AUTHOR'S NOTES: The Sentinels discover who's in the DropShip, and we get another few characters introduced, along with something that will be very important later on. A few somethings, actually.

The Snowbird stories aren't really canon compliant per se, but this is something I've wondered since reading Lethal Heritage. Phelan Kell's message did get out, so the Kell Hounds knew about Clan Wolf's assault on Sisyphus' Lament-not who the Wolves were, but that they existed. Yet from the surprise that Hanse Davion has in his first briefing after the Clans invade the Inner Sphere itself, he sounds like this is the first he's heard of them. Something tells me Morgan Kell would have told his friends and employers that something was out in the Periphery. It also made sense to me that some of Ryan's people managed to escape, so the Sentinels get the same information the Kell Hounds and ComStar did. Of course, they're not in much of a position to do anything about it, but it will set up for what happens later on. The Sentinels have some time...for all the good it might do them.

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March

15 September 3049

After a quick stop at the restroom, Sheila walked into the command post. The Jestin Ridge Repair Facility was huge, built on the the remnants of a former Rim Worlds Republic fortress. Because of the gradual loss of Star League technology, it could only truly repair tanks; 'Mechs could only undergo basic repairs, nothing more than could be found at other 'Mech bases around the Inner Sphere. The command post was at the highest point in the facility, on the southeast corner of it.

She took a moment to take in the atmosphere of command. The CP resembled a control tower at a spaceport, with large, armored windows and banks of computers and screens around the hexagonal tower. In the center was a large holotank, with a three-dimensional map of the space around Persistence. Sheila recognized her father, hands characteristically behind his back, now all business, dressed in fatigues. Next to him was Arla, her mother, in camouflaged armor that covered her neck to toe. Across the holotank was Mira Canis-Vlata, sitting in a chair, looking supremely bored. Sheila knew that was an act: Mira's face might be placid, her posture lazy, but her eyes were constantly flicking across the map. Whereas Calla brought a fiery, Pattonesque style of command to the Sentinels, his cousin was cold efficiency.

Between Mira and Calla were three other people Sheila knew from her childhood: Beta Battalion's commander, Caitlin Houndlikov; Ceta's commander, Thomas Senla; and the Sentinels Tank Battalion commander, Richard Cannon. Caitlin was the oldest there, a woman in her mid-fifties who had been a model in her youth, but the stress of command had worn down a once-beautiful face, as wind will wear down a cliff. Senla was short and stocky, one of the few overweight MechWarriors Sheila knew—he fought a constant, losing battle against an ever expanding waistline. Cannon was the youngest of the battalion commanders at forty, a handsome man with a well-kept, prematurely graying beard. She didn't see Elizabeth Dowlings, the commander of the Sentinels' Aerowing, nor did she recognize the tall woman in civilian clothes standing next to Calla and Arla.

Sheila walked up to Mira, since she was Sheila's battalion commander; technically, Big Six was her father, but she didn't want to jump the chain of command. Mira saw her coming, spared Sheila a smile, and motioned with her head towards Calla. Sheila nodded, went past her, and stopped behind her father. He was talking to the tall woman, but when he stopped, she snapped to attention. "Lance Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata, reporting as ordered, sir."

Calla turned and grinned. Since they were inside, he did not salute. "Hi there. Miss Danderson, this is Lance Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata, my daughter. Lance Commander, this is Nichole Danderson, the CEO of Persistence Munitions and head of the Persistence Militia." Sheila extended a hand, and Danderson took it. The de facto head of the planetary government was actually an inch or two taller than Sheila, and was a tough looking blonde—not really pretty, but someone who matched her planet's harsh environment. Her handshake was firm.

"Sheila," Calla said, "I wanted you up here to watch and learn how these things are handled." With that, he turned his back on her and his attention to Danderson and the holotank. Sheila understood: she was an observer. Unconsciously, she adopted her father's posture, using her own height to peer over her mother's shoulder.

The Leopard-class DropShip was coming in fast, a little too fast to be safe, which reinforced the idea that it was a raider of some kind. If it was, it was a foolhardy one: the Leopard was capable of carrying two fighters, but this one had not deployed them—and there were eight Sentinel Aerofighters headed for it. The Leopard had an impressive enough defense system of its own, but it was still at a disadvantage against fighters.

"Tally-ho! One Leopard-class, twelve o'clock high, bearin' one-zero-one." Sheila recognized Dowlings' Donegal brogue. "Closin' to intercept. What's our ROE, Big Six?"

Calla leaned forward and thumbed the radio switch. "Medusa Lead, Big Six. Close and identify. If they fire on you, return fire." He glanced at Danderson. "You're sure it's not one of yours?"

"Absolutely," Danderson replied tightly. Sheila saw the worry on her face. Persistence was her home, and someone was attacking it.

"Okay. If that Leopard wants to play games, I'll have Dowlings blow it out of the sky."

They listened as Dowlings instructed her pilots what to do. The holotank showed the Leopard continuing on course, though it would have seen the fighters by now. Dowlings split her two flights in a pincer, which would force the DropShip to split its fire. They remained out of range of the Leopard's weaponry. All of them were in atmosphere now, which only increased the fighters' advantages; the Leopard was more aerodynamic than the average DropShip, but that was like saying that a brick was more aerodynamic than a boulder.

"DropShip identified," Dowlings suddenly reported. "Markings are Ryan's Rebels—Redjack Ryan's bunch. They're pirates. Requesting weapons free."

"Wait one, Medusa," Calla radioed. He looked up at his commanders. "Raiding with a lance of 'Mechs?"

"Makes sense," Senla replied. "If Ryan's bunch didn't know Persistence had 'Mechs onplanet."

Cannon shook his head. "Four 'Mechs, though? Against an understrength battalion of armor and two battalions of infantry, just with the militia? Ryan's crazy, but he's not stupid. He doesn't have 'Mechs to waste."

"Might be a rogue band," Senla argued.

One of the controllers turned from their radar display. "Commander Bighorn-Vlata? Incoming message. I think it's the DropShip."

"On speakers," Calla barked. The room filled with the hiss of static, then crackles. Sheila strained to hear, but while there might be muffled voices, they were lost in static. "Increase the gain."

"It's on maximum, sir," the controller reported.

Calla leaned forward again. "Medusa, Big Six. What's the condition of the DropShip?"

"It's been hit a few times." There was a pause. "Hell, Big Six, they've been shot up pretty bad."

"Their communications might be out," Arla put in.

"Or it's a trick," Houndlikov growled.

"Patch me in," Calla instructed the controller. When he had, Calla spoke clearly and loudly. "Approaching Leopard DropShip, this is Commander Calla Bighorn-Vlata of the Sentinels RCT. You are instructed to leave Persistence airspace immediately, or you will be destroyed. You are facing a reinforced regiment of BattleMechs, tanks and infantry, and we will blow you to hell. Acknowledge." There was a burst of static again, and more muffled voices, but no reply. "Fuck it," Calla said. He thumbed the radio switch. "Medusa, Big Six. Destroy the target."

"Roger—wait one," Dowlings said. Another long pause. "Big Six, Medusa. DropShip landing gear is coming down. Confirmed—four down and locked."

Senla met Calla's eyes. "The universal sign of surrender among pilots."

"Yeah, I know." Calla did a quick check of the holotank. "Medusa, Big Six. I think they can hear us; they just can't respond. Tell them to ground at sector 54-40, west of the ridge." He turned to Houndlikov. "That work for you, Cait?"

"Works for me," she replied. "That's in Leo Kami's sector. His company can handle that."

"Okay. As soon as they land, if they surrender, bring them back here." He winked at Sanderson. "That would be a nice bit of salvage for all of us—four 'Mechs, maybe more, and a DropShip." She smiled back. They listened as Dowlings gave the DropShip a new course and heading. The Leopard obeyed.

Sheila followed her father, Danderson and Caitlin Houndlikov onto the huge open space between the walls of the facility; it had been a DropShip landing zone, back in the days of Stefan Amaris, but was now used as open storage and a good place to parade the better part of a regiment. Huge elevators descended to the underground 'Mech bays. The ferrocrete beneath her boots was cracked and worn. She was glad it was a warm day, as she was still wearing her MechWarrior outfit.

The cavernous doors opened, admitting first a lance of Sentinel 'Mechs, marked with the deer's head of the 79th Highlanders lance. Another lance of 'Mechs followed, all of them showing damage to one extent or another, camouflaged in any sort of pattern, but all marked with a red R against a black shruiken, the symbol of the infamous Redjack Ryan. The pirate lance was followed by a second Sentinels lance, the 21st Fusiliers. Beyond them, waiting past the gate, were the other two lances of Kami's company. The pirate 'Mechs—a Rifleman, a Vindicator, a Crusader, and a Chameleon—stopped when their escorts did, their hands and weapon arms in the air.

"Shit," Houndlikov said. "They've been in a fight. Look at the Rifleman." Sheila did: of the four gun barrels, one was severed halfway down, while the other one was half-melted. "Looks like they were firing their AC/5s so much that one of the barrels melted." She shook her head. "The Crusader's got a hip actuator out and one arm gone; the Vindicator's got internal damage. The only one that isn't going to need a full overhaul is that Chameleon. Looks like it's just got armor damage."

"A training 'Mech?" Sheila asked incredously.

Houndlikov shrugged. "Pirates will take anything they can get their hands on. No telling what mods they've made."

The pirate 'Mechs powered down as Arla's infantry took up position around them. Hatches opened, and the MechWarriors climbed out. So did Major Leonard Kami, climbing out of his Phoenix Hawk. As the infantry ordered the four pirates onto the ground and quickly searched them, Kami walked up to Calla and saluted. "No problems with this lot, sir. They surrendered as soon as the hatches opened." He thumbed back towards the gate. "There's about 60 more people that were crammed aboard the DropShip—looks like dependents, maybe a few techs. We're arranging transport with the tank battalion, sir." He noticed Danderson. "Begging your pardon, ma'am. We know how you feel about pirates. I felt it was best if we did the transportation, ma'am."

"You made the right decision, Major." Danderson was looking past Kami to the pirate MechWarriors. There was hate etched on her features; Redjack Ryan had plenty of blood on his hands.

As the infantry jerked the MechWarriors back to their feet, Calla pointed at the oldest among the group. "That's their commander?"

"Yes, sir," Kami replied, his voice angry. "Perry Haggerty."

"Perry Haggerty?" Danderson half-shouted. "God. I know that name. He's one of the ones responsible for the Lysidas Massacre." She glanced at Sheila. "They teach you about that at the Nagelring?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sheila replied. While working as mercenaries for the Lyran Commonwealth, Ryan's unit had opened fire on a mob of people in Lysidas on Fianna. Hundreds had died under 'Mech guns. It had led to a full-blown revolution, and Ryan's men had fled the planet rather than face a vengeful populace and an equally angry Archon Katrina Steiner. Making matters worse was that Ryan's men had accidentally—or purposely—released a storehouse of Star League-era chemical weapons on the population, killing millions. She looked at Calla, but his face was a mask.

Calla motioned the four pirates forward, each with a SLI trooper at their elbow. Haggerty, dressed in a uniform of sorts that sorely needed a wash, stumbled forward, came to attention, and saluted Calla. "You the commander, sir?"

Calla did not return the salute. "I am. Commander Calla Bighorn-Vlata, Sentinels RCT. What are you doing here, Haggerty?"

"Running," Haggerty replied. "Listen, I got money. I can buy passage on one of your JumpShips. We just need to get out further rimward."

Danderson almost launched herself at him, but Calla held up a hand. "What are you running from, Haggerty? And who are the rest of your people?"

"Oh, right—this is Trifa O'Connor, Yuma Lowe, and Fred Matria." He pointed to the other three. All were young: O'Connor was a female with short-cropped blue hair and a bandages around her head and arms; Lowe was short, with brown hair and a goatee; Matria was tall, lanky, and with ridiculously long russet sideburns. Haggerty dropped his voice. "They're young, Commander. The only thing they've ever done is defend their homes from Hendrik Grimm and these newcomers. I know what I'm guilty of. They never were part of that."

"Have any of you ever raided the Inner Sphere?" Danderson asked the three younger people. O'Connor raised her hand. "Where?"

"Keep your mouth shut!" Haggerty hissed.

O'Connor looked at him, then back to Danderson. "I was part of a water raid last year on Steelton." Danderson nodded and pulled out a datapad; Sheila could see she was looking that up. The other two either had done nothing or said nothing.

"What are you running from?" Calla repeated.

"They call themselves the Wolves," Haggerty said.

Despite Danderson's insistence that Haggerty be immediately arrested for crimes against humanity, Calla overrode her; this was a military matter. Instead, he separated all four of the pirates into holding cells at the facility's small brig, then had each one interrogated separately. Once it was finished, he called a meeting of his battalion commanders at the main facility briefing room, and ordered Sheila to stay as well. "We need some young ears in here, in case we old farts miss something," Calla had said. Mira had then insisted on her son Max attending as well. Both Sheila and Max were now sitting together, a bit uncomfortably, wondering if they were there because of their recent academy experience, or pure nepotism. A final addition to the meeting was Major Marion Rhialla, the commander of Ceta Battalion's 4th Company. She lounged in a seat, her feet up on the one in front, her black hair streaked with gray-appropriately for a woman whose nickname was Tigerstripe.

Arla called the meeting to attention, then Calla walked out in front of the assembled battalion commanders—which now included Dowlings, still in her flight suit. "Okay," Calla said, which was the signal to have a seat.

"As all of you know," Calla began, "we've just captured a little over 60 people, four 'Mechs, and one DropShip formerly of Redjack Ryan's Rebels. Most of the people are dependents, a lot of them just kids. Their leader is Perry Haggerty, one of Ryan's lieutenants, though he's low on the totem pole, compared to, say, Elaine Ramos or Susie Morgaine-Ryan. As near as we can tell, though…they might be the only survivors of Ryan's band of pirates."

"Holy shit," Cannon said. "Someone wiped out Redjack? We should give them a medal. Who did it? The Kell Hounds?"

"No, and that's the strange part. That's what we've been spending the last two hours finding out." Calla pulled a small controller from his pocket and dimmed the lights, then switched on a holoprojector. "Ryan's guys were spending their time running like hell. The four people we captured were each from different lances among the Rebels, but one of them—Frederick Matria—managed to get some fairly detailed stuff on his way out. For a guy who pilots a damn Chameleon, I have to give him credit for sheer balls, if nothing else. Somehow these new people never even saw him." Calla pressed a button. The holoprojector came to life; it was a battlerom, a recording made by a 'Mech's battle computer for later review. There was no sound, only images. The image was darkened, a result in battling in the near airlessness of Sisyphus' Lament, part of Ryan's stronghold in a solar system simply known as The Rock. Moving across the black rocks of the planet was a single 'Mech, painted gray. Calla froze the image and zoomed in. Everyone stared at it. "Five C-Bills to whoever can identify this thing," Calla said.

There was silence in the room for a moment, and then Caitlin Houndlikov spoke up. "With those legs, that cockpit design, and the missile pods, that's a Catapult," she said. "Except for the weapons arms and the torso; those look like they came from a Marauder."

"Frankenstein 'Mech," Mira said. "Pirates do that all the time." She laughed. "Hell, we do that all the time. Nicia's working on some sort of abomination down in the 'Mech bays with that broken-down King Crab we took off that drunk ComGuardsman on Port Moseby last year."

"That's not a Frankenstein," Senla corrected her. He had been a former tech before making the move to MechWarrior. "Look at the way the legs are designed." He stood up and walked to the holo, moving his fingers around it, pointing out parts of the 'Mech. "This thing wasn't cobbled together from parts. It was manufactured on a production line. There's just too many things that you can't reproduce without it." He peered closer. "Looks like it took some damage."

"Okay, let's say it is a production variant," Houndlikov argued. "What do you think the loadout is? Two LRM-15s for sure, and those ports look like medium lasers—same with the ones on the arms, plus either PPCs or large lasers. The heat has to be a bitch on that thing, and it would have beer cans for armor."

Calla chewed his bottom lip for a moment. "That's just it, Cait." He switched to a second battlerom, this one of a battle. "This was intercepted by Matria a few minutes before he got that last one." He looked at Sheila. "It's a recording from Phelan Kell of the 3rd Battalion of the 1st Kell Hounds. He sent this one out as a broadbeam; it's why Matria was able to pick it up. He sent it in the clear." Calla paused. "Shortly before he was killed."

"Fuck," Sheila murmured. She'd never liked Phelan Kell, but it still sounded strange to hear that the combative, disgraced son of Morgan Kell was dead. A brief pang of guilt swept over her—had it not been for the Review Board, Phelan might not have been on Sisyphus' Lament. Then she thought better of it; he would've likely been assigned there even if he'd graduated from the Nagelring like everyone else. She watched with everyone else as Phelan and a few other of the Kell Hounds dueled the mystery 'Mech, along with another one that looked a bit like a Warhammer, but with a far more streamlined design. The two 'Mechs first destroyed a pirate Rifleman, then a Panther, both with ridiculous ease. Then they destroyed Phelan's lance commander, piloting a Blackjack, and then finally Phelan himself, knocking out his Wolfhound—though not before he did the damage that Senla had noticed. You sent that in the clear, Sheila thought. That means you knew you didn't have time to encode it, and you knew you were going to die, Phelan. But you went down swinging, you brave son of a bitch. We'll raise a glass to you, me and Mimi.

When Phelan's battlerom ended, Calla switched back to Matria's. The room was silent. "Any comments?" he asked.

"Yeah," Mira said. "I can see why Haggerty hauled ass." She rubbed her cheeks. "We're sure that data hasn't been tampered with?"

"Not as far as we can tell. It's a bit grainy because of all the iron ore on Sisyphus' Lament, but that's the real deal."

"Jesus," Cannon breathed. "Those 'Mechs were hitting beyond range of our lasers, easy. And they were accurate, too—good pilots."

"And there's no way something like that….Catarauder or whatever," Senla added, "there's no way that thing shouldn't be either frying itself with heat, or have nothing for armor. Phelan's lasers should've punched through, or done something. They didn't."

"That's what the other pirates said," Calla confirmed. "As far as they could tell, they didn't get any kills at all. The Kell Hounds might've gotten a few…before they were overrun. The 3rd Battalion never made it offplanet. Their JumpShip was forced to retreat. Haggerty's bunch was able to fight their way out, load up their last available DropShip with whatever they had, and get to a merchant JumpShip that was insystem. They had to fight their way through enemy fighters to get there. Before you ask, Liz, their fighters were hitting beyond range too, though Haggerty said they splashed one or two before the others broke off." Calla put his hands behind his back. "The merchies agreed to bring them as far as Persistence, and then they jumped for Somerset. The Rebels were three days out from a pirate point before we picked them up." Persistence's solar system defense grid only scanned known jump points, not the pirate points, which was nearly impossible.

Calla then zoomed in on the Marauder/Catapult hybrid. There was a marking on the side of it, showing a brown, snarling wolf against a bronze square with six stars. "Marion, between you, Cait, Mira and me, we've been pretty much everywhere around the Inner Sphere. I've never seen any unit with these markings, have you?"

Mira shook her head. Houndlikov stared at it for a moment, then did the same. Marion stood up, walked closer to the hologram, then shrugged. "Nearest I can think of is Wolf's Dragoons, or maybe Brookins' Pack." Calla raised his eyebrows at the last part. "Old unit that used to work for Marik. They disbanded a few years ago; most of them caught on with the 21st Centauri Lancers. But this wolf is way more detailed than theirs, or the Dragoons."

"And if it was the Dragoons, they wouldn't have opened up on the Kell Hounds," Mira said. "Those two are pretty tight."

"Okay. So if it's not anyone we know of, who the hell are those guys?" Calla pointed to the hologram. "And where did they get all those 'Mechs?"

Senla stood. "My guess is it's a new bunch—"

"No shit," Marion interrupted.

"—someone who found a Star League manufacturing facility out in the Deep Periphery." Senla ignored her. "There's all kinds of rumors that the Star League had secret facilities they built way out there after the Reunification Wars. I remember hearing about a space station that supposedly exists inside the Dark Nebula. This was Rim Worlds territory back then, but way out there…who knows?" Senla spread his hands. "Hell, it could be ComStar. Nobody knew they had a frigging army until 3030. They might be doing research out there, Ryan's guys got too close, and they decided to blast him before he could blab or take a swipe at them. As for the Kell Hounds—hell, there's no love lost between Morgan Kell and ComStar. I mean, killing his kid is going to piss off Morgan, but if ComStar's got plausible deniability, it's not like he's going to assault Terra with the Hounds."

"Damn shame," Calla smiled. "I'd help." There was no love lost between ComStar and Calla Bighorn-Vlata either. "Miss Danderson, you've been quiet."

"That's because I'm scared out of my mind." There were scattered chuckles at Danderson's honesty. "Commander, do you think they'll pursue Ryan's people…here?"

Calla gave that one some thought. "One Leopard-class DropShip?" He shrugged. "I doubt it. We're still a ways from Butte Hold, and these Wolves—that's what they call themselves—don't know which way Haggerty went. They might be able to guess that the Kell Hounds' JumpShip is headed for Arc-Royal, but if they've got any brains, they're either digging in or hauling ass back to where they came from. The Hounds are going to be out for blood after losing a whole battalion."

To Sheila's surprise, Max stood and raised his hand. Calla nodded at him. "Sir? Has anyone heard from the Oberon Confederation? From Hendrik Grimm?"

"Good question; thanks." Max sat back down. "No, but no one's been asking him either." Calla shut off the holoprojector and brought up the lights. "Okay. All of this is classified. I hear anyone talking about it outside the regiment and I will skin them alive. Sheila, Max—you don't tell your roommates."

"Especially Mimi Stykkis," Marion said darkly.

"Miss Danderson, I'm afraid that goes for you as well." She nodded. "We're going to put all this in a packet and send it by courier to Arc-Royal. We can't trust this to ComStar, especially if they're the ones behind it. Persistence Munitions has a shipment headed to Tharkad—think they could make a stop?" Calla asked Danderson.

"I'll take it myself," she replied. "I was planning on going to Tharkad for a few weeks in any case."

"Sounds great. The FedCom needs to know about this." Calla slapped his hands together. "All right, dismissed."

"One moment, Commander." Danderson stood. "There's still the matter of Haggerty and his followers." She held up a hand. "I have no intention on punishing the dependents, nor the DropShip crew—though technically they are aiding and abetting. But the MechWarriors are a different story. They should be punished as examples."

"Haggerty I agree with," Calla said. "He's a bastard. But the other three are junior MechWarriors. No reason to go after them. Not even the one who was on Steelton. I looked that up too, Miss Danderson—there was no one killed in that raid. Ramos led the raid, and all she did was take a whole lot of water and extort the populace for a few million C-Bills. Bad, but not on the level of what happened on Fianna."

"What will you do with them? Hire them?" Danderson snapped.

"I might," Calla told her. "Matria certainly. We're understrength in Ceta Battalion. We could use someone like him." Now it was Calla who held up a hand. "We'll let them cool their heels in the brig for awhile, then test them out a little. If they step out of line, we'll deal with that." He chuckled. "There's not a few of the Sentinels who were practically pirates once upon a time, Miss Danderson. Our first JumpShip we stole from Kurita. I think they still think it was lost in a jump accident."

"Fine. But Haggerty—"

"Haggerty will be shot." Calla checked the chronometer. "No time like the present."

Perry Haggerty was marched to an isolated corner of the facility. There was a metal pole there, used to tie down 'Mechs in high winds. Calla walked with him. "I'm not going to tie you to the pole," he told the pirate.

"Thanks."

"Talked to the chaplain?" The Sentinels didn't have one in the regiment, but one had been brought in from town.

"Yeah, sure did." Haggerty actually smiled. "I got absolution. Don't know if that will help, given some of the things I've done."

"It can't hurt." They stopped in front of the pole. Drawn up in a row, their helmet visors down to hide their faces, were a dozen SLI troopers, their assault rifles resting stock-first on the ground. Arla alone was unhelmeted. Danderson was there as well, officially serving as witness for the Federated Commonwealth, unofficially because she wanted to see Haggerty die. She had seen what Redjack Ryan's pirates could do, firsthand. Haggerty turned and came to attention at the front of the pole. Arla gave an order, and the troopers marched forward, then turned to face the condemned, their rifles on their shoulders. Arla did not carry one; instead, she unsheathed the SLI's signature weapon, a collapsible naginata, and snapped it into place. "Firing squad ready, Commander," she reported crisply. As tradition, all were volunteers. Unlike tradition, all of them had live ammunition.

"You know," Haggerty said, looking up at the sky, "it's a damned nice day."

Calla opened a datapad. "Perry Haggerty. You are accused of crimes against humanity, including the use of banned chemical weapons, several mass casualty events involving unarmed civilians, rapine, larceny, murder, and piracy. Under the Ares Conventions, all of these crimes save larceny carry the death penalty. As a result, judgement may be passed without due process." Calla felt like a hypocrite saying the words. Every one of the Successor States were guilty of many of the same crimes; even Hanse Davion had ordered units to fire on Skye separatists. "How do you plead?"

"Guilty to everything but rape. I've never raped anyone."

"So noted." Calla made a notation in the datapad for the record. "Under the authority of the Federated Commonwealth of House Davion and Steiner, invested in me as commanding officer, Persistence garrison and the Sentinels RCT, I hereby sentence you to death by firing squad. Have you any last requests, such as a blindfold or a cigarette?" It was tradition to ask the guilty for either.

"I'll take a cigarette."

Calla didn't smoke, nor did Arla. Danderson did, and she produced a single cigarette and a lighter. Haggerty lit up, and they waited patiently as he smoked it, staring at the sky the whole time. "Mmm," he said between puffs. "Good Steiner tobacco. You won't believe what we smoke on the Periphery." He took a few more drags, then dropped it on the ground and stubbed it out. "Hey, Commander. You're going to send all that stuff to Their Highhandednesses on Tharkad and New Avalon, right?"

"We are. And your MechWarriors will be taken care of." Calla was aware that could be taken several ways. "Your dependents will be resettled."

"That's good. Just get them out of the way of these Wolves, okay?" He nodded to Calla. "And you take care of your unit, Commander. You will not believe that bunch when they get here. And I think they're coming." He sighed. "Well, I'm ready." He held out a hand. "Thanks, Commander. I appreciate the dignity you've shown me."

Calla, despite himself, shook Haggerty's hand. He then moved out of the line of fire, to stand next to Danderson. Arla turned in place, raising her naginata. "Ready!" A dozen Federated assault rifles were brought up. "Aim!" The rifles fell, the barrels pointed at the pirate. Haggerty smiled and closed his eyes. "Fire!" Arla dropped the naginata's blade downwards. A dozen rifles barked with single shots. The SLI was well trained; all the shots hit. Blood fountained onto the pole and the sand, and Haggerty dropped to the ground, his chest a mass of red.

The squad brought the rifles back down to a parade rest. Arla stepped forward; it was her job to finish the prisoner off, but there was no need. She hadn't thought there would be. She turned to Calla and saluted. "Commander, the condemned is dead."

"Very well." Calla returned the salute. "Have his people bury him outside the walls. Dismiss the firing squad." Arla did so, marching them back to the garrison in the facility's thick walls. Danderson walked to the corpse, looked at it, spit on it, then turned away.

Sheila, for her part, made a full circuit of the facility, which took her the better part of an hour. Max had offered to walk with her, but she had politely refused; she needed to be alone, to think about what they had learned. She made sure she was on the opposite side of the facility from the execution, though she still jumped at the shots.

Once she was finished, she returned to the 'Mech bay, feeling she should probably report to Kazikawa, though no one had ordered her to. She wanted to talk to someone, even her company commander, but Kazikawa was not to be informed just yet. When she reached Alpha Battalion's part of the bay, she saw the 'Mechs were all powered down, and only Drax, who had the duty, was still there. She threw him a wave, then spotted Maysa Bari over on the far end. She walked in that direction. She couldn't tell Maysa either, but at least it would be good to see a friend's face, someone she knew better than Marcus Drax.

Maysa was standing, arms folded, looking up at the pirate Rifleman. "Hi, Sheila," she said, as her friend walked up to her. "How's it going?"

"Wish I could say good. Can't talk about it."

"Okay." Maysa stepped closer. "Do you know who this is assigned to?"

"As far as I know, nobody. It was that Haggerty guy's 'Mech, and he just got shot." Maysa turned to her, eyes wide. "The guy was a pirate, Maysa."

"I know, but…wow." She returned her gaze to the 'Mech. "So this is just going to be a remount, then?"

"Probably. Assuming the other three join the Sentinels—which they might; they didn't do any atrocities—they have their own 'Mechs." Sheila motioned at the Vindicator, Crusader and Chameleon.

"Hmm." Maysa suddenly smiled. "In that case, I think I might just see if I can fix this one up. The ACs are shot, so I'll strip them out…replace them with more large lasers, more heat sinks—oh, and more armor, too. Won't be perfect, but it'll do some damage."

Sheila nodded. "I like it. It'll be a good remount for someone."

"Yeah," Maysa said, a little subdued. Sheila patted her shoulder, then walked away; for once, Maysa was too distracted to give her a hug. Maysa reached out and touched the Rifleman's foot. "Yeah, it'll be a good remount," she whispered. "For me."