"What about it, Alicia? What's going on? Something's up or you wouldn't be here."

It was no surprise that the bodyguard noticed Fancher. As a member of Wolf's Command Lance, Vordel would have a good knowledge of all the combat unit assignments. Fancher's Beta Regiment was supposed to be engaged on Vertabren. Since he had not heard of any reassignments, Vordel had to assume it was something pretty important to pull a regimental commander away from her troops in the field. Colonel Fancher answered coolly.

"Like Alpin Wolf said, you'll find out soon enough."

She nodded her head to indicate the approach of Jaime Wolf. While Vordel had been digging, Wolf had been learning of the death of his son. The Colonel's cheeks glistened with the tracks of tears.

Cameron looked shocked and Vordel deeply worried. Wolf gave Alpin a brief glance as he walked past him. The gathered Dragoons parted before the Colonel as if he were some massive, threatening warrior rather than a slight man shorter by a hand span than the least of them and older by a good twenty years. Wolf stopped before Elson.

"Marisha said you ordered a commo silence."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I thought it best that the word not be spread across the Inner Sphere before you could return. The Dragoons have enemies who might have taken advantage."

"That was unnecessary."

A shrug would have been too cavalier. Elson stood still. "The necessity or lack was not as clear in deep space. A courier was out of the question due to our mission guidelines. An open broadcast could have been monitored. A ComStar communique would have entrusted sensitive information to a suspect organization. Is it not Dragoon policy to avoid trusting ComStar with any important information?"

Wolf sighed. "Maybe you were right. But I would have wanted to know sooner."

"It would have changed nothing, quiaff?"

Softly the Colonel replied, "I suppose not."

"He died in combat. What warrior could ask for more?"

"He was my son."

Elson nodded. "We have withheld the Remembrance for your return."

"We knew you would want to be there, grandfather," Alpin said.

Wolf looked at him blankly for a moment, then asked, "When?"

"Tonight, if you wish it," Elson replied.

"Tonight?" Wolf stroked his beard. "No. It's . . . I want a little time to let it sink in, to prepare."

"There are a few details," Elson prompted.

"I'll handle them," Cameron said in an unsteady voice. "There's no need for you to worry, Colonel. I'll take care of the technicalities."

He jumped when Marisha touched his arm. Obviously he had not heard her approach.

"Thank you, Brian. Jaime and I both appreciate it. We all appreciate it."

She took her husband's arm in her own. He nodded to her absently, then looked around. Forcing a smile, he gathered Katherine into his free arm. She wept openly and sobbed on his shoulder.

"It'll be all right, Katherine. We'll get through this."

"Come," Marisha said. "It's time to go home."

Hand in hand, they walked away. Rachel, Joshua, and Shauna trailed their parents. Vordel, the faithful and dutiful bodyguard, followed. Cameron stayed put, gaping at Alpin.

Elson stepped between them, shielding Alpin from the commo officer's stare. Sufficient demonstration had been made for this morning. This was not the time to let anything erupt on that front.

"The Wolf's come home," he said, lifting his voice to include the gathered Dragoons. "We all have things to do, quiaff!"

"Aff," was the reply.

Elson smiled to himself. The voices might have been Clan voices.

35

Dechan tugged the formal jacket out of the closet and frowned. It hadn't looked so plain in the store when he bought it just yesterday. He slipped it on, settled the pads in the shoulders, and considered it again. It looked just severe enough and had enough hint of a martial cut. It would do.

When he had first heard about this thing the Dragoons were calling a Remembrance, he hadn't wanted to go. They hadn't bothered to let him in on such things when he'd worn their uniform, why should he care now? But Jenette had brought him around.

Dechan had known MacKenzie Wolf as Darnell Winningham during the years Wolf's son had spent learning the business. When MacKenzie's identity had been revealed, the official line was that the false identity was intended to prevent MacKenzie from receiving preferential treatment. From what Dechan had learned of the Dragoons recently, it seemed more likely that it was some sort of Clan thing, that MacKenzie had to earn the name or something. Or it might just have been more of Jaime Wolf's penchant for secrecy and duplicity.

Whatever, MacKenzie was dead now, and the Remembrance was being held in his honor. Jenette was right in insisting that MacKenzie was the issue, not the Dragoons' treatment of Dechan. Dechan had known Darnell as a good company commander. And Darnell was one of the few who had not died during the time Dechan spent in the Periphery and in the Combine. A memorial service might be just the thing, a way to bury the dead past.

Jenette came out of the bathroom vigorously toweling the last drops of water from her short hair. "You're looking nice, but I wish you'd wear your uniform."

"We've been through that."

She frowned, then shrugged it away. She tugged on her tight uniform pants and slipped into her shirt and jacket with her usual brisk efficiency. Her belt hangers stayed empty; even dress weapons were inappropriate for a Remembrance. He helped get the dress cloak centered and snapped the wolf's-head clasp shut. She quickly brushed her hair into moderate order before setting her beret at a jaunty angle. Jenette looked dashing in her uniform, but then that was an effect carefully calculated by the uniform's designers.

She was uncharacteristically quiet during the trip to the city center, and Dechan felt disinclined to start any conversations. What was there to say? They emerged from the tube near the main entrance of Wolf Hall. The Remembrance was to be held in the great assembly chamber of the headquarters complex. Dragoons dressed in billowing dress cloaks and intent on the same destination accompanied them on the way to the Hall. Others approached singly or in small groups from all directions. The gathering crowd was unusually quiet, distant city traffic the only sound.

The great hall was raked down to a stage. Normally there were seats fitted to the stepped tiers of the chamber, but they had been removed. The audience would stand tonight. In reverence for the honored dead, Jenette had said. He followed her to a row a third of the way down and she led him to a place in the center. He looked down at the stage. Save for a simple podium sheathed in black plastic, it was bare. It bore the black wolf's head on a red disk attached to its front. The podium was miked so that a speaker's voice could be easily heard in the upper gallery. Dechan couldn't see the pickups on the stand itself, but they were evident in the enlarged image projected on the wall behind the stage. The screen, like the front of the stage and the walls of the hall, was draped in black bunting.

The hall filled quickly and with what Dechan thought might be called military precision. Once inside, the Dragoons seemed to feel the solemnity lifted somewhat. The soft buzz of hundreds of conversations filled the air. The snatches he heard seemed to be concerned with events and people of which he had no knowledge. He gave up listening and stared glumly at the stage.