AUTHOR'S NOTES: I always seem to be apologizing for being late, but this time I really mean it. Part of the reason was that I was at a teacher's conference for the weekend (though that worked to my advantage; I got some ideas) and the other reason was writer's block. I wrote the first half of this chapter and stopped dead, because I realized I had written the main character out of this part of the story. Since it's called Snowbird's Revenge instead of Fun With Senefa Malthus, I had to figure out a way to get Sheila back in the story. Hopefully, it works.
A few Battletech canon notes: the "Black Foxes" are actually MI6, Davion intelligence's wetworks force, and is nicknamed the "Rabid Foxes." I was going to change it, but since they're not officially supposed to exist to the rest of the Battletech universe, I let it go—it stands to reason that Simon Johnson and Captain Nelson are giving Sheila and Senefa a bit of misinformation.
Snord's Irregulars get a mention in this chapter as being on Furillo, but that actually violates canon—the Irregulars left on the Camelot Command raid in July 3051. Since Rhonda Snord is somewhat central to this chapter, I'm just going to have to suck it up and take the canon hit.
Also central to this chapter is the use of many Islamic terms and a brief "history" of Islam in the Inner Sphere. No disrespect is intended. The "history" is based on what's in the old House books (namely House Kurita). The reason I'm using the "Lyran Council for Islamic Affairs" is because I needed something that would completely disguise Sheila and get her into Bonner's presence without resorting to James Bond-style masks and makeup. A Carmelite nun's habit doesn't hide the face, so I had to resort to something a bit different. I've made up the Talibanesque sect on Dar-es-Salaam, but it stands to reason that very conservative Islamic sects would survive into the 31st Century. Other terms used in this chapter are fatwas (religious decrees given by imams), ulema (Islamic religious scholars and lawyers), fiqh (laws), and Ja'fari (predominantly Shi'a jurisprudence used in places like Iran and Afghanistan). Halal and haraam refer to substances permitted by or restricted from Muslims, the latter including things like pork products and alcohol.
Sheila's cover name is based on Aysaan Hirsi Ali and Irshad Manji, Muslim feminist activists, neither of whom would be caught dead in a burqa.
And given that the Lyran Commonwealth is made up largely of Irishmen (Donegal), Scotsmen (Skye and Tamar), and Germans (the Steiners), it stands to reason that the majority of Lyrans are Catholics or Presbyterians. It's mentioned in Warrior: Riposte that both Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner are Catholic. (If anyone cares, Sheila Arla-Vlata and her writer are also Catholics.)
And your parents thought that you don't learn stuff from gaming…
REVIEWER'S CORNER: Kat: glad you liked it. I hoped the foreshadowing with Melissa Steiner's death wasn't too heavy handed.
Green Knight: I already answered your questions in my last e-mail, but you'll see I did work in an UrbanMech in here somehow.
SulliMike: if you want, I can integrate that character later on as well.
4477: Da da da-da, da da da-da…(or maybe the James Bond theme…dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun!)
SNOWBIRDS: THE MOVIE: Okay, since people have been talking about a casting call…
Sheila Arla-Vlata—Famke Janssen
Senefa Malthus—Carrie Ann-Moss
Max Canis-Vlata—James Spader
Maysa Bari—Alyson Hannigan (though she'd look weird with a shaved head)
Marion Rhialla—Valerie Bertinelli
Calla Bighorn-Vlata—Robert de Niro
Vornzel—Michael Clarke Duncan
Tooriu Kku—whoever the guy was who played "the Swede" in Heartbreak Ridge
Felisanna—Pink (because Bien likes Pink…geez)
Cavell Malthus—Al Pacino (because having de Niro and Pacino go at it in any movie is good!)
As for the various Successor Lords, I have no idea. I always pictured Robert Mitchum as Hanse Davion and Toshiro Mifune as Takashi Kurita, but both actors are long dead. Maybe Christopher Plummer and Ken Watanabe. Sean Connery IS Ulric Kerensky. Madonna might actually make a decent Melissa Steiner. If Michelle Yeoh could do psycho, she would be a good Romano Liao. And somewhere we have to have William Shatner…
Oh, and Duke Samuel Bonner's appearance is based on that of Penn Jillette of Penn and Teller.
And on with the fanfic (oh yeah, that's right, there's one in here somewhere)…
Fort Snow Fire Training Grounds
Tharkad, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth
12 August 3051
"Go." At the commander's order, the Black Fox team, dressed entirely in black, rushed into the room. In it were fifteen mannequins. Four held submachineguns and were also dressed in black, while the others were dressed in civilian clothes. At the appearance of the Black Foxes, the four armed mannequins were turned and began firing, but they were quickly cut down.
"You use live ammunition, Captain Nelson?" Sheila asked.
"Have to. Keeps the team used to being shot at," Nelson answered.
"Don't you lose people that way?"
"Occasionally…but it's better to lose them in training than in the real thing, where the loss of one person could mean the loss of the entire team." He nodded towards the room. "Watch."
The Black Foxes were moving one mannequin that was bandaged and splattered with fake blood, to simulate a casualty, while the others were searched. Without warning, one of the "civilians" sprang up and raised a pistol. Even accounting for the jerkiness of the android's movement, it was a quick draw—but the pistol had barely cleared when a line of bullets stitched it from head to the middle of the back. One of the Foxes had held back at the doorway, gun ready, waiting for such an event. Nelson reached forward and hit the intercom switch. "45 seconds, team. Good work. You can break now." Even with that, the team went through the motion of loading the "casualty" onto a stretcher and carrying it out. Nelson turned to Sheila and Senefa. "What do you think?"
Sheila whistled. That had been the final room of a mansion supposedly filled with terrorists holding hostages. The Foxes had cleared it in only seven minutes, with 18 terrorists dead and one civilian wounded. "I'm impressed. Senefa?"
"As am I. Your men and women are to be commended, Captain Nelson."
"Coming from you, that's a compliment." Sheila fought down a bit of resentment at that: Nelson was obviously trying to impress Senefa more than Sheila, because while Senefa was a Clan warrior, Sheila was just a MechWarrior. Nelson also obviously didn't have much time for MechWarriors, though he was by no means unusual in that regard; the two branches of service had despised each other since the days of the first BattleMechs. "Now," Nelson said, "how would Clan forces have done that operation, Star Colonel?"
"Captain, please address me as 'Senefa' or 'MechWarrior.' I currently do not hold that rank." Senefa looked to the room, now empty of everything save mannequins. "In much the same fashion as your team did," she answered him. "Though not as willing to spare civilians. In Clan society, non-warriors are seen as expendable. Their deaths would be seen merely as collateral damage."
"Unfortunately, we can't operate under those rules of engagement, Star—ah, MechWarrior. What about weapons and tactics?"
"Tactics would be almost identical, though we would of course probably use Elementals, which your team will not have. Weapons…" Senefa shrugged. This really would be more Vornzel's baliwick, but Director Johnson had expressly forbidden anyone else to be included in the operation. He was angry enough that he had to bring Sheila in. "Your Ryonex submachineguns should be adequate. You will not need anything larger. The Clans use generally the same fashion of weapons."
"I see." Sheila could see that Nelson was beginning to wonder why either woman was even there. He was an older man, which had surprised Sheila, with a pencil-thin mustache and almost an air of nobility—not arrogance, just a sense that he believed he really was better than everyone else. In anyone else, it would've been misplaced, but Sheila had no desire to try him on. In fact, in his line of work, he probably had to believe he was better than anyone else just to survive.
Sheila came to her friend's aid. "Captain, where Senefa can help you isn't so much in tactics. Obviously yours are superb. Where she can help is in how your team carries itself—speech patterns, for instance, and tactical signals. The Clans have a completely different battle language than we do. Right, Senefa?"
"Aff."
"I see," Nelson repeated. The door opened, and a heavyset man walked in—though he was all muscle, not fat. "Sergeant Treacy will show you downstairs, Senefa; you'll need to start work with the team."
"Of course, sir. I am at your disposal." She gave a small bow to Nelson and followed the Sergeant out the door. Before Sheila could follow, Nelson raised a hand. "Just a moment, Commander."
"What is it, Captain?" Sheila had a feeling she knew what it was.
Nelson leaned against the console. "Commander, I suppose I can be honest with you: you shouldn't be here. MechWarrior Senefa is one thing, but you're different. Our job is to masquerade as a Clan hit team, and to be honest, I don't see where you fit in at all." He held up his hands again, this time to forestall her protest. "Yes, I know that you've had experience in dismounted operations. I read your file. You have a very nice commendation in there from a Mikkansia Jackson, a high-ranking member of your unit's light infantry. I've heard of the Sentinels Light Infantry, and I agree that they are very good, and I'm sure that commendation is merited. But next to my team, they're small potatoes.
"Commander, the Black Foxes are a very secret unit. We're not officially admitted to exist. People have died to keep that secret. In fact, one of the reasons we're being used on this op is because Prince Davion and Directors Johnson and Allard believe that Lohengrin couldn't be trusted to kill a Steiner nobleman, traitor or not. I didn't want you in on this at all, but I had no choice."
Sheila closed her mouth, her counter-argument dying on her lips. Nelson was probably right. She was just a MechWarrior; she should be back in her 'Mech, or at least learning how to pilot one again. She was making excellent progress with her arm and could control it in normal life without too much trouble, but she had yet to test it in a 'Mech yet, though her sparring sessions with Senefa were showing promise. In any case, the sort of dirty work that the Black Foxes excelled in was not her stock-in-trade, and moreover, she was beginning to sense she was in over her head. She wanted revenge on Bonner, craved it, found herself dreaming about how wonderful it was going to be to confront him. The woman left for dead, coming back and exacting vengeance like the Greek heroine Electra. More and more, however, Sheila wondered if she was living a fantasy. Watching Nelson's team at their work only emphasized how much she was out of her depth.
She looked away. "You're right, Captain. Maybe you could have one of your men escort me out," she said quietly. "Director Johnson has already briefed me on the Official Secrets Act, so I know what will happen to me if I run my mouth…you don't have to worry about that."
Nelson nodded, surprised at how quickly she gave up. "Thank you, Commander. I know it's not easy to admit you're wrong. We'll return Senefa to you in a few days." He hesitated. "Can she be trusted?"
"She gave up everything she had to take a stand," Sheila told him, a tad harshly. "You can trust her implicitly."
"Glad to hear it." As it was, Sheila was worried if Johnson wasn't going to arrange one of his accidents for them. The two of them had seen a lot, even if Nelson was the only one of the Foxes whose face either had seen; even the sergeant that had come to collect Senefa had still been wearing a balaclava that left only his eyes exposed. "I'll escort you out myself." From the look in his face, Sheila had a feeling that Nelson was doing that less out of chivalry and more from suspicion that Sheila wasn't telling the truth.
They had just reached the door when the sergeant that had come to collect Senefa returned. He held a message flimsy. "Sir, this just arrived for you. Comm just finished decoding it."
Nelson looked over the one page message. "Damn," he said quietly. "That's not good."
"Can I ask what it is?" Sheila didn't really expect an answer, but to her surprise, Nelson gave her one after a brief hesitation.
"I suppose. Given your reputation for unorthodox tactics, maybe you can help us out of this." Nelson tapped the paper. "We had a date selected for the operation. Unfortunately, the night we had in mind, Bonner is hosting a dinner for the Lyran Council for Islamic Affairs. We can't be shooting up the place with guests there, and we certainly can't eliminate 30 to 40 people like we can the guards. Not without massive political fallout."
"So reschedule the op."
"We can't. We have to set up a command circuit to get there as it is, and shipping's at a premium. We keep a circuit up too long and people start asking questions. We also are planning on using helicopter insertion/extraction, and we want a no-moon night for that. Furillo has three moons, and the date we have planned is the only one for three months in which none of the moons are visible." Nelson sighed. "We could still do it, but it increases the chances of us being found out."
"Actually, I think it's going to increase the chances of you pulling this off without a problem." Sheila pointed to the now-empty training room. "Obviously your team is used to shooting around hostages."
"Sure, but I don't understand what you're getting at."
Sheila wore a predatory smile. "What it sounds like is that you need someone on the inside. Someone who doesn't need to be briefed about the operation, and doesn't increase the chances of a leak. Someone like…well…me."
Government House
Furillo, Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth
20 August 3051
The Military Assistance Special Security guard held up the ID card to his reader, then compared it to the guest list. "I'm sorry, you're not on the list, Miss…Manji?"
"Mrs. Manji," the woman insisted. The guard looked up—the woman was taller than him—and looked back to the ID card. That was no help. Both the card and the woman before him showed someone draped in and completely covered by a light blue burqa. "I am on the list. Here is my authorization." A hand, covered in a glove, appeared from the burqa, handed the guard a folded piece of paper, then just as quickly disappeared. The guard unfolded it, and read it. With a suppressed sigh, he motioned over his superior, a Captain Jones, who also read it. Another glance at the list, and then both men shrugged. "It's signed by Minister ibn Fadlan, and it's verigraphed. Another schedule screwup," said the officer. "Let her in."
"You can go in, Mrs. Manji. Sorry about the trouble." The guard handed back the paper and ID card.
"Thank you," the woman replied. Once she was out of earshot, she breathed a sigh of relief. The ID card read Aysaan Manji, wife of Ahmed Manji, resident of Dar-es-Salaam, a planet not far from Solaris VII and the Marik frontier. The woman inside the burqa, however, was Sheila Arla-Vlata.
Where Captain Nelson had seen trouble, Sheila had seen opportunity, not just for herself, but for the Black Foxes as well. Having someone on the inside would increase the chances of the operation succeeding. The problem was getting someone on the inside without compromising security. Since Sheila already knew the broad strokes of the operation to kill Duke Bonner, she was the perfect choice—though Sheila was the only person who truly thought so. Still, even Nelson had complimented her on her choice of disguise.
None of the Successor Houses claimed Islam as their religion of choice: Marik, Steiner and Davion were Christian, Liao was Taoist, and Kurita was Shinto-Buddhist. Though Islamic sects existed and flourished throughout the Inner Sphere, they were a distinct minority; this was largely due to Muslims being among the last to leave Terra, as the mere concept of settling on other planets had sparked huge debates within the religion, not least of which was how one was supposed to face Mecca or make the hajj pilgrimage if Mecca was several hundred light years away, coreward or spinward. By the time those religious questions were resolved, the majority of the Inner Sphere had been settled or claimed. Nonetheless, the Islamic diaspora had taken root on planets such as Algedi in the Draconis Combine, Dar-es-Salaam in Steiner space, Islamabad in the Federated Suns, and Tukayyid in the Free Rasalhague Republic. While most of these worlds were considered more or less cosmopolitan, certain radical sects still existed. Though few engaged in the militant radicalism that had started most of the wars of the 21st Century—those that did didn't last long against BattleMechs—there were some who still rigidly adhered to the absolute law of the Koran, or their interpretation of it. One such sect was based on Dar-es-Salaam. There, women were required to dress in the Afghani chadri version of the burqa which completely covered everything, leaving only a mesh for the woman to see through; even the hands were covered in silk gloves. Only recently had the sect begun to loosen some of its restrictions, letting their women travel offworld. Even so, it was exceedingly rare for one of these women to be seen in public without a male escort, and the Lyran Council for Islamic Affairs had been pleasantly surprised to hear that such an unaccompanied woman would be attending their annual three-day meeting on Furillo. However, so would have the Dar-es-Salaam sect, which had never sent anyone to the LCIA meeting and never intended to.
Because the burqa covered everything with shapeless fabric, Sheila would not only remain completely anonymous, she could also wear a radio headset. She had joked that she could have even concealed a SRM launcher beneath the robe, but Nelson, unsmilingly, had said a pistol would be all that she would be allowed to take, and even that was a small nine-millimeter inside a scan-resistant holster nestled underneath her left arm. They were hoping that Bonner would not be so rude as to subject his guests to searches or scans; while few Muslims were quite as rigid as the Dar-es-Salaam sect, even fewer were going to allow females to be searched by non-Muslim male guards without an extremely good reason. Furillo was one of the most stable planets in the Inner Sphere: there hadn't been a Marik raid in over a generation, despite the presence of a Defiance Industries plant onworld, there was little criminal element, and Bonner himself, while not exactly popular with the majority of Furilloians, was not so unpopular to have to worry about an assassination—not locally, in any case. If Nelson was wrong, the scan-resistant holster would do Sheila no good; her artificial arm would set off a scanning device. To Sheila's relief, there was no sign of a scanner, though the guards were armed with assault rifles in plain view.
"Turkina to Urbie. Sitrep." Nelson's voice crackled in her earpiece. Just in case, Nelson had selected as his callsign the name of the legendary jade falcon that had given the Clan its name. Senefa had been none too pleased at that, especially since Sheila had suggested it, but had gotten a measure of revenge by suggesting Sheila's codename. Under the burqa, Senefa had said, Sheila looked like a tall UrbanMech, the rotund, squat, and often-derided city defense 'Mech.
"I am inside," Sheila whispered, having to remember not to use contractions. Like the codewords, it was just in case someone should detect their transmissions. "There are two guards at the entrance, checking IDs…and four more as a ceremonial group just inside the front door. I am moving towards the reception."
"How many in the line outside?"
"I was the last one."
"Good. ETA 30 minutes. Acknowledge?"
"Aff. Three-zero minutes." As Nelson signed off, Sheila suppressed a curse, then berated herself: you wanted to be in on this damn thing, Sheila, and now you're in it up to your ears. In any case, it meant that Sheila Arla-Vlata had to be Aysaan Manji for the next half hour. This wasn't covered in the Nagelring, that's for sure. Luckily, most people seemed to be ignoring her. The chadri was not popular in the generally progressive LCIA. She still had to get into the receiving line, which would bring her face to face with Duke Samuel Bonner.
As she waited and saw Bonner, Sheila abruptly realized that, despite the fact that she hated the man enough to want him dead, she had never actually met him. She was mildly surprised to see that he was a big man, taller than her and twice as broad, though not much looked to be fat. He had an immaculately clipped goatee, and while he wasn't handsome, he wasn't terrible to look at, either. He was wearing an impeccable suit with a military cut, though Bonner had never seen combat that she knew of, with a blue silk cummerbund and a large pin on his lapel—a Lyran fist, she noticed, not the fist-and-sunburst of the Federated Commonwealth. Though Sheila had seen Bonner in holovids, she had formed a mental picture of some malignant gnome, a Grendel or a Wyrmtongue. The fact that this man, jovially shaking hands with a woman who looked strangely familiar, would be dead before dawn bothered her for some reason.
Then it was her turn to be introduced. Bonner respectfully did not offer his hand, but merely gave her a slight, respectful bow. "Mrs. Manji. I was quite surprised to hear that your sect had decided to send a representative this year."
"It was a last minute decision," Sheila informed him, carefully selecting each word. Though she was no actor, Sheila felt that she had better use something slightly different from her own voice. She had settled on imitating her mother, who still retained her Capra accent. It would, she hoped, sound just different enough that Bonner would assume she was not a native speaker of English, which the inhabitants of Dar-es-Salaam were not. "We felt that more traditional aspects of Islam should be represented."
"You are more than welcome," Bonner rumbled warmly. "I look forward to the debates we shall have over the course of the conference."
"As do I, Duke Bonner." Sheila did something no Dar-es-Salaam woman would ever do: she looked Bonner directly in the eye. On closer inspection and firsthand exposure, Sheila found she had no problem hating him. This was the man who had betrayed her to the Clans and aided and abetted an attempt to murder her friends and comrades. While his features were crinkled in an oily grin, his eyes held nothing but contempt. As she turned away, Sheila felt her artificial arm involuntarily twitch, as if it wanted to independently shoot from her elbow and strangle him.
Sheila made her way to the buffet line, gratified to see that everything on the menu was strictly halal; at least she wouldn't have to worry about eating something that her persona wouldn't touch. Avoiding a faux pas was going to be difficult enough: Sheila had done some hurried reading on the DropShip from Tharkad, and prayed that would be enough.
"Excuse me." There was a voice at her side, and Sheila slowly turned to find herself face to face with Colonel Rhonda Snord, the woman she had seen in the receiving line. It took every ounce of self-control Sheila possessed not to drop the plate or stumble backwards. Instead, she bowed slightly, much as Bonner had. "Colonel Snord. I have heard of you. It is a pleasure."
"Same here." Rhonda Snord's smile was pleasant and genuine. Seeing her in her unit's more-or-less formal uniform was a shock; most of the battlefield holos Sheila had seen of the famous—some would say infamous—heir to Cranston Snord's Irregulars usually had her wearing tight pants, an Elvis T-shirt, and not much else. In her own way, Rhonda was every bit as flamboyant as Natasha Kerensky had been. She was older now, the same age as Sheila's father, but no less skilled as a warrior. "We've never been down Dar-es-Salaam way."
"I had not thought you were, ah…"
"Muslim?" Snord laughed. "I'm not. Just visiting. I was coming through Furillo on the way to Tharkad from Outreach. Duke Bonner invited me here tonight."
Sheila's heart sank. It was an open secret among mercenaries that Snord's Irregulars and Wolf's Dragoons were known to be close. Snord certainly would've been on the short list of people that Jaime Wolf would reveal all about the Clans to. Sheila knew that the Foxes' Jade Falcon disguises would not hold up to close scrutiny; they had assumed that no one on Furillo knew more about the Clans than the frequently panicky and erroneous reports delivered by the media. Snord was a different story entirely. "So, ah, you are on the way to fight the Clans?"
"We're heading out that way, yeah. Finally getting in on the fight. I can't wait." Snord motioned towards the buffet, obviously not wanting to interrupt Sheila. Hoping her hands wouldn't tremble, the latter began filling her plate.
"Are the Clans as truly bad as they say?" Sheila asked, trying to stay on familiar ground.
"They're worse, from what I hear." Snord winked. "No problem, Mrs. Manji. We'll stop them long before they get to Dar-es-Salaam."
"That is a relief. I understand they have women warriors among them!" Sheila let a note of incredulity creep into her voice. In the sect, women were prohibited from even owning a knife, let alone anything more sophisticated; they had an exemption from the AFFC draft. "No offense to you, Colonel."
"None taken. It's not for everybody." Snord picked up a plate and also began selecting foods. "Your men are great fighters, though."
"Most certainly." Many men from Dar-es-Salaam had enlisted in first the LCAF and then the AFFC throughout the history of the Succession Wars; it was considered quite honorable to do so, even if they had to make certain adjustments to taking orders from overwhelmingly Catholic or Presbyterian commanders. "They are indeed brave fighters. My own husband is on the Clan front, with the 17th Skye Rangers."
Snord's eyebrow rose. "Which explains why you're not escorted."
"Yes. In these times, we must adjust to the situation."
"Didn't one of your imams issue a fatwa against the Clans?"
Oh shit, Sheila thought. This had been her own personal nightmare: she would run into someone at the LCIA conference that would know a lot more about Islam than she did, which was pretty much everyone. It had been planned that she would not have to maintain the fiction of Aysaan Manji long, and anyone who pressed too close she could simply ignore. Men were not likely to speak to her directly, and the majority of the LCIA delegates were male. No one had anticipated a curious Rhonda Snord. Fifty-fifty chance! "Yes," Sheila answered.
"Good for him." Sheila coughed to cover a sigh of relief. "I was kinda curious what the ulema would think about the Clans. Ja'fari fiqh doesn't exactly cover a situation like this, does it?"
I am so screwed. Sheila had no idea what Snord was talking about. "No, it does not," she replied. "What will you be doing against the Clans?" She desperately tried to get the conversation back to something she did know, even though it was a lame question.
"Fighting, of course. Can't say more. Opsec."
"Ah, you do not trust me." They walked to the table, Sheila hoping that Snord would go away or a chandelier would fall on her.
"No, no," Snord laughed. "I guess I can tell you this much. We're raiding. You know, scary stuff like Hislas and things like that."
Sheila nodded. A "hisla" was a HSLA, MechWarrior shorthand for High Speed Low Altitude, which basically consisted of jumping your 'Mech out of a low-flying aerodyne DropShip at altitudes of less than fifty meters, and praying your jumpjets slowed you down long enough to prevent making a long, burning wreck against the drop zone. It was highly dangerous and only the best MechWarriors even dared try it. She set her plate down and turned to Snord. "Will you excuse me a moment, Colonel? I must use the washroom."
"Sure, no problem. I'll watch your food."
"Thank you." She turned and walked briskly towards the door. Though she wore a most-nontraditional black jumpsuit underneath the burqa, her feet were clad in sandals. She tried desperately not to get them tangled up in the unfamiliar robe. Hoping she was going in the right direction, she walked down a deserted hallway. "Turkina, Urbie, come in."
"Turkina here," Nelson replied after a pause. "I was about to call for a sitrep."
"Situation is not good," Sheila said, trying to not sound panicky, which was what she felt. She really was in over her head.
"More guards than we anticipated?"
"No—neg." She glanced behind her. "The guards outside have returned inside; there are now six at the front door. There's also four in the dining room, light weapons only, Bonner's personal bodyguard. That is not the problem. Rhonda Snord is here."
There was a long pause on the other end. "Confirm Rhonda Snord, CO of the Irregulars?" Nelson asked.
"Confirm."
There was yet another pause, and Sheila knew what Nelson was thinking. Though there was no intention to murder the NCIA attendees, it was also anticipated that they wouldn't fight. Snord might, and that was besides the fact that she just might see through the Jade Falcon disguise. "Abort?" Sheila wondered.
"Negative. Mission continues. ETA, five minutes. Stay in contact. Out."
"Understood," Sheila sighed. She hoped Nelson wasn't considering killing Snord, though Simon Johnson might consider such losses regrettably acceptable.
Suddenly, there was movement behind her. Sheila saw guards, and quickly ducked into an open door and around a corner. It was another hallway, dimly lit; it was no problem fading into the shadows. Outside the door, Bonner and his guards walked past. Sheila recognized Leftenant General Thomas Hogarth, the commander of the Furillo March Militia, the local 'Mech garrison. Hogarth had been included in the mission brief; apparently Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner-Davion had no problem if Hogarth was killed in the attack, and in fact regarded it as a pleasant bonus if he was. Hogarth was a staunch Free Skye advocate, and devoted to Bonner, to the point that his unit's loyalty was rated as questionable at best. "What idiot included Timbiqui Dark beer on the menu?" Bonner was snarling. "Don't they know that alcohol is haraam to these people?"
"Apparently the caterers assumed that since it was from Timbiqui, it was okay," Hogarth replied, no less angry. "Maybe they thought it was non-alcoholic."
"Damned fools. Tom, I forgot my notes for the ridiculous dinner speech I have to give, so I need to run upstairs to my office. Think you can hold the fort here?"
"Do my best, Your Grace." Hogarth said something more, but they had passed out of earshot. Sheila considered following them for a moment, but nearly jumped out of the burqa when she heard bootfalls behind her on the tiled floor. She whirled around and saw it was a MASS guardsman, who went pale and automatically brought up his Federated assault rifle. "Fuckin' shit!" he exclaimed, then realized who she was. He hesitated, lowered the rifle, and scratched the back of his head. "Oh, uh, terribly sorry, ma'am! Didn't see you at first—thought you were a ghost or something, heh." He gave a weak laugh, knowing he had messed up and trying to cover it with humor. Sheila found herself smiling behind the veil. The guard was young, with bright red hair; she found herself reminded of Maysa Bari, who probably would have fled screaming.
"That is quite all right, young man," Sheila said, laughing inwardly, since she was probably only two years older than he was.
"This is a restricted area, ma'am. Guests aren't supposed to leave the ballroom area."
"I was looking for the washroom."
"Oh!" The guard walked to her. "I'll show you where that is." He went to take her arm, realized he was making another cultural faux pas, and instead turned it into reslinging his rifle. "Uh, follow me." He began to go back the way Sheila had come, towards the ballroom, and Sheila suddenly had an idea.
"Excuse me," she said. He stopped, and Sheila nodded towards where the bathrooms probably were. "I was informed by Captain Jones that the women's washroom was out of service."
"Again? Son of a bit—uh, I mean, he did, did he?"
"Yes," Sheila told him, trying not to laugh out loud now. "He said there was one upstairs that I could use. I understand that it is restricted—" Sheila was guessing at that "—but it is something of an emergency." She shifted her feet, as if trying to control a full bladder.
"Well…it is restricted, but I'm sure the Duke himself wouldn't say no. Follow me." He led her upstairs, where they were stopped by two guards. Her guard explained what had happened, Sheila added her own story, and the others let them pass. As they walked towards the bathroom, the redhead kept up a running commentary on the problems with the mansion, which was obviously a cover for his nervousness and fear of offending this strange woman in equally bizarre dress. Sheila decided she would lure him into the washroom and somehow knock him out or lock him up, to keep him from getting shot by the Foxes. She knew that was a mistake: one of the rules drilled into her head at the Nagelring was not to overhumanize the enemy to the point that it rendered one incapable of fighting. Shoot the 'Mech, not the man, she had been told, even as both instructor and student knew full well that the easiest way to kill a 'Mech was to put a shot directly into the cockpit. Still, she wanted to save this one, at least.
He was showing her the bathroom when the lights abruptly cut out. The attack had begun.