AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, here's the second chapter done, which is a good sign that this story isn't giving me writer's block, at least. I'm not sure what my update schedule will be on this, but I'll try to keep it somewhat regular-once a week, at least, hopefully more.

Not a lot of action here in this chapter, because I'm setting up background for what does happen later in the story. We know the Clans are coming, but the characters don't, and I want to establish Sheila's background, along with other characters, before I drop them into the firestorm. I'm also trying to make sure Sheila isn't becoming a Mary Sue, which was a critique of the first go-around on the Snowbird Saga. I don't think she ever quite got to that level (I ran her through the Mary Sue Quiz), but I don't want to take chances.

This chapter also addresses some confusion about Sheila's 'Mech, which is not the Shruiken that I guess Catalyst recently introduced. This one was designed back in 1990!

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

23 June 3049

Sheila woke from a very restful sleep. She turned over and looked into the face of Mimi Stykkis, who was sitting on the bunk next to her. "Good morning, sunshine." Mimi was pulling off her cooling vest. Like most female MechWarriors, she wore a tube top beneath.

"Mmpf…hey," Sheila mumbled. Since they had been roommates at the Nagelring, the Sentinels had decided to keep them that way when they formally joined the regiment.

"Don't you have formation today?"

"Um…yeah." Sheila sleepily nodded. "At 1000 Hours."

Mimi went to go hang up her cooling vest. "Really? It's 0950."

"Oh…" Suddenly Sheila's eyes flew open. She looked at the chronometer on the endtable they shared. "Oh shit!" She launched herself out of bed like a missile, realized she'd rolled out on the wrong side, then rolled back over her bed and opened her own closet.

Mimi watched in amusement as Sheila tossed her fatigues onto the bed. "You sure it's fatigues and not combat gear?"

Sheila paused. "Shit. Sure hope it's fatigues." She hopped back over the bed and struggled into the uniform. The fatigues were a working uniform; the Sentinels, like many Federated Commonwealth mercenary units, used surplus AFFC olive drab uniforms, though the rank boards were the regiment's own design. Since Sheila was a lance commander of 'Mechs, she wore a red board with two stripes, repeated on her collars. She quickly grabbed her boots and put them on, lacing them Wolf's Dragoons style, and blousing the pants into the boots. Mimi undid her hair and tossed Sheila her scrunchie. "Thanks!" Sheila called over her shoulder.

As she jogged towards the 'Mech bay in the center of the facility, Sheila tied her hair back into its customary ponytail. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," she grumbled to herself, as she weaved around people taking the main hallway. A few raised hands in greeting, but Sheila only gave a quick wave as she increased her pace to a flat-out run. She entered the cavernous underground 'Mech bay, took a quick look at the chronometer on the wall next to the entrance, and her heart sank. It read 1005.

The fifteen other MechWarriors of 4th Company, Alpha Battalion, Sentinels Regimental Combat Team were drawn up in their section of the bay, their 'Mechs in alcoves behind them. At the front of the drawn up company—the Sentinels, unlike most regiments in the Inner Sphere, added a fourth lance to their companies—was her company commander, Yoriyoshi Kazikawa. He was an older man, in his fifties, a former Kurita officer who had left the Dragon's service in disgust after the Fourth Succession War, and cast his lot with the Sentinels. He brought iron discipline with him, which made Kazikawa few friends, but also made the 4th Company one of the better ones in the regiment.

He did not like Sheila Arla-Vlata, and being late to formation was not going to improve his opinion. She walked over briskly and joined her lance.

Kazikawa smiled. A bad ejection had scarred the left side of his face, making it look like a tiger had had its way with him. "I'm so glad you could join us, Lance Commander. I'd hate to start without you. What is your explanation for being late?"

"No explanation, sir."

"Excuse?"

"None, sir." Sheila remained at attention.

"Ah. Might we get on with the day's activities, then?"

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Yes, sir."

"Glad to hear it. At ease, ladies and gentlemen." The fifteen men and women went to parade rest, their hands at the small of their back, legs slightly spread. Kazikawa spared Sheila one last withering glance, then began reading off the day's scheduled activities. It was routine. While Beta and Ceta Battalions were out on patrol around Persistence's one continent, Alpha, the Sentinel Light Infantry, and the Tank Battalion would maintain the garrison at Jensen Ridge. The regimental artillery would be on a practice shoot some distance from the facility. For the 4th Company, then, the morning would be helping the company techs work on their machines; Calla Bighorn-Vlata expected his MechWarriors to know their 'Mechs and be capable of doing light maintenance on them in the field. The regiment was also chronically short of techs.

The briefing was short and to the point, which was Kazikawa's style; the majority of MechWarriors in the company were veterans, with a smattering of new people, so they already knew the routine. He dismissed them, except for Sheila.

Oh man, Sheila thought, I am in for it now. "Sir," she began, "I have no excuse for this morning. I overslept—"

"That matter is concluded, Lance Commander Arla-Vlata." Kazikawa faced her. He had to look up at her; he was no taller than Victor Steiner-Davion. He dropped his voice and made sure the rest of the company wasn't within earshot. "I am going to be quite frank with you, Lance Commander. I did not want you in my company. I do not think you should be a Lance Commander, simply because you attended the Nagelring and had some success there. Rank is earned in battle."

"Yes, sir. I agree, sir." Which was true, Sheila thought. There had been too many people at the Nagelring who she wouldn't trust to lead a toilet cleaning detail, much less a lance. "If you wish me to be a regular MechWarrior, sir, I understand—"

"No," Kazikawa snapped. "Your father would never accept you being a mere MechWarrior."

Sheila's cheeks were burning again, this time with anger. "Major, I do not want favoritism because I'm the commander's daughter."

"I'm afraid you already have that, Lance Commander. Your shiny new 'Mech is proof." He waved off any further protest. "Since your 'Mech is new, it hardly needs any maintenance at the moment. Do you have an officer's handbook, Lance Commander? Perhaps you kept yours from the Nagelring?"

"I do, sir. It's back at my room."

"Retrieve it immediately." He raised his watch. "You have ten minutes. If you are back here late, then the company will do as many laps around the repair facility as you are seconds late." Kazikawa spoke louder, so the company would hear. "The clock is running, Lance Commander."

"Yes, sir!" Sheila dashed off, gritting her teeth. She wasn't sure what was worse: being publicly humiliated by Kazikawa, or the grins from the old heads in the company.

Sheila got back with thirty seconds to spare. Her chest was heaving and sweat plastered her hair to her head, staining her fatigue shirt. Kazikawa checked his watch. "Well done, Lance Commander. I see you've worked up some sweat." He clicked his tongue in mock sorrow. "Perhaps I should send you back to your room to change?" He watched her go pale for a moment. Work had ceased as everyone looked at them. "No…a little honest sweat is good for the soul. Isn't that right, Lance Commander?"

"Yes…sir," Sheila puffed.

"Carry on, Lance Commander. Go take a seat and rest by your 'Mech, and study your book."

"Sir…" Sheila straightened up. "I would…like to assist the others, sir."

"Commendable, Lance Commander." Kazikawa shook his head. "But you fail to ask if they want you to assist. I, for one, don't want a jumped-up cadet anywhere near my Banshee. Dismissed." Sheila hesitated. "You were given an order, miss!" he snapped.

"Sir!" Sheila snapped to attention, just remembering not to salute indoors, executed a parade-ground about face, and marched to her 'Mech. It was at the end of the row, although technically it should be parked next to the huge Banshee, as she was Kazikawa's lancemate. Sheila wondered if that was because she was the most recent person to join the company, or it was a petty insult. She hadn't known Kazikawa well before leaving for the Nagelring, unlike some of the officers, due to his aloof nature, so Sheila wasn't sure why he obviously hated her. She understood his anger over her being late, even if it was only a few minutes—as the Nagelring had instilled in her, battles could be won and lost in five minutes. She even understood the collective punishment method, in which earning the ire of the company might make her a better officer, and the public humilation, to take down an overconfident, newly minted one. She didn't understand the dig at her new 'Mech, or calling her a jumped-up cadet.

Sheila arrived at the end of the row, having passed at and stared at the other 'Mechs of the 4th Company. BattleMechs were nothing new; she'd grown up in 'Mech bays, practically. But like a beautiful sunset, that didn't mean Sheila got tired of looking at the machines. The 4th Company was an assault unit, mostly 'Mechs like the hideous Stalker or workmanlike Zeus, with a scattering of lighter 'Mechs. Weirdly, there were only two heavy 'Mechs in the 4th, her own machine and a Marauder, and even two mediums, a Griffin and a Phoenix Hawk. Such wildly different tonnages tended to be uncommon in House units, but mercenaries, which fielded what they could buy cheaply, salvage, or steal, had to make do.

Sheila stared up at her 'Mech. "Hey there, beautiful," she whispered, and didn't care if anyone saw her grinning.

The SHR-2ST Shruiken was a one-off, an experiment by TharHes Industries to build a scaled-up version of the WLF-2 Wolfhound. It shared many of the same features as the light 'Mech, though it was 70 tons rather than 35: the wolf's head design was retained, along with the general layout. The shoulders were more blocky and bulky, as were the legs. Instead of the right arm ending in a large laser, the Shruiken used an over-under twin PPC setup. In the torso were four medium laser ports, instead of the three on the Wolfhound. Curiously, the left arm held a single-shot SRM-2 pod, almost hidden behind the battlefist; one-shot SRMs were almost never used on 'Mechs, and were usually reserved for helicopters and such. It had average speed for a 'Mech its size, with a top end of only 64 kilometers an hour, though unlike most heavy designs, it could jump up to 120 meters; armor protection was better than many, with 13.5 tons of diamond-impregnated steel protecting the 'Mech and her. Rounding it out—and the best part, in Sheila's opinion-were the brand-new double heat sinks that kept her 'Mech running much cooler than older designs.

It was also unique, and Sheila wondered if that was why Kazikawa had it in for her. It was traditional for military academy graduates to receive a BattleMech on graduation, but only the wealthiest or most well-connected families got their cadets a brand new 'Mech. The Bighorn-Vlatas were neither—sort of. In Sheila's case, it was someone in the Sentinels knowing a guy who knew a guy, and Calla had pulled some strings to get the Shruiken for her. Had it been a prototype for a production design, TharHes would have never parted with it, but since the Shruiken was a failed design, the company wasn't all that sad to see it go. The AFFC had rejected the SHR-2S as being too expensive, incapable of doing anything the old, reliable Grasshopper and Marauder could do just as well, and a diversion of resources from Wolfhound production. TharHes had used it as a technology demonstrator for a year or two—hence the SRM-2 pod and double heat sinks—and then handed it over to the Sentinels. The regiment had redesignated it SHR-2ST and it was now Sheila's. She'd known she was going to get it for some time; at the Nagelring, in simulations, she had been allowed to use it, so as to get her used to piloting it.

Sheila looked back down the row of 'Mechs, and even from that distance, she could see Kazikawa glaring at her. She sat down on the Shruiken's foot, opened her handbook, and leaned back against the leg, where she pretended to read. In reality, she looked over the huge bay, and let her mind wander.

The quarterstaff came down towards her head. Sheila blocked it, then smoothly turned her defense into an attack. It was blocked, as was the next one, but Sheila was herding her opponent towards the edge of the mat. If she succeeded in pushing Arla Bighorn-Vlata off the mat, then she would win. Sheila pressed the attack, using her advantage in height, swinging the staff towards her mother's shoulders and head. When Arla counterattacked, Sheila would go back on the defensive, but she was always looking for a way to resume her offensive, and usually found it. Her mother was good, very good, but age had caused her to lose a step, and Sheila took advantage of that. If she didn't, she'd never hear the end of it.

Finally, after five minutes of this, which left both women breathing hard, sweat drifting down their temples, Sheila had the opportunity she wanted. Arla's bare left foot came down on the edge of the mat—not off of it, but one more shove, and Sheila would win. Sheila grinned, and crowded her opponent. Their staves locked, but Arla found a reserve of strength, and shoved her daughter back a step. Sheila couldn't resist a grin of triumph: that shove had cost her mother, and she took a deep intake of breath. Sheila charged.

Then, with speed that belied that Arla was well over forty, the older woman spun to simply let Sheila go past, bracing her staff against her side and using the tip to usher Sheila along. The younger woman stumbled, then pitched head over heels onto the wood floor past the mat.

Arla thunked her staff down on the mat, took another deep breath, and grinned down at her daughter. "I win."

"Ow," Sheila replied.

Her mother held out a hand. Sheila twisted around and took it. "If you try to turn this into a trick and pull me down," Arla informed her, "I'm not cooking for you tonight."

"I wasn't!" Sheila insisted. Arla helped her to her feet. "Dammit…I can't believe I fell for that. No pun intended."

Arla leaned on her staff. "Well, if it makes you feel better, that was pretty much my last card to play. You've improved." She winced as a twinge of pain shot up her back. "Or I'm getting older." She looked up at Sheila. Arla Bighorn-Vlata was a shade under average height. "It was a good move to use your height as an advantage to keep pressing me backwards. I see you've kept up your practice despite being a senior this year." Arla sat down. Sheila noticed her mother still used the clipped speech that marked her as former nobility. Arla d'Erlon had given up title and land when she had eloped with a poor mercenary from the Lyran Commonwealth, but she had never quite lost her accent.

"There were a couple of guys who had a Wing Chun club on campus—guys from the Capellan March. They helped me keep in practice." Sheila sat down next to her. "Can't say I was able to grasp more than the basics of Wing Chun, but it helped me get a B+ in martial arts."

Arla's eyebrows rose. "A B+?"

"They docked me points because I lost my temper a few times." Sheila shrugged. "I guess I deserved it."

"You did. I've warned you about that temper…which sadly, you inherited from me." Arla reached back and undid her ponytail; unlike her daughter, she normally wore her hair loose around her shoulders. "And your father, which is also where you got your height." Arla laughed, motioning at Sheila's bust. "Though I have no idea where you got those from." Her own breasts were also below average.

Sheila glanced down and adjusted her gi; their exertions on the mat were causing her to balloon out of her sports bra. "You want them? They pretty much killed my gymnastics career. You remember those gold and silver medals I got in my freshman and sophomore year? Yeah. I hit puberty and all of a sudden no leotard can safely contain me. And I'm so tall I nearly killed myself on the balance beam."

"Your father would like that." Sheila felt a little ill at even an oblique reference to her parents' sex lives. Neither Calla nor Arla were shy about admitting such things, which seemed to be at odds with being staunch New Avalon Catholics. "Speaking of boys, I was mildly surprised to find you did not acquire a boyfriend at the Nagelring."

Uh oh, Sheila thought. Is Mom making casual conversation, or is that a probe? Me thumping the mattress with Tooriu wasn't exactly a secret. "I don't know, Mom. Guys don't seem all that interested in me for some reason."

"Hmpf. Well, I suppose that's the Nagelring for you." Arla struggled to her feet. "I wanted to send you to NAMA on New Avalon with Mira's son, but your father insisted on the Nagelring. NAMA was always so much friendlier to those from the 'lower classes.'" She used her fingers to draw scare quotes in the air. Arla had never been class conscious. "Which reminds me. Will you be changing your name back to Bighorn-Vlata?" Sheila lay down on the mat, then executed a kip-up. Arla rolled her eyes. "Show off."

"Sorry." Sheila grabbed her staff and followed her mother out of the gym. "Probably not. Everyone's used to it by now. Even Major Kazikawa."

"I still can't believe they transposed my name with your last name when you started at the Nagelring." Arla grabbed a towel off the clean rack and mopped her brow with it.

"Same thing happened to Ulysses S. Grant at West Point in ancient America," Sheila said, getting a towel as well. "He did all right." Arla nodded indulgently, which she usually did when her daughter or her husband threw out some historical anecdote she didn't quite understand. "So when's Dad getting back?"

"In a few days. The Tracialle will be picking him up off of Arc-Royal on its way back from New Avalon. A new shipment of 'Mechs, and a few passengers as well." Arla winked. "You MechWarriors. Everything is so expensive with you! We have to ship parts all the way across the Inner Sphere. Now, if you were part of the infantry like your mother, all you need is a rifle, a field pack, body armor, and a naginata."

Sheila snorted. It was a running joke with them. Arla was the commander of the Sentinels Light Infantry Battalion, a profession seen as simutaneously useless and suicidal by many MechWarriors. The infantry tended to regard MechWarriors as stuck-up elitists who were just begging for a manpack SRM to the windscreen. There was far less tension in the Sentinels between the two, because the SLI were held to a very high standard, and the battalion commander was married to the regimental commander. The SLI was also in charge of recovering downed MechWarriors, so not a few of the latter owed their lives to the former. While Arla approved of her daughter becoming a MechWarrior, she still ribbed her and her husband mercilessly. "Are we going out to support the Kell Hounds?" Sheila asked.

"Sheila Bighorn-Vlata!" Arla said in mock alarm. "Are you actually trying to get your mother to violate OPSEC? My word, I am simply shocked, shocked mind you, at your effrontery." She held open the door to the women's shower room.

"Well, are we?" Sheila wasn't giving up that easily.

"It doesn't appear so. Redjack Ryan is hardly a challenge for the Kell Hounds. Hanse Davion is merely being cautious—there has been an uptick in pirate activity over the past few months. There's also a rumor that Hohiro Kurita has been posted to the 14th Legion of Vega, which could presage a Kurita offensive against either the Free Rasalhague Republic, or a strike at the Tamar March." She stopped at her locker and took off her gi. "I suppose you'd be embarrassed to shower with your mother, so you may go first, Sheila."

"Yeah, it's a bit awkward." Sheila took off her own outfit, and—blushing with embarassment, since her mother was indeed right there—stripped off her underwear. She quickly put a towel around herself, brushed past Arla, and headed for the shower.

The Loading Zone Tavern, Danderson City

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

23 July 3049

Tooriu Kku figured he really should be having fun. It was the first time since graduation at the Nagelring and arriving on Persistence that he'd gotten off post, and the Loading Zone had a reputation as being the best bar in Danderson City. Tooriu rarely drank to excess, but he wanted to see what the nightlife was on a comparatively backwater world. It actually wasn't a bad place, but it was lost on him, because Tooriu was uncharacteristically depressed.

"Welcome down, MechWarrior," a female voice said.

Tooriu turned around at the old spacer's greeting. It was an older woman, he guessed late thirties, blonde with piercing blue eyes. He was in uniform; she was not, but Tooriu abruptly recognized her. He came off the barstool and to attention. "Major Brownoak! Sorry, I didn't recognize you, ma'am!"

"Sky down," she told him, pushing him back onto his barstool. Elfa Brownoak commanded the Sentinels' 2nd Company of Ceta Battalion, almost all light 'Mechs. "We're off duty; no reason to brace. Besides, I'm out of uniform." She stepped onto the vacant barstool next to him and signaled the bartender. "Timbiqui Dark, please, and one for the MechWarrior, here." She turned to him. "Kkkk…man, how do you pronounce your name?"

"Like kick-you. First name's Tooriu—say it like toor-ee-u." He shrugged. "My parents were weird."

"I guess. And I thought Elfa was a burden." She tossed a few C-Bills onto the bar for the drinks. "I hope I'm not disturbing you…Tooriu. And you don't mind a superior officer being familiar."

Tooriu smiled. "Not if you don't, ah, Elfa."

She smiled back. "Not at all. You just looked depressed, and to be honest, I'm a little bored. This place is a lot less happening as the locals made it out to be." She looked around the bar. "My company just got back this afternoon, and I thought I would wash the dust out of my mouth. Figured some of my bunch would come here, but I guess most of those horny bastards went over to the local strip club." She chuckled. "We've only been out for two weeks, but when you're staring at scrub for that long…" Elfa took a sip of her beer. "You're one of the newbies, right? Didn't you graduate from the Nagelring with the Old Man's daughter? I think I recognize you now. Aren't your folks techs?"

"Yeah." Tooriu tapped his shoulder boards, and the patch on his right shoulder. "3rd Company, Beta—New Orleans Grays."

"Melinda Houndlikov's lance. You liking her so far?"

"Beats me, ma—er, Elfa. They've been out since I got here. I've been cooling my jets in the bay."

Elfa nodded. "You'll like her. Melinda likes to sing on the march to keep her people awake. She's a damn good singer, too. What do you pilot?"

"Awesome. You?"

"Phoenix Hawk. Well, I guess you don't run from anything in that monster." Elfa drank more of her beer, and motioned for Tooriu to do the same. "So why the long face? Manuevers on this dirtball aren't that interesting, trust me." Tooriu didn't respond at first, but only stared at his beer. "Girl trouble?" He was still quiet. "Boy trouble?" He turned to stare at her at that, and Elfa put her hands up. "What? I don't know."

Tooriu decided to tell her. She was a lot older than him. He glanced at her fingers; there was no ring there. That didn't mean much; a lot of MechWarriors didn't wear rings for fear of getting them caught on something in the cockpit. He could assume she was experienced, anyway, and maybe she would understand. She was a female, after all. "It's girl trouble. Kinda personal."

She leaned her head on a hand. "I figured it was. Don't need to name names. You want to talk about it?"

"Yeah." Tooriu took a drink for courage. "So I'm in this relationship with a girl. Thing is, I don't love her. I like her a lot, but…don't love her."

"Friends with benefits?" Elfa asked.

"Basically."

"Is she local?"

Tooriu hesitated, then plunged on. "She's in the regiment."

"Ah, I see."

"Anyhow, we've been together for a couple of months now. It's been good, but like I said…I don't love her. And I'm worried that when her parents find out, they're going to want us to get married. I think she wouldn't mind, but I don't want to."

"Afraid of commitment?" There was just the slightest hint of anger in Elfa's voice. "Figure that you need to sow some more wild oats while you're young?"

"No, nothing like that," Tooriu insisted. "I just think that, if I'm gonna marry someone, I need to be in love with them. Otherwise it won't work."

She nodded and took a drink. "Smart man. And you're right…though people fall out of love, too." Elfa finished off her beer in one long swig. "Trust me on that one."

"Divorced?" Tooriu guessed.

"Yep. He wanted kids, I can't conceive, so he was gone. Oh, there were other reasons, but that was the main one. He wanted a family hovercraft, and got a sports model instead." Elfa signaled for another drink. "I mean, I wanted kids too, but…oh, hell. It was a long time ago." She nudged him. "Besides, I'm supposed to be solving your relationship problem."

"Speaking of that," Tooriu said, "what should I do?"

Elfa gave it some thought while her next beer arrived. "You want to end the relationship because you think her folks are going to demand you get married?"

"That's part of it." He smiled ruefully. "Actually, I think her parents are going to shoot me out of a Long Tom. But I'm just…dammit, it's just not there, you know?" His smile disappeared, his fists balled out of frustration. "I want it to be. The sex is great. Maybe she's a bit too enthusiastic, but…I just want…more. Is that weird?" He tossed back his first beer and grabbed the second. "Shit, this doesn't even make sense to me, Elfa."

"That's because you're a kid, Tooriu. 18?" She aped his nod. "I'm 43. Trust me, I've been there. It was a pretty ugly divorce. The guy left the Sentinels over it…I think he hooked up with ComStar, for heaven's sake." She ran her fingers around the rim of her beer. "You're mature enough to realize that this can't work over the long run, and that sooner or later, it's going to end badly. Even if her parents never find out, you two will realize you're not in love. And without love, sex is basically just fucking. It's good fucking, but that's what it is."

Tooriu blew out his breath. "That's being direct."

"There it is, kid. I'm old enough to realize it." Elfa patted him on the back. "I got divorced ten years ago. Sure, there's been guys since then, here and there, but like you—no love. And while I don't mind getting the itch scratched every now and then, I know that's all there is for me. And probably always will be." She shrugged. "I've come to terms with it."

"I guess I should, too," Tooriu quaffed half of his beer.

"Oh, please. Like I said, you're a kid! Assuming some enterprising pirate or Kuritan doesn't blow your head off—not likely in that damn Awesome—you've got plenty of time. You'll find the right girl. Probably won't even expect it when it happens." She got up and stretched. Tooriu found himself admiring the view: for a woman of a certain age, Elfa was in good shape. "My advice is to tell the girl straight up. She won't like it. She'll cry. She might take a swing at you. You'll feel like a grade-A asshole, she'll probably call you a grade-A asshole, and you'll want to crawl in a hole and die for a few weeks. But in the end, you'll realize it was the right thing to do, and a lot better than living a lie. And eventually, so will she. If you're both mature, you can even remain friends. And ten years from now, you'll look back on the whole thing, smile, and maybe even laugh about it. That's what I do, though my ex and I are definitely not friends. But we weren't very mature about the whole thing." She grabbed her beer. "And the best part is, her parents won't use you as an artillery shell." She grinned down at him. Tooriu noticed her teeth were a bit uneven, and found himself wishing he wouldn't notice things like that. "Now then, troop. Want to go shoot some pool? I don't mind taking money off of junior MechWarriors."

Tooriu grabbed his beer. "Hell yeah. I don't mind taking money off senior officers."

"Sauce. We'll see." He followed her to the pool table, feeling good for the first time in weeks.