AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, here's the big assault scene. Hopefully this'll be the last dismounted black ops scene I'm going to write (maybe; I do have an idea for something later on). From now on, I'm sticking to 'Mech fights.

I drew a lot of inspiration (i.e. robbed unashamedly) from several movies and books for this chapter. The one that sticks out the most is the house assault from Who Dares Wins (aka The Final Option), a pretty decent fictionalization of the Special Air Service's assault on the Iranian Embassy in London in 1980. (You can find it on YouTube.) However, I also was inspired (stole from) by the last confrontation between Colonel Faulkner and Sir Matheson at the end of The Wild Geese, and the confrontation between Peter Miller and Eduard Roschmann in the book of The Odessa File. I hope no one minds too much. Originally this was going to be longer, but when I hit six pages, I decided to leave it at that. There's one more thing that's going to happen, but I'll leave that for the next chapter, which will be angsty and emo, but necessary.

Rhonda Snord's addition was fun. Originally she was in there as a cameo, but then I realized that she could actually help, if she found out who the assaulters really were. One thing she doesn't reveal to Sheila is her true origins: Rhonda, her father Cranston, and the original Irregulars were, like Wolf's Dragoons, Clanfolk. They split off from the Dragoons on their own scouting mission, and joined Jaime Wolf in repudiating their Clan ties to fight for the Inner Sphere. Naturally, Rhonda alone would figure out pretty quickly that the Black Foxes were not Clan.

I also go against canon slightly with the death of Thomas Hogarth, who, according to Objective Raids, is alive and well in 3055. Must be a typo. (Those sneaky MIIO types…)

REVIEWER'S CORNER: 4477 Thire: thanks for the heads-up. You'll notice I changed the spelling in this chapter.

Kat: Well, Sean Connery did wear a hairpiece in a lot of his movies. (Marko Ramius, for example.) I read the bidding war between Ulric and Anastasius Focht aloud one time, trying to imitate Sean Connery and Jurgen Prochnow. Geez…I need a life or something. (Oh, and I guess I could write "Fun With Senefa and Vornzel," but I already have and it made people ill.)

On with da show…

Government House

Furillo, Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth

20 August 3051

Duke Samuel Bonner looked up. The lights flickered and came back on again. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Leftenant General Thomas Hogarth looked up as well, then shrugged. "Power failure."

"If so, it's the shortest one in this planet's history." Furillo's power source was drawn from Star League-era cold fusion reactors. While the reactors worked perfectly even after 400 years, the connections were old and worn out, and no one yet knew how to fix them. The great treasure trove of lost technology that had been rediscovered had been quickly applied to military use, and the civilian sector needed time to catch up. For Bonner, it was one more act of percieved neglect that made him despise House Davion all the more. "Tighten security around the guests. Something's not right here."

Sheila dragged the unconcious guard into one of the stalls. He had never seen it coming: she had merely raised her artificial arm, formed a fist, and let it drop like a guillotine on the top of the man's skull. He had slumped instantly to the floor. With much grunting and muffled cursing at the bulky burqa, she lifted him onto the toilet, undid his belt, and tied his hands behind him. Sheila considered taking the Federated assault rifle with her, but it was too bulky. Since the Black Foxes would be using Rorynex submachineguns, firing the Federated would make her an instant target. Half-remembering a Nagelring class on personal weapons, she quickly disassembled the rifle, took out the trigger housing, and tossed it into one of the other toilets. She heard the guard's radio crackled and grabbed that on her way out, hearing the order to increase security in the ballroom. The hallway was deserted, so she quickly whispered into her headset. "Turkina from Urbie. They are doubling the guards in the ballroom. Be advised."

"Roger that. Over target."


Senefa Malthus was finding herself rapidly changing her opinion about Inner Sphere warriors.

While she had shared the traditional disdain for the "mud marchers," "gravel agitators," and "scarecrows" of the infantry that most MechWarriors had, Inner Sphere and Clan, she wondered why Hanse Davion had never committed his Black Foxes to the war effort against the Clans. They were eminently professional, eminently skilled, and undeniably lethal. Affection for Vornzel aside, she had no doubts that the Foxes could easily penetrate and kill the entire Jade Falcon Keshik before an alarm could be sounded.

Senefa had given them an intense three day briefing on the way out from Tharkad on what she knew about Clan tactics and traditions. The entire team consisted of only twelve men, commanded by Captain Nelson and three Sergeants, Tracey, Barker, and Jacobs. Besides Nelson and once with Tracey, she never saw any of the other men's faces. They had interrogated far more thoroughly than the MIIO agents who had debriefed her on Vantaa: one of the men even had her repeat passages from the Clans' epic poem, The Remembrance, until he could repeat them back to her. Their uniforms had been subtly altered to include Jade Falcon ranks and the "claws" carried on the field uniform's shoulders, though these were dark green rather than bright yellow. Two of them had even fashioned Clan-style "daggerstars" and pinned them to their tunics, and by the time they reached Furillo, Senefa felt herself slipping back into old speech patterns and colloquialisms of the Clans. It felt very much like she was preparing with for a combat drop with her old Cluster. Only the masked faces brought her back to reality.

It was good to be working with such men, but the mission still unsettled Senefa. She despised political backstabbing and abhorred assassination. It happened in the Clans with more frequency than she cared to admit, but while she had revised her opinion of Inner Sphere warriors, she had decided that the Clans had a point regarding the degradation of the Inner Sphere since the fall of the Star League. If this was as depressingly common as Sheila had told her and Senefa had read in her books, it was a wonder they had survived at all. And Senefa especially did not like Sheila going on the operation. Vengeance she understood, but revenge she no longer could: she had experienced firsthand what it could drive a person to do. That said, Senefa had to compliment Sheila on her unique choice of disguise, and from her radio reports, it seemed she was handling herself well enough.

They approached Government House in four helicopters, each with three men inside. Each team had arrived on Furillo separately, in various disguises—Senefa had disgustedly acquiesced to bleaching her hair blonde, wearing blue eye contracts that hurt, and dressing in outlandish tie-dyed garb that she normally wouldn't be caught dead in-- and had met in a deserted clearing in the middle of a game preserve. Senefa had been surprised to find that the helicopters they were using were Nightshades: Star League era VTOLs in mint condition. The Nightshade had been designed as a combat scout, built to be stealthy and with such a comphrensive ECM suite that rendered it virtually invisible to detection. The Foxes' Nightshades had been modified to include a cramped passenger compartment, which left her as close to Captain Nelson as she had been to Vornzel in bed.

Senefa leaned forward as much as she could to look over the pilot's shoulder. Government House was lit up, showing that there were no guards on the roof. That would make things easier. There were a great deal of trees and hedgerows around the house, which she regarded as poor planning: if she was a planetary governor, she would have wanted a clear field of fire for at least half a kilometer. Then again, Furillo wasn't high on the list of military targets. Nor were there any guard 'Mechs on the grounds, which they had planned for but still feared: as much as MechWarriors made fun of the diminutive UrbanMech, just one of the little 'Mechs could end the entire operation.

She felt Nelson's hand on her shoulder, and sat back down. He held up three fingers, and she nodded. All of them were dressed in black from head to toe, except for a cutout around the eyes. Each carried three concussion grenades, "flashbangs" that would produce a stunning effect but very little shrapnel or blast; a 20 foot length of black nylon rope, two throwing knives in boot sheaths, and a single Rorynex, slightly modified to resemble one of Clan manufacture. Only two spare magazines were carried, in sheaths taped to the wrist for quick reloading; as Nelson had said, the last thing the Foxes needed was a prolonged firefight. The Rorynexes also had flash suppressors that doubled as silencers. Normally, Nelson had told Senefa, the Foxes would carry backup personal weapons, but they had discarded those because they were too recognizable: it wouldn't make sense for a Clan assault team to be loaded up with various knives of local manufacture or the odd Sternsnacht heavy pistol. For that reason, Senefa had been ordered to leave her collapsible staff behind on Tharkad.

The doors opened on either side of the Nightshade, and ropes were thrown out, to play out over the stubby wings of the helicopter. Whipped by the downwash of the rotors, which were eerily silent, Senefa ducked out, turning around and keeping one hand on the thick rope, kneeling on the wing to avoid being decapitated by the blades. At a signal from Nelson, both slid down the wings and the ropes to the roof of the mansion, landing with hardly a sound. Quickly, they moved away from the landing area as the third man in the team slid down as well. Once they were in position, Nelson waved a red-lensed flashlight at the pilot, who pulled up and away, to orbit five thousand feet up and east of the mansion. He then signaled Senefa and the other Fox to move forward. They crabwalked to the front of the mansion. There was no activity outside. The second and third Nightshade quickly moved into position and deposited their three-man teams as well.

"Shade Two to Turkina. Two guards, second south window." One of the Nightshades had seen someone open the curtains.

"They see you?"

"Unknown."

"Freebirth." Senefa looked over at him, and she could see him smile beneath the mask. Nelson had used the Clan epithet unconciously. She clicked the safety off the Rorynex, wishing she had her Summoner beneath her. If the Nightshade had been seen—it couldn't jam the human eye—then they would be attacking an alerted target.

"Shade Four. Make your approach now," Nelson ordered.


"Your Grace?"

Bonner was adjusting his tunic, looking in the mirror. "What is it?" He turned to Jones, the captain of the mansion's guards.

"Sir, one of my men thinks he saw a helicopter passing over the house."

"He thinks?"

Jones looked penitent. "He wasn't sure, sir."

"Tell him to find out. Stupid media." Jones saluted and left. Bonner flung down his tie. "Dammit, this isn't working for me. I'll just have to go without one. Tom, go downstairs and stall our guests." Hogarth smiled thinly and left the room, nearly colliding with the head butler of the mansion. "Now what?" Bonner snapped.
"Sorry to bother you, sir, but the beer that you ordered…"

"Yes, yes, I know the idiots already delivered Timbiqui Dark instead of non-alcoholic stuff. Did you call the distributor to have them switch it out?"

"I tried, sir, but the phone lines are out."

"What do you mean, they're out?"

The butler shrugged. "That's just it, sir. No dial tone. Nothing. It's like they were…cut."

Bonner opened his mouth, closed it, and turned pale. "Jesus." He rushed over to his desk and stabbed a button on the internal phone. "Captain Jones, come in!"


Shade Four came in at treetop height, with two men dangling under it. Senefa watched them come, even as she obeyed Nelson's hand signal to throw over her rope. Originally, Shade Four was to make their approach to the top windows after the first three teams had gone in, but Nelson feared the guards inside had already spotted Shade Two.

The two Foxes dangling beneath the Nightshade raised grenade launchers to their shoulders, the heaviest weapons the team had with them. They made a chuffing noise as they fired, the forty millimeter grenade striking the upper floor windows and exploding, blowing them both out. The two guards inside dived behind a sofa for cover as the room was covered in flying glass, then hesitated as two men dressed in black leapt through the windows. It was a fatal hesitation: the Foxes' Rorynexes quietly split fire and killed both guards. "Two guards dead, upper south windows," Sergeant Jacobs reported. "Moving in on target."

"Teams, go," Nelson ordered. Senefa followed the others in rappelling down the south face of the mansion. She was part of Team One, with Nelson: they rappelled to the ground and went to the front door, while the other two teams only went to the balcony that commanded the southern half of the mansion. Nelson unslung the combat shotgun on his back and aimed, while Senefa took up a position to the side of the door and the third man, whose name she didn't know, crouched on the steps. At the signal—the other two teams blowing in the windows with plastic explosive—Nelson blew the hinges off the front doors. The third man rushed in and delivered a devastating shoulder block, and the doors flew open. As he rolled to his feet in the hallway, Senefa watched the doors to the ballroom. Sure enough, a guard stepped out, rifle half-raised in shock. She aimed, but the Fox on the floor was already firing. The guard went down in a welter of blood. Senefa and Nelson rushed in, even as they heard gunfire above them.

Sheila heard someone fire, the deep sound of a Federated rifle. It was cut off in mid burst, and through her headset she heard one of the teams report that a guard was dead. She moved in a fast walk towards the stairway, wanting to get downstairs; she had kicked off her sandals in the bathroom and was running in her bare feet. Luckily, the Foxes had been briefed not to shoot anyone wearing a blue burqa, but she had a feeling that the they were going to gun down everything on the second floor before moving in on Bonner.

"You there! Halt!" Sheila whirled around to see Captain Jones pointing a rifle at her. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I-I'm Aysaan Manji," Sheila stammered, remembering just in time her cover name. "I heard shots—"

"Get your ass up here!" Jones stepped forward, took a double-handful of the burqa, and half-flung Sheila back down the hallway towards Bonner's office. "Get back there and stay there! Someone's hitting us!" Forgetting Sheila, Jones motioned his men to take up positions around the heavy planters that had been arrayed around the hallway—not just for decoration, Sheila realized, as they were perfectly placed to defend Bonner's office. She gaped as two men ran in, dropped to the floor, and began setting up a light machinegun. She opened her mouth to whisper into the headset, warn Nelson, but then a uniformed sleeve took hold of her and began to drag her down the hallway. "Come with me," said Leftenant General Thomas Hogarth.


Nelson kicked the door shut to the ballroom, then kicked them open again, quickly twisting to the side to avoid the return fire. Senefa, crouched out of the way, wondered what Nelson was doing. In a moment, she heard screams and the soft thumps of the Rorynexes from the opposite end, and knew: Nelson had distracted the guards inside, causing them to focus their weapons on where they thought the attack was coming. Team Three had leapt down a flight of stairs and burst in from the other side. "Two guards dead. Ballroom secure." Nelson motioned them inside. The thirty delegates inside had either raised their hands or ducked under the tables. One of them, an older man, suddenly drew a wicked-looking knife from beneath his suit and charged Senefa. The Foxes hesitated, under orders not to harm the delegates.

Finally, something that makes sense, Senefa thought. Since the Rorynex hung from its sling around her right shoulder, she simply let go of it, half-turned, let the knife go past, grabbed the man's wrist with her left hand and the man's face with her right. The sudden strike lifted him off his feet and dropped him to the carpet; Senefa had to remember to let go of the knife arm and the face, so as not to snap the man's neck or dislocate his shoulder. She kicked the knife free. The man had hit the carpet rather hard and was out of the fight. She stepped away and raised the submachinegun. "Stand still and you will not be harmed!" she shouted, her voice muffled through the mask. "We are not here for you! We are here for Duke Bonner!"

"Why?" asked one of the delegates.

"He has dared to betray Clan Jade Falcon, and we kin death for him!" Senefa winced at the words, both because they sounded to her horribly corny, and because she had told Sheila the same thing during the Circle of Equals on Planting. She looked around. "Where is General Hogarth and Colonel Snord?" People shook their heads, so Senefa repeated it, in a shout. Still no one knew.

"Point Commander, stay here." Nelson pointed at Sergeant Jacobs. He pointed at Senefa and thumbed behind them. Leaving Team Three to guard the ballroom, they headed into the hallway. From above, they could hear the muffled booms of flashbangs as the other two teams cleared the upper flooors, occasionally reporting "Guard dead," or "Two guards dead," as they systematically wiped out the MASS force. The plan was to collapse the perimeter around Bonner's office, which was on the second floor looking out over a north-facing balcony. The building plans had shown Bonner's windows to be reinforced to survive a direct hit from even rocket-propelled grenades, so a direct entry would've been impossible. "Third floor clear," Senefa heard Sergeant Tracey report. "Moving down."

As they approached the main stairwell, the Fox who had accompanied Senefa and Nelson raised a fist. They instantly dropped behind cover and stopped. "Guard on second floor stairwell balcony," he told them. "Stay down." A single strand of black nylon fell to the floor, followed almost immediately by gunfire, and then the figure of Sergeant Tracey landing nimbly on his feet. "Guard down, second floor balcony." Tracey had slid down the rope from the third floor and shot the guard on his way down.

"Third floor clear," Tracey reported to Nelson. "Still clearing second."

"Aff. Team Three, move the delegates out the front door. Keep a lookout for Colonel Snord—do not fire at her, repeat, do not engage Colonel Snord." Nelson turned back to Tracey. "Have you seen Urbie?"

"Neg."

"All right. Take command here; I will move up to second and help Team Two and Four, quiaff?"

"Aff." Tracey slapped Nelson's shoulder. Nelson motioned to Senefa, and they were moving up the stairs when they heard the unmistakable sound of a machine gun.


"Goddamn Snord," Hogarth hissed as he continued to drag Sheila down the corridor towards Bonner's office. "This is probably Marik SAFE agents come to kill us all for something her bunch stole!" Sheila had been digging in her heels, trying to wrestle free of Hogarth: somehow, she had to warn Nelson or take out the machine gun herself. "Will you quit that—" He tried to get better purchase, Sheila's bare feet slipped on the rug, and half the sleeve of the burqa tore off. Hogarth scrabbled to grab her as she fell, got hold of the glove on her left arm, and fell against the wall, pulling it off.

They stared at each other for a moment, both realizing at the same time that Sheila's metal arm was now exposed for the world to see—along with the black sleeve of her jumpsuit. Hogarth quickly put two and two together and went for his service pistol holstered at his side. He had just unsnapped the holster flap and cleared it when Sheila, who moved with the reflexes of a combat veteran, already had her pistol out and leveled. She fired three quick shots, taking Hogarth in the chest, the neck, and finally the head. Blood and bits of bone sprayed the immaculate wall behind him and he slumped down.

The pistol had sounded like a howitzer in the confined space of the hallway, even over the distant sound of the machine gun opening fire. She heard voices coming from that direction and scrambled to her feet. She hiked up the burqa around her thighs and ran, taking the first open door she found. It wasn't until she closed it behind her did she realize that it was Bonner's office.

"What the hell is going on—" Sheila spun around. Samuel Bonner was no more than five steps away, standing next to his desk, one hand on a pistol that lay there. Sheila brought hers up first, and Bonner moved his hand aside, taking a step away from the gun. "Who the hell are you?"

One part of Sheila told her to simply kill the bastard and leave, accomplish the mission, and be done with it. Yet she couldn't do it—Bonner had to know why. She reached up and pulled off the burqa's hood. Her hair had been pinned up, but Bonner knew the face. "It's you," he said quietly after a pause. "It's not Marik agents after Snord. It's not Davion's Rabid Foxes either. It's you…Sheila Arla-Vlata."

"Yes," Sheila answered simply.

"Then those troops are yours?" Sheila just shrugged. To her utter surprise, Bonner leaned against a table and smiled, color returning to his face. "What the hell are you smiling about?" she snapped.

"Because, Lieutenant Commander—that's your rank, isn't it?—you're a businesswoman. A mercenary."

"So what?" Her finger tightened on the trigger.

"We can make a deal." Bonner waved expansively around the office. "Listen, Sheila. There's a safe over there, behind the tapestry. Inside is five million C-Bills in bearer bonds. Go ahead, take it."

"Are you serious?" Sheila couldn't believe her ears.

"Certainly. Oh, I realize it now. Someone talked. Those agents of Romano Liao—they probably blabbed what I told them, about you being part of the Junior Officers' Strategy Group."

"Yes," Sheila snarled, "they did. To the Clans. Along with your 'peace' proposal."

Bonner sighed. "Well, there's no point in denying that. Yes, Commander, I did make a peace proposal. Don't you see what's happening here?" Before she could answer, Bonner slowly stood, keeping his hands in view even as he used them to emphasize his points. "Listen. You were born on Grunwald, as I recall. Mercenary or not, you're a Lyran. This is our home that's being invaded! And what's Hanse Davion doing? Sitting on his ass! Oh, I know his plan, Commander. He intends to let Lyran troops take the brunt of the fighting—and they have, along with you mercenaries—against the Clans. Once the Clans are tired out and exhausted, then he'll bring in his Davion Guards and Crucis Lancers and drive them back to the Periphery. And all the Sphere will hail him as a conquering hero, just like they did when he took half the Capellan Confederation." He waggled a finger at Sheila. "And well they could for that. I admired him, Commander, I truly did. But then, then he showed his true face.

"We were told, we loyal sons of Steiner, that we would be equals with the Davions. But the Fox lied, Sheila. All the worlds our boys and girls spilled blood for in the Fourth Succession War, he signed away in a second to the Free Rasalhague Republic. A buffer zone, he said. New markets, he said. Fat lot of good it has done us, eh? The Rasalhagians are just prey for the Wolf Clan now; whatever's left the Kurita Dragon will devour."

"So what's your point?" Sheila asked.

"My point is this, Commander: we are both Lyrans. I want what's good for my country. So do you! I don't know what Hanse Davion has filled your head with, but I can assure you that he doesn't give a whit for you or me—you especially. You're just a pawn, to be discarded as needed, to be used as needed for his dirty work. You're come to kill me on his order, neh?" At Sheila's nod, he leaned back against the desk again. "Don't be seduced by him, Commander. He wants our country humbled, at his feet for him and his brood mare Melissa." He spoke the Archon's name like a piece of rotted meat was stuck in his teeth. "But we don't have to do that. We can make a peace with the Clans. They will surge into Davion space—and once the Clans' backs are turned, once they're after the Mariks and the Fox himself, then we strike!" He slammed his fist into his hand so hard it caused Sheila to jump and nearly pull the trigger. "Then we, we loyal Lyrans, take back our realm not only from the damned Clans, but also from the damned Fox!" He waved away Sheila's pistol. "Take the money and go, Commander. Go home. I know your unit may have suffered a little because of my ideas, and for that, I apologize. I promise you, on my honor as Duke of Furillo, that I will see that the Sentinels get a nice, fat contract out here, away from the Clans. Think of the five million as down payment. I'm sure your father will understand."

"And you'll just forget the whole thing?"

"Of course! A misunderstanding, nothing more. We can make up some sob story about Marik agents or even rogue MIIO."

"What makes you think Hanse Davion wouldn't just send his Black—er, Rabid Foxes after you?"

"He can't, you see. Now too many people know! Besides, he's about to have his hands full anyway." Bonner dropped his voice conspiratorially. "The Clans will attack in a month, Commander. Their agents have informed me of this."

"You're lying."

Bonner spread his hands. "Well, it's your choice to believe me or not. Shall I get the bonds for you?" He pushed off from the table.

"Get back to where you were," Sheila said, her voice low. She could feel her left hand spasming again, and she noticed Bonner watching it worriedly. "That was a nice speech, Your Grace. I had one prepared too. Want to hear it?"

"Certainly," Bonner replied, with a please-do gesture.

"I admit it's a pretty good speech. I had plenty of time to think about it, sitting in a cell in a Clan prison, naked, with my shoulders dislocated and a fractured arm." She raised the metal arm. In the short silence, they could both hear the servomotors turning as it twitched. "Took my mind off the pain, you see."

"They tortured you?" Bonner asked nervously.

"Yes. They beat me. They shot me full of drugs, humiliated me, took everything from me, made me scream out everything I knew about the JSOG. I beat my head against the floor trying to knock myself out, but they kept me awake. I pissed myself, I prayed for God to kill me, Duke Bonner, because of the pain. And the woman who tortured me just promised more. Luckily husband and my unit, and one Clanswoman who got sick of what she saw, broke into the prison and liberated me. I lost this arm in the process, and three of my MechWarriors, along with a good deal of brave Vantaa Militia and MIIO agents, are dead. And it's all because of you."

Bonner had gone pale. "Oh God…you're not here because of Hanse Davion at all."

"No. I'm here for me." She felt herself losing control and didn't care. "Your offer of money makes me want to vomit, Bonner. No amount of money will repay what you did to me and my family."

"Romano Liao—"

"I can't get to Romano," Sheila cut him off. "So I'll just have to settle for you."

Bonner drew himself up to his impressive height and looked down the barrel of Sheila's pistol. "Well, in that case…I guess you'd better kill me."

"You're right." Sheila raised the pistol.

"Wait!" Bonner put out his hand.

Sheila fired. Her aim was near perfect. The bullet struck Bonner in the left eye and exploded from the back of his head. His body pitched forward onto the desk. Sheila walked forward and, for nothing else than for pure rage, shot him again. She stared down at the body. She thought she might feel something—rage, pain, maybe even sorrow. But she felt nothing.

"Well done."

Sheila at first thought the voice was in her head, but realized it had come from behind and to her left. She spun, leveled the pistol, and found it pointing at Rhonda Snord. Snord raised her gloved hands. "Don't shoot me, Sheila—unlike the late Duke there, I'm not your enemy."

Sheila didn't lower the pistol. "You've seen my face. I-I have to kill you." Even as she said it, Sheila knew she couldn't do it.

"That's true, but you probably won't do it. You had pretty good reasons, Sheila—I know, I've been standing here for the past ten minutes."

"But…but how?"

Snord smiled. "One of the guards downstairs said he saw a helicopter. When I heard the guys go in on the third floor, I knew something was up. I figured maybe someone was after me—Deity knows how many people the Irregulars have pissed off over the years. I figured the best place to hide would be Bonner's office. More fool me." Snord shrugged. "As to how I got here, well…this house used to be a Star League museum. It had a lot of priceless art on display—Dali, Warhol, Wylder, Zerg, that sort of thing. They hid all the art during the Amaris War. Dad and I cased the place back in '24 for hidden rooms. We didn't find any, but we found plenty of hidden passageways and storage rooms. Bonner was sitting on about fifty cases of Mauser Assault Systems and didn't know it."

"You weren't just stopping by!" Sheila exclaimed. "You were going to rob him!"

"Actually, no. I was going to tell him he had a bunch of worthless crates of Star League propaganda posters—which he did; that's down there too—and buy the lot." She nodded towards Bonner's body. "Guess that deal's off." She walked forward and picked up Bonner's pistol. "Anyway, yeah, you could kill me, but you'd be robbing yourself of an alibi."

"Huh?" Sheila was by now completely lost.

"Sure. I can tell how a Clan assassin burst in on me and Bonner during a pleasant dinner party and killed him, wounding me in the process—in the leg, of course." She slapped her legs, which gave a strange hollow sound; Sheila remembered that Snord's legs were artificial. "In fact, I'll scream my ass off about the dastardly Clans and how Bonner died a brave man, going for his gun." She pressed the pistol into Bonner's limp right hand. "I'll even say how I recognized 'Aysaan Manji' as the assassin, because she gave herself away at the dinner as a MechWarrior." At the look of shocked horror on Sheila's face, Snord actually laughed. "I admit, you had me almost convinced when you fielded the questions on the fatwa and fiqh. But you didn't even bother asking me what a HSLA was, which is something only a MechWarrior would know. Also, you've obviously never been to Dar-es-Salaam. I have. The women there don't dare look a man in the eye and usually don't speak more than 'hello' and 'goodbye' to foreigners like myself. I doubt anyone else noticed, but in case they did, your secret is safe." Snord leaned against the desk much as Bonner had. "Or you could just kill me."

"I can't do that," Sheila mumbled.

"I didn't think so. You're a killer, Sheila, not a murderer. There's a big difference." Snord stood and positioned herself in front of a chair. "Sounds like your buddies have silenced that machine gun, which means they'll be here any minute. Shoot me in the leg and be off with you, you Clan bitch."

Sheila did.