AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another character development chapter, but with some 'Mech porn to start off. But it won't be long now at all...

Incidentally, the Perennium design is based loosely on the MAC III from Robotech. It kept switching names when I first wrote these stories, so let's get it down pat now. And apparently McDonald's won the Food Wars of the 2430s...

The Palisade, Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

14 February 3050

Calla Bighorn-Vlata and Sheila Arla-Vlata stared up at the thick concrete pilings—twenty of them, each the size, height, and thickness of a standard house. There were gaps between each piling, but only enough that a person could squeeze through them. Nichole Danderson grinned at them. "How's that?"

"Pretty damned impressive," Calla admitted. "Where did you get them?"

"There were plans to build a viaduct over the Reid Swamp down towards the equator," Danderson replied, then shrugged. "It can wait." She leaned against one of the pilings. "This is sunk ten feet into the ground."

Sheila went over and looked at where the piling entered the ground. At least here she was out of the cold wind. There was a taste of snow in the air, and there were still pockets of it in the corners of the repair facility. Persistence's winter was as savage as its summer, but at least it tended to be short. "Just ten feet? A 'Mech might be able to push that over."

Danderson gave her an insulted look. "I know that, Lance Commander." She pointed to four enormous dump trucks, each as tall as an Atlas, with six huge wheels. The beds were piled high with sand. "We're going to dump that all around these pilings. By the time we're done, you won't even be able to see them, but they'll anchor the sand. It's going to take a lot of trips, but trust me, when we're finished, this area will be as tough as those walls." She patted the piling. "Tougher, even. The sand will absorb missile and ballistic fire. Lasers or PPCs might blast their way through, but nothing else will."

"Sorry, Miss Danderson," Sheila apologized. "I didn't mean to sound like I wasn't appreciative." She blew out her breath, which steamed in front of her. "Especially since it'll be my butt behind these things."

Danderson nodded. "Fair enough. I'm not a MechWarrior myself, but I know a lot about them. You're still going to have to worry about 'Mechs jumping over it. But you have to worry about that everywhere here."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and we'll never have to find out," Calla said. "The Periphery's been pretty quiet lately." He hoped so, at least. Precentor Morris had been cooperative, but even he didn't know what was going on. It was as if someone had thrown a blanket over the Periphery. Of course, that supported the theory that someone was just cleaning house in the Oberon Confederation, but Calla still felt uneasy. Nonetheless, the holidays had passed without incident, and they were now well into February. The Sentinels would be rotated off Persistence and back to their much more temperate homeworld of Grunwald by June, and then it was someone else's problem. "Anyhow…thank you, Miss Danderson. Keep up the good work."

She waved it off. "Most of these guys don't get employed during the winter, so they're happy, and therefore I'm happy. Besides, it's at taxpayer expense."

Calla was about to go down the line of pilings when there was a polite clearing of a throat behind him. He turned around, and then, finding himself staring at a bosom concealed beneath a coverall, looked up at Master Tech Nicia Caii. Calla stood six foot three inches by the old Davion imperial system, so there were few people he looked up at, but Nicia was half a foot taller—and her thin build made her seem even taller than that. She shivered in the cold. "Calla? Sheila? Can you come down to the 'Mech bays for a moment?" She brought up her long-fingered hands and rubbed her shoulders. "And hurry?"

"Nicia, why aren't you wearing a jacket?" Calla wanted to know.

"I don't know!" Nicia exclaimed. "Just hurry down!" She turned and fled back towards the entrance set into the south wall.

Calla bid Danderson a farewell and walked more slowly in that direction, joined by Sheila. "What's up with Nicia?" she asked her father.

"I don't know. It could be anything from a cracked foot actuator on my Battlemaster to a runaway nuclear reaction."

"Nicia's kind of weird," Sheila observed.

"She's also the best tech in the Inner Sphere, for my money," Calla said, with just enough iron in his voice to let his daughter know she was overstepping her boundaries. Sheila looked down, duly chastised. As they walked into the wall—Nicia was at the bottom of a three-story stairwell, far ahead of them—Calla decided to change the subject. "Don't you have a date with Max tonight?"

"Sort—" Sheila caught herself. Why not call it what it was? "Yeah," she said.

"Is it serious?" Calla asked.

Sheila smiled and shook her head. "No, Dad. We're just friends. I mean, yeah, they're dates, but we haven't done anything." Sheila gave her father her best chaste smile, praying that he believed she was still a virgin. It was true—she hadn't done anything with Max aside from hugging, but there was still her past to consider. "And I doubt we will, honestly." She shrugged as they walked down the stairwell. "We've been friends since we were kids, Dad. It would be weird."

"I could do worse for a son-in-law. Max is a good guy." Calla paused. "Better than just some MechWarrior that I barely know."

Sheila willed herself not to blush, look away, or give any other indication that her prayer had just been denied, hard. Oh shit, she thought frantically, pasting a smile on her face, does Dad know about Tooriu? Crap, crap, crap! He's going to kill me…he'll kill Tooriu first, granted… She laughed, a little too much. "Dad, we're just friends!" she repeated.

"Well, you can understand my asking. This is what, date number four? He was over for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and you two rang in the new year together with Mimi." Calla raised an eyebrow.

"Dad, he's Mira's son! Of course he spent the holidays with us!" Sheila rolled her eyes. "And it's date number seven, if it's any of your business, Dad. Which it isn't. I'm a grown woman, remember?"

Calla was now the one to look away, much to Sheila's surprise. Usually saying that met with a retort of but not too grown for me to put over my knee or don't take that tone with me, young lady. Instead, Calla said softly, "Yeah, that's true." Suddenly, Sheila thought, her father looked very old.

Nicia was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairwell. "Took you long enough."

"We had some personal matters to discuss," Calla told her. The iron was back, and Nicia's expression was about the same as Sheila's. "Lead on, Nicia."

"Okay." They followed her down a long corridor to the 'Mech bay. Now that she wasn't freezing, Nicia was striding, rather than running. Sheila always found the Sentinels' Master Tech to be fascinating; Nicia had been first just a tech, then a Senior Tech, then had worked her way into her present position three years previously—but as long as Sheila could remember, she always looked the same. Her tall, thin frame was the result of growing up on a low-gravity planet, and she'd always shaved her head down to gleaming skin. Other techs, male and female, might shave it down to a stubble, since long hair could get caught in machines, armor plates, and actuators, among other things, but Nicia was the only female tech who completely shaved her head. It gave her a somewhat otherwordly appearance.

Nicia led them across the cavernous bay to a corner of it, kittycorner from where Sheila's Shruiken was parked, and across the bay from Calla's modified Battlemaster. An enormous tarp hid something underneath, something with a lot of things that poked at the tarp—weapon barrels, Sheila identified. There was a small crowd of curious techs and MechWarriors already gathered there.

Calla stared up at the tarp. "Oh, I get it. This is your secret project you've been working on the past year."

"Yep! Finally done!" Nicia said happily. While she'd never been dour, Nicia didn't tend to wear her emotions on her sleeve, but now she was practically hopping up and down.

Calla folded his arms over his chest. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"One more person…and there she is!" Calla and Sheila turned to see Maysa, a huge smile on her face, practically dragging Marion Rhialla behind her, who was spluttering and blaspheming as they went. Maysa let go of her adopted mother's hand, then went around her, and pushed her forward, much to everyone's amusement.

"What the hell is going on?" Marion shouted.

Nicia stepped out on front of the crowd, and cleared her voice. "In honor of Major Marion Rhialla's long service to this regiment—"

"What the fuck, Nicia?" Marion's voice rose. "Are you saying I'm old?" Sheila almost said that Marion was old, at least older than most, but that would've been detrimental to her health.

"I present to you, the PER-99A Perennium!" Nicia motioned at the tarp with a flourish. Nothing happened, and Nicia gave the tarp a murderous look. Then it finally fell away, revealing not one, but two 'Mechs—monster ones.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, except for Calla. "So that's where those King Crab chassis went—the one we 'acquired' from ComStar, and the one we found on Skandia two years ago."

"That's it!" Nicia nearly spun a pirouette in front of her new machines. "They were both pretty shot up—normally I would've scrapped them, honestly. But then I thought…why not turn them into something new?"

Marion put her hands on her hips, looking over the two 'Mechs with a practiced eye. "Okay, Nicia, I'll admit they look impressive, but…just what am I looking at?" Sheila wanted to know the same thing. The Perenniums retained the wide torso and broad back of the King Crab design, which dated back to the Star League—outside of the ComGuards, few KGC-000s still existed in the Inner Sphere. The legs were the same as well. The arms were gone, however, replaced by two long, squared off ones that looked like Nicia had taken them off a Rifleman—Sheila abruptly realized that was exactly what they were from, except that these ended in a single barrel, rather than two. The LRM launcher tubes looked mostly fared over, though there were still two holes present, and the large laser aperature was still there as well.

"You, Marion, are looking at our masterpiece, as techs of the Sentinels!" Nicia proclaimed. She briskly strode over to the leg and slapped it, sending a gonging noise through the 'Mech. "First of all, you've got full armor on this 'Mech. The King Crab doesn't have full armor, but the Perennium does!" Then she began pointing out other features of the 'Mech, almost like a used car saleswoman. "Armament! Two medium lasers in the left torso, and a PPC in the right! But that's not the best part," Nicia winked. She stretched her long arms out wide. "The arms have two Gauss Rifles! That's right—two of them! No other Inner Sphere 'Mech currently in operation has two Gausses—but my Perennium does!"

Marion raised an eyebrow. "How much ammunition?"

"Sixteen shots apiece." Nicia looked triumphant.

"Uh-huh. And it overheats like a samurai in a whorehouse, doesn't it?" Marion refused to be impressed.

"No!" Nicia snapped. "It has double heat sinks onboard. You can take engine damage and still not overheat."

Marion's other eyebrow went up. "Speed?"

Nicia faltered a little. "Only 54 klicks an hour, top end…but that's normal for 100-tonners." Marion now did look impressed, and Nicia's smile instantly returned.

Yoriyoshi Kazikawa stepped forward, eyes blazing; Sheila, instinctively, stepped back. "Just a damned minute!" he yelled. "Each one of these monsters has two Gausses apiece?" Nicia nodded. "And double heat sinks?" Another nod. "That means you diverted our shipments of lostech! We were going to use those to upgrade our Banshees, Nicia! Including mine!"

Nicia blinked. "Well, yes, that's true, but there will be other shipments—"

"When, Nicia? We had to wait almost six months just to get those!" Kazikawa was livid. "By the kami, Nicia! Less than a third of our 'Mechs even have lostech, and even then it's just double heat sinks, or the odd LB autocannon or so. And you steal it to build these things—"

Nicia's hands balled into fists. "Yes!" she shouted back. "Yes, I did! Because I'm tired of this unit not having anything that wasn't built before the Third Succession War—except for Sheila's Shruiken!" It was an exaggeration; the Sentinels did have 'Mechs built before and after the Fourth Succession War, but they were all standard designs, few of which hadn't been in use for centuries. Sheila's Shruiken was the first truly new design in the regiment since it had added a handful of Wolfhounds and Hatchetmen. Sheila shrank back even more, because the last thing she wanted was for Kazikawa to be reminded of that fact. "We need something new! Something bold! Something that can scare the crap out of our enemies!"

"Oh, fine!" Kazikawa snarled. "While Marion staggers around in this Palladium or whatever it's called—"

"Perennium!" Nicia yelled. "It means 'everlasting' in Latin!"

Suaxas dal-Jaggar, who commanded the Royals lance, raised his hand. Sheila remembered that dal-Jaggar actually spoke fluent Latin; he had studied to be a monk before becoming a MechWarrior instead. "Actually," he said, before either Kazikawa or Nicia could say anything further, "It means perennial, which translates more as 'long-lasting,' though it could be loosely translated as—"

"So it's named after a flower!" Kazikawa interrupted. "Even better! While I'm sitting there trying to get in position to fire my AC/10, getting shot to pieces, Rhialla's over there, plinking away with her two Gausses, out of range of return fire!"

Marion turned to face him, smirking. "Sounds like jealousy, Yosh. Or you're just pissed that mine is bigger than yours." She pointed to one of the Gauss Rifles, then made a jerking motion at her groin.

Kazikawa made sounds of rupture, and finally Calla spoke. "Enough!" The shout reverberated around the bay, and silence to swept it. "All right. Everyone calm down." Calla took a breath. "Yoriyoshi. You're right, in that Nicia should have let someone know that she was diverting supplies. We could've worked something out. That said, these two Perenniums will be nice additions to the regiment. Nicia's right; I don't think anyone's got a 'Mech with twin Gauss Rifles. Not outside the ComGuards, anyway—if then. I assume, Master Tech, that Marion and a MechWarrior of her choice will be giving up their own 'Mechs in return for these two machines?"

"I would think so," Nicia confirmed.

"So that's a Marauder, at least. Who were you thinking to pilot the other one, Marion? I assume you want both Perenniums in your Legionnaires."

"Preferably." She ignored Kazikawa's scoff. "Alfred Dennison is senior, and he's my only assault 'Mech pilot."

"So we now have a Marauder and a Zeus that can go to someone as an upgrade, or as remounts. We're exchanging them for two 100-tonners with lostech. That's not bad—especially with two elite MechWarriors piloting them." Calla pointed at Kazikawa. "And Yoriyoshi gets first crack at whatever new shipments of lostech we get. Okay?"

"Okay," Nicia agreed.

"Okay?" Calla looked at Kazikawa.

"Fine," he said, somewhat mollified.

"Good." Calla's attention went to the crowd, which had grown since Nicia had revealed her project. "I think all of you have something to do. If you don't, find something." The Sentinels knew an order when they heard one, and began to disperse. Kazikawa gave Nicia a cold look, Marion an even colder one, to which the older woman simply snorted. Calla glanced at his daughter as Kazikawa finally moved off. "Don't you have a date or something?"

"Oh, right!" It was actually two hours before she was to meet Max, but Sheila also knew a dismissal when she heard one, especially from her father.

Nicia sat down on the foot of the nearest Perennium. "I really thought everyone would like it," she said dejectedly. "I didn't think anyone would object…"

"We don't," Calla said. "But Nicia, next time…tell me what you're doing, all right? That way we can avoid things like this." She nodded, though without conviction. He patted her shoulder, then walked away, leaving the Master Tech and Marion alone.

Marion stared up at the Perennium. "Well…I suppose I should take this big bastard out for a spin, shouldn't I? If it's going to be mine, then I'd better get used to it." She gave a low whistle. "Big son of a bitch."

Nicia brightened. "I took the liberty of putting your gear in the cockpit, Marion."

"Damn thoughtful of you, Nicia." Marion stripped off her jacket. "Now where's the ladder?"

McDonald's, Danderson City

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

14 February 3050

"Oh, how romantic," Sheila said with heavy sarcasm, as Max held open the door for her. "Just what every girl dreams of on Valentine's Day."

"Hey, I had some bills to pay this month," Max replied. "Besides, you said you really liked McDonald's!"

"Yeah, when I was ten!" Sheila pulled back her hood and partially unzipped her jacket. AS predicted by the air, it was snowing outside. Then she dropped the pretense of being angry. "Okay, okay…I love it, Max." Sheila looked around. The monster fast food chain, over a thousand years old and with franchises on every world in the Inner Sphere—even Port Krin, the worst pirate hangout known—tended to have the same décor, and had the same menu. Yet the smells of the place brought Sheila's childhood flooding back to her, when going to McDonald's was something special that happened once every few months. Nowadays, it was just routine; she and Mimi had kept the one near the Nagelring in business. And yet, it was something special, this time. "You know what? I'm going to have a Happy Meal. Just because I can."

Max's eyebrows went up. "Yeah, right. You want the toy inside, don't you?"

"What is it this month—chibi 'Mechs?" Her eyes lit up. "Oh, hell yes!"

Max ordered for them, and paid, then both of them got a booth. Sheila tore open her Happy Meal, and pulled out the toy, a strangely shaped 'Mech, from it. "A Quickdraw? Damn. I really wanted that Hatamoto-Chi." She set it aside, took off her coat, and reached into it. "Before I forget and it melts…" With both hands and head bowed, Sheila thrust a foil-wrapped packet at Max. "Here! It's not because I like you or anything!"

Max took the packet. "You've been watching way too much tsundere anime with Mimi." He smelled it. "Mm. You make it yourself?"

Sheila grabbed a handful of french fries. "No way. I know the tradition, but I figured you didn't want to be poisoned." After devouring half of her fries, she motioned around the table. "Thanks for this. I actually like this more than some romantic place." She took a deep sniff. "Yum. Grease and animal fat. Takes me back to when I was young." Sheila shrugged. "You know, like nine years ago or so."

Max laughed. "Same here. Dad loves McDs. We came here the other day."

"You two getting along better?"

"Yeah. Weirdly enough, I think he and Mom are getting along a little better too. Probably because I'm home." Max opened his Big Mac. "He's been drinking, of course…but he hasn't gotten drunk. Hell, he hasn't even gotten tipsy around me. And I don't see any strange men sharing Mom's bed, so progress."

Sheila reached across and took his hand. "I'm sorry, Max."

"For what? It's not your fault my parents are messed up." He turned his hand over and squeezed hers. Her face went a bit red, but she didn't take her hand away. "Let's talk about something better. Like that…thing that I heard Nicia showed off today."

"Oh, Lord…" Sheila gave him a brief description. That got Max talking about the modifications Nicia's assistant, Senior Tech Frederick Norkan, wanted to make to the regiment's Battlemasters, including his own—Calla's 'Mech had been modified to take a hatchet he'd taken off a destroyed Hatchetman, and now Norkan wanted all the Sentinel Battlemasters to have hatchets. They were also first in line—or second, Sheila mused, after Nicia's deal with Kazikawa—to get double heat sinks. That got Sheila to talk about her machine, and the two of them fell easily into shop talk. To those watching, it seemed strange for the young man and the young woman to be talking about war machines, but to Max and Sheila, it was the easiest of conversations.

"You know," Sheila said around her hamburger, "I should give my 'Mech a name."

"Oh, you mean like Gordo Jennings' Marauder?" Jennings was another member of the Royals lance; he had painted Death on one PPC arm, and Taxes on the other. "I always thought that was cool."

"Yeah, something like that. Maybe less juvenile. Chuck Badaxe has Eat Me written on his Atlas."

"Chuck Badaxe?" Max asked, raising an eyebrow.

"New guy. I think his real name is Katt or something. Rich kid, wants to be a badass. Anyhow, something like that." She snickered. "I could just name it Snowbird, I guess. Mimi will give me hell, but what else is new?"

"Snowbird…oh yeah," Max remembered. "Was it your mom or dad that started calling you that?"

"Both of them. I guess it sounded better than 'What the hell are you doing, get in here!'" Max almost spit out his soda. Sheila toyed with her remaining fries. "It was when we were on New Kyoto, when I was a little kid. I think you were still on Shensi. Anyway…one day I'm running around, flapping my arms like a nut, and making screeching noises at the dog…and Mom—or Dad, I can't remember—they said I sounded just like a New Kyoto snowbird." She stretched out her arms like wings. "They're basically just monster snowy owls. They don't go after humans, but they eat everything else—wolves, falcons, cats, whatever. And the name stuck…for awhile anyway." Sheila shrugged. "Then I outgrew it, and pretty much forgot about it, until Mimi found out last year. So naturally, she has to tell the entire damn Nagelring about it."

"Well, that's Mimi."

"What about you? Any nicknames I don't know about?"

Max thought for a moment. "Nope. Just Max. Kind of boring."

"It beats Snowbird." She sighed. "It's just a dumb nickname, really…but I don't know, maybe it would look good on the side of a 'Mech." She finished her hamburger in three bites. "What about you? Do you have a name on your B-Master?"

"Yeah, I was thinking…" He pointed to the empty box. "Big Mac Attack."

Sheila gave him a sour look. "That's even dumber than Snowbird."

They shared a laugh at that, and finished up. Max stuck the chocolate into his coat, Sheila tossed the garbage away, and they walked out into the gently falling snow. "I do like the snow, though," she mused. "Not to drive in it or pilot a 'Mech in it. But just like this, when everything's nice…"

"Yeah. Note that I have to drive in it." Max elbowed her gently. Sheila looked sheepish; she knew the ins and outs of piloting a BattleMech quite well, but she'd never learned to drive.

They drove back to the repair facility—slowly—and through the partially opened main gates. Max parked the car, which was a loaner to the regiment, in a small motor pool, then he and Sheila walked back to her room. "Well…I guess this is it," Max said. "Thank you."

"You could come in. We could get a game of 'Mech Fight going with Mimi if she's here…or poker or something."

"Ohh, no," Max said with a grin. "Mimi will take me for a month's pay, easy. And 'Mech Fight is too much like work."

"Immortal Warrior and chill?" Sheila grinned.

Max hesitated, though he smiled back. "I don't think we should."

"No…probably not." Sheila was tempted, and she knew Max was as well. There was a good chance Mimi Stykkis was on her own romantic assignation tonight, so the room would be theirs. Yet Sheila remembered when she had taken it too fast with Tooriu. It had been fun, and exhausting…and it had ended in a breakup. She didn't know if she wanted to take it to the next step with Max, afraid it might ruin their friendship like she had with Tooriu. It also somehow felt wrong; Sheila felt slutty even thinking about Max like that. Not tonight, she decided, and from the look on his face, he had too. "But…" Sheila put her hands on his shoulders, which was about as far as they had gotten. "I will take a Valentine's Day kiss." She gave him a glare. "No tongue."

"Damn. I don't know if I even want to, then." His smile told her he was joking.

"Pucker up, MechWarrior." Sheila brought her lips to his, before she or he could change their minds. It was a gentle kiss—little more than a brushing of lips—but it was a kiss.

And then there was another one. And another. And despite themselves, there was the electric touch of tongues, just brief, but enough to ignite. Max pulled back. "Sheila," he said softly, "we'd better stop. Unless you want to take this further."

Sheila swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "No, we'd better not." She kissed him again—but this time on his nose. "I had a great time tonight, Max. McDonald's and all."

"Me too." They pulled away from each other, faces red, both glad the hallway was deserted. "When do you want to go out again?"

Sheila wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Oh ho." Then she noticed the seriousness on his face. "Shit, I don't know…the battalion's going to be out on maneuevers for two weeks. No chance then." She gave it some thought. "March 7th? I think that's when we're done."

"Sounds about right. March 7th, then." Max leaned close, then booped her nose, and walked away. He surreptitiously adjusted his pants; being that close to Sheila Arla-Vlata had that effect.

Sheila went into her room. Sure enough, Mimi was gone. She closed the door and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. "Holy shit," she whispered, then looked down at herself, then at the bathroom. "Well, Mister Shower Head…I guess it's just you and me tonight."

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

7 March 3050

Arla Bighorn-Vlata watched from the doorway as Sheila ran down the corridor—away from her parents. Then she shut it, and looked at her husband. "That was the fastest meal I've been through in some time—and that includes combat conditions."

Calla spread his hands. He was still sitting at the table, food in front of him. "She's got a date tonight, Arla."

"I guess so!" Arla took a seat across from Calla. "Is it with Max?" Calla nodded. "Is it love?"

Calla shrugged. "Last time we talked about it, Sheila said they were just friends."

"Hmm. That was pretty fast for 'just friends.' Friends with benefits, perhaps." Arla stared at the door, clearly wondering if she should go retrieve their daughter.

"Arla, as much as I don't want to admit it…" Calla leaned over the table. "She's nineteen. She is old enough to make that choice. We can't keep her locked up forever, unless we're going to send her to that convent on Zaniah or something."

"Huh! Don't tempt me." Arla sighed. "Dammit. My baby girl…when I heard the rumors about her and that Tooriu fellow, I just didn't want to believe it, really. Max is a better match, but still—" She was interrupted by the buzzing of the landline phone. Calla got up from the table and pulled it from the wall. "Calla here."

"Commander?" It was the voice of Elizabeth Dowlings, the Aerowing commander. "Sir, ye better get up here tae the CP. We've got somethin' on scope—it's big—just jumped in at the nadir."

"How big?" Sheila was instantly forgotten.

"Several JumpShips. Negative squawk."

Calla felt dinner turn to ice in his stomach. Negative squawk meant that the JumpShips had not returned the Identification Friend or Foe interrogative. "Anything inbound, fighter-wise? Anything scheduled for today, supply run or something?"

"Negative, sir."

"On my way." Calla hung up the phone. Arla was on her feet as well. "We've got JumpShips. Just arrived. Negative sqawk. Liz says it's big."

Arla gave her husband a short nod. "I'll assemble the SLI." She kissed him. "Go." There was no time for anything else; it was time for Arla and Calla, happily married and loving parents, to be shunted aside, put away. Commander and Lieutenant Commanders Bighorn-Vlata needed to appear now. Calla squeezed her hand and left.

He ran half of the way, arriving out of breath. Getting old, he thought. His heart was pounding and he could feel the adrenaline start to flow, which had nothing to do with running. It was the old feeling of imminent combat. Dowlings waited patiently for Calla to get his breath; the only occupants of the CP were the technicians on duty and the two of them. "Who….who made the initial contact?" Calla puffed.

A corporal of the Persistence Militia stood up from his scope. "I did, sir."

Calla crossed over to him, with Dowlings, and leaned over the young man's shoulder as he sat back down. "Okay, Corporal. What do you have?"

"Picked it up from our long-range point scan on Spring Maiden, sir." The corporal referred to Persistence's furthest moon. There was an unmanned warning station there. "Not sure of the exact type, sir, but I make it to be five Invader-class JumpShips. Some of the scans are a little off—I think we might be getting subspace interference."

"They're jammin' ye?" Dowlings asked.

"No, ma'am. Just some of the scans don't make sense." He shrugged. "Old equipment, ma'am."

"Five Invaders, though. Damn. That's an assault force." Calla straightened up "Officer of the watch!"

A Sentinel lieutenant, wearing the wings of an aerospace pilot and the nametape ST. MAWGAN came to attention. "Sir!"

"Sound alarm. Planetary assault." The invading force was still three days out, but Calla needed his regiment ready to go. An airstrike could burn their way down much quicker—or the JumpShips could be a feint, while the DropShips were already burning their way in from a pirate point, dropped off undetected. "Liz, commander's meeting in ten minutes. No excuses for absence."

"Aye, sir—"

"Sir!" This from a female corporal, two scopes down. Her head was to her headset. "Incoming message, Commander!" She paused, and turned to Calla, her face pale. "It's from the assault force commander, sir!"

"That's a wee bit odd," Dowlings said. "Lettin' us know?"

"Kuritans. Old school Kuritan. Shit." Calla shook his head. "Probably Sword of Light. He'll read out his pedigree and then challenge us to a fight somewhere. Idiot. What the hell are they doing out here?" He laughed ironically. "Well, damn…it never hurts to be polite before we kill each other, I guess." Calla walked to the female corporal. "Audio or visual?"

"Audio, sir. It keeps repeating."

"Go ahead and respond."

"Yes, sir." She flipped a switch. "Sir, this is Persistence Approach Control, Corporal Adel speaking. Do you wish to speak with my commanding officer?" There was a pause. "Yes, sir, visual immediately, sir. I will put you on screen. Be aware there will be up to seven seconds of lag time due to distance." Abruptly, she smiled. "Thank you for understanding, sir. On screen now." She flipped a few more switches. "On screen, Commander."

Calla looked up at the large screen set above the scopes. It was static at first, then chopped and derezzed, before finally straightening out and giving a clear picture. Calla, who was still wearing casual clothes, suddenly felt underdressed.

The man that stared out of the screen was handsome, though his eyes seemed a bit too large for his face; his black hair was combed back in a widow's peak. His uniform was one that Calla did not recognize: a yellow and green tunic, with clawlike stripes on his shoulders and some sort of rank on the collars. Behind him was a steel wall, and what Calla made out as a green bird, holding a sword. The lag caught up, and he smiled at Calla, the easy smile of someone who was intent on beating him, but had decided to be cordial about it. "Good evening," he said. "My name is saKhan Cavell Malthus of Clan Jade Falcon. What forces defend this world?"

AUTHOR'S END NOTES: And here we go.