When he was a child, he once thought that snowflakes were little stars that fell down from the sky. Being a small boy, he never really cared to understand and took things at face value. When his mother read him a story about snowflakes as he sat with his head in her lap on the tatami mat, he would often wonder and imagine, as each snowflake would descend slowly until they would fall into the little garden at the back of their house in the tranquil valleys of Kajikazawa. As he got older, he finally understood that snowflakes were nothing more than ice crystals but that did not dampen his interest. He learned that no two snowflakes were ever truly alike; each one was a unique art of nature. As the water molecules in ice would form a hexagonal lattice, the faceting would branch out as the snowflake began to expand outwards and form complex patterns depending on the varying temperatures as they fell towards the ground. There were many winter days and nights when he would just sit for hours in their frozen little garden, catching every little snowflake he could find and marveling at the uniqueness of it.

Lieutenant Lewis Sorenson sighed as he stared out of the window of his quarters as the snowflakes drifted on by. The winters in Tharkad were cold, not unlike the winters he once experienced as a boy growing up in the Combine. How he wished he could be a youth again, to take everything at face value, not to question but to embrace everything with an innocent devotion and wonderment that only a child could have.

But a cold, hard reality snapped back into him as he sat by the frosted windowsill. The commander of the unit he belonged to was missing, along with the last batch of delegates for the Conference and no one knew where they were. Lewis Sorenson trembled with worry and apprehension.

Within his blood not only flowed that of the legendary Sorensons, the guardians of freedom for the former Draconis Combine district of Rasalhague, but also that of the Kurita dynasty. During the early years of the Combine, the ruling Kurita nobility was usurped by the Von Rohrs, an illegitimately related line of tyrants that then ruled the Combine for nearly a century. But when the Von Rohrs attempted to enforce their harsh rule over the Rasalhague district, Lord Daniel Sorenson defied them and maintained honor and freedom within the planets of the district until a rebellion wiped out the Von Rohrs and returned legitimate rule back to House Kurita. The Sorenson clan intermarried with the ruling Kuritas and a few families moved into the interior of the Combine; Lewis Sorenson himself was a mixture of Scandinavian and Oriental descent. The Sorenson name was venerated across the Combine and became a symbol for uncompromising devotion and honor, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

But despite his tranquil upbringing, Lewis Sorenson became a rebellious but talented MechWarrior. Although achieving superb battle scores during his term at the Sun-Zhang Academy, his loyalty rating was considered questionable and he had to endure days of hazing from his instructors. But Sorenson possessed the will of his family's namesake and his exasperated teachers ultimately discharged him from the academy due to his political instability. After drifting for a few years as an outcast because of his complete and utter disdain for authority of any kind, Sorenson hooked up with the Second Night Stalker Regiment almost by chance. The Night Stalkers were in a way, outcasts as well. Created by the legendary Lloyd McGavin, the Night Stalkers were a composite unit made up of old, retired DCMS officers who still wished to fight for the Dragon but were forcibly cashiered by the High Command as well as younger MechWarriors who were rejected by the more traditional regiments.

It was a unique tradition that each new recruit into the Night Stalkers would be paired with one of the older veterans who serve as a mentor to the younger MechWarriors. The older officers lovingly nicknamed their younger counterparts Padawans, in deference to an old Terran holovid. As the second Star League came into being, the Combine colluded with the other Inner-Sphere powers and the Nova Cats to destroy Clan Smoke Jaguar. The first phase of this campaign to liberate the Combine worlds under the Clan yoke would be named Operation Bird Dog. Small teams of volunteers as well as Special Forces units would be inserted deep inside the Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zones and would wage guerilla war as well as being the advance units for the new Star League invasion force. These volunteer units would effectively disrupt Smoke Jaguar supply lines and engage the local garrisons in order to keep them busy until the main invasion force of SLDF troops could arrive.

Not surprisingly, Sorenson was able to convince his older mentor to volunteer as part of an ad-hoc unit and be dropped behind enemy lines. In the hellish campaigns that followed, Sorenson and his team were able to engage several Smoke Jaguar units and successfully kept up the pressure until the Clan enemy began to flounder. But then, tragedy struck. After the successful campaign to liberate Port Arthur, Sorenson's volunteer unit of Night Stalkers and DEST commandos were sent in to reinforce the beleaguered guerilla forces on Luzerne. Sorenson became the sole survivor when his entire unit was virtually destroyed by the vengeful Smoke Jaguars and it was only through his sheer tenacity and deadly skills that enabled him to not only survive but to prevail. His leadership skills became evident after the tragic loss of his older mentor when he assumed command of numerous guerilla units providing successful hit-and-run attacks against the more heavily armed Clan defenders.

When the battles were finally over, Sorenson was in line to receive one of the highest decorations to Combine soldiers, the Katana Cluster, a military award to the MechWarrior with the highest number of BattleMech kills. Having already been awarded the Bushido Blade for his courage and leadership, Sorenson was destined to move up the ranks of the DCMS hierarchy, he had an unbeatable combination of deadly skills, superb tactical leadership and the advantage of his royal heritage. But when the DCMS High Command began a post-battle analysis, it revealed that Sorenson had purposely disobeyed direct orders from more senior officers numerous times in deference to the safety of his men. Just like the man who created the Night Stalkers, Lewis Sorenson cared too much for the soldiers under his command and refused to commit to tactics that would have surely gotten them all killed. After the findings, he was stripped of not only his awards, but placed on suspension from the Night Stalkers with a pending court-martial to come. Not waiting for the axe to fall, Sorenson headed out to Federated Suns space, where he used his skills and experience as a freelancer during the devastating FedCom Civil War.

It was as if by destiny that his personal records were somehow appropriated by General Galen Cox of the SLDF's Intelligence Command. Cox was attempting to form several covert, special forces units to meet the increasing demands of the newly formed Star League military. One such unit was a new Black Widow Company, headed by an enigmatic woman who not only looked like Natasha Kerensky, but resembled her in every which way imaginable. Almost on a whim, Sorenson accepted the invitation to train with the new unit. A battalion of the best MechWarriors from across the Inner-Sphere then engaged in one of the most intense and grueling training regimens ever devised. Sorenson took it all in stride as the attrition rate soared and the original battalion was whittled down to company size. By then, Sorenson was one of the prime candidates for lance commander. The other finalists for command included the bastard son of "Gentleman Johnny" Clavell and a mysterious mercenary who seemingly came out of nowhere. John Clavell's son Jimmy was a daring and inventive commander but lacked finesse and was prone to recklessness and he ultimately ended up commanding the Wolf Spider Lance, a unit that was as adept in risk-taking as he was. The final candidates were Sorenson and the Monk; what ultimately won it for Sorenson was that the Monk was somewhat too distant to the rest of the unit while Sorenson had a little bit more respect. In time, the Monk relented to command the heavy Tarantula Lance and Sorenson became the de-facto Executive Officer, second-in-command only to the feared Black Widow herself.

And now, with Captain Natasha Kerensky herself having gone missing, Sorenson was now the acting commander of the Widows. It was an unexpected circumstance, but he needed to lead and lead them well. The unit was currently stationed within the confines of the Triad, a small city that housed not only the government of the Lyran Alliance in Tharkad, but also the ongoing Star League Conference as well. Although most of the security for the delegates was being provided by the Lyran Alliance Armed Forces, there was also a small contingent of SLDF troops that were present, including the Widows.

A knock on the door instantly sent Sorenson's mind back to reality. "Come in." He said.

A fair-haired youth came in, dressed in an all-black jumpsuit with red stripes on the sides; it was none other than Christopher MacLaren, a MechWarrior from Jimmy Clavell's lance. Being the newest and youngest member of the Company, MacLaren was nicknamed the "Spy", having just been transferred in from Wolf's Dragoons. It was rumored that he was accepted in order to act as the eyes and ears for Colonel Jaime Wolf himself. The others continually chided him for that and the youth was clearly uncomfortable about it.

"Lieutenant, someone is wishing to see us all in the briefing room." MacLaren said.

"Any idea who it is?" Sorenson queried. Unlike MacLaren, he was dressed in a black tunic, knee-high boots and wore a dark traveling cloak favored by wanderers of Terra's ancient past. Captain Natasha Kerensky never opted for a standardized dress uniform for the Widows; therefore everyone wore the uniforms from the units that they had come from previously. Sorenson's outfit was from his parent unit, the Night Stalkers, but it did have the patches of a black widow spider and a blackened, eight-pointed Cameron star on its side, just like everyone else.

"Nope. He doesn't seem to be part of the security contingent, just a civilian."

"Where are the others?"

"I think my other lance mates are in the mess hall, I don't know where the Tarantulas are at."

"They are probably at their quarters, see if you could drop by there and tell them to get over to the briefing room; the quarters will be on your way to the mess hall anyway, I'll get the rest of the Command lance. What about Lieutenant Clavell?"

"I think I saw him leave the barracks a few hours ago."

Sorenson sighed. If it weren't for his vaunted skills, Clavell would have been busted from the unit a long time ago. "Okay, get who you can. Meet you all in the briefing room." He said as he walked out and started down the corridor.

"Yes, sir." MacLaren replied glumly as he started down the opposite direction to where the other quarters were. He felt that he was being treated like a second-rate teammate, even though he had been with the Widows since their inception. Whether it was his age or they just didn't trust him because he came from the Dragoons, he just didn't know. As he stopped towards the eighth door on his right, he knocked softly.

"Come in." A gravelly voice said from the inside.

As MacLaren opened the door, he noticed that the lights inside the room were off. He could see a small glow coming from a cigarette as it was seemingly trailed in a sea of utter blackness; it was obvious that the blinds were closed as well. Because he was standing in the doorway, the shafts of light shone into the room and bathed it in a still twilight as wisps of smoke could be seen floating across the dim shadows.

"Uh, sorry for bothering you." MacLaren stammered. He only knew the guy's call-sign and that he was one of the members of the Monk's Tarantula Lance, they were a group of enigmatic killers, much like their commander. He barely knew them, despite the fact that they had been together for almost a year now. "But Lieutenant Sorenson wants everyone in the briefing room right away."

"No problem, kid." The man answered as he straightened up from his bunk and walked towards MacLaren. The youth could see that the man was tall, clean-shaven and well built; he also had a chiseled face and that cold, thousand-yard stare that was a dead giveaway for an executioner. But it was the unemotional voice that always seemed to mesmerize him; it was always calm and calculating, like a bird of prey waiting for the kill.

"Ah, you know," MacLaren said, "All I know about you is your call-sign and that you were in the Carver V Campaign before you joined up with the Widows. What is your real name?"

"That is my real name." The man replied with a smile. "First name Pale, last name Rider."

"Riight. Okay." MacLaren decided not to push it. "I'll see to the others, then."

"You might as well go to the mess hall and get the rest of your lance, kid. Lieutenant Clavell is still AWOL." Pale Rider said. "I'll get the other Tarantulas."

"Thanks." Chris MacLaren smiled back, then returned to his glum self as he started to leave.

Pale Rider instantly sensed the youth's troubled state. "What's wrong?"

"Well, it's just that how come I always end up as Wild Weasel for my lance? I want a chance to pilot some of the heavies and assaults."

"When the time comes, you'll get your chance. You wouldn't have made it this far if you didn't have the talent." Pale Rider said. "For now, get as much experience under your belt and follow orders. Pretty soon you will get what you want, everybody always does. Being a Wild Weasel for the unit is an important job, you help the entire team by providing ECM and recon capabilities for us all."

"Okay, I'll do that. By the way, is it true what they say about your lance mate, Sudden Smith?"

"Smithy? What about him?"

"That he was one of the few survivors of the Gray Death Legion and he got hurt real bad and that half his body is made up of artificial prosthesis which has got hidden weapons and stuff. Is that true?"

Pale Rider smiled. "Why don't you ask him later?"

"No, thanks," MacLaren grinned as he started towards the mess hall, "he scares the hell out of me."

Pale Rider shrugged as he proceeded towards Sudden Smith's room. Everyone in the unit had a story to tell. A few of them had been from units that were destroyed and ultimately disbanded. He never bothered to ask Smith about his battle wounds. That was one taboo that veterans never discussed openly. Neither would they talk about their dreams of the men that they killed nor of the lovers that they lost, it was simply not done.

Within a few minutes, Chris MacLaren had made it into the mess hall. The moment he swung open the double doors he knew there was trouble; with a lance like the Wolf Spiders, there always was.

The room was a kaleidoscope of colors as food of all shapes and sizes were all over the floor. It would have almost been taken as an example of a harmless and juvenile food fight in a school cafeteria with the exception that there were about a half-dozen soldiers of the LAAF laying on the floor in assorted cases of injury and unconsciousness. A hostile crowd of still conscious Lyran soldiers was swarming around two men close to where the serving area was. Some of the Lyrans had split lips and bruised, blackened cheeks. It was obvious that the two were about to be assaulted by an angry, vengeful mob. MacLaren pushed through the crowd, hoping against all hope that it wasn't who he expected them to be, but he knew that it would.

With their backs towards each other and their fronts facing the opposite flanks of the angry crowd, Stilicho Jones and Johnny Gundam were prepared to sell their lives dearly if it came to that. Stilicho's formerly smoke gray combat fatigues were oozing red and yellow from assorted condiments and his black beret, the uniform of his father's unit, the Stilettos, was partially torn but it still retained the patch from the other unit he joined in prior to that of the Widows, the A-squared Archer's Avengers insignia. Gundam had a split lip and his formerly green and tan Seventh Crucis Lancers uniform had coffee stains all over it.

MacLaren swallowed hard. He had to make a choice, stand by his teammates and maybe endure a beating from the more numerous Lyrans or stand back and watch the spectacle. Realizing what he had to do in order to get accepted, MacLaren quickly dashed over to Stilicho Jones and Johnny Gundam as the three now faced over two-dozen angry LAAF soldiers. The crowd seemed to get ready to surge in and overwhelm them as shouts and curses got them going.

"What the hell happened?" Chris MacLaren said as he readied himself. He wasn't that experienced in brawls even though he did go through martial arts training just like the rest of the Widows.

"We had a misunderstanding." Stilicho smiled through his bleeding gums.

"Misunderstanding my ass!" One of the Lyrans shouted back, he had a blackened left eye. "They were cutting through the lines then they beat up some of us like dogs!"

"Filthy SLDF pigs!" Another shouted. "We are gonna get you for beating up our friends!"

"Come on then!" Gundam shouted back. "For every one of us, there will be ten of you with your butts wiping the floor!"

Just as the crowd started to surge forward and about to jump them, a shout reverberated from across the entrance of the hallway. "What's all this then?"

As a few people turned around, some gasped. The few ringleaders of the mob that was egging them on stopped and turned around with fear in their eyes.

It was Jimmy Clavell. Although he had been severely injured by an assassin just over a month ago, he was now fully recovered. Everyone knew what his reputation was when it came to fights and everybody knew that if they messed with his lance, they messed with him. Clavell stumbled forward in a drunken stupor as he eyed the crowd with menacing eyes. For a few tense seconds, no one said a word. Everyone knew that Clavell was liable to explode when he was drunk and it looked like he was several times over his body's alcohol limit in relation to the description of being intoxicated. There was nothing new about that.

"Your team beat up a few of us and we are gonna get even!" One of the ringleaders shouted to Clavell. "This ain't your fight!"

"Well I guess I am making it my fight." Clavell burped. "Now you boys put those broken bottles and chair legs down and we can behave like ornery folks."

"Say what?" A man from the crowd said. It was obvious that some of the mob were thinking that they could still take on the four of them.

Clavell made a stupid grin as beer dribbled down his mouth. "Well, we can't just let you take on those three kids. You outnumber them all, that's not a fair fight now is it?"

"Whose we, you drunken monkey?" One of the ringleaders said as he held out a steak knife menacingly.

Everyone's eyes instantly opened wide as Clavell drew his dual, customized Sternsnacht heavy pistols from the folds of his overcoat. "Stern and snacht and me." He giggled sheepishly, then made another loud burp.

By that time the crowd had lost its edge. Everyone who could run ran out of the mess hall, dragging their still unconscious comrades with them. Within less than a minute, the mess was empty with the exception of the Wolf Spiders.

"Jesus, that was close." Gundam muttered as he straightened up.

"Cowardly Lyrons, they ish all the shame…" Clavell muttered before stumbling over and collapsing. Everyone else ran over to him and they checked to see if he was okay.

"I think he's fine, just dozed off." Stilicho muttered as he examined Clavell's head.

"We need to get to the briefing room near our quarters, someone wants to speak with us." MacLaren said.

"Well, help us then." Stilicho muttered as all three men started to carry Clavell's sleeping form towards the mess exit.

"Damn, he is heavy." MacLaren complained as he took hold of Clavell's legs.

"Try carrying his shoulders." Stilicho grimaced as he hefted Clavell's arms and started moving him. "We should get a stretcher." He added through clenched teeth.

"Why did those Lyran soldiers attack you guys?" MacLaren asked as they carried the snoring Clavell across the corridors.

"They didn't exactly attack us." Gundam said as he helped Stilicho Jones in hefting Clavell's upper body. "We cut in the chow line and one of them insulted us."

MacLaren grimaced. These were the kind of people he was associating with? "Why the hell did you guys cut in the line then?"

"Cuz we felt like it." Stilicho smiled despite the strain.

MacLaren frowned even more. He was that close to getting clobbered and for what?

All of a sudden, Clavell tilted his head and began to vomit on the floor. All three men promptly dropped the drunkard as he kept puking.

"Eewww, what a mess." Gundam said as a matter of fact. "One more muddle for the Lyrans to clean up, if there is one thing that they are good at, it's cleaning up messes."