AUTHOR'S NOTES: Short and sweet one tonight. A little more lighthearted than the last one, though somewhat bittersweet too.
Again, this chapter is very PG-13. I probably better tone it back a bit…
REVIEWER'S CORNER:
4477: Well, we'll see.
Rogue: You should like this chapter too, then.
GreenKnight: Mother-in-law? Not yet!
MUSIC CORNER: "Love is Blue" by Paul Mariat (of course), and "Tell Me a Bedtime Story" by Herbie Hancock.
Sentinels Officers' Quarters, Sentinel Base Sudeten
Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth
16 October 3051
Marion Rhialla cast her eyes at the ceiling when the doorbell chimed. "Dammit." She threw down the remote and got up, wincing as her knees popped. "The one time I give everyone the day off…" Actually, Sheila had given the Snowbirds a day off, worried that Marion might be pushing everyone too hard, but Marion felt the decision was hers.
Maysa Bari stuck her head around the partition from the tiny kitchen in the apartment. "Want me to get it, Mama?"
"No, I've got it." Marion hid her smile. Though she only did it in the privacy of their shared home, Marion liked it when Maysa called her mama. Marion was Maysa's formal guardian, though both she and the Sentinels regarded the teenager as the regiment's daughter in a way no other child of the Sentinels could claim. Still, after three failed marriages that produced no children, Marion was glad to have someone who called her mother in an affectionate fashion.
Marion flung open the door; mama comment or not, she was annoyed to have to get up from watching a particularly interesting holovid. She found herself face to face with Daniel Polycutt, who was dressed in the formal powder-blue and white uniform of the Snowbirds, complete with one row of campaign ribbons and cape. Where he had gotten the uniform Marion wanted to know, because she knew quite well that none of the "noobs" had been issued one yet. "What the hell do you want?" she demanded.
Polycutt squared his shoulders, then gave a very correct Lyran-style bow, clicking his heels together in the approved Prussian fashion. "Major Rhialla. I am very sorry to disturb you." He reached into a pocket and proferred an embossed card with his name, rank, and contact information. "I have come to call on MechWarrior Maysa Bari. My card, ma'am." Rhialla blinked twice, and for one of the few times in her life, found herself rendered speechless. "Is Miss Bari here, ma'am?"
Marion was still a few steps behind. "Call on her?"
"Yes, ma'am." Seeing that Marion was completely mystified, not to mention completely in shock, he added helpfully, "I've come to ask her out to dinner, ma'am—with your approval, of course."
"Ask…her out?" Marion had been Maysa's guardian for all of her sixteen years, and not once had she planned on this. Had she not been so stunned, she would've chided herself for being poorly prepared for such a sortie.
"Ask who out?" Maysa had come up from behind Marion and stood on tiptoe to peer over her shoulder. "Oh, hi, MechWarrior Polycutt." She instantly blushed, as did he, because both simutaneously remembered his faux pas at Wilhelmina Bay.
He was a brave man, however, and took his life in his hands by gently pushing a pale Marion Rhialla out of the way and taking a single step to the threshold of the door. Once more, he handed over his card, clicked his heels, and bowed. "Miss Bari, I've come to call on you."
"Call on me?" Maysa was as clueless as her mother.
"Yes. Would you do me the honor of going to dinner with me?" He smelled whatever was cooking, and cursed his stomach for rumbling. "Or perhaps another time, as you're already preparing dinner."
"Oh." Maysa smiled hugely. "You can stay for dinner, Mister Polycutt."
"No, please, I couldn't," Polycutt said quickly, because he could think of no bigger disaster to his romantic ideas than a dinner with Rhialla glowering at him over the table. "I will call another time. But for now, please, accept a small token of my appreciation." His left hand, which had been behind his back, came out and he handed Maysa a white rose. She gasped, blushed, and took it with a shaking hand. White roses were her favorite, something that was not general knowledge among the Sentinels or the Snowbirds.
Marion's mind abruptly whirred back to life. She blinked again, grabbed Polycutt, and shoved him back into the hall. "Why, you little—who told you you could come into my house? I should break you in half!"
"I'm sorry, Major, I meant no disrespect—"
"Oh, I'm sure you didn't!" Marion just resisted slamming him into the nearest wall. "Asking to 'call' on Maysa—after you whipped out your schlong on the beach the other day, you little bastard! I know what you want!"
Polycutt managed to blush and go pale at the same time. "But I didn't—I'm not—that's not—"
Maysa gently reached out and put her hands on Marion's shoulders. "Mama, can I talk with you for a moment?" She smiled so achingly sweetly at Polycutt he worried his heart would burst. "Excuse us, sir." Maysa half-dragged Marion into the apartment and closed the door. He blew out a breath, then smoothed his uniform, trying not to eavesdrop. He still couldn't help but hear mutterings he couldn't understand, then a single shout, "Quit trying to baby me!" which, to his surprise, came from the notoriously soft-spoken Maysa. It was followed by a flood of obscenity that claimed Daniel Polycutt's parents were not married, that his father had harbored illicit desires for his own mother, and that Dan's mother was probably a female dog. That was followed by another shrill scream from Maysa for her mother not to talk about "MechWarrior Polycutt" like that. Then the door went silent.
It was quiet for a dangerously long time, then the door slid open, revealing a distinctly unhappy Marion Rhialla. "All right, Mister Polycutt," she growled, "I'm going to allow you to court Miss Bari."
"Yay!" Maysa exclaimed unseen from a side room.
Marion sent an evil glance in Maysa's general direction, then shooed Polycutt further down the hall. She put her face into his. "Listen to me, Mister. Courting is all you will do. You will have her back by 2200 Hours, and if you're a second late, I will assume she has been kidnapped and react accordingly. If there is a hair on her head out of place or a wrong crease in her uniform, I will assume that you attempted to get into her pants. Then I will kill you in the most drawn-out, painful fashion I can devise." She poked him in the chest. "I will check to make sure her virginity is intact, Mister, and I am not fucking around here. There are plenty of accidents I can devise to end your miserable existence, and Commander Arla-Vlata will believe me, not you, got me?"
Polycutt nodded hastily. "Major, please, that is not my intention." Which was true: Daniel Polycutt was an honorable man, and intended to make no romantic overtures to Maysa unless she initiated it. He did have some sexual interest—after all, there was biology to consider—but as far as he was concerned, that would only happen after marriage, not a second sooner, and this was merely a first, hesitant step in that direction. He figured that chances were not in his favor that he had much of a chance with Saint Maysa, but he had to try.
"Are you a virgin?" Marion demanded.
"Y-Yes."
"Liar. I know how things work at the 'Ring. It's part of initiation—hen-raiding." She referred to the practice of male cadets at the Nagelring organizing panty raids on the female dorms, often carrying back albeit willing ladies as spoils of war. Sheila, to the best of Marion's knowledge, had never allowed herself to be carted off, but her roommate Mimi certainly had. "Did you ever engage in hen-raiding, Mister?"
"No!" Polycutt half-yelled. "I would never do that, ma'am—I was raised in a good Episcopalian—"
"Shut up! Keep your eyes on that wall, Mister Polycutt, until I am done talking to you." Marion's eyes seemed to bore holes in him like a large laser through armor. "You drink, Mister?" He shook his head. "Bullshit. I bet you drink. Everybody drinks. How about drugs? You like to smoke a bong every now and then? Maybe crack? How about Krazyee? You do Krazyee, Mister Polycutt?" Polycutt was shaking his head now as if suffering a seizure. Krazyee was a highly addictive hallucinogen that was illegal everywhere in the Inner Sphere; grounds for being caught with it was instant court-martial in every Inner Sphere military and death in the Draconis Combine.
Suddenly, the door opposite to them slammed open, revealing Elfa Brownoak, dressed in a loose-fitting kimono that left little to the imagination. She looked distinctly upset. "Marion," she snarled, "will you give it a break? The kid is asking Maysa out on a date, not for her hand in marriage. I can hear you giving him the third degree in here, for God's sake, and if you don't mind, I'm trying to concentrate in here! I'm busy!" It was pretty obvious what she had been busy at.
"Shove it," Marion shot back. "I want to know what kind of man—"
"You shove it!" Elfa stepped out and poked Marion in the chest with enough force for her fingernail to break the skin. "Look at him, you old hag! He's dressed in a formal uniform, he's presenting a card, for the love of Freud, and you're acting like he showed up in cutoffs with a bowl of Mary Jane in his hand!" She poked Marion twice more. "Maysa is almost seventeen, Marion! She should've been dating a long time ago! My God, I was dating when I was thirteen!" Marion turned red and opened her mouth to say something, but Elfa slapped her hand over her mouth. "And I was a virgin when I got married the first time, so that doesn't mean I was loose." She let go of Marion, turned her back, and marched back into her quarters. Tooriu Kku had also come to the door, wearing a towel, and shared a glance with Polycutt. Seeing that Marion was distracted, he gave Polycutt a thumbs-up and mouthed "good luck" to the other MechWarrior. He quickly retreated back under cover when he saw that Marion's attention was back on Elfa, who defiantly turned around, gave Marion an utterly pitying look, and slammed the door.
"I'm ready!" Maysa half-skipped out of the apartment. She had also changed into a formal uniform, tied her hair back into its customary ponytail, and looked positively angelic. If she had heard any of Elfa's words, she gave no sign. "Where are we going, Daniel?"
"Uh…" Polycutt recovered his senses. "I was thinking the Heidelhaus, downtown…"
"German! Oh my gosh, I love weinerschnizel!" She stood on tiptoe again and kissed Marion on the cheek. Marion looked as if she had experienced sensory overload, but shook her head and looked forlornly at her adopted daughter and her sudden suitor. "Don't worry, Mama, I'll be on time. You know me better than that."
"I hope so," Marion said. She looked at Polycutt. She still retained enough of her anger that her glare was quite enough to send Polycutt into retreat. He continued to look worriedly over his shoulder as Maysa led him out, she prattling about she hadn't had German cuisine in ages. When they had gone, Marion remained in the hallway for awhile. "My little Maysa…" she said wistfully, then looked at Elfa's door. Grinning wickedly, she kicked the door viciously then went back into her own quarters. "I need a drink."
An hour later, Daniel Polycutt and Maysa Bari were having a very pleasant dinner, Maysa munching on a breadstick. "So, did you get the new upgrade on your Dervish?" Maysa asked suddenly.
Polycutt, who had been reflecting on how the restaurant's lights brought out just how red Maysa's hair was and trying not to make a babbling fool of himself, was brought up short. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Took it out on trials yesterday."
"Did it work okay?" He nodded, and Maysa aped the motion. "Good. Master Tech Nicia was a little worried about that. She says it's really underarmored for its size."
"That's true…but it's a fire support 'Mech. I don't want to get in close unless I have to."
"You could rip the Streak SRMs off the arms and put in some Artemis IV fire control systems, plus a little more armor."
"Yeah, I could, but I'm used to having the SRMs. They're good to have against infantry and tanks, plus I really like that new Streak system. Only fires if it gets a lock, doesn't generate any more heat—pretty neat. I have to watch out for heat, even with the new doubles."
"Oh yeah, me too." Maysa washed down the breadstick with a glass of water. Neither had ordered alcohol; Polycutt had originally planned on a little wine, to complete the romantic ideal of dinner, but the thought of Marion Rhialla smelling it on his breath made his blood run cold.
"I'm not surprised, you being in a Rifleman…" His voice trailed off. "Maysa, we're sitting here talking shop."
"So what?" Maysa folded her hands on the table. "We're MechWarriors, Dan. This is what we do. What did you want to talk about?"
He hesitated, then chuckled self-consciously. "Beats me."
"Exactly. Hey. I was field-stripping lasers when I was ten, Dan. I love my work. Not the killing," she insisted. "But the Sentinels are my life. I can't dream of being something besides a MechWarrior or a tech. I can't change—nor do I want someone to try." She looked pointedly at him.
He put up his hands defensively. "Hey, I don't want to. I mean, that's what I think I want in a wife. A civvie just won't understand." Polycutt suddenly realized what he had just said. "Oh shit…uh, I mean, oh darn. Sorry. I just stuck my foot in my mouth again."
"Well, at least you didn't lose your shorts." She grinned mischeviously at his blush, though she was blushing too. He liked when she did that. "Sorry! I probably shouldn't have brought that up."
"No, no…it's okay. I wanted to apologize for that."
Maysa was quiet for a moment. "Nothing to apologize for." She suddenly smiled at him. "I mean, you're not the first person that's happened to!" Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "This one time, we were camped out on Vantaa, right? It was just before Sheila got captured in the Massanutten Valley. Well, anyways, Felisanna decides she's gonna take a birdbath because it's been hot and humid and the heat sinks in her Wolfhound were fritzing out…stupid TharHes heat sinks. The ceramic cracks too easy, and…well, anyways," Maysa continued, realizing she was about to get off on a Nicia Caii-style rant, "she takes off her cooling vest and just drops her underwear, right there in the mess tent!" Maysa shuddered. "I was pretty shocked. I mean, Felisanna isn't Miss Tact, and it was just me and her in there, but still—and then—"
"Someone walked in," Polycutt smirked.
"Yeah! And you'll never guess who." He shook his head. "Max! That's right, the Commander's hubby. So there's Felisanna standing there in her birthday suit, and Max just freezes!" She laughed. "Then Tooriu walks in. He just says, 'Scuse me, bud' to Max and gets himself a soda, looks at Felisanna, who's just as shocked as me and Max, and says, ''Sup, when did you start shaving down there' and leaves like nothing's wrong, dragging Max out!" Maysa collapsed in giggles. "You could've knocked me over with a feather, and Felisanna—I think she got dressed in three seconds flat!"
Polycutt laughed as well, and that had reminded him of a funny story about how he and his lancemates had painted a clown face on a particularly mean local House unit commander's Atlas, and they laughed without reservations, friends.
Maysa suddenly perked up, holding up a hand for silence. "Oh!"
"What is it?" he asked.
"That song they're playing. It's Love is Blue. Paul Mariat. They played that at Max and Sheila's wedding. Ancient music, but oh, it's so beautiful…"
You're beautiful, Polycutt thought. He swallowed. "Would…you…uh…would you like to dance?"
Maysa stared down at her plate, her face as red as her hair, then slowly nodded. "I'd like that very much."
"That lucky bastard." Kassy Holliday looked over at where Polycutt was leading Maysa Bari onto the dance floor. "Ol' Miss Bari's gonna lose her sainthood tonight."
Cecilia Masterson looked over the table at Holliday. "Not if he wants to live. Marion Rhialla's her guardian. She'll have his balls for a necktie if he so much as unbuttons her collar."
"Yeah, well…it's pretty obvious what he wants." Holliday rolled her eyes. "Men. Glad I gave up on them. They're all pigs."
"No, no," Masterson chided. She took a forkful of salad and wagged it in Holliday's face. "None of that, now. They're not all bad."
Holliday seized the fork with her lips and pulled back slowly, suggestively. Masterson felt her heart miss a beat. "Stop that," she said quietly. "I don't want people to know about us."
The other woman chewed and swallowed. "Really? I understand you practically did everything but sing 'I Wish I Was a Lesbian' at your interview. The Commander knows you're gay." She shrugged. "And I don't think she really gives a damn about it."
"You like her?"
"I think so. She don't take shit off nobody, and she treats us right. Hell, she doesn't have to do PT with us every morning, but she does. I think all Sheila cares about is if we can fight. We'll prove that soon enough."
"That's not my point." Masterson pushed her salad around on her plate. "I don't want her to know about us, Kassy. Not because we're lesbians—I think you're right, she doesn't care—but because we're in different lances."
Holliday threw down her napkin. "Oh come on, CeeCee. I don't believe that bullshit for a second. You're worried because you're gunning for Peter Nicholas' job."
Masterson shrugged. "True. He's gotten himself in trouble with Rhialla. Only a matter of time before I'm a lance commander again."
"Maybe. But it doesn't matter--Sheila don't care about who's screwing who. Hell, her XO is getting pronged by that big bastard Tooriu, and Elfa's his superior officer! Not that I blame her, mind…that boy could turn me straight."
Masterson rolled her eyes. "Everything about sex with you, girlfriend?"
"What else is there? Live fast, die young, that's me. 'Bout time we got into a unit that appreciates that. I loved Valendria Sheridan like my mom, but damn was she cautious." Holliday finished the rest of her wine. "Speaking of which, you heard where we're going?"
Masterson looked around, then leaned forward. "I don't really know, mind you…I just heard it." She dropped her voice lower. "We're going back to Rasalhague space."
Holliday's eyes lit up. "Really? Wow!" She poured both of them more wine. "Back home, kicking Wolf ass. And we can do it now. New 'Mechs, new rides, new unit, and a commander who's not shit-scared of fighting. I propose a toast, Cecilia Cindee Masterson." She raised her glass.
Masterson clinked hers against it. "I couldn't agree more, Kassandra Carmilla Holliday. Hale and hearty until we're ninety." She drained her glass, then watched the dancers on the floor. "She's even a good dancer. I swear, Kassy, I'm going to find out what Bari isn't good at."
"I know the answer to that one." Masterson felt Holliday's foot slide up her leg under the dress. She smoldered at Masterson. "I bet she doesn't know the first thing about this." The foot slid up higher.
Masterson smiled. "Hell, she's probably a natural prodigy at that, too. Well, Loverboy over there won't soon find out, I'll wager. Me, on the other hand…" She raised a hand. "Waitress, check please!"
It was 2135 Hours when Daniel Polycutt and Maysa Bari returned to the officers' quarters. To his surprise and relief, Marion Rhialla was not waiting with a shotgun loaded with white phosphorus. They paused at the door, then tried to speak at the same time. They laughed, then Polycutt spoke first. "I had a great time tonight, Maysa."
"Me too. It was the first time I've ever been dancing."
He dropped his voice and thumbed at the door. "Your guardian is that protective?"
"She's my mom, not my guardian…but no, not that. I've just never really been interested. In fact, she made me go to my junior prom on Grunwald. I hated it so much that I left early and walked ten kilometers back home."
"Was tonight…okay?"
"It was great, really." She looked at her shoes. "Well…I guess this is good night. Thank you for a wonderful, um, date."
He scratched the back of his head self-consciously. "We'll, uh, have to do it again, er…sometime?" He made it a question.
"Absolutely." Maysa hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Daniel. Until the next time." She winked and went inside the apartment. Polycutt rubbed his cheek, grinned at himself, and decided that the night was a success after all.
Inside, Maysa leaned against the door and tried to control her pounding heart. She had always suspected that boys did like her, though the assassin who had come on so strong to her had soured her on dating for awhile. Before, she was sure that people found her too clumsy, too gawky, or simply too much in love with grease and gun oil and dirty BattleMechs to want to get close. Now it had been proven to her that one boy liked her a great deal. She was glad that Daniel had been such a gentleman. He had even refused to slow dance with her, for fear that someone would see them. It was less a fear of Marion Rhialla than a fear for Maysa's reputation. That was good. She could take things slow. Any more than that, and for all her supposed saintliness, Maysa feared that it wouldn't be Daniel that would need to be controlled, but her.
She noticed that there was a distinct smell of alcohol in the room. She walked over and found Marion slumped on the sofa, asleep and very drunk, if the two bottles of ouzo were any indication. Despite her reputation as being a hard drinker, Marion actually rarely drank to excess; before the war with the Clans, Maysa couldn't remember a time when Marion had come home drunk, and even after the war started, maybe only three or four times. In any case, Marion never drank alone. Now she had. That worried Maysa, until she realized the cause: herself.
She felt tears well up in her eyes, and knew it must be hard for her guardian. Marion, well over fifty years old, knew that her own career as a MechWarrior was closer to its end, while Maysa, almost seventeen, was barely a year into hers. The passing of the torch, Maysa thought. Except it was more than that. Marion tonight had come face-to-face with the very real fact that her little girl was growing up, and—if she survived the war—might be getting married, starting a family, and basically becoming an adult. Perhaps it was more than that: perhaps Marion was remembering a time when she had been Maysa and the boys had been courting her—something unlikely to happen now as an older woman, especially one with a waspish reputation as Marion now had. Certainly the confrontation with Elfa, who was obviously in love (or lust) with Tooriu, barely older than Maysa, had probably contributed to that. Maysa wiped her eyes; she had never realized that Marion Rhialla might be as lonely, tired, and scared as the rest of them. She seemed to be made of steel. Maysa remembered an old saying that had given her nightmares when she was little, the epitaph on a grave: where you are, I once was. Where I am, you one day will be.
"You poor thing," she whispered, drawing a cover over Marion's unmoving form, the gentle rise and fall of her chest providing the only indication the older woman was still alive. "You've just about had enough of all this, haven't you? Well, Mama, you're too big for me to carry to bed, but I can do this…I'm not looking forward to PT in the morning, since you're going to have a hell of a hangover, but you'll be there anyway, before all of us, God bless you." She straightened Marion's legs out and turned her on her side, in case she threw up. "Not the best job, but the best I can do." She knelt down and kissed Marion on the forehead. "Drunk or sober, I love you, Mama."
Maysa was halfway to her own room when she heard Marion mumble, "I heard that."
"It's okay, Mama. I meant it. Good night." Maysa closed the door to her room.