Raul shuddered, trying to imagine giving up his Legionnaire for one of the tinman suits enjoyed by ground soldiers. Now that was desperation.

Clark Diago thought so as well, though along another train of thought. “You’re pretty trusting, giving the enemy access to your Ryoken.”

“I can use someone else with knowledge of cutting-edge technology to oversee repairs. Besides,” she shrugged, rising, “I think we are all pretty trusting to give Sandoval access to our plans and stockpiles.” She threw down the last of her drink, then set the glass on the table and used it to hold down her bar payment of crumpled bills. Without another word she left, gracefully weaving among tables and scattered chairs on a path toward the O-club door.

Most of the men watched her departure. More used to Tassa’s cryptic personality, Raul shrugged it aside. Moreover, the same uneasy feeling had plagued him as well, ever since the staff briefing on Powers’ arrival. How could the militia embrace one wayward faction even while fighting off another? “She’s right,” he said, then asked the question out loud for the opinions of the others.

“The Swordsworn aren’t acting nearly as predatory as the Steel Wolves,” Chautec said. Then, hedging, he added, “Yet.”

“Enemy of our enemy,” Jeffrey McDaniels said with a casual shrug. “It’s not like we’re going to suddenly side with Aaron Sandoval when this is all over.”

Powers offered nothing at all, staring at the table but obviously alert to the conversation. Raul pressed forward. “But we are choosing sides,” he pointed out. “With all due respect, Sir Powers, we’ve given the Swordsworn legitimacy, and I’m not so certain that’s a good thing.”

The Knight-Errant glanced up. A shadow of doubt flickered in his gray eyes just for a second, enough for Raul to be sure it had been there, and then was suppressed. The MechWarrior felt certain he had been meant to see it.

“I’m not so certain either, Raul.” Powers voice betrayed nothing of his own doubts, though. He had made his decision, and was standing by it. “It’s a terrible answer to a worse question, though. And the Swordsworn have helped keep Achernar free, haven’t they?”

Raul stood, abandoned his melting margarita. “No sir,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “I think they were just here first.”

He gave the Knight and then Major Chautec a respectful nod, and clapped Jeffrey on the shoulder as he stepped away and followed Tassa’s path to the door. He paused there to look back. Powers already had the table turned back toward an upbeat mood, encouraging Jeffrey McDaniels to recount another tale. The Knight Errant glanced his way, once, and saluted him with a noncommittal nod. Raul pushed his way outside.

Tassa waited, standing in a large patch of evening shade, letting the dry, evening breeze tug at her dark red hair. Somehow Raul had been certain he’d catch up with her, though she looked surprised to see him. “Not staying for the party?”

“You know,” he said, answering her in a roundabout way, “you have a knack for throwing water on other people’s fire.”

Tassa shrugged, not agreeing or not caring. Likely the latter. “I need to get Yulri out of dock. Can you give me a hand?”

“It’s going to take Sir Powers’s authority, likely countersigned by Colonel Blaire, to do that.” Raul shook his head. “No way he’ll get to it before morning, so relax, Tassa.”

Hands on her hips and a jaunty tilt to her head, Tassa swung around to regard Raul with a poisoned stare. “You do not like the idea of freeing the prisoner either, do you?” She quickly doused her flare of temper, though. “Still don’t trust me?”

Raul shrugged. “I don’t know you,” he said. “But I’m trying.”

“Yes. Sometimes you are very trying.”

If that wasn’t the Atlas calling the Jupiter overpowered… Raul shrugged, stared up into the pale blue sky. Achernar’s evenings were often mild and beautiful. Only a touch of the day’s heat remained. He suddenly doubted his decision to walk out on the O-club, but wasn’t about to go back inside. “You know,” he said with hesitant strength, gaining momentum as he talked, “it’s still early, and I left my third drink sitting on the table.”

“What of it?” Tassa Kay asked warily.

Another brief itch of guilt, which Raul ignored, having pushed this far already. “So, I have a bottle of whiskey stashed in my room,” he told her. “It’s not reserve label, but it’s true Glengarry stock.”

Tassa considered it for all of ten seconds. “One condition. None of this ridiculous four drink limit.”

He doubted that Tassa missed him wince at the headache he’d have in the morning, but nodded anyway. “Deal,” he agreed.

And Raul would deal with whatever the Fates had in mind for him tomorrow, he promised. Just so long as they didn’t call a military alert this evening.

Sirens’ Pass

Achernar

1 March 3133

The last high peaks of the Tanager Mountains, the ones that anchored the short march down toward the Taibek Hills, had swallowed Achernar’s sun not quite an hour before. A pale sky hung over valleys and narrow clefts now being drowned in shadow. Sirens’ Pass, the last—or the first—major break in the Tanagers, which faded down into the B’her farming valley, swam in an artificial twilight.

The perfect place for an ambush.

Erik Sandoval-Groell waited with his forces inside the lower pass, hands sweat-slick on his Hatchetman’s dead control sticks. Reaching into the storage under his seat, he fished out a pair of neoleather gloves and pulled them on with determined tugs. Better. He wouldn’t let anything betray him here. Not damp hands, and certainly not second thoughts. Five days before he had set himself to watching for a chance to ratchet up tensions between the Steel Wolves and the Republic forces on Achernar. Now was that time. There was no turning back.

Outside, a violent wind cut through the pass, howling and wailing as it brushed past the dark shafts that were an old Taibek Mining venture. The mine openings were such an obvious ambush site that Erik had ordered them left clear. Five MiningMech conversions and his own BattleMech crouched against cold rock, concealed on precarious ledges or half buried in ancient tailings. They would hit first.

And soon.

Through his sweating ferroglass shield, Erik watched as Steel Wolf infantry concluded their sweep of the first few shaft entrances, calling them clear and scrambling to the next set of dark openings even as the main patrol worked their way down out of the knife-edged Tanager Mountains. A converted ForestryMech led the way, flanked by two JES strategic missile carriers. A line of supply and support vehicles trailed behind them in column formation, ready to rape the B’her valley agrocombines of foodstock and machinery, and at sound military positions several infantry carriers and light armor paced the column. The JES’s slowed a bit, no doubt on alert with magres imaging throwing back so many metal-lode returns. Ore, abandoned dump carts, an old drilling rig—there was too much clutter for them to read solid outlines and Erik’s forces had been in place long enough for thermal shadows to cool on everything except his Hatchetman’s fusion engine. That took them several critical seconds.

He saw the carriers finally react to his presence, accelerating forward and swiveling their turrets against his position. Trembling with pent-up adrenaline, Erik banked the BattleMech’s fusion fires to life, checked that he was selected to force-wide comms and ordered, “Now, hit them now!”

Priorities had been assigned earlier. His quartet of missile-equipped conversions rained fire and destruction down on the lead ForestryMech, Erik not wanting to take any chances against the design. His ultra-class autocannon hammered out eighty-mil slugs at double any normal rate of fire, chewing through armor with good-sized bites as the ForestryMech raced for the cover of a large pile of tailings.