7 April-18 June 3050

Black Earth Spaceport

Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth

7th April 3050

Margaidh never got the chance to thank Captain Harrison for breaking orders, and diverting his Jumpship to Barcelona to evacuate the Rangers. Harrison had already picked up the remnants of the First Grave Walkers' mercenary regiment from Bone Norman, which had also been captured by the Clan Jade Falcon. He'd heard news from other planets too; from Steelton, Here and Winfield, and he knew that this was no ordinary pirate incursion. As a native of Summer himself, Harrison was not about to ignore the cries for help from the regiment he considered his own, even though he never was fortunate enough to serve with them.

Harrison was the shy type, and for the whole seven day trip to Black Earth (seven days recharging the Kearney-Fuchida drives, and seven seconds gut-wrenching hyperspace jump) Harrison stayed out of sight.

The first thing that crossed Margaidh's mind when she disembarked from the Dropship onto the tarmac at the Black Earth spaceport was that the place lived up to it's name. It's climate seemed as grey and miserable as that on Summer, and in the distance dark hills loomed, forboding and grim-looking. The spaceport itself sprawled across the land like a steel and concrete fungus clinging for sustenance to the black hillside. Margaidh pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck as a barrier against the chill, damp air, and longed for the sunny warmth of Barcelona.

"Pretty place, isn't it?" said Steve McKernon with a wry smile.

"Just right for sunbathing," Margaidh replied, looking up at the pale red M-class sun in it's hazy grey sky. "No chance of sunburn."

The mercenaries, who had kept themselves to themselves during the journey, moved what was left of their regiment to the capital city of New Houston, some four hundred kilometers away. Maybe they had contacts there, maybe someone told them to go there, Margaidh didn't know. All she knew was that the Rangers had been ordered to stay garrisoned in the Spaceport itself, to defend it in the event of possible attack. She hoped fervently that their support would not be needed, and steeled herself for a dull tour, however short it might be before the remaining Rangers were shipped back to Summer. The sooner the better, she thought as she looked around. This place looks about as exciting as the back of beyond.

********************

After settling the Mechs and other vehicles in the repair bay, which was surprisingly well supplied for such an out-of-the-way place, Margaidh sought out Steve and together they explored what was to become their home, for a while at least. To their surprise and relief, it seemed as though it was not going to be as dull as Margaidh had feared. Because the spaceport was so isolated, it had evolved into a city of it's own, with everything it's inhabitants might need. Shops, restaurants, even casinos and venues for such sports as boxing and Babaeski Hockey, both of which were too violent for Margaidh's taste.

They found a bar called Stevie's Place and Steve McKernon insisted on trying it out. Margaidh was in no mood to object; a good stiff drink was exactly what she needed. She followed the Sergeant into the bar, and immediately wondered if they had made the right choice.

Stevie's Place was dark and smoky, with loud dance-music piped through a cheap PA system. Pink and blue neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy, pounding beat. There was a dance floor but no-one was dancing; it was too crowded with heavy-set, heavy-drinking dockworkers and techs. Steve pushed his way to a table in a corner and they sat down. Margaidh frowned at him. "Are you sure about this?" she mouthed above the loud music. Steve shrugged.

Just as Margaidh was about to change her mind and go somewhere else, a waitress in a short leather skirt came up to the table. "What d'ya want to drink?" she said brusquely, and blew a bubble in a wad of gum.

Steve hesitated, not wanting to seem unmannerly in front of his superior officer. Margaidh sensed his unease, and ordered for them. "Two PPCs," she said, or rather shouted.

"What's a PPC?" Steve hissed.

"Rocket fuel, mixed with the spirit of your choice," Margaidh replied. "Named after the successor houses."

"What's in a Steiner?"

"Peppermint schnapps." She paused, trying to remember what the others were. "Ouzo for Marik, Bourbon for Davion, Peach brandy for Liao. And the Kuritans mix it with Sake, which is a bit like dousing fire with kerosene."

"Steiner sounds good to me."

Margaidh turned to the waitress. "One Steiner style, and one Skye."

The waitress frowned, and chewed hard on her gum. "Never heard of that one," she drawled.

"Not surprised. I made it up," Margaidh replied with a wolfish grin. "Cut it with a double Scotch."

"Gotcha." The waitress turned and walked back towards the bar, waggling her backside.

When the drinks arrived at the table, Steve just held his glass, watching the clear liquid vibrating slightly with the pulsing beat of the music. Margaidh watched him cautiously sniff it, then take a hesitant sip and pull a face, and she smiled.

An ability to stomach strong drink was a Celtic trait Margaidh had inherited from her far-away ancestors in the Scottish islands. She swirled her drink once around the glass then threw her head back and downed it in one go. Steve stared in surprise then, not wanting to be out-done, attempted to do the same.

Margaidh watched his face pass from curiosity, briefly through pleasure, and into sudden shock. When he'd finished coughing, he paused and stared at Margaidh, then at her empty glass, with wide eyes. "Don't ever ask me to get into a drinking contest with you," he said, as soon as his throat had recovered from the burning sensation sufficiently for him to speak. He looked down at the remnants of his drink, and drained the rest of it. Margaidh ordered another PPC for herself, Steve backed out and asked for a beer.

Later, they sat outside under the starlight where the air was cool and the noise faint enough to allow conversation. "Where the hell did you learn to drink like that?" Steve asked, seeing Leftenant Lewis in a new light.

Margaidh shrugged. "My mother, I guess." She smiled to hide the sudden sharp stab of pain she felt when she remembered how heavily her mother had taken to the bottle in an attempt to drown the depression after her accident. "She always seemed so strong to me. A real warrior. And then suddenly the fire inside her was gone. She hit the bottle hard after her accident." She paused. It was not often she spoke about her mother the way she was after the accident. Maybe the strong drink had loosened her tongue.

Steve sensed Margaidh's pain and held her hand. Margaidh squeezed it in return. She looked at him with an expression that bordered on desperation. "If anything happens to you, don't give up fighting. Never give up."

"What do you…" Steve began, confused.

"Promise me."

Steve shook his head then shrugged. "Okay, I promise," he said.

Margaidh smiled and stood up, looking at the moonless sky and suddenly realising how cold it had become. "Let's go home," she said, trying to suppress the images of Summer she saw in her mind. They put their arms around one another and walked back to their quarters in mutual support.

Black Earth Spaceport

Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth

11th May 3050

In the space of a mere five weeks, the Seventeenth Skye Rangers settled in to their new home and their new routine. There was little to do except eat and drink and gamble, and those whose Mechs still functioned could maintain some attempt at training. All attempts at military discipline were abandoned in favour of a boost to morale. But behind the thin veneer of relaxation, every warrior was haunted by the memory of Barcelona, and the anticipation of a return to Summer. No-one, not even the most cynical, dared contemplate that it might all happen again. But it did.

The first indication Margaidh had that something was amiss was when the aerospace fighters, boosted by local support, suddenly scrambled just after dawn. The shrieks of their engines as they launched, combined with the wailing of klaxons, aroused Margaidh from a disturbed sleep and she had pulled on her cooling vest and shorts even before she was fully awake. When she arrived in the Mech bays, the rest of the Rangers' mechwarriors were prepping their mechs, their faces showing noticeable fear tempered with a warrior's determination. Margaidh knew that each of them was prepared to die in the defense of this anonymous world.

She powered up the Blue Skye's engine and marched it out of the Mech bay, catching a glimpse of Steve McKernon's Jenner a couple of hundred metres ahead. Around her, a hotch-potch of patched-up Mechs that made up the First Company of what was barely a battallion of Mechs and tanks. Margaidh hadn't wanted to take command of a company again, but as one of only three surviving officers of her rank, she figured she didn't have much choice.

The Rangers didn't even have time to take up defensive positions. The Clan Mechs, with their falcon emblem painted white instead of green, were already swarming in through the Spaceport's perimeter. Margaidh ordered her company to scatter into cover in the hope that the wider-spread they were, the greater the chance that a few might survive.

She touched a panel and made sure the computer in the cockpit was recording the battle. Everything the Mech did and all communication in or out, would be recorded on the Blue Skye's Battleroms. Margaidh wondered briefly if anyone would get the chance to read them. She spoke aloud into her neurohelmet.

"…Yet I will try the last, before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries 'Hold, enough!'" She knew that if her mother ever got to hear the recording, she would recognise the snatch of the old Shakesperean play. Margaidh paused, then spoke again. "For you, Mam. And for Summer." Then she turned the Blue Skye to face it's foe.

An hour later, the Seventeenth Skye Rangers were overpowered. The Blue Skye lay toppled, stripped of armour, both legs blown away and not a single weapon remaining. In the cockpit, Leftenant Margaidh Lewis gradually stirred and moaned as consciousness returned. Slowly becoming aware that the Mech was lying on it's side, she felt a sudden surge of panic. Inside the body of a Mech beat a nuclear heart, and if it breached, the results were terminal.

She hurriedly unbuckled the safety harness and fell out of the seat, crying aloud as a sharp pain in her chest informed her that she'd broken at least one rib in the fall. She wiped at sweat that was running down her face, but her hand came away red with blood, not sweat. Cautiously, Margaidh tested her legs and struggled to release the canopy. When it opened she half- clambered, half-fell out of the cockpit, landing in a heap on the dark, clay-like earth. Her eyes screwed tight with pain.

"You will come with me," said a stern voice above her. Margaidh's eyes snapped open and she found herself looking up the barrel of a hand laser. The gun was held by a warrior in a khaki-coloured tunic with a green falcon badge on one lapel. His face was stern-looking, and framed by short, mousey hair.

"Who the hell are you?" Margaidh said, making no attempt to stand.

"I am Star Commander Uvin Buhallin of the First Gyrfalcon Jaeger Cluster. You are Isorla. You will come with me."

Star Commander Uvin Buhallin kept his pistol levelled at Margaidh's forehead, and it was clear he was not going to move it until she did as she was told. Margaidh narrowed her eyes. "You'll have to kill me first, you bastard," she hissed.

Buhallin did not kill Margaidh. Instead, he grabbed her roughly by the arm and hauled her to her feet with a strength that belied his wiry frame. Stars flashed before her eyes as pain from her broken ribs ripped through her.

"You are Isorla," Buhallin repeated. "You belong to me."

For a brief moment, Margaidh considered making a run for freedom, and she glanced around for somewhere to run to. But there was nowhere. Her gaze fell at last on the broken hulk of the Blue Skye, damaged now beyond repair, and tears sprung to her eyes. For generations, the Mech had faithfully served the Lewis family warriors. Now it was nothing more than a pile of junk, and Margaidh was now disposessed. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she realised that she had disposessed not just herself, but the whole Lewis family, and any generation that may come after her.

"You will come with me now," said Buhallin, beginning to get impatient.

"Wait," Margaidh said quietly, and reached out with her free hand to touch the Shadowhawk's shoulder. With a single deft movement, she pulled free a piece of shattered armour panelling, no more than half the size of her palm. On one side it still bore a trace of blue paint, now charred and peeling. She held the fragment for a moment in her fist, then slipped it into a pocket and looked squarely at Buhallin.

"I will go with you now."

In-system, Black Earth

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone.

Aboard the Cruiser 'Frost-Falcon'

12th May 3050.

Margaidh did not know how many prisoners had been taken, or how many Rangers had lost their lives on Black Earth. She spent many hours sitting on the bunk in her cell, wondering what had happened to Steve McKernon, absently turning the fragment of armour from the Blue Skye in her fingers.

Isorla. That's what Buhallin had called her. Since then she had gathered that it's meaning was not so much 'prisoner' as 'spoils of war.' Margaidh was considered property, and Buhallin was adamant that she belonged to him.

He came into the cell, dressed this time in a full dress uniform complete with green cape that flowed around him almost like wings. Margaidh scowled at him.

"What is your name, Freebirth?" Buhallin asked, or rather demanded.

"I am Leftenant Margaidh Lewis, of the Seventeenth Skye Rangers," Margaidh replied.

"You are NOT Margaidh Lewis!" Buhallin exclaimed. He stressed the word 'not' by hitting her hard across the jaw, so hard she felt her teeth rattle in her head. "You are Margaidh of Clan Jade Falcon," Buhallin said. "You are my bondsman. The Seventeenth Skye Rangers no longer exist."

Margaidh's fingers gingerly touched her cheek. "I don't give a damn who you think I am. I am a Lewis, and I will always be a Lewis, and a Ranger." Her voice was full of anger and hatred.

Buhallin hit Margaidh again. "You are Margaidh of Clan Jade Falcon," he repeated. He grabbed hold of her right wrist and held it vice-tight. With his other hand he deftly tied something round it, and let it go. Margaidh frowned at the narrow bracelet of woven cord in colours of jade-green, blue and white. "You are an Inner Sphere Freebirther, and that makes you nothing. You are my bondsman, and that is the bondcord which binds you to me."

"I am no-one's slave!" Margaidh hissed. "I'd rather die than be slave to you."

"You are mistaken, freebirther," Buhallin said with a scowl. "You should feel honoured to be bondsman to a Jade Falcon, strongest of the descendants of Kerensky. To the true Star League army."

Margaidh stared at the Clan warrior, her eyes wide. Three hundred years ago, the area of inhabited space known as the Inner Sphere was thrown into turmoil and conflict by the sudden exodus of eighty percent of the Star League Defense Force, under the leadership of Aleksandr Kerensky. A thousand warships carrying the best military technology, and eight hundred thousand of the Inner Sphere's best warriors, disappeared across the Periphery and were never heard from again. The Star League collapsed and the Successor Houses emerged, along with three hundred years of almost constant war as the Houses struggled against the others to re-form the Star League, each under it's own banner. Out of history, a legend was born, and it was often said that one day Kerensky would return, and re-form the Star League, uniting the Inner Sphere once more in peace.

The trouble with a legend is that no-one really expects it to come true.

In-System, Alkalurops

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

Aboard the Cruiser 'Frost Falcon'

15th May 3050

Buhallin led Margaidh down an endless labyrinth of corridors inside the Cruiser, with steel floors that echoed their footsteps. He stopped her outside a plain, unmarked metal door, knocked once, then opened it and indicated that she went inside. She did so, and found herself in a room that was small and equally plain. It could have been another cell like the one in which Margaidh had been imprisoned, only this one was furnished in a way that made her blood run cold.

There were no furnishings in the room save a single chair, on which Margaidh could clearly see manacles for holding wrists and ankles. Behind it stood man, fair hair and blue eyes, aged maybe forty. Margaidh thought he could have been quite handsome, if it hadn't been for the scar across his left cheek; a broad thread of red on a pale skin. Buhallin bowed a little to the man, and called him Ovkhan. Margaidh couldn't be sure if that was his name or his title. The quotation from Macbeth sprang back to her mind, and she decided to call him, secretly at least, Macduff.

Holding Margaidh firmly by the shoulders, Buhallin shoved her towards the chair, and she tried to twist away, but was abruptly stopped by pain from her still tender ribs. She was forced to sit, and Buhallin closed the manacles around her wrists and ankles while she struggled and squirmed in vain. So she used the only remaining demonstration of resistance, and spat in his face. Her reward for that was a cruel punch from Buhallin, just exactly where her broken ribs hurt most.

Macduff pushed past Buhallin, who stepped a side for his superior. The first thing he did was ask her the same question Buhallin had asked. "What is your name, freebirther?" His accent, like Buhallin's was oddly old-fashioned.

Margaidh said nothing. She had no intention of telling her captors anything they wanted to know. Besides, she wasn't sure she could still speak at all. Her chest felt as though it was on fire, even breathing was an ordeal. Macduff repeated the question, his voice remaining calm. Margaidh squinted at him. "Lady Macbeth," she panted. "Go fuck yourself."

Macduff nodded at Buhallin, who slapped her hard across the face with enough force to knock her head against the side of the chair's headrest. She felt a trickle of blood running where his fist had hit her, just below her right eye.

"Where is your Codex?" Buhallin demanded, his voice full of contempt

Margaidh frowned. "I don't know what one is, so I assume I have nae got one," she replied. She noticed Macduff flash a look of surprise at her.

"There is no need for this resistance, Margaidh." Macduff said, his calm voice a contrast to the rage in Buhallin's. "Just tell us what we wish to know, and you will not be hurt."

You can't fool me, Macduff. I recognise the good-guy-bad-guy routine. I'd rather die than betray my people.

"What is your bloodline?" Macduff demanded.

Margaidh narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm a Lewis," she said, with a trace of agressive pride.

"Who are your blood-parents?"

"None of your goddamned business." That earned another slap from Buhallin, but by now Margaidh was beyond caring. She already hurt so much a few more thumps wouldn't make a lot of difference.

Macduff tried another tack. "Did your regiment provide you with your battlemech?" he demanded.

"No. It belongs to me. Or it did, before your pirates wrecked it."

Buhallin lifted his arm to swing at her again but Macduff put up a hand to stay his blow, and he simply asked another question. "Where did it come from?"

Margaidh closed her eyes and clamped her mouth shut. This was all getting too serious now, and she resolved she was going to say nothing more.

Buhallin, evidently getting fed up with Macduff's ineffective questioning, decided to ask a few of his own. He started with a demand to know the size and locations of the Federated Commonwealth's armed forces. Margaidh spat at him again, but said nothing. Buhallin's fist made a ball and cannoned into her solar plexus, making her gasp with pain.

"Tell us what we wish to know!" he demanded.

Margaidh lifted her head and looked at him. "I'd rather die than talk to scum like you."

She never knew how long Buhallin laid into her after that. All she knew was the pain that washed over her in waves, and when he finally finished, she had to be carried back to her cell.

In-System, Alkalurops

Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

Aboard the Cruiser 'Frost Falcon'

24th May 3050

Margaidh did not know how long she was left alone in her cell. She slept most of the time, mostly because being awake meant she was moving about and that hurt too much. Every so often, someone would bring her a tray of food and she used that as some measure of the passage of time. Since Buhallin had beaten her up, she had been fed eighteen times.

The nineteenth meal was exactly the same as all the previous ones. A sort of milky soup, with some sort of fibrous substance in it that might have been meat, or a synthetic substitute. It was tasteless but surprisingly satisfying. Either that, or Margaidh had no appetite.

As she ate, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the back of the metal spoon. Even allowing for the distortion, she loked a mess. The right side of her face was one mass of bruises, and both eyes were blackened, the right one swelled half-shut.

"You look as rough as you feel," she said aloud to herself.

The first sign that something was amiss was when, instead of a guard returning to take her empty tray, the cell door opened and Buhallin came in, his face bearing a contemptuous sneer.

"Come with me, Freebirther," he said.

Margaidh stood, slowly and painfully. She had no energy to resist this time.

She was taken to the same room and put in the same chair, but this time, Buhallin rolled up her sleeve and placed a square of blue plastic on her arm. It felt cold and sticky, and then a strange tingling sensation started to grow in her arm, and spread up towards her shoulder.

"Just a little something to ensure your co-operation," he said with a smile that was more a snarl. "I am sure you do not want another beating, quineg?"

Margaidh glanced at Macduff, who was this time seated in a chair across the room, with a large file rested on his knee. It looks serious this time. Mother of Gods! What drugs are they putting into me? She felt a warm glow all over now, that was actually quite pleasant. Rather like the way she felt when she'd had a couple of double scotches.

As before, Macduff started the questioning, and he began by repeating the ones he'd asked before. "What is your bloodline."

"I told you last time," Margaidh snapped back with sudden irritation. "I'm a Lewis."

"Who provided your paternal genes?"

Margaidh frowned. "You mean my father?" She saw Macduff wince slightly, and shrugged. "I don't know. My mother never told me anything about him. She only knew him a few weeks." She bit her lip, alarmed at how much she'd said already. Get a grip, Margaidh! Concentrate! Fight it!

"Who provided your maternal genes?"

"My mother is Eleanor Lewis," Margaidh said, lifting her chin.

"Is she a mechwarrior?"

"No. She's a teacher in a university on Summer. That's my home planet, in the Isle of Skye." Don't tell him any more! But already her head felt light and woozy. "She used to be a Mechwarrior, years ago. But she got injured, and gave me her Mech."

"Your Mech…" Macdiff interrupted. "Tell me where it came from."

Margaidh shrugged. "It's been in my family since… well, since Starleague days I guess," she replied. She gave an involuntary giggle.

"The Shadowhawk has modifications," Macduff said, again making a statement rather than asking a question. However, from the quizzical expression on his face it was clear he expected Margaidh to tell more.

"You mean the laser instead of the autocannon? That's been there as long as I remember. It's part of what makes the Blue Skye unique. I've been having problems with it though," she added, trying to shake the lightness from her head.

"What sort of problems?"

"The control circuits were playing up." Margaidh noticed Macduff's quizzical expression. It was clear he did not understand her colloquial manner of speech. "Playing up? Not working."

Macduff nodded. "What about heat sinks?"

"One extra one added, where the autocannon ammo would normally be," Margaidh replied.

"Single or double heat sinks?" Macduff asked. Margaidh frowned, and shook her head. Macduff asked another question. "The control computer," he said. "Tell me where that came from."

Margaidh's frown did not lessen. She knew the computer in the Blue Skye was not a Shadowhawk standard, but it had always been there and she didn't know where it came from, and she told him so.

"One more thing," Macduff said, consulting his file and reading from it. "'…Yet I will try the last, before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him that first cries 'Hold, enough!'" He read the quotation awkwardly, the timing all wrong, and to Margaidh it sounded strange. Macduff stared hard at Margaidh with his penetrating blue eyes. "What does that mean?" he said.

Margaidh shrugged, wondering that the data from the Blue Skye's Battleroms had actually been readable, despite the damage. "It's a quotation from 'Macbeth,'" she replied, vaguely wondering whether saying the name of the play aloud would bring her bad luck, then deciding that her luck probably couldn't get any worse.

Macduff looked puzzled. "Explain," he snapped. "What significance does it have?"

"Macbeth says that just before he faces Macduff, his enemy, in battle," Margaidh said. "He knows he is going to die."

"You said that because you thought you were going to die, quiaff?" Macduff said. "You identify yourself with this character Macbeth?" He stared at Margaidh, who only nodded. "Why?"

"Because he was a Scot, and so am I," Margaidh replied. "You're right. I did think I was going to die. Better warriors than I have died a the hands of your people."

"You are not a warrior, freebirther," Macduff said, his anger rising to match Margaidh's own. The scar on his cheek reddened. "You are a bondsman."

"I will never be a slave to your people," Margaidh hissed. Anger coursed through her, but again she giggled, and that only served to make her angrier. "I am a Mechwarrior, I am a Scot and I am a Lewis. You can't take that from me without draining the blood from my veins." Her fists clenched so hard she felt her fingernails biting into her palms.

Buhallin tore the blue patch from her arm and replaced it with a fresh one. "You are a strong-willed little vixen, quiaff? Let us see how strong you are when we raise the pressure."

Margaidh fought against a wave of dizziness, and she got the sensation that the chair was moving, as if it were a rock slowly turning in space. The sensation made her feel nauseous.

"Do you know the size of the armed forces of the Clan Kurita?"

Margaidh giggled at the thought of the Draconis Combine being referred to as a Clan. What does he want to know that for? We're nowhere near the Combine. "I dunno," she replied. "Officially, they say about a hundred regiments, but they always lie."

"What about Miraborg?"

Margaidh frowned, trying to work out what Clan Miraborg might be, then remembering Miraborg was the name of the Rasalhagian leader. She shrugged. "I dunno. Not many. Eighteen, at a guess."

"How many does Steiner have?"

No! The Federated Commonwealth is my home!

"I can't remember," Margaidh hissed through clenched teeth.

"How many regiments in Clan Steiner?"

"It's not Steiner, you cretin. It's Steiner-Davion now. The richest house married the strongest and their armed forces merged."

"How many regiments?"

I won't give in! I won't tell you! But the words were on the tip of her tongue even before she'd realised she knew the answer. "One hundred and fifty-three."

Margaidh's heart sank when she saw the smile on Buhallin's lips. "Thankyou," he said. "You have been most helpful."

Mother of Gods! What have I done? But she knew the answer to that one, and even through her drugged haze she knew exactly what she had done. She had just betrayed the Commonwealth. No matter that, like her mother, Margaidh did not approve of the Steiner-Davion alliance, the Commonwealth was still her home, and would remain so until such time as the Isle of Skye won it's independence. The fact that the drugs had loosened her tongue did not lessen her feeling of self-loathing.

Benden City, Alkalurops

Clan Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

2nd June 3050

Star Colonel Rard Hoyt, the man whom Margaidh had nicknamed Macduff, paced anxiously up and down the corridor outside the office belonging to Galaxy Commander Samantha Clees. Hoyt was afraid of Samantha Clees. Her temper was notoriously short and Hoyt had heard of many a warrior who had all but broken down under her harsh criticism. Only male warriors received the wrath of Samantha Clees.

The door opened and Uvin Buhallin looked out. "She will see you now, Colonel," he replied, and Hoyt followed the younger man inside.

The office had once been the communication center of the Alkalurops Militia, a defense force that had offered little resistance to the mighty talons of the Gyrfalcon Galaxy. Now it was occupied by the Galaxy Commander, and a large wallhanging depicting the white falcon that was the Galaxy's emblem hung on one wall.

In the centre of the room was a large oak table, at which Galaxy Commander Clees was seated, with two men wearing Wolf Clan uniforms. So that explained the presence of the Lion's Pride Jumpship in the system, Hoyt thought to himself. He forced a smile to mask his loathing of the men in the Wolf Clan uniforms.

Nevertheless, they all stood and Clees introduced them to Hoyt with a politeness as forced as Hoyt's own smile.

"This is Star Colonel Athen, of the 328th Assault Cluster, Alpha Galaxy, Clan Wolf," said Clees, giving the man's full title. Hoyt gave a brief nod, and took Athen's hand in a brief handshake. Athen's stocky build towered above Hoyt and with his longish grey hair and beard, Hoyt likened him to a bear.

Athen smiled, his own expression genuine, and he turned to introduce the slender, dark-haired man beside him. "This is Star Commander Domask Lewis," he said. Hoyt raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and shook Lewis' hand also.

Hoyt took a seat opposite Athen, Buhallin beside him. Clees remained standing and stalked cat-like to the window.

"I will come straight to the point, StarColonel Hoyt," said Athen, his voice gruff. "You have a freebirther called Margaidh in your custody, quiaff?"

"Aff," Hoyt replied. "She was captured on Black Earth, and is bondsman to Uvin Buhallin." Hoyt glanced briefly at Buhallin, and he noticed the expression of veiled anger on the younger man's face.

"We wish to take posession of this bondsman, and whatever is left of her Mech."

Hoyt's eyes widened, and the scar on his cheek pulsed bright red. He turned to Clees who merely smiled. Evidently she had already been told what this meeting was about. Hoyt shook his head. "That is absolutely out of the question," he said, fighting against a stammer. "She was captured fairly and with honour. She is the rightful property of Clan Jade Falcon."

Athen gave a short, barking laugh. "I suppose you have noticed, Rard Hoyt, that your bondsman bears the name of Lewis, quiaff?"

"Neg," Hoyt snapped. "She is Isorla. She is the property of Clan Jade Falcon and no longer bears that name."

"And I trust you are aware that Lewis is a bloodname of Clan Wolf."

Hoyt returned Athen's smile with a snarl. "That bloodname is not exclusive to your Clan. As I recall, the Wolves stole it from Clan Coyote. Your clan has only four bloodlines in the Lewis House."

"While the Falcons have none," Athen replied quickly. "I trust you will co-operate with us in this. I am certain you would wish to avoid a formal challenge."

Hoyt looked incredulously at Athen. "Would you really go to a Trial of Possession over the genes of a freebirther, just because of her name?"

"A Trial of Possession?" Athen raised an eyebrow, though his surprise at Hoyt's suggestion was merely pretended. "That is what it will take, quiaff?"

Hoyt paused, and looked again at Clees. Clees looked back at him with a smile and an expression that said I do not care what you do. Hoyt glanced at Athen's companion. "So you are a Lewis also, quiaff?" he said. "I assume the challenge is yours?" He allowed the faintest sneer to pass briefly across his face, to let the Wolf know he considered House Lewis to be an inferior Bloodname.

Domask Lewis nodded, his dark eyes fixed on Hoyt's blue ones. "Margaidh will be my bondsman," he replied. "Assuming my challenge is successful, of course," he added with a smile that veiled quiet confidence.

"We shall see, Star Commander Domask Lewis," said Hoyt quietly. "We shall see."

********************

The first thing Margaidh noticed when she was introduced to Star Commander Domask Lewis were the badges he wore on his jacket. Most prominent on his left lapel was the wolf's head badge of his clan, and beside it was the badge of the 328th Assault Cluster, a golden lion's head holding a red heart in it's teeth. But the badge he wore on his arm made Margaidh stare.

It depicted a series of vertical stripes in subdued spectral colours, over which was imposed an ellipse through which the colours appeared washed out, almost pastel. Margaidh recognised it instantly. It was the badge of her home planet, Summer.

"You're a Lewis?" Margaidh asked quietly. The last thing she had expected to encounter as a prisoner of the Clans was another Lewis. "Where did you get the badge?" she added, pointing at the Summer emblem.

Domask looked curiously at her. "It is a tradition among warriors of my bloodname," he said. "We wear it in honour of the Lewis who stayed behind." He sat down beside Margaidh and looked at her, studying her face. "Are you familiar with the name Donald Lewis?" Margaidh shook her head. "At the time of the Exodus there were two brothers on Summer. Their names were Donald and Duncan Lewis. Duncan, the older brother, left with Aleksandr Kerensky and became the founder of my bloodname. My ancestor. Donald could not bear to leave his father, who was old and too sick to travel far. So he stayed on Summer, even though he too wanted to go with them. We wear the badge of Summer in honour of Donald Lewis and his sacrifice. Donald Lewis is your ancestor."

Margaidh stared back at Lewis. "Then… I suppose we're cousins, of a sort. A dozen times removed."

Domask nodded. "Have you heard of the term Trial of Possession?" he asked. Margaidh shook her head. "When there is a dispute among the Clans, we hold a trial of combat. In this particular case, Clan Wolf wishes to claim you, because you are descended of the Lewis bloodname which belongs to our clan. Jade Falcon does not wish to let you go, so a Trial of Possession is held."

"And I am the prize that goes to the winner?" Margaidh said.

"Aff," Domask replied, using the Clan term for 'yes'.

Margaidh laughed. "I can't believe you guys are actually fighting over me. The Falcons treat me like scum, why don't they just hand me over to you?"

"Because you are too valuable. A bargaining chip against the clan the Jade Falcons hate."

Margaidh looked at Domask, searching for any feature that would mark him as a Lewis. He had no trace of a Scottish accent, and his colouring was uncharacteristically dark. But there was something in his brown eyes that Margaidh thought she recognised; the same fire and passion that once burned in her mother. She estimated his age at thirty-five or so, but he had a haunted look about him, as if he were older than that. "Will you be fighting for Clan Wolf?" she asked quietly.

"Aff," said Domask. "And Uvin Buhallin will fight for the Falcons."

"Who should I cheer for?" Margaidh asked with a smile.

Domask touched Margaidh's cheek where a partly-healed scar showed a faint line of red. "Do you enjoy being bonded to Clan Jade Falcon?"

Margaidh shook her head.

"Then cheer for me." Domask stood, and left Margaidh's cell. Margaidh watched him go, and somehow she knew she would see him again.

Benden City, Alkalurops

Clan Jade Falcon Occupation Zone

18th June 3050

On the day of the Trial, Margaidh was awoken early from sleep and taken to the arena, a region just outside Benden City set aside for trials such as this. The arena was a vast stretch of rough ground interspersed with the occasional patch of scrubby, leafless trees. The ground was covered with a light dusting of frost that glistened in the sunlight. In the time she had lived with the Falcon clan, Margaidh had become accustomed to the strange honour system the warriors favoured, and she had a good idea of what was going on.

The warriors had bid down to one Mech each, and Uvin Buhallin had elected to choose the site of the battle. He had wisely chosen the Benden City arena, while Domask Lewis, on unfamiliar soil, had chosen the Mechs in which they would fight. The chosen Mech was a strange bird-like thing the Clan warriors called a Mad Dog; about sixty tons and not especially fast, but loaded with a barrage of powerful arm-mounted pulse lasers and with two twenty-pack long-range missile systems on it's shoulders. For it's size, it was formidably armed, but judging from the expression on Buhallin's face, he was unaccustomed to piloting a Mad Dog.

Margaidh knew from her own encounters with Clan Mechs that a Clan LRM had no mimimum range and was as deadly at short range as it was at a distance. This battle would be a short and bloody one.

The arena was bathed in sunlight but it was winter in Alkalurops and the air was chill; Margaidh huddled for warmth in her plain Clan-issue jacket, the uniform of the labourer caste. Around her were a knot of warriors; colleagues of Uvin Buhallin, and Margaidh suspected their presence was not so much to support their commander but to ensure she did not try to escape.

Domask Lewis began the proceedings with a formalised ritual in which he announced his identity and his challenge, and requesting the defender identify himself also. Uvin Buhallin responded in kind, and when the batchall was done, both warriors powered up their Mechs and took their chosen positions.

Margaidh waited for what seemed an age before either Mech made any action at all. It was Uvin Buhallin that broke the deadlock, suddenly running for a closer position and firing two flights of missiles at once. Some flew wide but the rest peppered the surface of Domask Lewis' Mad Dog. Lewis responded with both his large pulse lasers, but Buhallin was running fast, and Lewis missed. Margaidh screwed her eyes tight shut, not daring to watch.

When she opened her eyes again, Buhallin's Mech had taken cover behind a low hill and only it's upper torso and head was showing. Lewis closed the distance and fired his lasers again. This time he got a hit, and armour sizzled from the left shoulder of Buhallin's Mech.

Way to go, Domask! Margaidh thought to herself. Get him in the head next time!

But Domask had put himself in an exposed position and Buhallin responded by firing both his large lasers and a single flight of LRMs. Again the missiles peppered at Lewis' mech's armour but the lasers all homed in on the Mad Dog's left arm, stripping armour away and eating into internal circuitry. Sparks flew and Margaidh could smell burning alloy.

Undeterred, Domask Lewis ran his Mech round the hill to meet Buhallin head to head, and then both combatants were partially hidden from Margaidh's view. She saw flashes of laser fire, and fragments of armour flying, but with both Mechs moving so quickly around one another, she could no longer tell who was winning, or even which Mech was which.

When the two Mad Dogs emerged into view again, Margaidh could see that one Mech had lost it's left arm entirely, and was now down to just one each of large and medium pulse lasers. That had to be Lewis, she thought, her heart pounding hard.

Buhallin's mech seemed to have suffered only armour damage but that was extensive, particularly over the vulnerable centre torso area. One thing Margaidh had noticed was that the Mad Dog was not particularly well armoured. Which was to say, it was as well armoured as an Inner Sphere Mech of the same size, but light by Clan standards.

It seemed to Margaidh that Uvin Buhallin had the upper hand, and was pounding Lewis relentlessly with his four lasers. Lewis responded with his two remaining lasers and both missile packs, but again Margaidh could not see any significant structural damage to Buhallin's Mech. She bit her bottom lip, and silently prayed for the Wolf.

Abruptly, both Mechs seemed to come to a stop, and for a moment Margaidh was afraid that Lewis' Mad Dog was about to topple over. Then she saw telltale signs of smoke curling from breaches in the armour of Buhallin's Mech. Now, Domask! Margaidh hissed under her breath. He's overheated!

But Domask Lewis did not fire. His Mech's one remaining arm twitched alarmingly as it's actuators shorted out, and Buhallin took the opportunity to fire everything he had at Domask's Mech. Two large lasers, two medium lasers and forty missiles streaked towards the Wolf Clan warrior.

Margaidh shut her eyes again and waited for the explosion. She did not see Domask, with lightning reactions, drop his Mech to it's knees, allowing the lasers to pass harmlessly over it's head. She did not see the missiles impacting with the frozen ground. She did not see Uvin Buhallin hurriedly ejecting from his Mech when he realised his barrage of weapons fire had dangerously overheated it. She opened her eyes just in time to see Buhallin's mech ripped apart from the inside as the remaining missile ammunition spontaneously exploded as the heat became unbearable.

As the smoke and flame cleared, Buhallin emerged from his escape capsue and kicked angrily at the ground. Domask ignored him, and marched his Mech across the expanse of the arena, straight to where Margaidh was watching. He popped the canopy and climbed out, his face covered with sweat, and stood proudly before Margaidh.

"I am Star Commander Domask Lewis, and I claim victory in this Trial of Possession," he announced, his voice powerful and authoritative, albeit a little shaky as he recovered from the exertion of battle. "You are now Margaidh of Clan Wolf, and you are bonded to me."

Domask Lewis slipped a knife from his belt and used it to cut through the bondcord around Margaidh's wrist. Margaidh caught a glimpse of the hilt that was of silver, and ornately shaped in the form of a wolf, with red gemstones for eyes. Domask replaced the cord with one of his own; it's warm colours of red, gold and russet brown in contrast to the cold greens and blues in the cord of the Jade Falcons. This cord he picked up and he strode up to Uvin Buhallin with it. With a smirk on his face, he dropped the bondcord at Buhallin's feet and trod it into the ground.