Rose observed the proceedings with halfhearted interest. Another lead, another dead end, only this time he could do no better than watch as the woman who'd tried to help him was gunned down. He briefly considered the possibility that he was somehow to blame, but quickly gave up the idea. He doubted that Warwick, or anyone else, would have killed Jaryl just to get back at him for something. Jaryl had obviously been Scoggins' target because of something she had—or hadn't—done, or something Rose couldn't even begin to guess at.

He stared down into the half-empty bottle of Conner's, sloshing the liquid inside. It had long since stopped foaming from the agitation and now simply swirled around in a small whirlpool. This was not the first time Rose had seen death, but cold-blooded murder was different than death on the field of battle.

He glanced again at Viets and Dillon, who were talking quietly behind the bar. Rose guessed that the two knew each other well, at least professionally. Who knew how much further it went? Whatever the situation, Dillon obviously had more patience for her than did Rose, who'd stopped answering even her occasional questions more than ninety minutes ago.

Rose continued to fume into his bottle, silently cursing Solaris, Warwick, Lieutenant Viets, the Clans, and everything else that came to mind. How could a society function when divided into five independent, supposedly equal, governments within shooting distance of one another? How could these governments let a killer walk the streets? How could they ever bring anyone to justice when each sector of the city operated under its own separate police? And how could Viets just sit there when Rose had positively identified the assassin as Scoggins? He'd shouted that very question at her in his best commander's voice.

The lieutenant had been surprisingly polite in the face of his hostility, pointing out that he was, after all, an off-worlder, with no ties to the victim or the alleged assailant. "Of course we'll follow up the lead you've given us," Viets said with a polite smile, "but I'm not sure anything will come of it. Mister Scoggins is a Liao national and likely safe and sound somewhere in Cathay right now." Rose finished his beer in one gulp, then stared again at Viets and Dillon, who were conversing in whispers.

Feelings were boiling in him—his frustration at not being able to find a 'Mech anywhere in Solaris, exhaustion from going without sleep for something like forty-eight hours, and then the horror of Jaryl's murder. Even a man as controlled as Rose was cracking under the strain.

"So, Lieutenant Viets," he said bitterly, "I suppose this means you'll just saunter on back to the station house and fill out your report? Just grab a bite to eat, maybe some nice young cop groupie, and head home for the evening. Nothing more about the so-called 'incident' tonight?"

Viets gazed at Rose, her jaw clenched angrily. The knuckles on her near hand went white as she slowly turned away from Dillon, but Rose continued to taunt her. "You slack-jawed, blue-chested clods are all alike. This bottle has more brains."

"Oh, so the wise MechWarrior wants to show this poor, stupid clod how to conduct a police investigation. Do tell me, wise one, how should I proceed?" Viets scoffed. Rose had expected anger, but not the instant confrontation.

"Wait, I know," she went on sarcastically. "I'll assemble the whole rest of the force and we'll march into Cathay, kick the bejesus out of anything that moves and drag back this Scoggins character you say killed Jaryl Whillins."

"He did kill her!" Rose jabbed an accusing finger at the officer and pounded the bar for effect. The bottle danced to the vibration as it had on the table earlier. Lieutenant Viets didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken.

"Better yet, we'll just ask the Cathayans to turn him over. That wouldn't be such a problem. 'Yes, that's right. It seems like one of your malcontents shot one of our citizens at a local drinking establishment this evening. Could you just send him over with a note that says you don't mind if we hang him? Thank you very much.' " Rose gripped the edge of the bar and fought against the anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd wanted to provoke her, but now she'd turned the tables.

"At least you'd be doing something." Again Viets ignored him. She continued to pace behind the bar, her eyes cast upward as if for heavenly inspiration. Suddenly she clapped her hands and turned to Rose.

"I've got it. We'll just call in those limp-swords over in the international sector. They'd just love the chance to show off all those shiny new rifles they carry around." Rose roared and vaulted the bar, one hand acting as the pivot as his legs came sweeping over the surface. His top leg shot forward and the toes of his boot sought Viets' exposed head. The lieutenant ducked under the blow. With a sharp movement, she struck the inside of the elbow of the arm supporting his weight. Rose's entire body, which a moment ago had been perfectly poised on that one arm, came crashing down. Momentum carried him across the bar's flat surface, allowing him to land mostly on the padded runway. His head, however, bounced off the stainless steel sink just below the bar's surface.

Fighting off the initial dizziness, Rose was attempting to stand when the other side of his head exploded in pain. Stars shot off behind his eyes, but he managed to rise to one knee before something reached under his chin and rocked his head. He felt his teeth chip as his head flew back and forced his body to follow. Flat on his back behind the bar, Rose tried to roll away from the stomp he knew was sure to follow, but the attack never came.

Rose rolled over backward and came up into a crouch, eyes searching for his opponent. He stood slowly as waves of nausea threatened to knock him back to one knee. Just out of the range of his foot stood Lieutenant Viets, her hands easily balancing her tonfa. Rose had seen, and recognized, the martial arts weapon earlier during the interrogation, but he'd mistakenly passed it off as merely ornamental or clumsy. Clearly it was neither. Risking a look away from the weapon, he glanced up at the officer holding it. To his surprise, Viets was smiling.

"You find this amusing, Officer Viets?" Rose began to relax, but only after his opponent shifted her weight firmly onto one foot.

" 'Mechboy, this is my idea of a real good time. Pounding the snot out of you tough guys is a dream come true to us poor, stupid clods."

"Touched" Rose straightened and felt the adrenaline flowing out of his system. His head began to pound from the twin lumps he'd received. He tested the second knot, not surprised to see that his hand came away bloody. He looked over at Viets, who continued to smile as she twirled her tonfa around a seemingly unmoving hand. With a snap of the wrist the weapon was back in its place at her side.

"Dillon, I'm officially off duty. I need something to drink."

"Yes, ma'am. One on the way, and I'll bring some ice for your head, Rose." Rose waved an affirmative without looking at Dillon. A check of his chin revealed that it was bleeding too, but not as severely as the head wound. Rose realized he was lucky to be alive, but that only slightly eased the pain.

"Viets, I've been beaten, stabbed, and twice ejected from an exploding 'Mech, but I've never had a fight go against me that quickly, or that surely." Rose reached for a nearby cloth and dabbed his head. Lieutenant Viets let the silence linger as she crossed to the other side of the bar and took a seat next to the one Rose had only recently occupied.

"Well, Rose, I'm just guessing, but since we're on a planet known for gambling, I'd wager you've never underestimated an opponent so badly, never let an opponent make you so angry, and never fought a ninth danblack belt. But, hey, I'm just guessing. You could have been one hell of a lucky guy all your life." Rose walked around the bar and sat next to Viets. He wondered about Dillon, but the bartender seemed to know when it was time to make himself scarce.