet acceptance ceremony, surviving only on slim glasses of champagne served for toasting. His dress uniform chaffed at the neck, but he dared not loosen it among this crowd of military and house officials. He was, after all, the Star Wolves' duelist, a renowned representative of one of the most prominent military units in the sector. Attending the inauguration ceremony that would see new recruits pass from Cadet status into active service was a necessity evil that came with the position.

The ceremony moved from an afternoon of presentations in the open air to an early evening of food, music and mingling hosted inside an auxiliary garage at Sho Chun military base. Vintage Guardians from the Dynasty's history stood on display, the manlike war machines progressing through the generations from an original Mark III model to modern and even prototype machines. Cyrano admired a massive prototype Guardian at the end of the line, the left hand ending in a cannon obviously designed for breaking heavy armor. So much different than his smaller, more agile Black Diamond. The duelist sipped his drink and sighed; only another hour, at most, and his obligation would be filled.

"Cyrano! You're still here?" a stout man dressed in a snug Navy Captain's uniform made his way over to Cyrano with a plate of hors d'oeuvres held in one hand and a tall, young cadet trailing at the other. He walked with stumbling gait; his left leg moved stiffly from an old injury. Cyrano smiled and stepped forward to greet the other man. "I would have thought you'd found some pretty lady and escaped by now."

"Sim Brit; I thought you were too old for these things," Cyrano said, grasping the man's free hand in greeting.

"I think I'm too old, but the Brass has other ideas," Sim said with a grin on his broad face, big teeth gleaming white in his dark face. "I managed to pass on the speeches, but they made me make an appearance for the food. I can hardly complain, I suppose. Did I miss any good ones this year?"

"More of the same as every other year. Inspiring stuff, if you haven't heard it six times already," Cyrano laughed, then plucked a shrimp wrapped in soft pastry off Sim's plate. "The food is far more entertaining. Who's your shadow other there?"

"Right! Christian, step up lad, he won't bite you," Sim retreated a step and pushed the youth bodily forward. He was tall and handsome, wearing his new pilot uniform well but despite all that looked awkward and nervous. Christian mumbled something and then took a loud gulp from his glass. Cyrano glanced at Sim with an upraised eyebrow.

"I didn't know we were allowing mutes into the Star Wolves these days, or have you brought me some young cadet to corrupt? Give me three... no! Two nights of debauchery and we shall see this stiffness dissipate!" Cyrano said with a mischievous grin.

"No, no, none of that. I met him at the buffet and struck up a conversation. He's from Bergerac, like you, and knows of you by reputation," Sim sampled a dumpling from his plate, finding it more than passable. "I said you were a close friend and that I would introduce him to you. That's when he seemed to lose his tongue and his nerve."

"By reputation? You mean the women of Bergerac still talk of me after all these years?"

"You're one of the finest duelists in the sector," Christian blurted out. "I've watched the holos, studied your strategies, you're a master of the arena!" After saying his piece, he immediately took another drink, as if he needed fortification to continue.

"Ah," Cyrano said, swirling his drink. "That reputation."

"It proceeds you, you know," Sim said. "Some of the younger lads are foolish enough to think you're a hero. Even look up to you. Could be you're becoming an example of what a Dynasty officer should look like."

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