AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'd hoped to get into some 'Mech action tonight and get the Battle of Jestin Ridge cranked up, but nope. This is something of a 'housekeeping' chapter-I needed to have Calla outline his defense plan, do a little character building for Sheila, and then come up with a way for the Sentinels to describe Clan 'Mechs. (In that, I have to kind of jump canon more than I normally do-according to Lethal Heritage, Victor and Galen Cox name the Thor (Summoner) and Loki (Hellbringer). Since they engage those 'Mechs a week or two after this story, the Sentinels would not have names for their opponents. Since I didn't want to confuse the hell out of my readers as to what Clan OmniMechs I'm referring to, I had to use a little more literary license.

Speaking of literary license, those of you familiar with the Battletech universe are probably wondering just who the hell Cavell Malthus is, since canonically the saKhan of the Jade Falcons in 3050 was Timur Malthus. When I first started writing this story back in 1990, the only Jade Falcon named in the story was Cavell Malthus, who was a Jade Falcon trying to kill Phelan Kell during his adoption into Clan Wolf. I figured Cavell must be one of the head guys in Clan Jade Falcon. Turns out he was just some random Jade Falcon warrior, but as a nod to that earlier continuity, he'll stay saKhan in these stories. It's not like the Snowbird Saga pays that much attention to canon, at least at first-due to the lack of information on the other Clans when I was writing these way back then.

Oh, and we get introduced to our other primary Clan antagonist. For those of you who haven't read this story before, she won't be very familiar, but for those who have read the Snowbird stories in the past, she'll be very familiar.

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

7 March 3050

Calla Bighorn-Vlata stared at the screen, dumbfounded. "I'm sorry? Who are you again?"

The man on the other side of the screen, 230,000 miles away, only smiled, and repeated what he had said. "I am saKhan Cavell Malthus of Clan Jade Falcon, and I ask what forces defend this world."

"That's new," Elizabeth Dowlings said, standing behind Calla. "Never ha' someone just ask who was defendin' the place."

Calla put his hands behind his back and tried to recover some of his dignity. "I apologize…saKhan. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with your unit. Are you associated with the Clan Wolf that struck the Oberon Confederation a few months ago?"

There was a slight downward twitch of Malthus' mouth. "We are not part of Clan Wolf, but we are part of the same…realm? I believe that is the word you would use to describe us."

"I see." Inwardly, Calla was stunned. If these were the same people as Clan Wolf, yet separate, it meant that the Federated Commonwealth faced a lot more than a Periphery band that had lucked into a Star League research facility. "I admit you have me at something of a disadvantage, saKhan. May I ask what you're doing in the Persistence system?"

Malthus' smile returned. "I should think it was obvious, Commander. We are here to take Persistence for our Clan."

"Take and hold it?" Calla asked.

"Aff, Commander." Malthus seemed pleased that he and Calla were now on the same page.

"Well, saKhan, I'm afraid that my duty is to keep you from taking Persistence," Calla replied.

"Naturally, Commander; I would have it no other way, quiaff? If you will inform me of what unit you represent and the strength of such unit, we can move forward." Malthus gave a short nod. "I do intend to take Persistence, Commander, but I would like to do so with a minimum of bloodshed on both sides."

Calla paused, considering whether or not to lie to Malthus. He could say there were three regiments of BattleMechs onplanet, but one look at the saKhan told him that Malthus didn't care one way or another. He's confident. Not overconfident. He just knows he can whip my ass and take Persistence away from me. All right, asshole, let's play your game. "Very well, saKhan Malthus. I am Commander Calla Bighorn-Vlata of the Sentinels Regimental Combat Team. I assume you know what that is?"

Malthus paused. "Aff, I believe so. One regiment of BattleMechs, plus supporting tanks, infantry and AeroSpace fighters. I assume there is planetary militia as well? Inferior rifle nfantry with a handful of combat vehicles?"

Calla kept his face a mask. The Persistence Militia was fairly well equipped for a planetary defense force; Danderson's troops were professionals, not the "weekend warriors" on interior planets, disdained by those on the frontiers and 'Mech regiments. "That's about right, saKhan."

Malthus nodded again. "Very well, Commander. We will hold a bid among our Clusters for the honor of taking Persistence. As you are unfamiliar with our nomenclature, a Cluster is roughly equal to one of your regiments. As the challenged, you will have choice of battlefield." Malthus looked aside from the screen. "I will get back into contact with you in thirty minutes with what we will assault Persistence with. Will that be enough time to choose a suitable place?"

"No need for that, saKhan," Calla told him. "I already know a place." He pointed downwards. "Right here. That's what you're here on Persistence for, right? It's the only thing worth taking." There was the munitions plant, but Calla had a feeling he was right. "We'll defend the Jestin Ridge Repair Facility. I don't know what you're 'bidding' for, but throw at me what you want, and see if you can get over these walls."

Malthus stared at him for a moment, then laughed. It was not a derisive laugh, as Calla expected, but a respectful one, from one warrior to another. "Bargained well and done, Commander! I will let you know what unit you will be facing within the hour."

"That should be fine, saKhan." Calla's voice was even, as if he and Malthus were discussing the time for a formal dinner.

Malthus gave a slight bow. "Thank you for acting with honor, Commander." The screen derezzed and went back to static.

The control room was silent, as the enlisted people looked back towards Calla in a mix of shock and fear. He turned to Dowlings, who had an odd smile on her face. "This isn't happenin'," she said.

"Yeah, no kidding. Polite son of a bitch, wasn't he?" Calla went back to the people on duty. "All right. This is for real, ladies and gentlemen. Stay on your scopes and remember your training. Make sure this Malthus peckerhead isn't trying to sneak something in from a pirate point while we're playing clutchbutt over the radio." Calla intended his language to break the tension, and it did. "Liz, let's go tell everyone else what we're doing." He sniffed a laugh. "Assuming that we do know what we're doing."

The room was crowded with all three lieutenant commanders—Mira, Caitlin Houndlikov, and Thomas Senla—and twelve majors, the Sentinels' 'Mech company commanders. Also present was Richard Cannon and his three company commanders from the Sentinels Tank Battalion; Arla, as commander of the Sentinels Light Infantry; and Dowlings, with her three squadron commanders. It was an impressive array, Calla thought, and one with plenty of experience: most of his company commanders had served during the Fourth Succession War, and those who hadn't had seen action in the War of 3039. There was a downside to that, though—few were under 40, and not a few were at or over 50. There were three dozen lance commanders who would eventually make their way up through the ranks and bring much needed youth to the regiment, but those lance commanders also were not as experienced—only a few had seen combat in the occasional raid from Marik or Kurita, and there were those like Sheila, who had never seen combat at all.

Of course, Calla thought, it could be a moot point, if they were overrun. Even if they won, there might be several positions open after the battle—though not voluntarily.

Calla cleared his throat, and the murmuring died down. There wasn't enough room for everyone to sit, so some of the officers remained standing. "Okay, folks," Calla began, "we've been hearing rumors and dealing with talk about what's been happening in the Periphery for months—well, now we get to find out how true those rumors are. These aren't the Wolves that Redjack Ryan's bunch talked about, but another group calling themselves the Jade Falcons—but they're from the same group. What that means is anyone's guess, but they want Persistence."

Calla switched on the holoprojector, which threw up a two-dimensional map of the Jestin Ridge Repair Facility. "They're a polite bunch, these Jade Falcons. They actually asked what we're defending with. They're going to bid for who gets to take us out." There was some mutterings about that, and a few laughs. "Weird, I know, but we can assume they'll at least send down what they call a Cluster—a regiment."

"Sounds like a Cluster, all right." This was from Fiorr Keflavik, a heavily bearded former member of the Rasalhague Tyr Regiment. "A clusterfuck." That brought more laughter.

Calla let it go for a moment. "Jokes aside, Fiorr, we have to remember that these people tore through Redjack Ryan's bunch in a matter of hours. I know you're thinking that Redjack's idiots were just pirates, but they were damn good pirates. Let's not underestimate these Jade Falcons just because they're odd fuckers." He pointed to the map. "We have to assume they're just as mobile and quick as the Wolves were, which means I think it would be suicide to try and fight them in the open. So we're going to fight them here." Unit symbols appeared within the walls of the facility. "There's three major weak points in the walls—the main gate, the North Wall, and the Palisade. I figure the Falcons will try and split the defenses and hit us from both north and south at the same time.

"The Palisade is our biggest weak point. Marion, I want your Ceta/4 on the wall there. With those two monsters you've got now, you can hit them at range."

Marion Rhialla looked a bit concerned. "Okay, but you do remember that most of my company are lights, Calla. Not a lot of long range weapons, and behind the wall, you're robbing them of mobility. They're not going to survive a pitched battle."

"I know, which is why Alpha/4 is backing you up. That's you, Yosh." Kazikawa nodded. "If they break through the Palisade, Marion, use your lights to plug the gaps."

Calla's hands moved around the map. "Beta will hold the north wall. Alpha has the south. The three remaining companies of Ceta will hold the west wall and act as a mobile reserve. Dick, your tanks will hold the east wall and also act as a reserve. I don't think they'll make a run at the west or east walls—there's no weak points, and the east wall is higher than the rest. There's some blind spots there, but the only thing that can get over those walls is lights and mediums with jumpjets—and we can take care of anything that gets past there." His fingers traced the north and south walls. "Alpha and Beta will get on the firing steps. If we lose the wall, either one, fall back to the main courtyard and pick them off as they come over. If they concentrate against one wall, I'll move us around as needed."

Arla raised her hand. "Where do you want us?"

"We put you on the wall, and you're going to get killed. For now, we'll put you in the barracks in the east wall. Anything breaks through there, use your SRM people to engage."

"Infernos?" she asked.

"Yeah, but don't use them inside. We don't need a fire along with everything else." There were some wan chuckles at that; Inferno rounds were the infantryman's revenge for BattleMechs existing.

"Standard operatin' procedure fer us?" Dowlings asked.

"Yep. Keep their fighters off of us. Lined up like we'll be, it'll be a strafer's dream." Calla put his hands behind his back. "One last thing. If it goes south, and we lose the walls, we have one last card." He held up something that looked like a clicker for the holoprojector. "I'm going to issue one of these to Mira, Cait, and Tom, and I'll have one myself. We've got twenty tons of command-detonated mines out there, courtesy of Danderson Munitions. If things look bad, we'll detonate them. Whatever's standing outside the walls is going to have a really bad day. That should provide us enough time to retake the walls. Hopefully, by that time, this Cavell Malthus character will have had enough and leave Persistence. He doesn't strike me as being the type that fights to the death, but we'll see. Any questions?"

There was just one, from Caitlin Houndlikov. "I take it we can assume that these Clan people have the same advanced 'Mechs that the Kell Hounds ran into."

"That's a safe bet," Calla said. "Another reason to make them come to us."

"We could get trapped in here," Gnea Carabinera said somberly. She was the youngest of the company commanders, at 35; her Beta/3 company specialized in urban combat. Calla was a bit surprised; a fight inside the facility should have been her meat and drink.

"I don't think so," Calla disagreed. "It's a clear field of fire for two klicks out there. They might outrange us, maybe, but we'll have the walls. There are some coulees and dead fire zones out there, but not many, and they'll break up a steady advance. I think if we make it hot enough for them, the Green Chickens or whatever will give it up." There was some laughter at that, which Calla had intended. "Besides, it's not like this is a big repair facility like Morningside or a Star League Castle Brian or something. There's nothing on Persistence worth sacrificing a whole regiment." Calla paused, knowing how that could be taken.

Mimi Stykkis opened the door to the dorm and was greeted with the sound of vomiting. "Uh oh," she whispered and closed the door. "Sheila?" She raised her voice. "Sheila, you okay?"

"Y-Yeah." Mimi heard the toilet flush and Sheila Arla-Vlata staggered back into the room, looking pale. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. What's up? Morning sickness?" Mimi tossed her duffel bag onto her bed.

"Oh, shit," Sheila groaned, and sat on her bed. "Don't even joke about that."

"Well, with all the dates you've been going on with Max, it was bound to happen!" Mimi made a lewd penetrating gesture with her fingers. "Babies come along someday, you know."

Sheila collapsed back onto the bed. "Mimi, nothing's happened. The most we've done is kiss."

Mimi frowned. "That's disappointing." She flopped onto her bed. "Though I haven't gotten with anyone since we got here." She rolled over to face her roommate. "Got my eye on Mike Surbrook over in Beta/2, though. He looks like he could overheat my reactor." Mimi giggled. It was a little too high, and a bit too forced. "What's eating you?"

Sheila sat up. She looked down at her hands, which were shaking. "Oh, just a mild case of Scared Shitless Syndrome." She shivered. "Can't keep anything down since Kazikawa gave the brief."

"Oh yeah? Where are they sticking you? I'm going to be in reserve with Ceta/1. We're the fire brigade, right in the center."

"The Palisade. We're backstopping Ceta/4."

Mimi looked at her with concern. "Oh, shit." It had made the rounds through the regimental rumor mill that the Palisade was where everyone expected the breakthrough to take place. "Well, at least you've got Rhialla's honking big ass assaults in front of you."

"Oh yeah, all two of them!" Sheila exclaimed. "The rest are lights. They'll fold up like a card table when the bad guys come over the wall. God in heaven." Sheila could picture it; her imagination created a scene of dozens of the Marauder/Catapult hybrids, all painted bright green, leaping over the wall, overrunning Ceta/4, and coming straight at her. Her stomach gave a dangerous flip. "God in heaven," she repeated. "I'm scared, Mimi. I don't mind telling you that."

Mimi, deep down, was scared as well. Combat was always an abstract of sorts: they'd grown up in the regiment, but the fighting had always been away from the families. War was a distant thing that took people away. Mimi's mother was still alive, but she barely remembered her father, killed on Zebelgenubi when Mimi was four. Tina Stykkis had retired four years ago, her wounds to the point that she could no longer pilot a 'Mech; her Crusader was now Mimi's. Both Sheila and Mimi knew people with horrific wounds—burned faces, missing limbs, missing eyes—and people whose wounds were not physical. At the Nagelring, they'd watched hours of battleroms of actual combat, and were shown pictures of gruesome remains of MechWarriors: all were shown as warnings. Still, it all seemed so far away, like it could never really happen, or if it did, it would be like the holovids—death would happen, but it would always happen to someone else, and those deaths would be someone they didn't know very well. But now, it occurred to both women that they could both be very dead within the week.

Still, Mimi refused to be too afraid. She didn't really think she was going to die. That couldn't happen to her. She got off the bed and looked at herself in the full-length mirror set on the other side of the door. Nah, she thought. I'm too cute to die. She might get her 'Mech shot out from under her, but Mimi, smiling at her reflection, dismissed the idea of death or even serious injury. That happened to losers, not to Mimi Stykkis.

Sheila was another story. Mimi didn't think Sheila would die either, but it was clear from the pale shade of green on her friend's face that Sheila didn't share that confidence. Mimi crossed over to Sheila's bed. "You want to get fucked up?"

Sheila stared at her. "My stomach feels like a bomb went off, I'm scared out of my mind that I'm either going to get killed, or screw up so bad someone else gets killed, and you want to get drunk?"

Mimi shrugged. "These bad dudes aren't going to be here for three days, at least. Not like we won't have time to recover from a hangover."

Sheila closed her eyes. "No, Mimi, I'm not getting drunk."

"Well, then call Max up. Go get laid. You'll feel better, and so will he."

Her eyes opened. "Mimi, is that your solution to everything? Get drunk or get fucked?"

Mimi shrugged again. "Got me through the Nagelring."

"No. It's not like that with Max."

Mimi almost said Sheila was being a damn fool not to let it be like that with Max, but held back. She didn't need Sheila scared, depressed and angry. She pushed Sheila over a bit, and climbed into bed with her. Sheila's eyes widened, and Mimi laughed. "Relax, straight girl. Not what I had in mind. But I figured you could use some creature comfort, if nothing else." I know I do, Mimi added to herself. She wasn't going to die, she knew that…or did she?

They lay there together for a few minutes, both staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. "You're right. I do feel a bit better," Sheila finally remarked.

"Cool." Mimi reached over and grabbed the remote for the holoscreen. "Want to watch some Mystery Science Theater 3050?"

"Why not."

Clan Jade Falcon DropShip Minerva

Inbound Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

8 March 3050

"One Cluster," Star Colonel Seabook Buhallin mused. "We could have done this with two Trinaries, quiaff? I am surprised Gran Newclay folded so quickly. All I did was bid away half of our Elementals and half of our Aerospace assets." He put his hands behind his head and looked at the other person in his bed. "Senefa, are you asleep?"

"Not yet, Star Colonel." Senefa lay face down in a pillow. "I am trying, quiaff?" She turned her head, but didn't open her eyes. "Coupling at 1.5 Gs is rather exhausting."

Buhallin laughed. "You were on top, Senefa, therefore you were doing most of the work. I did offer to take over halfway, but you said nothing...you merely kept going." He chuckled to himself. Star Captain Senefa was not known to be talkative at any time—not in battle, not in meetings, not even in bed. She was not shy, merely laconic.

Senefa was still quiet, so Buhallin decided to let her sleep. He watched her. Long, black hair framed a beautiful if unsmiling face. Hidden beneath the covers was an athletic body, magnificent; the Clans did not put much premium on looks or attractiveness, as it was secondary to martial prowess, but Senefa tended to turn heads all the same. Then again, Buhallin considered, she did have excellent genes—the product of combining genetic material from no less than saKhan Cavell Malthus himself, and Angeline Mattlov, the commander of Peregrine Galaxy. A trueborn Jade Falcon MechWarrior, Senefa already showed superb tactical ability—and even by Clan standards, rather impressive skill, not just as a MechWarrior, but also in a Circle of Equals. Only eighteen, Senefa had already defeated eight people—twice in a 'Mech, six times in melee combat. She had never been defeated in one…though, Buhallin thought, she had lost a Bloodname contest. "You should have won," he said quietly. It seemed unfair that she was the only Star Captain in the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers that did not have a Bloodname.

"Won what?" Senefa murmured. Her eyes opened; they were the same shade as her Clan's falcon.

Buhallin reached over and smoothed back her hair. "Your Bloodname."

Senefa, who decided she wasn't getting much sleep with her commanding officer watching her, pushed back the covers and walked naked to the large window in the DropShip's forward hull. The view into space was halfway taken up by the beige crescent of Persistence. "Nicolai Malthus won it fairly."

Buhallin snorted. "His Enhanced Imaging Neural Implants gave him an unfair advantage, quiaff?"

Senefa rested her hands on her hips. "Neg. I underestimated him. I thought his arrogance would be his undoing."

"He was lucky."

Senefa smiled over her shoulder. It changed her appearance from the hard, icy MechWarrior to a flesh and blood woman. "I believe you are biased, Star Colonel, because I currently share your bed."

Buhallin shrugged and smiled back. "I am under no illusions, Senefa, that I will share a bed with you for long." Senefa tended not to form long-term relationships, which the Clans discouraged in any case. Buhallin, inwardly, regretted it; he was becoming rather fond of her. That was dangerous, he knew: he was going to have to send this beautiful woman into combat where she would eventually die. That was the way of the Clans—personal relationships were not. He got up and padded up behind her. "In any case, there will be Bloodname slots available soon."

"Against these Spheroids?" Senefa raised an eyebrow. "Given what they showed us in the Periphery?"

"They can get lucky as well, Senefa. And those were pirates, quiaff?" He motioned at Persistence. "Perhaps these Sentinels will give us more of a challenge."

Senefa inclined her head, acknowledging the point. "Perhaps Nicolai will get himself killed on Somerset."

"We should all be so lucky." He put his arms around her, and she rested her hands on his broad ones, over her flat stomach.

"A shame we cannot see Jestin Ridge from here," Senefa said into the silence, broken by the rumble of the DropShip's engines. "I would like to know the ground."

"From the old Star League files, it appears to be a large fortress," Buhallin told her. "I suspect these Sentinels will make their stand inside the walls."

"Fixed fortifications are monuments to the stupidity of man," Senefa quoted.

"Nicholas Kerensky?"

"George S. Patton, Jr."

"Ah. I had forgotten your love of books."

"I believe there should be more to a Jade Falcon than simply quoting the Remembrance."

Buhallin kissed her neck. "Such a rebel." He pressed himself against her buttocks, and Senefa's eyes half-closed, her heart rate increasing in anticipation over what was now inevitable. "Shall I challenge you to a Trial of Possession, Senefa?"

"Over what, ovkhan?" Senefa felt his hands move lower, over her groin.

"The bed, Star Captain."

"And what shall you bid?" His fingers found the right spots, inside and out, and Senefa began to involuntarily squirm.

He pressed himself more firmly against her. "This."

Senefa stifled a moan. "Bargained well and done, Star Colonel."

Jestin Ridge Repair Facility

Persistence, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

9 March 3050

Sheila tried to relax. It wasn't easy, because the AFFC official issue steel chair seemed bent on turning her rear end into a square. "Dammit!"

Max Canis-Vlata looked up from his book. "Problems?"

"Yes! This frigging chair!" Sheila shoved it backwards and sat on the carpeted floor. "That's better." Max went back to his book; he was sitting in the room's only easy chair. It was missing some springs and was probably older than he was, but he was comfortable. Sheila spared him a dirty look, then leaned back against the console. "So who did you piss off to get this duty?"

Max didn't look up. "I didn't. I volunteered."

Sheila's eyebrows went up. "You volunteered for comm duty?"

"Yeah." He held up the book. "I get in a lot of reading this way. Makes Dad and everyone else happy that they don't have to pull the duty. Why? Did you piss off Kazikawa?"

Sheila thunked her head against the console. "Yes. Yesterday I suggested we be stationed about 210 meters back from Ceta/4, instead of right up on them. That gives Marion some room to maneuver her small 'Mechs. He told me to shut up, then told me I was on comm duty today. Then he moves us back twice that distance anyway." Sheila had noticed Kazikawa was more surly than usual. He had largely dropped the derisive "lance commander" way of addressing her, in favor of using her first name, the way he did the other MechWarriors, but in the two briefings Alpha/4 had done since the arrival of the Jade Falcons, he was back to snarling her rank at her. "Gad, he's such an asshole. Want to trade? I'd rather have your dad as a company commander."

Max laughed. "Nope." He set aside the book and looked outside. It was starting to get dark. "Hell, maybe he's scared."

"Kazikawa? That guy's not scared of anything." Sheila felt her hands starting to shake again. "Are you scared?"

Max held up the book. "No, I've just been rereading the same page for the past hour because it's just that interesting." He grinned. "My body can't make up its mind if it wants me to pee twenty times a day, or not at all. I hope I don't wet the ejection seat."

Sheila snickered. "Well, you won't be alone, that's for sure. I already apologized to Maysa in advance." She leaned forward and picked up the book. "You know, if I was reading Misha Auburn, I'd probably be rereading the same page over and over again too. That woman needs an editor." She ran her fingers over the lurid cover of Freedom's Bloody Price. "Dad says she's a hack."

"She's not so bad."

"Did you have to read The Triumph of Right at NAMA?" Sheila rolled her eyes. "Talk about a cure for insomnia. I was so happy that she wasn't guest lecturing at the 'Ring when I was there." She handed the book back. "I had a real good history teacher. Weird name. Professor Ooble—"

Both of them jumped when the fax machine whirred to life. They got to their feet and watched as the machine shook, then began to spit out sheets of paper, covered in black and white photographs, statistics, and words. Fax technology was something the Federated Commonwealth had a monopoly on—though Sheila had read that it was rumored the Draconis Combine had it as well. Though slow and limited in range, it allowed the AFFC to bypass ComStar to a certain extent. Good thing, too, Sheila thought angrily, since that asshole Precentor shut down offworld communications yesterday. Her father had been livid, calling Precentor Morris various horrible names, oaths and slurs; Morris had been apparently rather smug about the whole thing, claiming that ComStar could not interfere or show bias to either side.

Max picked up the first printed sheet. "Holy shit," he breathed. "It's from Lexi Rowley on Bensinger."

"Who?"

"Sorry—Lieutenant Colonel Lexi Rowley. She's got a battalion of the 12th Star Guards' 7th Regiment. Mom was talking about her the other day at dinner—I guess they know each other from '39 or something." He peered at a handwritten scrawl across the top page. "Yeah—'To Mira, get this to your bunch.'"

Sheila was looking at the other sheets. "Max! Look at this!" She spread the sheets out on the table. "These—these are 'Mechs! They're not our 'Mechs, though…"

Max pulled one out of the stack. "You're right. These are those Clan 'Mechs. Remember this one? The Marauder/Catapult hybrid?" He looked at the sheet. "Mad Cat. Well, someone's not being very inventive."

"Check these out." Sheila looked over them. "Vulture, Fenris, Dragonfly, Thor, Loki…new designs. We didn't see these in Phelan's battlerom from Sisyphus." She checked the top and bottom of the sheets. "No 'Most Secret' or any encryption. Rowley sent these in the clear." She realized what that meant. "Oh my God, Max. They're hitting Bensinger, too."

"This saKhan guy did say he was part of a bigger 'realm.' They might be hitting up and down the frontier." Max gathered the papers into order as the fax abruptly stopped. The last sheet's readout, for something called a Gladiator, ended halfway through. There was another handwritten note: Have to destroy the machine. Will try to get offplanet. Best of luck to the Sentinels.

"They're destroying their fax?" Sheila felt her stomach start to do backflips again. "They're destroying it to keep the Clans from capturing it…"

"Shit," Max said in a quiet voice. "That means they're being overrun." He grabbed the landline phone and picked it up. "Comm shack, Lance Commander Canis-Vlata. I need the commander on the line right now. Priority."

Sheila stared out the window into the deepening sky. She thought she could see the streak of DropShips entering atmosphere, but it was probably just her imagination. "Who are these guys?" she asked no one in particular.