“No. Not as such.” Tassa pursed her lips in thought, obviously debating something with herself. With a rueful shake of her head, and a suspicious glance toward Norgales, she reached inside the deep neck of her jumpsuit and pulled out a folded piece of paper that she handed to Raul Ortega.

The folded document still held the heat of Tassa Kay’s body, warm to the touch and smelling ever so faintly of jasmine. A verifax, the CSO noted, seeing the edge of a hologram woven into the fibers. All but impossible to forge. Opening the first fold, the hologram shone forth like a beacon—and a gut punch to Raul’s stomach. It was a sword, driven point-down through a novastar and surrounded by ten tiny suns—one for each Prefecture of the Republic.

The official seal of the Exarch.

If there were any doubts those were erased by the signature of Exarch Damien Redburn, written in a tight military scrawl just above the hologram. Raul opened the next two folds with greater care, almost reverence. The verifax message was as short as it was compelling, and definitely in keeping with the manner of the Exarch.

Raul swallowed dryly, and looked at Tassa Kay with new eyes. Her anger and frustration were still apparent, but also he noticed a slight air of amusement about her. The way her lips tipped up in one corner, and the jaunty set of her shoulders. A cat, toying with two mice. Or even a spider, which had just invited two flies into her parlor.

Well, one of those flies was happy to see the fangs behind her… well… not-so-honeyed words. Still, Raul had wanted to help Tassa out, and she had handed him ample justification for any decision he cared to make. Legate Sempres certainly couldn’t argue with the Exarch, who was both the civilian and military leader of The Republic. He passed the verifax over to Captain Norgales and waved Second Officer Thomas back into the fold.

“Customs takes charge of MechWarrior Kay’s Ryoken,” he told Thomas, but never straying his eyes too far from Tassa. “It will be held at our remote station here at the San Marino,” he backed Tassa Kay’s impending outburst down with a shake of his head, “for the additional security offered by the presence of local militia. Customs will retain authority. Captain Norgales?”

Norgales didn’t look at all happy, but he carefully handed Tassa Kay back her verifax and nodded.

Raul smiled tightly. “Good enough. Second Officer Thomas, if you’ll get the appropriate noteputer forms, I’ll attach my authorization. Good afternoon,” he said to Norgales. And to Tassa, “Good luck.” Raul stepped away from the two of them, knowing it was always best to distance one’s self from any difficult negotiation as soon as possible. Let the decision stand on its own—no discussion of the merits.

He occupied himself instead with another look over the Ryoken II, walking directly up to its berth, standing in the overhang of the BattleMech’s forward-thrust cockpit. The upper legs had an extra-wide flare of armor near the back—something he hadn’t noticed before. If he didn’t know better—

“So tell me what you see.”

Tassa Kay stood just behind his left shoulder. Raul hadn’t heard her approach, which seemed impossible given her forceful presence. He felt it weighing against him now, radiating a subliminal warmth. He swallowed against a knot in his throat.

“Ryoken II, obviously,” he said. “Six-packs swapped in for the usual longshots, medium lasers over the top—I’m guessing extended-range—and PPCs at the waist. It must run hotter than an inferno round in combat, but its damage profile would be equally severe. And unless I’m mistaken, you’ve added jumpjet ports. The chassis can’t support so much modification, though.” He considered, hedged. “Unless you also lightened up your armor profile by using ferrofibrous material.” All in all, it sounded like a military evaluation right out of the book.

Tassa must have thought so as well. “You don’t talk like a cop,” she said, almost accusing him. She stepped around to his side, where she could see his face.

“Republic Guard, Achernar Second Militia,” he admitted. Then, “Reservist.”

“Great Father, more weekend warriors.” The oath slipped out quickly, but didn’t seem to be a personal slight so much as a general observation. “No offense,” Tassa offered. “I should not be surprised, after Dieron.”

For the second time since meeting her, Raul was actually able to forget—for a moment—the physical pull he felt. “You came here from Dieron?” That was one of the worlds where heavy fighting had supposedly occurred. A hundred questions sprung to mind. One fought its way to the fore. “What happened?”

Tassa looked down at her shoulder, as if staring through her jumpsuit fabric to the Exarch’s verifax. “It was…” She seemed uncertain of the words. Her eyes glanced back to Raul, head still cocked down. “It was messy.”

“Meaning you aren’t going to tell me?”

“Not right now,” Tassa agreed. “But I owe you. You buy me a drink sometime, and maybe I’ll talk about it. Maybe.” She raised an eyebrow, turned on her heel and started away.

Raul smiled, laughing at himself, at his obviously male reaction to Tassa Kay’s every move. A shadow of guilt darkened his thoughts as he remembered Jessica and the dinner date he was going to break tonight, but not so upsetting that he couldn’t make one more stab. “How long are you going to be on Achernar?” he called after her.

Tassa Kay never looked back. “As long as it takes.”

A cryptic remark, but somehow very much in keeping with the MechWarrior’s entire person. Raul watched until she left the cargo bay, and then with one more glance at the Ryoken, went to find Ship’s Officer Thomas. He still had a job to finish here, and more on his plate with Erik Sandoval’s request and several reports to file with his Superintendent concerning both events.

And with those priorities, and the memory of Tassa Kay still large in his mind, Raul let slip one more small job. One he would remember, and see to eventually, but too late.

Steel Wolf JumpShip Star Hunter

Zenith Jumppoint, Tigress

Prefecture IV, The Republic

15 February 3133

Star Colonel Torrent forced an expression of calm confidence as the Steel Wolves’ JumpShip Star Hunter counted down from its final warning, preparing to jump between stars. Muted, metallic tones clocked each second. The bridge crew’s excitement and the nervous energy of his two companions washed against him in wave after wave of raw emotion. Torrent felt each one break against his resolve, shattering into a spray of smaller, more manageable worries. Standing firm against the undertow, he let the strains of interstellar travel and his coming mission wash through his body until they bled down into the diamond plate decking and dispersed.

A warrior showed no weakness.

“Fifteen seconds,” Captain Thule Nygren announced over the JumpShip’s 1MC circuit, his gravelly voice echoing through the long, wasp-bodied vessel and likely though each of the four DropShips being carried by the Star Hunter. He spent a glance toward Torrent and the other two Steel Wolf warriors. All three stood on the bridge observation platform, leaning forward with hands locked tight on the upper rail, levering their upper body strength against the JumpShip’s null gravity. He was obviously debating whether or not he should offer them seats again, or perhaps insist that they accept them this time.

Torrent shook his head ever so slightly, brown eyes hard with resolve. The captain shrugged his own concerns aside.