"Yes."

"And the ultimate sign of success would be attracting someone with whom I would be willing to couple, quiaff?"

Chris nodded slowly, dreading the direction of the conversation, though not sure why. "Yes."

"Yet men and women who succumb to the snares laid by others are labeled with derogatory terms like gigolo or slut." Her brows nearly touched beneath her furrowed forehead. "So you punish those who succeed at the game that you all play, and you torture yourselves by withholding satisfaction in the face of mutual attraction."

The Kell Hound nodded. "That's about the size of it."

"I did not understand it with Khan Phelan, nor do I understand it now. Life is too short for pleasure to be denied when it is available."

Chris started to say something, then closed his mouth and looked over at Ragnar for help. The bondsman shook his head and leaned back, taking himself out of the conversation. Chris reluctantly began his defense of Inner Sphere ways. "I think, Evantha, you are generalizing from limited data."

"Am I? Last night I met Duchess Katrina. She had obviously made herself attractive to many of the men there. The men were not wholly unattractive, either. I watched her deftly turn aside any number of openings for coupling, which, given the way she dressed and acted, was what I thought was her goal. As she is a leader among you, I assumed this was a societal norm."

Wait, I see now what's going on."Evantha, I think you are mistaking biological urges and their resolution for courtship."

"Courtship?"

"You said life was short, and within the Clans, I suppose this is true. Here, however, we look at establishing a relationship in which each partner can nurture the other and in which children can be raised and loved. I know the Clans raise children in sibkos, so that sort of family unit is not necessary."

"Even our breeding comes independent of physical attraction." Evantha raised her head proudly. "Since I won my Bloodname seven years ago, my genetic heritage has contributed to three sibkos. Though it is far too early to know if my progeny will prove themselves, whispers are quite favorable. I also assume that if I am killed honorably, my genes will still be utilized well after my death."

Chris gave her an encouraging nod. "That is wonderful, Evantha, but breeding is not courtship, either. Courtship is a process of showing another how much you care."

"As when the Khan gives Ranna a gift, or she touches his arm in passing?"

"There you have it."

Evantha waved it way. "Highly impractical."

Chris winked at her. "True, but fun nonetheless."

Chris had noticed various people coming and going from the restaurant during the conversation, but it wasn't until he felt the pistol's cold barrel pressed into the back of his neck that he realized how crowded it had become with young men and women. Chris flattened his hands out on the table. Across the way he saw a shotgun slide from beneath an overcoat to cover Evantha.

A man pulled Ragnar's chair away from the table. "Highness, we have come to rescue you from the Clans."

Ragnar looked very surprised. "Who are you?"

"We are part of the underground," the man said, indicating the half-dozen people nearest the table. "We call ourselves Ragnarok. We will get you to safety."

Chris shook his head. "You know you cannot get off this world."

"We have resources you know nothing about." The man tugged Ragnar to his feet. "We must hurry." He pointed to Chris and Evantha. "Shoot them."

"No!" Ragnar grabbed, the man's thick sheepskin coat with his right hand.

"It is for the best, my Prince."

Ragnar frowned. "Not that, give me a knife." He flicked the bondcord with his left hand. "I need to cut this, then. ..." His words trailed off as he looked at Evantha.

The man from Ragnarok smiled. "Of course, Prince Ragnar." From within the folds of his coat he pulled out a trench knife and presented it hilt-first to Ragnar.

The bondsman slowly slid his fingers through the brass-knuckle grip. Holding his right arm out at waist height, he bared his forearm and slipped the knife under the cord. Grinning, he rubbed the blade back and forth on the cord, beginning to fray it, then he pulled up on the knife and pushed forward. The taut cord parted with a snap.

His left-handed lunge plunged the knife straight into the chest of the man who had given it to him. With his right hand Ragnar shoved the ringleader into the woman holding the gun on Chris. As she fell, she jerked the trigger. Powder burned his right ear as the thunder of the near-miss deafened him.

The adrenaline kicking into his system made Chris feel he had the strength of hundreds. Shoving the heavy table forward, he spilled Evantha back and out of the way of the shotgun blast aimed at her. Leaning on the table, Chris rose out of the chair and sidekicked the woman who had nearly shot him. She partially blocked the strike with her gun arm, but the kick drove the arm back into her chest, shattering the ulna and crushing two ribs.

The second his right foot touched the ground again, Chris spun. His other foot came up in a roundhouse kick that snapped a Ragnaroker's head around. As that man went down, teeth and blood spraying from his mouth, the man who had fired at Evantha finished reloading his shotgun and clicked the barrel shut. The gun swung into line with Chris's stomach.

Roaring like a lion, Evantha tipped the huge table up on its edge and threw it at the gunman. The table's edge hit the ceiling, deflecting it from its target, but the thick slab of wood managed to interpose itself between the shotgun and Chris. The mercenary saw the flash of light and felt the spray of splinters that accompanied the gunshot, but the table stopped most of the pellets.

Evantha leaped up from the floor and at the gunman. The table rolled on past just in time for Chris to watch an overhand right fist crush the shotgunner's face. He went down immediately and Evantha snapped his fowling gun across her knee.

Chris kicked the pistol away from the downed woman's left hand and saw Ragnar standing over an unconscious woman. He sucked at his bruised knuckles, then stabbed the bloody knife into the floor between him and Evantha. "One escaped, Star Captain. I will pursue him, if you wish."

Evantha shook her head as Olaf came out of the back. "I have called the constabulary. My Prince, are you hurt?"

Ragnar withheld his right hand from Olaf. "No, it is nothing."

"Easy, Ragnar. Olaf didn't bring these people here. The one with the shotgun was one of the two who were in here earlier." Chris nodded to Olaf. "I have no doubt Olaf s word was good despite his desire to let others know you were here. He's a responsible man, a keystone here in the refugee community."

Ragnar nodded slowly, his stern expression softening only slightly. He knelt and picked up his severed bond-cord. "Is what he says true, Olaf?"

"Yes, my Prince."

"Then I believe it." His blue eyes became like chips of ice as he narrowed them. "I charge you with a duty, then, Goodman Olaf. I am hurt, and I require you to aid me."

"Anything, Highness."

"My hurt is not physical, Olaf, but it cuts deep and goes to the heart. To my heart and to the heart of the Rasalhagian people. Carry this message for me to everyone." Ragnar toed the dead leader's body. "Let it be known that I am hurt to think we believe freedom can be bought with the blood of friends."