Chapter 1

Randi leaned over the bar counter, staring into her drink apathetically. She hadn't really come for the liquor, so much as a place to get out of the rain. As had become usual over the past month, what started out as a very hot day had quickly turned into a messy, rainy evening. One might think that all the rain would clear the streets. No matter how much refuse and rubbish the water swept down into Solaris' storm sewers, the exact same amount of trash was back on the sidewalk the very next morning and the stains on the pavement simply never went away.

The Clan-expatriate shot a glance over her shoulder to the entry of the small bar. The proper door was slid back in front of the wall, and a piece of fabric hung from the door frame as the only barrier between the small, warm bar and the downpour outside. It had gotten worse since she came inside, and that meant she was going to be waiting awhile until the rain let up—or until she got tired of waiting and no longer cared if she arrived home soaked to the bone. It was really a matter of which one came first.

She downed the shot she'd be given, and immediately decided it was not a pleasant taste. Seeing that her glass was empty, the bartender offered her another shot; she firmly declined with a shake of her head. The drink warmed her a little but so would a nice, piping mug of coffee. The recipe she'd been drinking of late had been a little hard to get used to at first, as it was a particularly bitter variety of black coffee, and there was rarely any sugar around the apartment. By this time, however, she had come to associate the taste with morning.

Looking back out at the street again, it was clear that the rain had outlasted her patience. Randi laid down her C-Bills and set the shot glass on top of the money, then turned and slid off the bar stool. She brushed aside the fabric that hung over the doorway and shoved her hands into her pockets. As she walked out, the rain cascaded off the building's overhang down onto her head and shoulders. She realized that she could have brought an umbrella or a jacket, but why bother? She wasn't made of sugar.

As dreary as the rain was, today was not a day to be depressed. She was actually in a rather pleasant mood, and no amount of rain was going to ruin that. Today was the day she'd been waiting for since she first arrived on Solaris VII. Today, she was leaving.

The ten minute trek through the storm brought Randi to the door of her apartment building just as the sun began to peek out from behind the clouds.

"Typical," she muttered, as she stepped into the foyer of the building, sopping wet. She untied her hair and wrung the water out of it, then smoothed it back a little and wrung out the lower part of her shirt. As she stood, a fat drop of water hit the bridge of her nose and rolled off the the floor. The building's ceiling was leaking again, contributing yet another ugly, brownish water stain. She hooked her foot against a bucket on the floor and scooted it under the leak before continuing down the hall to her apartment.

Randi had relocated immediately after the fiasco with Jen Sanders, and the short-notice of the move had made it impossible to find living quarters of any quality. Of course, she felt lucky that she'd found any place at all to stay. Her employer, Fernando "Fred" Acosta had spent a week in the hospital, followed by a week of crashing in the office of the MechHangar with a laser pistol in his hand before he was able to find lodging for himself. Fred didn't trust for a minute that Marcus Prewitt had given up on trying to best him—or worse—especially since Fred had dispossessed him of his 'Mech.

Starting today, though, things were going to be different for the mercenaries. There would be no more skulking around the bloodpits of Solaris, hurriedly trying to rack up C-Bills for their departure, no more looking over their shoulders every time they stepped outside, and no more of the monotonous days and nights that the dreary slums of the city had given them. Solaris VII was a gleaming gem of games, entertainment and luxury to the wealthy and privileged, but to everyday MechWarriors like Fred and Randi, it was just another worm-eaten apple of a city that happened to have a few more neon lights than most.

"Kerensky," Randi muttered under her breath as she inspected her suitcase. "I can hardly wait to get out of here."

She dug around her apartment for a moment more, making sure that she had packed all the possessions she would want or need. When she was finally satisfied that everything she owned—which was not much—had been accounted for, she quickly grabbed up the suitcase and darted out the door. On her way past the unattended front desk of the complex, she dug the room key out of her pocket and tossed it on the desk. It would be their problem if someone made off with the key.

She hurried down the steps outside into a light drizzle of rain, and then cut her way through the crowds and the traffic to the spaceport. The place was abuzz with activity even in this dreary weather. Cargo tracks, luggage trains, and personal vehicles weaved through the port like a maze; even a few Copper 'Mechs stomped around, for security. As she cleared security and ran her luggage through the scanner, the familiar form of a Leopard DropShip loomed ahead.

A chiming greeting of "Gooood evening!" quickly got her attention. Randi turned to see Fred Acosta as he strolled up to her with his usual carefree grin. He tipped his hat as he approached her, and then suddenly frowned. "Forget your umbrella?"

"It's in my suitcase," Randi replied.

"I hope you know, that does defeat the purpose of having one..." he said, somewhat thoughtfully. "Didn't your mom—I mean, didn't anyone ever tell you, you'll catch your death of cold by being out in the rain like that?"

"No."

"Well, you will." Fred took the hat he was wearing and plopped it down on Randi's head. "Now, come on, the captain's getting antsy and the coffee's getting cold."

"Gladly!" Randi chirruped, more than ready to begin the voyage. Today, there was nothing in the universe that could ruin her mood.

The old adage said that time heals all wounds but for Major Jamar, it was like a slowly burning acid. Everything had gone downhill since he followed Star Commander Leroux off-world. The Clanners were all gone or dead, the precious schematics had again slipped through his fingers, and what pieces of his Daishi and the rest of the command lance could be scraped off the field were now in the hands of the Scimitars Mercenary Company. Worst of all, his beloved Leah had been killed by Randi of the Wolves.

"I always knew she was bad karma," he murmured, thinking of the Clanswoman once more. Somehow, everything unfortunate that happened to him went back to her. Deep down, he knew he was more than partly to blame for these events.

He was the one who made raids against the seemingly weak Wolf Clan garrison on a neighboring world. Until that point, they had been content to leave O'Dellia and its satellite Lukina in peace while they tended to their own affairs. Perhaps if he had left them to their own devices or even been content with what 'Mechs he had stolen from the Clan, things might have turned out in his favor. Instead, he had allowed the confidence of victory to grow into arrogance and lust for further power. Repeating the cyclic life story of humanity, he wanted what he couldn't have, and doomed himself by reaching for a forbidden fruit.

The raid for the new Omni design was a failure as well, and if he'd paid more attention, that would have been another warning to give up. The prototype was destroyed, the print schematics disappeared, and all the Clan computers recovered were either irreparably damaged or wiped clean. It was like a message from fate itself, and he just refused to listen.

As he trotted along through the dim night in his Wasp, all he could think of was how much he wanted to kill the murderous Wolf Clanner who took Leah from him. He jogged along at a hampered cruising speed due to a problem in the engine that the techs had yet to solve. It was a strange thing to go from a Clan OmniMech named for its deathly firepower to a little sliver of a machine that could only gnaw on its foes with a handful of puny lasers. It reminded him again of how far he had fallen.

Behind him in single file were two Hornets and a Locust. The quartet of insect 'Mechs was an aging lance leftover from the time before he began attacking the Wolves. Now, this antiquated technology was about all the militia could afford. Any new BattleMech purchase was out of the question. The only reason they could afford to keep the 'Mechs they had, was the amount of free labor they received from Wolf Technicians captured in previous offensives.

Jamar was still mulling over his life and whether he could ever drag himself out of this mud hole or at least kill Randi Wolf, when the comm came to life with an unfamiliar voice.

"Attention, militia soldiers," said a man. His voice was smooth and even, lacking either fear or the adrenaline of combat. "You have committed a great offense against us, but there is now a chance for you to redeem yourselves."

"What?" Jamar responded, utterly confused by the cryptic message. He scanned his radar and every one of his sensors for signs of an unknown unit. The HUD displayed no enemies, and the 360° combat view that was squashed down into a presentable 270° screen showed no evidence of movement besides that of his three lancemates.

The unknown man continued, disregarding the major's query. "Though you have already proven yourselves to be nothing more than pirates, I am willing to allow you to continue in your existence if you do but one thing."

"What thing? Wha— who are you?" He hit the lance-only frequency. "All stop! Everyone, get in defensive formation and start scanning for enemies!"

"We will leave this world peacefully if you will simply return to us what is rightfully ours. You will hand over the OmniMech schematics which are a rightful property of this Clan. I would prefer to reclaim them with no blood spilled."

"Sorry, sir," cut in one of Jamar's lancemates. "There's nothing on scope."

"He may be out of range," acknowledged Jamar. He was becoming more nervous, his heart frozen stiff by the snakes of ice rippling through the cooling vest, his lungs shrinking, and his adrenaline pumping hard. He hit the comm. "We don't have the schematics! I don't know who you are, but I can't give you something I don't have."

The man on the other end of the transmission seemed to mull over the major's statement for a second.

"Freebirth scum of the InnerSphere, if you will not accept my offer then you must pay for your actions. Prepare for battle! Show me cowardice and I will make you suffer," he said, his voice edging into a deep growl. "I do hope you put up a good fight. Prey is best when its blood is still hot with the struggle."

"Wait! No! Wh-who are you!? Identify yourself!" panicked Jamar.

"My name..." said the man,"is Akela Kerensky. It is the last name you will ever hear."

A weak gasp hissed out the major's lungs as five enemy signatures appeared surrounding his lance, and the computer reported five matching cold-starts. The foremost OmniMech was perched looking down from a ridge some six hundred meters ahead, with the soft light of the moon accenting its lines as it moved. The turtle-like Puma stood from its crouched position, and three Phantoms and a Pouncer stood as well.

With his dying breath, Major Jamar tried to curse Randi of the Wolves for all she had done. Before he could speak her name, however, the cockpit of the Wasp was vaporized in a wrathful slew of ions from the Puma's PPCs.

The Warrior's prediction was fulfilled.