AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter Three. This gives me a chance to spotlight a few secondary characters that haven't really had much of a chance yet. Techs never get the credit they deserve in the Battletech universe (just like crew chiefs and mechanics get many headlines in today's world), so here I'm giving them a chance to shine. A few shout-outs here to Green Knight and Kat Wylder, plus 08th MS Team (my favorite Gundam series), Case Closed, and Back to the Future. I like pop culture refs; what can I say? This chapter also introduces an interesting moral quandary, which I won't get into.

I hope you'll forgive the tech-talk and technobabble. Grease monkeys are grease monkeys, and I'm guessing that techs love to talk shop just like anyone else.

REVIEWER'S CORNER: Rouge: I'm glad you like the cybernetic bit, and are at least getting used to Senefa being on the side of the angels. (Of sorts.) As for Sheila's arm, I'm not sure if I was inspired more by Justin Allard, Mr. Rycheck from the godawful movie version of Starship Troopers, or even Luke Skywalker. Anyway, I agree with Green Knight that it makes Sheila more human and hopefully, three-dimensional. (Those of you who have visited my DeviantArt page would already know this by now, as I've always drawn Sheila with her cybernetic arm. plug plug pluggity plug)

Sentinel Base Sudeten

Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

23 July 3051

Master Tech Nicia Caii leaned back in her chair, rubbed her eyes, and yawned, then stretched. She heard her back and arms pop alarmingly. "I'm getting too old for this," she sighed, then yawned again. Actually, she was not yet forty, and knew it was Sudeten that was making her tired. The gravity here was slightly higher than Terra-standard, which meant it was a full three-Gs higher than her native Quantraine. That, and the fact that she had already been up for over twenty-four hours. Normally, she got used to a new world's gravity fairly quickly; she only really noticed when she was at the verge of exhaustion.

She supposed she should be used to that: after all, it was always after a major campaign that techs worked the hardest, repairing 'Mechs and getting new ones ready for service. It didn't help that the Sentinels had nearly forty different kinds of 'Mechs, and subtypes among those, and custom jobs as well, modified and tweaked to their MechWarriors' specifications. She had been nagging Calla Bighorn-Vlata for years to at least adopt some form of standardization, but only the richest mercenary units could afford to pick and choose what kind of 'Mechs they would get. Units like the Sentinels had to take what they could get or what the House would provide.

Nicia rubbed her long-fingered hands over her bald pate in an effort to get circulation going, then closed her eyes for a moment. Just a quick ten minute nap, she told herself. You'll be good to go then. She knew she was lying to herself, that a ten-minute nap could turn into a ten hour collapse, but was too tired to care. She tried to relax, putting her feet up on her desk and folding her hands across her narrow stomach, but to her surprise sleep eluded her. Nicia tried an old method that never failed her: she imagined all of her problems as drawers in a desk, and opened each. Repair work on Bien's Victor—that new myomer bundle in the left arm. Did I do that…no, Eledore got it; that's right. Okay, that's finished, then. She mentally closed that drawer. What about the gyro on Acosta's Shadow Hawk? Hmm…no, it's a glitch, not battle damage. We can get to that later. She filed that away as well. After a few minutes of musing, Nicia felt sleep approaching as she ticked off the various repairs and gripes she had to deal with as the regimental Master Tech. Finally, only one thing remained. She frowned. Oh yes…our traitor.

Every spare moment she had—which had been damned few since the beginning of the Vantaa campaign and the subsequent retreat from that world—Nicia had gone over all her personnel files, alone, not trusting even her senior techs with her suspicions. Luckily, she knew that the traitor, if there was one, had to be among the Snowbirds' techs, which thankfully meant she wouldn't have to check all of them, just about a hundred or so. She had found nothing that jumped out and told her one of her techs was playing for another team, which meant none of them were guilty—or all of them were.

Nicia mulled her problem for the thousandth time. They had recovered the wreck of Sheila Arla-Vlata's Shruiken from the Massanutten Valley; the only good thing about fighting the Clans was, if the Sentinels retained possession of a battlefield or regained it later, the Clans never dragged off killed 'Mechs for salvage. The Shruiken had been shot up beyond economical repair, and her techs had already begun stripping it for parts before Nicia could intervene. That wasn't suspicious, because techs were trained to assess the condition of 'Mechs quickly and start salvage work as soon as possible to shorten repair times. They also worked according to the triage system, putting lightly damaged 'Mechs back into service faster than badly damaged ones, and not even bothering with catastrophically damaged machines except for parts until the campaign was over.

Even so, her close inspection of the Shruiken had turned up nothing. The onboard computer had been damaged, which was also not surprising, and it had similarly revealed nothing. The only evidence Nicia had was Sheila's radio message that her jumpjets had failed, and that was what had aroused—and still aroused—her suspicion.

It was not unusual for jumpjets to go down from battle damage. Jumpjets used plasma vented directly from the engine and pushed through special nozzles to propel the 'Mech into the air. Hitting the nozzles with weapons fire was rare, but it did happen, and in theory it was possible to hit all the nozzles, though the chances of that happening approached the astronomical. The Shruiken had four such jets, in the rear of the legs; knocking out all four generally meant blowing both legs off, which hadn't come close to happening. For all four to go out meant a computer problem along with a failure in rugged, quadruple-redundant microprocessors designed specifically to resist battle damage. In her nearly thirty years of being a tech, learning at her father's and grandfather's side when she was still not yet a teenager, Nicia had never heard of such an occurrence. Weapons failures, yes—weapons were delicate things that could easily be knocked out. Heat sinks could rupture just from overheating. Gyros were notoriously easy to damage. Even engines could run "rough" for one reason or another. But jumpjets had few moving parts, and catastrophic failure of all four with no corresponding battle damage was basically impossible. It was possible that Nicia was seeing something like it for the first time, but she had a gut feeling that it had been sabotage. Nicia had long ago learned to trust her gut.

But then who was it? she asked herself. She was no Sherlock Holmes or Jimmy Kudo, but Nicia knew whoever it was had to have a motive. Sabotage was uncommon but not unusual, and certainly Nicia had always been on guard against Kurita, or Marik, or Liao agents trying to break in and wreck her 'Mechs—though that had never happened during her tenure with the Sentinels, simply because the unit never had been in a position of that much importance to their enemies. From what she knew about the Clans, they simply didn't practice that sort of thing and indeed seemed to abhor it. That eliminated the main reason—render enemy 'Mechs combat ineffective. Since Nicia suspected only the Shruiken had been sabotaged, that meant it had to be a personal reason—but none of her techs had anything against Sheila Arla-Vlata, and indeed many of them loved her like a surrogate daughter. The "next generation" that was fighting the Clans had grown up in the Sentinels; Sheila, Max Canis-Vlata, Mimi Stykkis, Maysa Bari, and many other Sentinel children were well known to the older techs. In fact, the only person that Nicia knew had anything against Sheila was Mary Scott, but she had volunteered to go on the rescue mission. Mary, moreover, was no tech and would have no idea how to do the sort of sabotage required. No, Nicia thought, it had to be a tech, not a MechWarrior, which left her back at square one.

Her nose wrinkled as she smelled something very pleasant. She opened her eyes and sat forward as Maysa Bari, her hands black with lubricants and dirt, came in bearing a coffee cup. She set it down in front of Nicia. "Thought you could use this, ma'am."

"Oh God, yes." Nicia sipped at it, relished the bitter taste and the wonderful warm glow it left in her throat and nostrils. "That's good stuff…German blend. Sudeten has crappy weather, but it has great coffee." She took another glorious sip. "Maysa, you're a lifesaver."

"You really should get some sleep, ma'am," Maysa continued. "It's late. All the other techs have already headed off to bed."

Nicia looked up sharply and was about to ask who had given that order, then remembered it had been her. Tired techs made mistakes; mistakes got people killed. She supposed she should take her own advice, but now she was awake, thanks to the coffee. "Ahh, I'll be all right. Just one or two more small things." Which would quickly grow to five or six more things, they both knew. "What are you still doing here? And cut out the ma'am…I helped change your diapers."

Maysa blushed red, though it was hard to tell under her stained cheeks. "Eledore was having trouble with a flux capacitor in the PPC on Maria Thyatis' Wolverine. I'm not doing anything anyway—my Rifleman's all ready to go—so I figured I'd hang around and give him a hand. We just closed up."

"Bless you, Maysa." Nicia was always thankful for MechWarriors like Bari, or quite a few others in the Sentinels. She had known House MechWarriors who wouldn't think of getting their hands dirty with maintenance, but mercenaries were different, and the Sentinels especially so. Since many of them owned their 'Mechs, it was their livelihood at stake. A few even had to be persuaded to even let techs get close to their machines, preferring to live or die according to their own repair skills. Since Maysa had been literally raised in the 'Mech bays, Nicia only detailed apprentice or assistant techs to help the MechWarrior repair her Rifleman; Maysa simply didn't need the help. "Were you two actually using a Lord's Light capacitor?"

"Yeah. Luckily we had one. It sure is easier getting Kurita parts these days."

"I know what you mean. I hate that 7K mod on that Wolvie. Back in the old days, I'd have to wait until one of you 'Mechjocks nailed a Panther or we could steal one to fix a Lord's Light. If it was me, I'd rip that damn thing out and replace it with a Magna Hellstar, but marrying up those connections is a pain. How's those Defiance B3Ls working out for you, by the way? Better than the Magna Mark Threes?"

"Definitely. The Magnas have better lenses, but the Defiances can take a hit. I took a laser hit on Vantaa that would've knocked out a Magna—the B3Ls didn't even hiccup. Well, ma'am, I'd better be hitting the sack too. See you in the morning." Maysa took a step towards the door. She could tell that Nicia was warming up for a technical debate, and those could go on for hours.

"Sure. Thanks for the coffee." Nicia winked, letting Maysa know she hadn't taken offense, then went back to one of her "small things," a myomer rewire of an 85-ton Stalker.

Maysa left Nicia's office and headed back out onto the 'Mech bay floor. It was cavernous and held three dozen of the huge machines, from a Locust that she could reach up and touch the ventral turret beneath its cockpit, to an Atlas she would be lucky to reach its knee. She stopped in front of her Rifleman and grinned up at it, having to actually resist a temptation to hug its leg. The Rifleman design was by no means aesthetically pleasing, like the sleek Wolfhound, nor was it particularly frightening, like the claw-handed Marauder. It was purely functional, with few rounded edges, from its winglike radar antenna atop the slab-sided cockpit, to its twin-toed massive feet. The arms ended in quad laser cannons, two on each side; a normal RFL-3N carried two large lasers and two Autocannon/5s, but Maysa had stripped out the troublesome autocannons and their vulnerable ammunition bays for an all-laser armament. She had also managed to get the new double heat sinks installed, so she didn't have to worry too much about heat, always a problem with the Rifleman, and used the weight saved in losing the weighty autocannons to improve the armor, especially to the rear; another problem the Rifleman was notorious for was weak rear armor. It was still slow and ponderous, especially compared to Clan 'Mechs, but Maysa wanted no other machine. It glowed with new paint, the slight damage she had taken on Vantaa long since repaired, and its Snowbird crest was stark against the green and brown camouflage. So were the red rings she had painted around the barrels, four on each: some of the techs had kidded her about being vain enough to reproduce each kill on all four barrels. Maysa had modestly not informed them that she really did have sixteen kills, the same as her age.

She heard a noise to her right, and turned to see a tech coming in through the side door. It was a young man, though she guessed he was probably five or six years her senior. The tech was good looking, and Maysa had enough hormones raging in her for her thoughts to leap into the gutter, but she quickly shook those off. One, it wasn't right for a good Catholic girl like her to be thinking about premarital sex, and for another, the tech could get arrested for statutory rape, on Grunwald anyway, where the legal age was eighteen. I wish I was older, she sighed to herself. "Hi," she said, more brightly than she felt.

"Oh, hi," the tech replied. "Hey, aren't you Maysa Bari?" He put out his right hand.

"Um, yeah." She shook hands, feeling herself blushing again. She could see muscles rippling beneath the one-piece tech coverall and wondered why her mouth was suddenly rather dry. "What's your name?" She felt even more embarrassed that she didn't know, but there were over two thousand techs in the Sentinels.

"John Watanabe. Sorry—we haven't met before. I'm a bit of a new guy; I joined up right after Planting."

"Oh, okay." The Sentinels, like most mercenary units, were always chronically short of techs, and Nicia Caii's high standards didn't help in solving that problem. Calla had finally convinced his Master Tech to lower her standards a little. "Um…do you like it here so far?"

"Heck yeah. I was stuck in apprentice hell at RAMTech on New Kyoto, so I decided to strike out on my own. Man, that was kind of a mistake; I was working fast food before I landed this job. Nicia could make me clean toilets and I'd do it." He looked admiringly up at her Rifleman. "To be able to work on these monsters is a dream come true. This is your 'Mech, right?"

"Oh, um, yes."

"Looks good—holy crap, is that sixteen kills you got there?" Maysa nodded. "Wow! And you're how old?"

"Eighteen," she quickly lied.

"Damn." He shook his head in wonder. "You let me know if you ever need any help with this, Miss Bari. I know you do your own work—least that's what the other guys tell me—but I can hold a wrench if nothing else."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary, Tech Watanabe."

"No, I mean it! I'd love to work on you—er, I mean, with you." He scratched the back of his head, staring at his feet. "Uh, sorry."

Maysa found herself looking for other things to look at as well, because the first thought that had sprung to her mind was that she'd like being worked on. "N-no, t-that's okay. So, um…what brings you out here so late? Miss Caii ordered that everybody knock off work at eleven tonight. There's weapon tests tomorrow." Maysa was glad she had remembered that; it gave her something else to think about besides wondering what Watanabe had on beneath the coverall, if anything. Some techs were known to go commando because it got awfully hot working on 'Mechs. Stop it! she yelled at herself.

"Yeah, I know. Senior Tech Massis wants me to calibrate Major Rhialla's Gauss Rifles. I guess she's been having some trouble sighting them after Vantaa."

"She didn't tell me that."

"Well, it's a minor thing—but you know the Major!"

Maysa blew out her breath. Her adopted mother's temper was legendary. "Boy, do I ever. Uh…do you want some help?"

"Nah. I'll be finished up in half an hour, tops." He was looking at the floor again. "Though, uh, if you're not heading off to bed, I could go for some coffee afterwards. Meet you back here in thirty?"

"You bet!" Maysa said happily, then clamped down on her emotions. I'm acting like a lovesick schoolgirl! she thought, knowing her face now had to be as red as her hair. Wait a sec, I am a lovesick schoolgirl! Ah, the heck with it! It's got to happen someday, falling in love; why not tonight? There's a war on, you know… Certainly love, or a reasonable fascimile thereof, was breaking out among the Snowbirds; besides Sheila and Max's whirlwind romance, Maria Thyatis and Charles Badaxe were a firm item, Tessya Blackthorn and Philip Scott had been going out, and regimental gossip—the fastest known form of communication known to man—had it that Elfa Brownoak was pregnant, which wasn't surprising since she and Tooriu Kku were known to be thumping the bed at every opportunity. "See you in thirty, then."

"You got it." Watanabe grinned at her, then waved at her over his shoulder as he walked towards Marion Rhialla's vulture-like Perennium. Maysa waved back, then ran out of the 'Mech bay. The barracks were a few blocks away, and she had to shower and change into something more fashionable, if she had anything like that. Plus jump on the internet to make sure about Sudeten's legal age.

Unbeknownst to either John Watanabe or Maysa Bari, Nicia Caii had heard the entire conversation. She had been about to walk out of her office to get another cup of coffee, but had stopped and quickly ducked behind the leg of a Crusader. She fought down laughter and settled for a wide smile as she heard the two young people stumble over their words, both knowing what they wanted to say but unable to get it out right. Ah, young love, she thought, remembering her own youth, the fumbling attempts at romance, and finally meeting the right man who didn't mind a girl who liked to discuss the finer points of the Defiance B3M medium laser over dinner and was more comfortable with a spanner in her hands than flowers. Nicia suppressed a sigh at that; Mister Right had only hung around for ten years before he decided the mercenary life wasn't for him. It had been an amiable divorce, mainly because Nicia agreed with his assessment that she loved her 'Mechs more than him. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted, she thought, then went back to finding that cup of coffee. She poured more of the wonderful liquid, then got another cup and poured a second for Tech Watanabe.

She knew the name; unlike Maysa, Nicia actually did know all 2154 techs in the regiment. She had been reluctant to hire Watanabe, but he had since impressed her, being ready and willing to do even the most mundane of tasks. Had she known such a skilled man had been reduced to working at McDonald's, she would've been less circumspect. Because RAMTech was on the cutting edge of weapons development, she had assigned Watanabe to the team handling integration of the trickle of advanced weaponry reaching the Sentinels. She knew he wasn't on the schedule to calibrate Marion Rhialla's 'Mech, but such last-minute changes were by no means unusual. In fact, Eledore had probably assigned Watanabe to the Perennium because it now had been completely reequipped with new weapons—in addition to the twin Gauss Rifles, it now had extended range ER-PPCs, the second 'Mech to be so equipped besides Arla-Vlata's Shruiken—

Nicia stopped. Watanabe had been assigned to integrate the new software for the twin Magna Firestar ER-PPCs on the Shruiken before the Massanutten Valley battle.

She resumed walking, berating herself. Good heavens, Nicia, you are tired. You're jumping at shadows. Watanabe's no saboteur; he doesn't hardly even know anyone in this unit. Besides, a spy wouldn't be sitting there asking Maysa Bari out on a date.

Nicia expertly held both coffee cups in one hand and climbed up the stanchions set into the side of the Perennium. She was particularly proud of this machine, because it was her own design. Using the chassis of a wrecked Marauder II, she had completely redesigned the head to give it much better all-around vision, as well as giving it a birdlike profile. Two huge Gauss Rifles completely replaced the spindly arms of the standard Marauder series, able to rotate to fire to the rear if necessary, and two PPCs jutted out over the cockpit from the now-flattened rear torso of the 'Mech. Only the legs of the Perennium gave any hint to its previous incarnation. It had been hideously expensive, which limited her to building only two, and even then only after watching Calla Bighorn-Vlata tearing at his rapidly thinning hair as the end cost skyrocketed. She had plans for an even deadlier design that would mount four Clantech Gauss Rifles, but that would have to wait until the House liasion was looking elsewhere, allowing her to "acquire" the weapons, and for the Sentinels to have the money to due the modification. When she was done, however, Nicia was quite sure her pet project would rule the battlefield.

"Tech Watanabe, want some coffee?" she announced as she reached the top of the torso. She heard a clang and a muffled curse, and tried not to laugh: Watanabe had been chest-deep inside one of the Gauss Rifles, and so could not have heard or seen her. "I'm sorry," she said, walking across to sit next to him.

"That's okay—oh, uh, ma'am." He abruptly realized who it was, and accepted the coffee. "You're up awfully late, if you don't mind me saying so, ma'am."

"There's a lot to do. I'd be working double shifts, but we don't have the manpower right now. Did Massis put you up to this?" She motioned with her cup at the open bay inside the Gauss Rifle.

"Yes, ma'am. It's all right. I like the work."

"Mm. I overheard your conversation with MechWarrior Bari." She grinned at his discomfiture. "I have no problem with that, but you might want to shower and change. You smell like lube." Her grin abruptly faded. "Please tell me you're not using lube anywhere near that gun."

Watanabe shook his head vigorously. "No, ma'am! That could cause some real problems in there. I was doing some work on that new Catapult we got earlier. That new housing for the Arrow IV launcher needs all kinds of lubricants."

"Very true. Liao kludge." Nicia used a tech epithet that had been around for a thousand years. "Well, I won't keep you. Checking the connections between the computer and the rifle?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Be careful and make sure you get all the leads attached correctly…don't let your midnight date distract you. That could cause a bad feedback surge, and you will be swabbing out that Gauss with your body if that happens. That's after Marion Rhialla makes you eat your own asshole."

Watanabe's nod was shaky. "Y-Yes, ma'am! I'll make sure Major Rhialla has no problems, ma'am."

"And don't mess with the computer settings. Rhialla has her own system." Nicia paused. "Did you say 'Major' Rhialla? She's a lance commander."

"Uh, right. Sorry. She's just always been a Major to me."

"Uh-huh." Nicia stood, quickly followed by Watanabe. She towered over him, and he was forced to look directly upwards to meet her eyes. "Well, you had better refer to her by her proper rank. She's a stickler about that, along with her daughter's current status as a virgin. And I had better never hear of you calling me by my first name again, Tech Watanabe. It is Miss Caii or Master Tech. Ming bai le ma?"

"Ting dong le," Watanabe replied automatically.

"Good." Nicia took four steps, and stopped. She looked over her shoulder. "Didn't know you spoke Chinese, Tech Watanabe."

Watanabe had half-turned back to the Gauss Rifle. "Uh, yes, Master Tech. I picked up a little on New Kyoto, just a bit here and there."

"You even have a Sian accent."

Watanabe had knelt down. "How can you tell?"

Nicia edged further towards the stanchions, setting her coffee cup down. "I can tell if an engine is a Magna or a Vox by the sound it makes; how hard is it for me to identify accents, Tech Watanabe? You stay right there, mister. There's no way you're getting off this base if you try to run, so you just wait until the SLI gets here." She reached into one of her pockets for her comlink.

Watanabe suddenly turned and hurled a wrench at her. Nicia dodged it, but Watanabe was running straight at her and tackled her. At first glance, he was a good foot shorter than her, but her thinness and light bone structure meant that she easily went down beneath him. Her head struck the armored hump of the cockpit and dazed her. Watanabe quickly returned to his toolkit and pulled out a large spanner wrench, used to tighten oversized nuts and bolts common on 'Mechs. "I'm very sorry about this," he whispered to her. "I really don't like engaging in wetwork. Now hold still…I'll try to make this as painless as I can. I want it to look like you slipped and fell, but I'll settle for smashing your windpipe." He aimed the wrench for a part of her head that would kill her instantly, and raised it over his head as she weakly raised a hand in vain defense.

Watanabe heard boots on concrete, and looked up just in time to be hit squarely between the eyes with a thrown screwdriver. It hit handle-first, so it merely caused him to stumble backwards, where he stepped into Nicia's coffee cup and fell hard. Nicia, shaking her head to clear it, reached out, tore the spanner from his hands. Seeing he would be back on his feet before she could do to him what he had intended to do to her, Nicia settled on swinging it into his groin instead. He bellowed in pain and curled into a ball. Nicia dropped the spanner into her largest pocket, withdrew a roll of duct tape from another, and began binding the unresisting, wheezing Watanabe. She heard someone coming up the stanchions, and saw it was Maysa Bari. "Glad you got here. Nice throw with the screwdriver, but you are the best shot in the Snowbirds."

"I saw him knock you down…are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She slapped Watanabe as she rolled tape over his mouth. "Can't say the same for our supposed tech here." She fished out her comlink and threw it to Bari. "Call security, along with your mom. No, make that Major Brownoak—if your mother sees you in that miniskirt, she'll be taking two heads tonight instead of just one."

"You think he's Maskirovka?" asked Calla Bighorn-Vlata.

"I can't be positive," Nicia replied to her commander. She looked over at John Watanabe, who was still bound in a full roll of duct tape and handcuffed for good measure. His face was puffy as well; the SLI had been none too gentle in dragging him off the Perennium. Besides four SLI guards, Elfa Brownoak, Tooriu Kku, Tessya Blackthorn, and Marion Rhialla were also present, as well as Maysa Bari, who had luckily changed into coveralls before her mother, awakened by the commotion, had arrived. Maysa stared at Watanabe , obviously intent on homicide. A woman scorned, Nicia thought with satisfaction. Her head throbbed. "I asked him if he understood in Chinese, and he said that he did in the same language. I'm guessing if his family was really Kurita expatriates, as it says in his personnel file, he would've answered in Japanese, not Chinese—and certainly not with a Sian accent." Nicia paused. "He was also on the same team that integrated the new ER-PPC software on Sheila's Shruiken. He would've had ample time to screw around with the battle computer and cause her jumpjets to fail. Why, I don't know."

"Neither do I. So what was he fooling around with on Marion's 'Mech?"

"I started getting a little suspicious when he kept referring to Marion as a major. Marion's been a lance commander for months now, and just about everybody knows that. When I stood up—well, I'm taller than he is, and I saw that he wasn't calibrating the Gauss Rifles, he was crossconnecting the cables for the magnets in the barrel. He had also lubed up the cables to cause a spark. The moment Marion fired those things, it would cause electrical feedback through the neurohelmet…which would electrocute her, the same way it would if the Gauss exploded. It might not kill her, but it would definitely incapacitate her."

"And Romano Liao wants Marion dead. A Death Commando attack would be too obvious, and could even lead to Davion declaring war. But if she made it look like an accident…" Calla shook his head. "Bitch."

"The only thing I don't get is why he was going to take Maysa out for a date. That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," Marion spoke up. "He could get close to me through Maysa. Or maybe he might kill her in some dark alley on the way home, just to get to me. Is that it, mister?" Marion reached forward and tore away the strip of duct tape around his mouth. Skin came with it, but Watanabe gritted his teeth and didn't scream. "Talk, bastard! Ni shi cong nar lai de? Ni jiao shen me ming zi? Ji bai!" The last was a horrible insult, and she punctuated it with a kick. Watanabe winced, but said nothing.

"Marion." Calla stepped forward and squatted in front of him. "Listen, Mister Watanabe, or whatever your name is, you have exactly one chance of surviving this, and that's to come clean. Name, rank, serial number to start."

"I have nothing to say," Watanabe finally said.

"I'll make him talk!" Maysa suddenly shouted and darted forward, grabbing Watanabe by his short-cut hair. She was pulled back before she could land a punch by the SLI.

"Listen," Calla told Watanabe, "you're in a Sentinel uniform, wearing that coverall. Under the Ares Conventions, we can take you right out the door, stand you against a wall, and shoot you right here as a spy." Calla emphasized this by pointing directly between Watanabe's eyes. "You have no rights, understand me?"

Watanabe was silent.

"Elfa, Tessya, Marion…come with me for a moment." Calla got up and motioned over the three women. Nicia joined the circle. "I need some ideas. We can shoot the son of a bitch, but if we do that, we'll never know why he went after Sheila, or if he's acting alone or there's a damn Maskirovka team inside the regiment. So we need to get him to talk."

Elfa shrugged. "We could just turn him over to the local MIIO office. They'd probably have him singing in an hour or two."

Marion shook her head. "And have everything he said classified. I want to know, Calla. Romano wants me dead, okay. I've had to deal with her assassins before. But he went after Sheila first. That doesn't make any sense. She didn't humiliate Sun-Tzu; I did."

"Romano Liao's a few wrenches short of a tool set," Nicia said with a half-smile. "She doesn't need to make sense."

"I still want to know, Nicia."

"So do I." Calla sighed. "I doubt he's going to talk anytime soon, though."

"Then we need to make him talk," Marion snarled.

The unspoken word—torture—hung in the air. All of them, even Nicia, had seen the results of Clan torture on Sheila. All of them, especially Calla at the sight of his little girl abused and broken, had been sickened by it. No one wanted to be the one to propose it first.

Marion opened her mouth, but it was Tessya who spoke. "I'll do it." All eyes turned to her. "If this guy was responsible for Sheila being captured, then we're just repaying him in his own coin."

"Fine," Nicia said, "but why you? I mean, I guess we could stuff him down a Gauss Rifle and threaten to use him to swab it out, but that's the only idea I have,"

"I'm a Lacotah," Tessya explained. "Among my people, it was always traditional to leave the torture to the women."

"Over a thousand years ago, yes," Calla said.

"We have a strong oral tradition." Tessya smiled humorlessly. "Though what I have in mind is an old Apache trick. Nicia, I need this…" She explained what she had in mind. Nicia's already pale face turned even paler. "That'll kill him!" she protested.

"Not if he starts talking first."

Nicia hesitated, then sighed and went off to find what Tessya had asked for: a frame for changing engines in a tank, a metal can of some sort, and a small amount of gasoline. Tessya looked to Calla, who nodded, and returned to Watanabe. Marion joined her. Calla looked at both women. Marion's expression indicated she would probably enjoy this; Tessya's was completely blank, devoid of emotion. He wasn't sure which frightened him most.

"Calla," Elfa whispered, "this is wrong! We can't do this. I've heard about what Tessya has in mind—my dad used to tell me stuff like this from his days knocking around Antallos on the Periphery! Some of the pirate bands used to do shit like this for fun!"

"We're not doing it for fun."

"I know, but still! Tessya will bank that fire under the guy's head. If he doesn't simply catch on fire, it'll literally fry his brain. Calla, we just can't do this. It's not right."

"Tell it to Sheila. She's having to relearn how to use her arm." His eyes flashed at Elfa. "For all we know, Elfa, you were next after Marion and Maysa."

Watanabe remained mute even when the SLI cut the coverall off with their naginatas, and still said nothing when they raised him upside down, a foot off the ground, his feet wrapped in heavy chain attached to the frame. It was only when Tessya lit the fire that he began to talk. When she pulled out the slim knife that she always carried in a boot, he began to scream.