AUTHOR'S NOTES: Second to last chapter of this story arc. The next one will have all the 'Mech action you can handle, I guarantee. I had originally intended for this arc to be longer, but it's getting increasingly more depressing, so I'm skipping some of the ideas I had. It's bad enough as it is, though I do have some humor in here…

I've come to realize that Mimi Stykkis has been mentioned in passing a lot in this story arc, so a little bit of explanation is in order, sort of—Mimi only appeared "in person" in the first few chapters of Snowbird Ascendant, the first of these MechWarrior stories of mine. FYI, she's actually based on Shelley Hine from Omaha the Cat Dancer (as are the characters of Charles Badaxe, Maria Thyatis, and Samuel Bonner), since when I first put pen to paper to write these stories I was reading a lot of Omaha at the time.

The line "Mein Fuehrer, I can stand!" is a Dr. Strangelove reference, while Kahvi Falx's former appearance is based closely on Motoko Aoyama from Love Hina.

And the songs sung at the end of the chapter? All of them are real. "I Love My Wife," "Mary Ann Burns," and "Brown Brown" are all filthy fighter pilot songs dating back to World War I, but I figured that MechWarriors might steal them too. As for the other songs, see "Music Corner" below.

REVIEWER'S CORNER:

SulliMike: Given how abrasive Marion is, I figured she'd be even worse when it comes to family. I wanted to make Dan Polycutt a gentleman—I figured there's too much "wham bam thank you ma'am" romances as it is.

Flashpoint: Glad you liked it—who hasn't experienced the sort of stammering foolishness of a first date?! As for German cuisine, I couldn't agree more. (Sadly, the Heidelhaus used to exist in my hometown, but now it's just another steak place.)

Mosin: Thanks, and good to see you back! Now that you mention it, Maysa is a lot like Kaylee! I'm not a huge Firefly fan, but I have watched it, and I was probably unconsciously influenced by Kaylee. In fact, I know I was—Maysa was playing tag with Louisa Arla-Vlata in a fashion not unlike Kaylee and River Tam not too long ago. I'd better be careful—don't want Joss Whedon suing me (though he's got some explaining to do about swiping from Outlaw Star and Cowboy Bebop).

Panzerfaust: It's a bit premature to talk about a wedding, but Maysa is only almost seventeen. (Does that make her jailbait? Hmm.) She's at that age where she thinks she's immortal and death hasn't really touched her yet personally. Like I said, in all these Battletech stories (mine and others), casual sex seems indeed part of that "eat, drink, and be merry" MechWarrior lifestyle, so I wanted to have some people who decide that, despite the odds, to wait until marriage. (Of course, this assumes that Maysa and Dan can wait that long, or have that long…)

Rogue: Nah, Elfa wasn't eavesdropping. Marion was just being her usual loud self.

MUSIC CORNER: "Cannae Throw Your Granny" by the Tim Malloys, and "Big Balls" by AC/DC, though for some reason I was also listening to "Roy Fokker's Theme" from Macross and "Danse Macabre"by Saint-Saens as well.

Snowbirds SMCAT Command Post. Reichenberg

Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

20 October 3051

Max Canis-Vlata came in to find his wife humming away happily as she signed various reports. "What're you so happy about?"

Sheila signed her name with a flourish, then leaned back in her chair. "Because that's the last damn request I have to sign today." Then she saw what Max was holding, and she soured. "You're a bastard."

"That's no way to talk to the man you love," Max said, dropping a new stack of reports on her desk.

She sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Give me a kiss and I'll forgive you."

Sheila complied, then flipped through the reports. "Oh hell. Why didn't I stay a MechWarrior? I mean, look at some of this crap!" She brandished one piece of paper. "This is for a dozen replacement medium laser lenses for Defiance B3Ms." Then she held up another. "Next is for three dozen rolls of toilet paper!" She tossed them down, then leaned over, head in her hands. "Oh man…and we've got that reception we're supposed to go to in an hour, too…this sucks." Sheila was wearing her formal uniform, complete with cape.

Max leaned over her shoulder. "Three dozen rolls of toilet paper? We're gonna need more than that."

"Hey, I'm leaving behind everything I can. I figure we'll field-requisition once we're hitting planets." Field requisition was military parlance for stealing. Though the Snowbirds would be taking along vouchers good for C-Bills, ComStar's universal money, anything not tied down was fair game. Sheila stared morosely at the stack of paper. "A thousand years after the invention of the computer, and we've still yet to achieve the paperless office." There was a knock on the door, and Sheila looked up. "Come in." When the person outside did so, both Sheila and Max nearly fell over from surprise. The last person they expected was Mimi Stykkis.

Sheila slowly stood, in utter shock. She had last seen her childhood friend and former Nagelring roommate lying in a hospital bed on Grunwald, unwilling to even look at Sheila in the latter's first and only visit. The Elemental that had struck her with its weapon arm had snapped her spine, and Mimi--who had always been athletic and even secretly moonlighted as an exotic dancer during their senior year, a fact that would've resulted in immediate expulsion had it been known—could no longer even walk. Yet here she was, standing in front of Sheila, the old impish smile on her face. "Hi," she said. "What's with the uniform? Is it some sort of Catholic holiday today or something?"

At the Nagelring, Mimi's irreverence when it came to religion had always aggravated Sheila to no end, but today Sheila barely heard her. "Mimi," she whispered, "is it really you?"

"Of course it's me, stupid! What kind of question is that?"

"But…you're…standing!"

Mimi looked down at herself and acquired an expression of comic shock. "Will you look at that?" She then looked up at Sheila. "Mein Fuehrer, I can stand!" She grinned. "Well, sort of, anyway."

Sheila came from around the desk. Mimi wore steel braces around her legs from heel to waist, and balanced on two canelike crutches. Nevertheless, they hugged fiercely, and Sheila could tell Mimi had put on a good amount of muscle in her upper body, which wasn't to be wondered at. She had worn her hair short in the Nagelring and immediately after, but now had let it grow out some and wore it in a long braid down the left side of her face. "You look great," Sheila said, and it was true: despite her obvious physical handicap, Mimi was looking as bright and vivacious as ever.

"Not too bad yourself, Lieutenant Commander," Mimi replied, slapping Sheila's stomach. "Geez. I'm out of it for a year and you go and get yourself promoted." She noticed Sheila's artificial arm and blanched a little, but didn't comment on it. Instead, she turned her grin on Max. "And got yourself a husband, I see. Hi, Max. Don't I get a hug?"

Max came over and gave Mimi a polite hug. He never understood Sheila and Mimi's friendship, as the two were polar opposites. Where Sheila tended to be reserved, even aloof, but generally respectful, Mimi was loud, boisterous, and never bothered controlling her mouth. While Max didn't hate Mimi in the least, neither was he particularly well-disposed towards her.

"What brings you to Sudeten?" Sheila asked, mainly to keep Mimi distracted: she looked about ready to say something to Max that all three would later regret.

"I'm still part of the Sentinels," Mimi said with a mock pout. "Calla has me assigned to the Iceberg's staff. I'm not looking forward to it. I made planetfall two hours ago and came straight over here. I'm kinda hoping you can find me a place in the Snowbirds."

"Geez, Mimi, I really don't have anything for you to do. I mean, you're welcome to help me with paperwork, but we're going on a deep raid." That much was already known via regimental rumor. "I'm not going to have much need for a staff there outside of the one I have." Sheila didn't have to fake sorrow. Mimi, to everyone's surprise including her own, actually had a knack for staff work. Her ability to solve complicated problems and brilliance at mathematics had been the only thing that had kept her from flunking out of the Nagelring.

"You mean, you need a MechWarrior." Mimi's pleasant demeanor instantly evaporated. Sheila nodded, hating herself for doing so, but without much choice. Mimi's face darkened, prepatory to going on a tirade, but she was cut off by a knock on the office door. "Come in," Max barked, his eyes never leaving the other woman. He had no intention of he or Sheila being subjected to the third degree. Another thing that Max had never liked about Mimi Stykkis was her sense of entitlement: Mimi didn't ask, she took.

Stefan Jones entered. He looked around the office, immediately sensed the tension, and came to attention. "Is this a bad time, Commander? I need to speak with you."

"Can it wait?" Sheila asked.

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry, but it can't."

Sheila relented and shooed Mimi out of the way; Stefan was a good man with a combat record going back to the War of 3039. She returned his salute. "At ease, MechWarrior. What can I do for you?"

"I request an immediate transfer, Commander."

Sheila leaned back against her desk, arms crossed. "I've already transferred you to Bravo Fire from Bravo Heavy, Stefan. I'd hate to do that again." Robert Copeland was already unpopular in the Snowbirds; having a MechWarrior request a transfer would only make things worse.

"Not to another lance, ma'am. Out of the Snowbirds."

Sheila was stunned. "Out of the battalion? Why?"

"I can't serve with her any longer, Commander. I know you're friends and all, but I just can't."

"Who?"

"Senefa Malthus."

Max shook his head. "What has she done to you?"

"Nothing, Major. I just can't serve with her any longer," Jones repeated. "I've had a talk with Major Jaggar over in Alpha Battalion, ma'am. He says he's got a spot open; one of his guys just retired." At the look on Sheila's face, Jones waved his hands in defense. "It's not what you think, Commander. We were having a drink last night, and it just came up. I served with Major Jaggar before I came over to the Snowbirds, that's all."

Sheila pushed herself off the desk. "Stefan, we're getting close to the time when we're moving out. Now I'm supposed to shoehorn someone new into Bravo Heavy? What if I can't find anyone? Am I supposed to let Lance Commander Copeland go out with a short lance?"

Jones looked at his boots. "Yes, ma'am, I know. I'm sorry, ma'am."

"What's the problem?" Sheila tried to keep her voice neutral and didn't succeed very well.

Now Jones' head came up, and he was angry. "Commander, I've lost good friends to the Jade Falcons. It was Malthus' 133rd Fusiliers who got Terry Nutter at the Valley! Now we're supposed to forgive and forget just because she throws in with us? I can't, Commander. I don't see how you can. I know she helped you escape, and she's supposedly shown remorse, but I just can't serve in the same battalion. With respect." Jones went back to attention.

"What if I order you to?" Sheila snapped.

Jones reached up and pulled off his shoulder boards. They were red, the color assigned to MechWarriors. "Then I'll resign and go regular, ma'am." He held them out to Sheila.

"It means that much? You've got seniority," Max told him. "You'd be up for the next available Lance Commander slot, if you want it."

"Yes, sir. It means that much."

Sheila fought down the urge to either throttle Jones or at the least bawl him out. She knew Jones was no slacker, nor was he a malcontent. That forced Sheila to take a figurative measure of herself. She and Senefa had become close, the result of shared experience that neither could talk about, and a feeling of near-sisterhood, forged on a battlefield, even when they had fought each other. Sheila was not so blind as to think the Snowbirds would accept Senefa without reservation, but she had thought that, after the rescue of the Vantaa Rangers, the battalion had come to include Senefa as one of their own. She had never suspected that some of them, like Jones, still disliked the ex-Clanswoman. I still have a lot to learn about this job, Sheila thought to herself. I don't know my people well enough. I should've seen this coming. She closed her eyes for a moment, then reached out and closed Jones' hand over the shoulder boards. "No, Stefan," she said gently. "It won't come to that. Go over to Alpha Battalion's CP and get transfer orders. I'll sign them today."

"Then…you understand?" he asked incredously.

"No," Sheila answered, "I don't. But I won't see you throw away your career, either. You're too good a man for that."

Jones shuffled his feet, then put the boards back on and saluted Sheila. "Thank you, Commander…I'm sorry. I'll see if anyone in Alpha wants to take my place." He seemed to want to say something else, but ended up just turning on his heel and leaving, leaving silence in his wake.

Broken, predictably, by Mimi. "Well," she said with her smile returning, "looks like you do have a spot open, Sheila."

"For a MechWarrior," Sheila said coldly. Mimi looked surprised, and Sheila turned to her. "Mimi, you of all people should know it's not fun and games anymore, like it was at the 'Ring. Now I have a short lance with a lance commander who's never been up against the Clans."

"Who is it, anyway?"

"Robert Copeland. He's our liasion officer."

"All the better." Mimi limped forward. "Sheila, I can still pilot. I've been cleared." At Sheila's expression of disbelief, Mimi reached into a pocket and handed her a signed release. Sheila scanned and handed it back. "All that says is that you can be returned to duty," Sheila told her. "It doesn't say shit about piloting a 'Mech."

"But I can!" Mimi insisted. "Look, Sheila—I have feeling below my waist. They fused my back. I just can't feel my legs below my thighs. With the braces on, though, I can still move my legs." She demonstrated. Mimi's movements were stiff, but adequate. "Sheila, they let guys and gals with artificial legs pilot 'Mechs—hell, they let them fly fighters, and there's a lot more leg movement there! It's not like my Crusader has jumpjets. All I have to do is use the pedals and push them up and down."

Sheila considered that for a long moment. She then went to the door, opened it, and yelled for Marion Rhialla. Marion was rarely out of earshot of the CP, though the Snowbirds would argue as a whole that she was never out of earshot, period; certainly her voice could be heard all over the base. Marion arrived soon enough. "Can you come in here for a moment?" Sheila asked.

"Sure. What's up?" Marion walked in and gave a start when she saw Mimi. "Well, well, if it isn't Miss Stykkis, back from her enforced vacation."

"It was one shitty vacation," Mimi shot back. There was no love lost between Mimi Stykkis and Marion Rhialla: from when Mimi was a child up until she left for the Nagelring, she had taken great pleasure in tormenting Maysa Bari. Marion, always one to bear a grudge, had never forgiven her for it.

"Stefan Jones just quit," Sheila said, before either could renew their feud. "Mimi here has volunteered to take his place in Bravo Heavy."

Marion snorted. "What are we supposed to do, weld her to the cockpit?"

"I can do it," Mimi snapped.

"Right now, you couldn't kick your own ass," Marion retorted. "This is ridiculous, Sheila—"

Mimi, infuriated, slowly sat down, in more of a half-fall. Max stepped forward to help, but she waved him off, then threw her crutches to him. She moved her legs up and down, never wavering her gaze from Marion. "Hmpf," Marion sniffed. "Fine, you can move your legs. I'm sure you can do the rest, too. But tell me, Miss Stykkis, how are you supposed to get out of the 'Mech if it's burning?"

"I'll eject," Mimi said, as if to a slow three-year old.

"What if the ejection seat's broken? Are we supposed to sit there and just listen to you burn?" Neither Max nor Sheila could suppress a shudder; burning alive in a 'Mech was something that gave every MechWarrior nightmares.

Mimi's eyes smoldered. She reached down, placed her hands flat on the floor, and pushed upwards. Using the desk for leverage, she slowly, but determinedly, stood. She wavered and nearly fell, and sweat was running freely off her face, but she was upright. "Not fast enough," Marion proclaimed, though Sheila could tell that she was impressed. "You need to be able to do that in fifteen seconds, minimum."

Mimi began to lower herself back down, but Sheila caught her. "Enough," she said. "Mimi, you're assigned to the Snowbirds on a probationary basis. Marion, you make sure she can meet fifteen seconds and that she can pilot a real 'Mech, not an imaginary one. Ride her. I want to know how badly she wants this." Marion nodded, exchanging a look with Mimi that told the other woman Sheila's orders would be carried out with pleasure. Mimi merely inclined her head upwards, accepting the challenge. Marion gave her a ghost of a smile, saluted Sheila, and walked out, leaving Mimi to follow. Max handed back her crutches, Mimi resolutely stuck them under her shoulders, and she began to walk out. She paused on the threshhold. "You've changed," she told Sheila quietly.

"We all have."

"That's true." Mimi sketched a salute, then hobbled down the steps.

The incident with Stefan Jones and Mimi Stykkis threw a pall over the reception, but Sheila tried to make the best of it. She and Max danced, something they both enjoyed but rarely got a chance to do, the food was good, and even if the mood was somewhat grim on the news that the Clans were once more advancing, Sheila was enjoying herself. The Snowbirds had been given the next morning off, and had been invited to the reception, though only a few came—as Tooriu had stated, the "atmosphere was too rarified," and most had taken the night to catch up on sleep, or had hit the bars in Reichenberg, to seek somewhat baser company. Sheila wondered how many of her battalion she might have to bail out of jail the next morning.

Of the Snowbirds, besides Sheila and Max, she had spotted Daniel Polycutt and Maysa Bari, who were now apparently something of an item. That surprised her: it was generally assumed that Marion kept her adopted daughter under lock and key. They were obviously having a good time, and even from her current position along the periphery of the dance floor, Sheila could hear Maysa laughing at something Polycutt said. Mimi Stykkis was there, basking in the welcome of old friends and surviving members of the Stykkis clan, who at their height had seven MechWarriors in the Sentinels. That number was now down to three, including Mimi: the elder Stykkises had retired just before the Clan War, while Mimi's older brother and younger sister had been killed on Persistence and Planting respectively. Peter Nicholas was there, holding court with a group of younger MechWarriors from Beta Battalion; so was Robert Copeland, looking distinctly uncomfortable and at the party, Sheila was sure, only because his superior liasion officer, Allegra Grant, had ordered it. Shasti Buena was the only member of Delta Company to be present, and was currently helping the assembled orchestra by playing her fiddle. She was quite good at it, though once more she had rolled up the sleeves of her dress uniform to display her impressive tattoos.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Commander." Sheila looked over to see Lee Nakamura standing next to her. With the Clans on the move once more, he could come out into the open, as it were, as the official DCMS liasion to Morgan Hasek-Davion, and thus wore the red-trimmed white uniform of House Kurita. He wore two rows of campaign ribbons and the emblem of a stalking tiger in red, though Sheila had no idea what the decoration meant.

"Good evening, Chu-sa," Sheila politely returned. Nakamura had been present for further meetings on Rubicon, and had offered good suggestions, but remained standoffish. Sheila assumed that was because he was working with, after all, mercenaries.

Nakamura filled his plate with food from the buffet table. "If I attend any more of these parties, I'll need a new uniform," he remarked. "The AFFC does put on a good feed." He smiled at Sheila. "I don't see your husband around, Lieutenant Commander."

"Just call me Commander, Chu-sa…or Sheila; I don't mind. As for my husband, he's in the bathroom."

"Oh. Pardon me…and I'll use 'Commander,' if that's all right. It would be impolite for me to use your first name. In the Combine, that is done only with close acquaintances. Which reminds me, Commander—how good is your Japanese?"

"Not very," Sheila admitted. She had taken a year of it at the Nagelring, but had not done well in the course. "I can get around, I suppose. I can't read kanji at all; if I didn't know that it says 'Kurita' on your uniform shoulders, I wouldn't know what to make of it."

"Interesting. What made you study Japanese?"

"I figured that it would help if I knew a bit about the enemy…at the time."

Nakamura smiled. "Yes, this war has made strange bedfellows." He ate some of the shrimp on his plate. "Hmm. Not bad—not Matsuida tempura, but not bad." He washed it down with some water, then nonchalantly said, "Commander, do you know a Kimiko Matsushima?"

Sheila gave a small start, and cursed herself for stepping neatly into a trap. In the Combine, it was quite common to talk around a subject for awhile, to make both sides comfortable, but it was also a good way to catch someone unawares. She knew Nakamura had caught her physical reaction, but Sheila did her best to cover it up. "Yes, I remember hearing something about her."

Nakamura raised an eyebrow, surprised at such a ready admission. "Oh?"

"I think Hohiro Kurita mentioned her in passing on Outreach." Sheila smiled thinly, turning the game back on Nakamura. It was a subtle reminder that Sheila herself knew high-ranking Kurita officials—namely the third in line for the Kurita throne.

"I would be surprised that the Heir to the Dragon would know of such a person," Nakamura continued, in a tone of voice that told Sheila he knew she was lying. "Granted, Tanadi Electronics is an important firm in the Combine, but the errant daughter of its CEO seems something that wouldn't be worthy of royal attention."

"I could be wrong," Sheila shrugged, keeping a straight face. "Who is she, anyway?"

"Hiro Matsushima is the head of Tanadi," Nakamura explained. "It seems he indulged his daughter's passion for becoming a MechWarrior a little too much. He got her appointed to Sun Zhang Military Academy on Kagoshima, and to everyone's surprise, she not only graduated but did so with honors. Quite an achievement for a woman."

"Yes, quite." Sheila's voice was icy.

"In the Combine, it is," Nakamura said quickly, realizing he had just offended her. "In spite of her mistreatment, even more so." He took another drink of water. "In any case, Director Matsushima had his daughter assigned to Tanadi as sort of a personal guard, though she protested and attempted to get into a unit heading towards the front. On her third attempt, she may have succeeded—she disappeared."

"Damn shame."

"Quite. There is a rumor that she may have even left the Combine…and come to the Federated Commonwealth." Nakamura surreptitiously watched Sheila. "Even to Sudeten."

"If I see her, I'll let her know you're interested." Sheila instantly regretted trying to make such an offhand remark: it was practically admitting Sheila knew who Nakamura was talking about.

"Splendid. Here's a picture of her." Nakamura reached into a pocket and handed Sheila a two-dimensional photograph of an unsmiling, rather severe looking teenage girl, who to Sheila's surprise, was wearing the traditional robes of a miko, a Shinto shrine maiden. It was undoubtedly Kahvi Falx, though in the picture her hair was very long and combed into bangs over her forehead, instead of shoulder-length and braided. "In fact, she looks very much like that young woman over there." Nakamura pointed, and to Sheila's horror, Kahvi Falx was standing at the edge of the circle surrounding Peter Nicholas, drinking wine. Even at this distance, the resemblance was unmistakable. "Who is she?"

"Her? Kahvi Falx. One of my Snowbirds. She is of Japanese descent—New Kyoto." Sheila was thinking fast.

"Unusual name, especially for someone of Japanese origin."

"From what she told me, Kahvi is Ainu," Sheila lied smoothly. She had no idea where Kimiko had gotten her name from, but referencing the ancient aboriginal race of the Japanese home islands put some truth to the lie. Sheila knew nothing about the Ainu except their existence, but was sure Nakamura didn't either. "Falx is Latin, and it's an assumed name."

"A nom de guerre? Why?" Nakamura looked like he almost believed her.

"Sorry, Chu-sa," Sheila said, "I'm not authorized to reveal personal information about my MechWarriors. And I am curious why you're so interested."

"I was sent a personal message by Director Matsushima to be on the lookout for his daughter."

"To bring her back?" Sheila asked.

"Not myself, no. The Director would arrange something for that."

"I think the AFFC would not look kindly on that," Sheila warned. "Moreover, why would you want to? If Kimiko Matsushima came here to Sudeten—and I can assure you, Chu-sa, that she is not on the base to my knowledge—she came here to fight the Clans." Sheila resisted smiling at her little dodge. Kahvi Falx/Kimiko Matsushima was indeed not on Sentinel Base Sudeten, because the reception was at the Hyatt, off-base. "I would think that her father would be proud and greatly honored by his daughter's willingness to sacrifice everything, including possibly her life, to serve her country in the only means left to her. Isn't that the essence of a samurai? 'Death is a feather, duty is a mountain'? I know I'd be proud to have such a person in my unit."

Nakamura smiled and finished his water. "Indeed, Commander. As would I." Now Sheila knew he had seen through her flimsy story, but also understood her point. Whatever else she was, Kahvi/Kimiko was of a samurai family, one of ancient lineage, and to keep her from doing her duty was dishonoring both her and her family. Taking her back to her father now would almost certainly end in her suicide, which Sheila regarded as a complete waste—and from Nakamura's expression, he agreed. "Tell me, Commander—what grade did you get in your Japanese course?"

"A C-," Sheila admitted. "The kanji killed me."

"But I imagine you scored high on the cultural part…you certainly understand our code of bushido." He poured himself another glass of water. "Ah, here's your husband. Well, good evening, Commander. I will tell the ISF to look elsewhere." He left, smiling, even as Sheila repressed a shudder. Nakamura would not interfere with Kahvi Falx, but he was subtly warning Sheila that there were others who felt otherwise—namely the Internal Security Force, the feared secret police of House Kurita. Oh well, Sheila thought, the ISF has better things to do than track us on Rubicon after we leave Sudeten. It would be a problem when and if they reached the Combine, but she could always simply restrict Kahvi to the DropShip, where she would not be seen.

"Hey, gorgeous." Max came up beside her and kissed her cheek. "Sorry about that…Copeland caught me coming out of the can and tried to talk my ear off." He nodded towards the departing Nakamura. "What was his problem?"

"No problem. He thought he'd seen Kahvi before, that's all. I'll tell you later." Sheila's father was approaching, and the last thing Sheila wanted was to burden him with her problems. "Hi, Dad."

"Hey, kid—hey, Max." Calla thumbed towards Nakamura. "What was his problem?"

"No problem," Sheila and Max said simutaneously.

"Uh huh—now I know you're lying." Calla winked at Max. "Not to interrupt you two, but I'd like the honor of a dance with my daughter, if'n you don't mind."

"No problem," Max repeated. Calla swept Sheila into the waltzing dancers, Sheila missing a step and nearly getting her spurs tangled into her cape. Max suspected that Calla wanted to spend some time with her; the two had barely spent more than a few hours together since Sheila had arrived on Sudeten. He didn't begrudge his father-in-law at all. Sheila and Calla had always been close, and there was the very real possibility that one of them might die in the near future—Sheila on Rubicon, Calla on Sudeten.

Max watched them for a long while, sipping at some punch. He had just decided to go and strike up a conversation with Daniel and Maysa when he felt someone come up beside him. Max turned and nearly jumped in surprise: it was his own father.

Todd Canis was taller than his son and more broad; Max had taken after his mother's skinny frame. He held a can of soda stiffly, which Max knew was the result of a steel shoulder replacement, and his right eye was covered with a patch. Todd had a glass eye, but rarely wore it. His face was deeply scarred over its right side, and Max remembered being shocked at seeing a holo of his father's unscarred face before the Fourth Succession War. A Liao Transit's strafing run had nearly blown off the head of Todd's Crusader, putting him out of action for nearly a year and resulting in a painful shoulder replacement and an artificial eye. The surgery had been done hurriedly by an overworked doctor on Shensi, and as a result Todd suffered from chronic pain. Afraid of becoming addicted to painkillers, Todd had found whiskey to be an adequate substitute—and wound up becoming addicted to alcohol instead. His drinking had nearly destroyed his marriage: Mira Canis nee Bighorn-Vlata had been so infuriated with her husband's refusal to quit "going out with the boys" to the bars that she had virtually cut off all communication with him, even taking lovers in revenge. They obstensibly remained married for the good of Max, though Max wondered how a broken home, early morning shouting matches, and blatant adultery was supposed to be "good" for him. He had worked hard to get a scholarship to the New Avalon Military Academy, and had been relieved to go. All of this went through Max's mind in the scant seconds father and son confronted each other.

"Hello, son," Todd said.

"Hi, Dad," Max returned. There was an awkward silence that went on too long, and then Max spoke, mainly just to say something, "You're looking good."

"Thanks," Todd replied. Actually, Max considered, his father did look good. Though they had only rarely spoken since the wedding on Outreach, Max knew his father had stopped drinking and that he and Mira were back on speaking terms. There was a certain something in Todd that Max had not seen since he was very little. "Not too bad, yourself," Todd added, motioning at his son. "Say…can we go talk somewhere a little quieter? My hearing isn't what it once was, you know."

"Sure," Max replied, and followed his father out of the reception hall. It still felt awkward. Unlike Sheila and Calla, Max had never felt close to his father.

The reception hall was actually atop the tall Hyatt, and the hallway that ran outside of the hall faced inwards, to the gigantic, 12-story open interior. A solid concrete core that held glass elevators supported balconies that led to the various floors of the huge hotel. Far below was the hotel restaurant, front desk, bars, and atrium. The hallway was deserted, and rather quiet. Todd leaned against the balcony, folding his hands in front of him over empty space. Max took up a position beside him, unconsciously aping his father's stance, and waited. Obviously something was on the elder Canis' mind.

"Did you mean that?" Todd suddenly asked. "About me looking good."

"Yes, sir," Max told him.

Todd half-smiled. "You know, Max, I think you've earned the right not to call me 'sir.' Hell, we're the same rank now." Max smiled too, self-consciously: he and his dad were both Majors. "Took me almost ten years to make Major, and you've done it in less than one."

His tone sounded disapproving, so Max said, "Sorry."

"Don't be! I'm proud of you, son. Really, I am." Todd stared off into space. "I haven't said enough of that. That I'm proud of you. But I am, Max. I've always been proud of you."

Max didn't like the way the conversation was going. It sounded too much like a deathbed confession. "Dad…are you…all right?"

Todd looked at him quizzically, then chuckled when he realized what Max was asking. "Jesus. That did sound awfully friggin' mauldin, huh? Sorry." They shared a grin, something they had not done in a long time. "No, Max, I'm not dying or anything. Though I oughta be, the way I've abused my guts and liver. I just got to thinking—which is always a mistake—about how much time I've wasted." His smile faded, and he turned back to staring out over the balcony. "That happens when you get old, I'll warn you right now." He shrugged. "Now if this was a holovid, which I'm fairly certain it isn't, this is where I'd tell you not to make your old man's mistakes. But I'm not gonna. You know why?" Max shook his head. "Because you're already smart enough not to. That and the fact that I'm contrary as well as ornery."

He trailed off into silence, and Max wondered if he should say something. "I'm not sure what you want me to say to that."

"Nothing. It's just that…" Todd looked at his hands, which were also scarred; Max was briefly reminded of Mimi Stykkis, remembering why his father's hands were scarred. Todd had had to pry off the burning cockpit hatch of his Crusader, as the ejection seat had failed. "Max, I fucked up. I don't mind telling you that now…you're a man, old enough to know. I hurt your mom, and I hurt you. Now I won't carry all the load—I never ran around on your mom, though Gina Carabinera tempted the hell out of me one night in '43 after about ten tequila shooters—but she did on me. That's okay. I probably deserved it. Anyone, I got to thinking the other night that I've never apologized to you."

"You don't have to, Dad."

"Horseshit. Yes, I do." Todd was looking at his son, but seemed to look through him. "I ran with Hansen's Roughriders before I met your mom and Calla, when they were forming the Sentinels in '26. I went merc because I hated my dad so much I refused to join the Capellan Armed Forces. He was a hard drinking man too—he drove off my ma, though I never knew her. The night I left, I was only fourteen. I told him to go to hell, and he said he'd see me there—before he threw a whiskey bottle at me. That was the last time I ever saw him. He got himself killed a few months later, squaring off with two Demolishers—and him in a Cicada. Either way, I've hated him all my life, son…until about a year ago, when we left Persistence. I got drunk, passed out, and woke up in the head on the Great Speckled Bird." He referred to one of Alpha Battalion's DropShips. "I looked in the mirror and I saw him, Max, I saw my pa. Except it was me. I became the man I hated the most—more than I hated Max Liao, more than I hated Natasha Kerensky for blowing the shit out of my P-Hawk on Hesperus II, more than I hated the Capellan son of a bitch who did this to me." He pointed to his eyepatch.

"I stopped drinking that night, Max, and I haven't touched a drop since. And I won't, either." Todd winked at his son. "After about two months drying out, which were not fun, I slipped into your mom's bed. Took her by surprise, but I think she appreciated being ambushed and taken from the rear." Max turned red, and Todd laughed. "I'll spare you the gross details, son. Suffice to say that Mira and I are back together. We're still going to counseling, but I think I'm gonna get it right this time. I'm gonna try anyway." He looked at the ceiling. "The whole point of this long and boring discourse is this: you're shipping out in a week or so." Todd held up his hands. "Don't ask me how I know, Max; I know. Call it old bastard's intuition. Either way, we're both old enough to know what the odds are that you might get killed out there or I might get killed right here."

He turned to Max and put his hands on his hips. "Either way, I don't want your last memory of your old man to be like mine. I'm not asking necessarily for your forgiveness. Either you've already forgiven me like the good Christian guy you are, or you hate me enough to pitch me over the goddamn balcony and you won't forgive me no matter what stupid thing that comes out of my mouth. But son…I just wanted to say that." Todd looked suddenly drained and old.

"Did Mom put you up to that?" Max asked after a long silence.

Todd laughed. "You caught me. Yeah, she did. But she's right." He shook his head. "Guys like me, Max, we don't wear our emotions on our sleeve. Our generation never did. You tough it out." He sighed. "Damn glad I got that out my system, though. Just in case."

Max reached out, hesitated, then patted his father on the back, something he had never done. "I'm sorry, Dad…about it all."

"Yeah. Me too." Todd put his arm around his son, and steered them back towards the reception. "Shit. This calls for a drink, but I'm not drinking anymore! Oh well, guess I'll get a sugar high off this damn swill they call soda. In the meantime, Max, tell your dirty old man of a father—what's your record for getting Sheila off? Mine stands at five. Just in case I get cacked on Sudeten, I gotta know how my fair-haired boy is doing!"

Nine months ago, Max would've been offended by his father's crudity. Now he laughed with his father. Both men knew there was a long way to go before they recaptured their easy familiarity of Max's childhood, but it was a start.

The rest of the reception went well, and ended in Shasti Buena leading the gathered in several ribald songs with her fiddle, including such ditties as one about not being able to throw one's granny off of a bus (and for Takashi Kurita to shove his samurai sword up his ass, which Shasti sang despite the horrified looks from Nakamura and Kahvi); another about Mary Ann Burns, Queen of the Acrobats; one for the husbands in the crowd called I Love My Wife, which got progressively more disgusting; and the equally gross song Brown Brown about the galaxy being covered with feces. No one seemed offended, least of all Morgan Hasek-Davion, who despite being the Marshal of the Armies was belting out the sickening choruses with the rest of them. The party was going full swing when Sheila had found Max and told him it was time to retire; she was more than a little tipsy, and Max had already found out that alcohol tended to fuel Sheila's already diesel libido. As he led her out, Todd left off the chorus of the ancient ditty Big Balls and grabbed his son's elbow. "Now you remember what I told you, son," he grinned. "Five times."

Max wasn't sure Sheila would make it to their room, but he nodded. "I'll send you a report."

"Damn right." He mussled a bemused Sheila's hair, then went back to screaming about he had the biggest balls of all with the still-strong crowd; by now Todd was probably the last sober one there, since Dan Polycutt had obediently taken Maysa home four hours before.

"Whadd he mean by five times?" Sheila slurred.

"You'll find out," Max told her, and they began to head towards the room.

Unfortunately, Max was unable to break his father's record or even come close, though not for a lack of trying. Afterwards, he stared at the ceiling while a stupefied Sheila curled up next to him and promptly fell asleep. He tried to relax as well, but he simply couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see his father again.