AUTHOR'S NOTES: Somewhat short chapter this time around, but I wanted to save a few things for the next chapter. Again, this is a slow burn (then again, so was Lethal Heritage; it takes the Clans awhile to actually show up in that one, too), but we're getting there. As a matter of fact, the Clans will probably show up next chapter. Then we'll really get into the 'Mech fighting. First, we need to set up some relationships, introduce an important character, and add some more background to the Jestin Ridge Facility. Students of history might recognize the layout of the facility. For those of you who aren't students of history...well, the original is smaller, and it's in Texas.

Oh dear.

Marion Rhialla also does her best Gordon Ramsay impression in this chapter. That should be a frightening thought for those familiar with the character.

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

29 October 3049

Tooriu Kku lay back in bed—Elfa Brownoak's bed—his fingers interlaced behind his head. He was naked, with a satisfied expression on his face. "So, Elfa…"

Elfa lay next to him, arms at her side. She was also naked, with a shocked expression on her face. "Yes?"

"You know, when we started this ten days ago…you were asking how long I would last."

"It was a poor choice of words." Elfa looked at her feet. "I can't feel my legs."

He rolled over and kissed her cheek. "Same time, tomorrow night?"

"If I'm still alive, yes." She slowly turned to face him. "You said your last lover was Sheila Arla-Vlata? The commander's daughter?" Tooriu nodded. "My God. Does she have the stamina of a horse?" Elfa went back to looking at the ceiling. "I realize that I'm a woman of a certain age and I've lost a step, but…even when I was twenty I couldn't have kept up with you." She turned to him in amazement. "No one has ever done what you've done to me, Tooriu. What's your secret? Who was the guru of sex that taught you these things? Do they offer classes on the subject at the Nagelring?"

Tooriu laughed and got up. "Nope. I've just had a lot of practice." He looked a little sheepish. "Okay, not as much as I'd like. Maybe I'm just naturally gifted?"

"I believe it. Jaime Wolf is naturally gifted at command, Morgan Kell is naturally gifted with Phantom 'Mech—supposedly—and you, Tooriu Kku, are naturally gifted at pleasing women."

He shrugged. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it." He found his underwear. He'd arrived at Elfa's room for dinner at 1800 hours sharp. By 1830, they were in bed; dinner had to be warmed up. Tooriu pulled on his shorts, marveling to himself. This was the fifth time they had hooked up in as many days, and there would be a sixth within 24 hours, if he and Elfa had their way. I don't get it. What is it about her? I mean, she knows her way around a guy, no question. If Elfa had never experienced anything like Tooriu, he had never experienced anything like her. It made Sheila and the others pale in comparison. With the other, younger women Tooriu had gone to bed with, it was usually a competition, a race to see who could reach their peak first, a whirlwind forest fire burning out of control. With Elfa, it was a slow burn, like a fusion reactor, not a competition so much as a marathon. He stopped and looked at himself. Elfa was beautiful, but he had met other women who were prettier—Sheila, for instance. Elfa might not look 43, but there were scars and pounds that 19 year olds didn't have. Her hair was the color of spun gold, but he'd noticed gray hairs scattered here and there. She hadn't required him to wear protection, because she was barren; in ten years of marriage, she'd never gotten pregnant, despite trying very hard to have a child. She was a divorcee, and as old as Tooriu's mother.

He was still insanely attracted to her.

"Tooriu, what time do you have the duty tomorrow?"

"I was actually off."

"I don't have to be there until 0900." He felt her breasts against his back. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

Tooriu hesitated. He'd never stayed the entire night with Elfa. He'd always left by midnight. "Er…" Then her hands eased off his underwear. Tooriu sighed. "The hell with it." He turned around in her grasp, leaned down, and kissed her passionately. "I guess I can try for three."

"I hope this isn't too bad for you," Maximillian Canis-Vlata said as he held open the door for Sheila Arla-Vlata. She took off her coat as they walked into Tukson's Restaurant. "I've eaten here a couple of times."

"So have I. It's not bad at all." The waitress led them to a booth. The restaurant was mostly empty. Tukson's was like any other lower middle class eatery in any other part of the Federated Commonwealth, offering simple and generally tasty fare. "Max, I would've been okay if you'd taken me to McDonald's or Urbie King. I'm just about the easiest to please girl in the Inner Sphere, when it comes to food."

They ordered hamburgers and fries, and then an awkward silence set in over their sodas. Max broke it first. "Sorry…I guess this sort of feels like a date."

Sheila smiled. "So what if it is? I'm not seeing anyone at the moment." She felt a bit of a pang, remembering Tooriu, but pushed it aside. That was over. "Are you?"

"Nope." Max leaned back in the booth, not meeting her eyes. "I had a girlfriend back at NAMA…sort of." She raised an eyebrow. He waved it off. "Never mind. It was pretty damn awkward, really."

Sheila leaned forward. "Max, we've known each other since we were kids." She snickered. "Remember that time we got together in third grade and played 'Mech Fight at your folks' place? And you headshotted me in the first round?"

Max laughed. "Are you kidding? I'll never forget that. I thought you were going to tear my head off. I learned all kinds of new words that day." He shook his head, still smiling. "And Mom heard you."

"Oh, man…she dragged me all the way back to my parents' place, and then I was really in for it. They grounded me for two weeks." Sheila tittered. "Mom asked me where I'd learned all those words, and I made the mistake of telling her the truth, that I'd learned them from Dad."

"You should've heard what happened after you left. I asked my dad what some of those words meant. The one time when he started drinking and it actually made sense why."

Sheila was surprised at the offhand way Max said it. Todd Canis' alcoholism was no secret, of course, but most of the regiment tried to be discreet about it. Her smile faltered and she looked into her soda. "Sorry to bring that up."

"What, Dad drinking?" Max shrugged. "It is what it is. I can't change it. I don't let it get to me anymore." He took a sip of soda. "You know, the hell with it. So here's what happened with my sort-of girlfriend." Sheila listened patiently as Max went through it. It was bizarre to say the least: Max had ended up in a relationship with one of his instructors. She was not that much older than him—one of the New Avalon Military Academy's junior adjuncts—but while he didn't go into intimate details, it still sounded like something out of a holoporn, titled Hot For Teacher. Max was clearly embarrassed, but he also seemed to feel better for telling it. He finished as their food arrived. "Your turn," he said, with a smile to show that Sheila didn't need to tell him.

Sheila blew out a breath as she tried to get the ketchup onto her fries. "Humanity has been in space for over two thousand years, and we still can't figure this out." Finally it fell onto her plate with a blorping noise. "Not much to tell, really. You know Tooriu Kku?"

"Yeah. Big guy, blond hair, acts like a goof most of the time?"

"That's the one." It was Sheila's turn to shrug. "Last year, we started going out, I sort of seduced him—if throwing myself at him counts as seduction—and we were together until a month or so ago, when he dumped me." She hesitated before she stuck a fry in her mouth. "That's not really fair, I guess. Tooriu just told me he didn't love me, and deep down, I didn't love him." She stuffed down more fries. "More I think about it," she said around a mouthful of food, "he was right. I guess I'm not mad at him." It wasn't entirely a lie.

Max got about every other word, but understood the gist of it. "Other 'Mechs in the 'Mech bay."

"Yeah, I suppose. I don't think I'm going to be in the market for awhile, though. Need to concentrate on this whole lance command thing."

"No kidding," Max said. "How can something not be as hard as you thought or as easy as you thought at the same time?"

They chatted more through dinner. It was a pleasant one, for both of them. It had been Calla who suggested the two of them correspond when they left for their respective academies, to ease the loneliness and culture shock of moving from an insular mercenary regiment to a place filled with people from all over the Federated Commonwealth. Max and Sheila had left off writing each other through most of their senior year, as there never seemed to be the time, but now they picked up where they left off. It was both a reuniting of friends and something almost unique to the military: the ability to pick up a conversation years after it had been started. Now they were two young people beginning their careers, and it felt good for both of them to talk to someone who understood.

It was, Sheila and Max agreed, something to be repeated.

Persistence ComStar Hyperpulse Generator Station, Danderson City

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

8 November 3049

Major Marion Rhialla marched down the sidewalk towards the ComStar compound. It was constructed of local materials and painted white to reflect the heat of Persistence's sun; of course, most ComStar facilties were painted white. Above the complex towered the huge dish of the HPG; Persistence, as a minor world towards the Periphery, rated only a B-rated HPG, and therefore only transmitted every few days. The ComStar comet-like symbol was emblazoned in full color on the side of the HPG building, and worked into the fence and wall that surrounded it.

Marion was in a bad mood. Those that knew the tempestous commander of 4th Company, Ceta Battalion, would remark that Marion was usually in a bad mood. She had never been particularly beautiful, and a hard life as a MechWarrior had left her with a tough face seemingly carved out of cedarwood, with crows-feet from staring into suns on a hundred worlds, and a lean and scarred body. Marion's one affectation was dyeing her black hair with gold highlights, something she'd done since she was a young woman—hence her nickname, Tigerstripe. Now it was done to hide the encroaching gray. She would be fifty in a year, which did not improve Marion's mood at all.

She stalked towards the main gate of the ComStar facility, her only concession to the chilly weather a black jacket emblazoned with her former mercenary unit's crest: a tiger wearing a Roman-style helmet. A ComStar acolyte in a hooded parka with a laser rifle slung over one shoulder saw her approaching and came to attention. "Good morning!" he sang out. "May the Peace of Blake be with you—"

"I'm here to see Precentor Morris," Marion cut him off.

"Certainly, ma'am. Do you have an appointment?" One of Marion's hands came out of her jacket with a datapad. The acolyte looked at it. "Um, ma'am…it says this appointment was with Commander Bighorn-Vlata—"

"He's indisposed. I'm representing him."

The acolyte paused. "That's highly irregular, ma'am. ComStar prefers to deal directly with those who request the meeting. The Precentor is a busy man, and will not appreciate being handed off to a subordinate." He pulled a communicator from his belt. "I will have to clear it with the Precentor—"

"I have a better idea." Marion took a step forward. "You let me through those gates, soldier, or I will see how far that Intek will fit up your asshole. And then I'll report your stupid fucking attitude to the Precentor, and tell him his acolytes are overofficious cocksuckers. The Precentor and I are old friends." That was a lie; Marion had never met the man in her life. "If you think Persistence stinks, just wait until you're on fucking Port Krin. You read me, soldier?"

The acolyte swallowed. Marion was not particularly tall, nor was she muscular, but her gray eyes seemed to reach into his soul, find something there, and begin to devour it. He did the best thing he could. He replaced the communicator on his belt, touched a button on the gate that opened it, and came to attention. "Welcome to Persistence HPG, ma'am!"

Marion gave him a crisp salute and walked through the gate.

She was ushered into a rather nice waiting room once inside. Naturally, visitors were not allowed past the main entrance hall: normally, they would hand their message to the acolytes on duty, or, if they were important enough, would meet with the Precentor himself. Marion coldly accepted the offer of coffee and some small cakes.

After a short wait, Precentor Terrance Morris came into the waiting room. He was bearded, balding, and losing a battle with his waistline. He was dressed in the traditional ComStar outfit of white, hooded robe tied together with an equally white cord. It was meant to relay the purity of the order, but Marion always thought it looked like a bathrobe. Her eyes flicked down and noticed Morris was wearing combat boots beneath the robe; he was not only the Precentor of the station, but commanded the small ComStar defense force of six 'Mechs.

He wore a big smile that was very clearly forced. "Good morning, Major Rhialla! May the Peace of Blake be upon you. I trust you are well?"

"I'm not," Marion growled. She motioned at the cakes. "These are dry, the filling is clearly store-bought, and the frosting tastes like toothpaste. The coffee is like motor oil." She took a drink of it all the same. It actually was quite good, but Marion's mood—and her orders—were to make things as unpleasant on Morris as possible.

Morris sighed and sat down opposite her. "Your reputation precedes you, Major."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

He put up his hands. "Only that you are…shall we say…temperamental."

"Why don't you drop the fucking diplomacy, Precentor? You know what I'm here for."

"I knew what Commander Bighorn-Vlata was going to be here for." He smiled. "But since you want me to drop the diplomacy, why did he send such a sour old bitch like yourself instead of showing up himself? I know he hates Our Blessed Order, but I have enjoyed a decent working relationship with him." He pulled a small device from a pocket of his robe and pressed a button on it.

Marion returned his smile with the same amount of warmth, or lack thereof. "Now we're getting somewhere, Precentor. I take it we're no longer being recorded?" He gave her a short nod. "Good. I need some information. Actually, the Sentinels do."

"I see." He leaned back in his chair. "And what would you like?"

"What have you heard about the Periphery?" Marion set aside her coffee. "Seems to be a lot of strange things happening out there."

Morris' face remained placid. "There's always strange things happening out there, Major."

"Cut the bullshit, Precentor. You know what I'm talking about. A whole battalion of the Kell Hounds gets wiped out on Sisyphus' Lament. We get one of Redjack Ryan's dickheads landing here screaming about Wolves tearing hell out of Ryan's pirates—not that it's any loss. All kinds of rumors about a force with Star League era 'Mechs armed to the fucking teeth and tearing the bejesus out of everything that moves. And they aren't your bunch of eunuchs." She raised an eyebrow. "Are they? I mean, if ComStar wanted to clean out Ryan and Hendrik Grimm, I'd put Primus Waterly for a damned medal."

Morris smiled again. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Major. I know about the pirates that landed here a few weeks ago…and that's about it."

She uncrossed her legs and her shoulders tensed, as if she was about to leap across and throttle Morris, then steepled her hands in front of her mouth. "Listen to me, you white-robed fuck. We both know you're about as pure as the local whorehouse. As soon as we got here, you started trying to sell us shit. We bought that old half-scrapped King Crab off of you and you pocketed the cash—probably in some anonymous Tharkad bank account. If the Head Twat on Terra finds out you did that, they'll hang you from your foreskin on Hilton Head Island."

Now Morris looked uncomfortable. He visibly resisted glancing around. "Blake's Blood, Major, that was strictly confidential!"

Marion put her hands back in her lap. "Which is why I was hiding my lips, in case you've got some ROM shithead back there trying to read them. However, passing information isn't exactly frowned on, is it? I've dealt with ComStar in the past, Morris. I know how it works. Oh, the First Circuit would get mad, but half of them are probably on someone's payroll, I imagine. So," Marion said, picking up her coffee cup, "what have you heard? Unless you want your other 'transaction' to become public knowledge."

"I don't believe this." Morris' hands gripped the chair's arms. "You know I could cut off your unit's HPG privileges for this!"

Marion calmly sipped her coffee. "And you'd have to explain why to the FedCom, wouldn't you? Might even get as far up as Precentor Tharkad. We all know how much Hanse and Melissa love your Blessed Order. Hanse would probably get his rocks off at the idea of a corrupt Precentor swinging by his balls from the Triad walls."

Morris hung his head. "God damn you, Rhialla. Now I know why Romano Liao has a kill order on you."

"It's my sparkling personality." She set down the now empty cup. "Give."

"All right. But to be honest, I don't know much." At her expression, Morris once more raised his hands. "I don't, Major—I swear on the name of Blake." Marion rolled her eyes. "Look." His eyes flitted around the room furtively. "We lost contact with the Oberon Confederation three days ago."

"Oh, big fucking whoop. Their HPG hasn't been working for years. Even I know that." The mercenary grapevine was even faster than ComStar.

"Actually, it's been working for some time." His voice dropped to a whisper, and Marion had to lean forward to hear them. "There's been rumors of some of Grimm's people escaping into the Free Rasalhague Republic. They're reporting the same thing the Kell Hounds did."

Marion gave that some thought. Hendrik Grimm wasn't exactly a military genius, but the pirates of the Oberon Confederation were no pushovers; they might bloody the nose of a House line regiment, and he had a fair number of 'Mechs. If Grimm had been destroyed to the point that only a few of his people had managed to escape the FRR—where more than likely they'd be executed on sight—that meant that the threat was bigger than anyone thought. "Shit," she murmured. "Is ComStar going on alert?"

"No." Morris paused. "And that's strange." He sounded confused, and Marion believed him. Invaders from beyond the Inner Sphere were not likely to care much if they fought AFFC, DCMS, Kungsarme, or ComGuards.

"Nothing else?"

"No. How about you?"

Now it was Marion who paused. Calla had not given her any specific orders here, but it occurred to her that, as much as she disliked ComStar herself, it might not be a bad idea to keep them in the loop. Morris might be corrupt—which, in her experience, was more the norm for Precentors than the exception—but he still commanded a unit of Star League 'Mechs, which could be helpful. "We know as much as you do. We got a little more information from Ryan's pirates, but it just confirms what the Kell Hounds said. And the Lyrans aren't taking us seriously. As fucking usual."

Morris leaned back in his chair and stroked his goatee. "Maybe it's nothing," he mused. "Maybe some self-styled Periphery lord found a Star League cache and is consolidating power." He shrugged. "It's happened before."

"Or maybe it's Wolf's Dragoons 2.0." Marion got to her feet. Her back cracked alarmingly. "Well, Precentor, this has been an enlightening conversation."

He got up as well. "You'll say nothing?"

"My lips are sealed." He offered her his hand, but Marion ignored it. She put her jacket back on, turned her back on him, and walked to the door. "Oh, Precentor?"

"What now?" he snarled at her.

She gave a half-bow. "Peace of Blake and all that."

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

26 November 3049

Sheila followed her father onto the wide parapets of the repair facility. They had taken three flights of stairs to get there, and it was a fair walk from her parents' room, where they had just eaten a crowded Thanksgiving dinner with Mira, Todd and Max Canis-Vlata. Todd had been careful just to drink soda, Sheila had noticed, and Mira was cordial to her husband. The problem was, Sheila had stuffed herself with good food, and now that she was at the top of the parapet, she felt a little nauseated. Luckily, the brisk wind off the empty plains around Jestin Ridge helped fight the nausea—as well as the oncoming tryptophan coma. Thanksgiving was an American tradition that had been carried into the stars, though it was only celebrated in Davion and Marik space. Since Calla, Mira and Arla had all grown up in the Federated Suns, they also carried the holiday with them. Most of the Sentinels didn't celebrate it; they just liked having a long weekend.

Calla spread his arms out wide. "Damn, that wind feels good. It was getting a bit stuffy in that room."

"Speaking of stuffed…" Sheila commented, rubbing her stomach.

"Sorry, kiddo. I just wanted to talk to you—father to daughter…and commander to lance commander."

Sheila nodded. "Yes, sir."

"No reason to be that formal," Calla grinned. "Anyway, look around this place. Tell me what you see. Mainly I'm looking for weaknesses."

Sheila did as she was instructed. The Jestin Ridge facility was almost six kilometers long and four wide. The middle was a long area of ferrocrete that could easily hold two battalions of 'Mechs at once, though it might be a cramped fit. The east wall was thicker than the others; that was where most of the living quarters were, and the tower of the control tower and command post. The walls themselves were very thick; they would stop anything but direct-fire artillery. Amaris' Rim Worlders had built ramps so 'Mechs could get onto the walls, and the tops had rounded berms that would partially cover a 'Mech. Of course, like an iceberg, it was what was below Jestin Ridge that was important: the cavernous 'Mech bays, the repair facilities, the storage areas, the four gigantic lifts and four wide tunnels that 'Mechs could use to get to the surface.

Sheila could only see one weakness: the southeast corner. The south and east walls ended abruptly, leaving a narrow gap. The locals had demolished that section of wall to allow for easier access to the facility. The gap was only wide enough for a little more than a lance of 'Mechs to stand line abreast, but it was a weakness. She pointed. "That right there."

"Good," Calla said. "I agree." There was construction equipment around the area, idle due to the Thanksgiving holiday. "We're building that up with what we can, but there's no way we can build walls like this—" he stomped on the wall beneath him "—within four months. Now I don't know if these Wolf guys are headed down this way, but even if they aren't, this facility is our best defensive area. And we've got three weak points."

"Three?" Sheila asked.

"Yep. Besides that area—which we've nicknamed the Palisade, by the way—there's two others." Calla pointed to the north wall. "That's a weak spot there. See where the color of the ferrocrete is different from the rest?" Sheila nodded. "That's where the SLDF blasted their way through the wall when they took Persistence from Amaris' forces during the Usurper War. They used a mass-focus themobaric bomb, one step below a nuclear weapon. It cracked the wall, and the SLDF assault 'Mechs did the rest. The locals eventually rebuilt the north wall, but they used substandard materials. It's settling. It's not in danger of collapse for a long time…unless someone hits it with concentrated 'Mech fire. That might be enough to breach it. You know what that means if someone gets inside the facility?"

"Yeah. We die," Sheila said simply.
"More than likely. At the least, we play hell trying to root them out." He pointed down. "The last weak spot is the main doors. They're thick enough, but they're not as thick as the walls, they're steel, and they're anchored in the walls. You could burn through the doors, or blow them off their hinges with artillery." Sheila felt like hitting herself for that; that was an obvious weak spot.

She turned and looked out onto the plain. "At least we've got good fields of fire." She pointed off to the southeast. "Except there. There's some dead ground over there, in that gully—the locals call it a coulee. You can't completely hide a 'Mech in there, but it gives cover."

Calla nodded in satisfaction. "And you know this because you took your lance over and checked it out for yourself. Kazikawa told me. You impressed him with that one."

"Not much else has," Sheila groused. Kazikawa had eased off the hazing, but he still acted like Sheila smelled every time she came around him.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to impress him." Calla motioned towards the Palisade. "That's where I'm sticking his—and your—company, Sheila. It'll be your job to defend it."

"I thought you loved me, Dad!" Sheila didn't exactly relish the idea of being stuck in the biggest gap in the Jestin Ridge defenses.

"I do. I love you very much. But I also trust you. And Kazikawa. And I need someone in that gap who isn't going to shit themselves the first time they see an enemy on those ridges." He pointed to the distant line of ridges, about ten kilometers south of the facility. "And you know the ground. So that's yours…at least for now." Sheila felt fear claw at her throat. She understood her father's words, and knew such a narrow gap was a killing ground—a heavy lance could hold the Palisade for hours.

Calla saw the fear on his daughter's face, and he drew her into a hug. "Sheila, it's okay. Whoever these Wolves are, they're going to have to take some time to consolidate the Oberon Confederation, and their best axis of attack if they want to raid something is Steelton, Toland, and Icar. The 12th Star Guards have regiments on those planets. If anything, if they get hit, probably we'll be sent to reinforce them. And we've got your buddy Victor and the 12th Donegal one jump away. I'm being cautious…and frankly, I'm kind of bored."

Sheila laughed at that and withdrew from the hug. "Me too." She looked to the west. "Sure is a pretty sunset, though."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Sheila," Calla said, and pulled her back into the hug.