AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hey, been a minute or two, huh? With "On RWBY Wings" done for now, and with me still nursing a terrible case of writer's block for "Seven Nights in Atlas," I decided to get back to the Snowbirds. The muse struck late last night, and I got this chapter knocked out, with another soon to follow.

In the original version of "Snowbird Ascendant," there was indeed a court-martial where Sheila was broken in rank, but this time around, I found myself in the position of writing the court-martial proceedings in "On RWBY Wings" at the same time I'd be writing this one in "Snowbird Ascendant." Since both had a lot of the same beats, and I have never been satisified with the court-martial in the Snowbirds Saga, I dropped it entirely. I also tried to be a little more fair to Schattenwolff here than in the previous version-Sheila did, after all, disobey his order.

Anyway, on with the show...

Black Pearl Base

Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

12 August 3050

"I don't care what medals she has!" Kommandant Stephen Schattenwolff shouted. He stabbed a finger at Sheila Arla-Vlata. "She disobeyed a direct order!"

Marshal Morgan Hasek-Davion sat behind a large mahogany desk, formerly the property of the base commander at Black Pearl. He glanced at Sheila, who stood three paces to the right of the fuming Kommandant, at parade rest. Both wore formal uniforms; Sheila's Commonwealth Star was at her throat—purposely, Morgan knew. Behind her stood Commander Calla Bighorn-Vlata. Behind Schattenwolff was Selvin Kelswa, the Duke of Tamar. Morgan suspected that Schattenwolff had brought along Kelswa for moral support, and so he didn't feel outnumbered. Kelswa had no love for the Federated Commonwealth in general and for Hasek-Davion in particular, not after he had been denied the gains of the Fourth Succession War in favor of the Free Rasalhague Republic. He had been demanding more and more troops be sent to fight the Clans, and no less than five RCTs for Tamar alone, which Morgan had to this point ignored.

As Schattenwolff opened his mouth, Morgan held up his hand. "Just a moment, Kommandant. You've made your case. Let Major Arla-Vlata make hers." He turned to the tall MechWarrior. "Is that the lay of it, Major?"

"Sir, there were mitigating circumstances—" Sheila began.

"There aren't usually mitigating circumstances when someone gives you a direct order, Major."

"No, sir." Sheila wet suddenly dry lips. "But I thought the Kommandant's order made no sense. My Shruiken and his Marauder were untouched. MechWarrior Scott's Wasp was already almost out of range of the Jade Falcons. I didn't need to cover her, but I did need to cover Kommandant Schattenwolff."

"How so?" Morgan asked. "As you said, the Kommandant's Marauder was untouched."

"But it was far slower than the Clan 'Mechs we were fighting, sir. The Kommandant might have been overrun."

"I see." Morgan paused for a moment. "Major, do you believe that you saved Kommandant Schattenwolff's life?"

Sheila hesitated. "Yes, sir, I think I did."

"You didn't," Schattenwolff snapped. "I had things well under control."

"It sure didn't—" Sheila shut her mouth. A shouting match between them would do no good. They had already done that in the DropShip during the retreat from Blackjack. Finally, Schattenwolff had simply ordered Sheila to shut her mouth, and that order she had obeyed. Still, words had been said, and if Schattenwolff's words were just as insulting as Sheila's, he outranked her. It was his right, even if it wasn't right.

Morgan once more raised a hand. "Major Arla-Vlata, whether or not you saved Kommandant Schattenwolff's life is immaterial. Did you or did you not disobey a direct order to cover the retreat of the rest of the command lance?"

Sheila sighed. "Yes, sir. I did disobey a direct order." Her cheeks burned with it. She glanced at her father, but Calla's face was a mask.

"All right. Then Kommandant Schattenwolff's testimony is correct." Morgan turned back to him. "What punishment would you recommend, Kommandant?"

"I want a court-martial." Schattenwolff paused. "I don't want her Dispossessed—that's too much. But I would like her broken in rank. Down to MechWarrior." He looked at Sheila. "She's only 19. Too damn young for a company commander anyway. Still wet behind the ears from the Nagelring."

"Her father is the regimental commander," Kelswa added, twisting the knife. Schattenwolff, to Sheila's surprise, glanced back at the Duke in surprise. He clearly had not wanted to say Calla had engaged in nepotism.

"Your Grace," Calla said with heavy sarcasm, "I would remind you and the Kommandant that Major Arla-Vlata has been in three engagements with the Clans, which is two more than the Kommandant and three more than your Grace. I would also remind both your Grace and the Kommandant that I promoted Major Arla-Vlata because she was the only lance commander left alive in her company, she showed her ability on Persistence and proved it again on Rasalhague, and that the Kommandant picked her for his so-called Lightning Regiment on that basis. I would also add that Major Arla-Vlata was picked by Marshal Hasek-Davion for the Junior Officers' Strategy Group. Sir," Calla added at the end. Sheila resisted a smile. Her father had done nothing but tell the truth, but in such a way that if Schattenwolff or Kelswa disagreed, they would be inferring that Schattenwolff had made a mistake in choosing her, and so had Morgan Hasek-Davion.

Kelswa had stiffened at Calla's words. "Commander, I would remind you that you are under my command—"

"Your Grace, with respect," Morgan interjected, "no, he isn't. The Sentinels are under the direct command of the Marshal of the Armies—that is, me—and I answer directly to Prince Hanse Davion and Princess Melissa Steiner-Davion. Not. You." Kelswa turned purple with rage, but said nothing further. Morgan sat back and rubbed his eyes. "Kommandant Schattenwolff."

"Sir."

"How was Major Arla-Vlata's conduct to the point she disobeyed your orders?"

"Other than a foolish radio game with MechWarrior Scott, she was fine. Good, even." That surprised Sheila a little. She thought Schattenwolff would drag her name through the mud some more.

"Radio game, Major?" Morgan addressed Sheila.

"Yes, sir. I was taunted by MechWarrior Scott, who claimed I had not done considerable damage to a Fenris. It fell a moment later, and I said, 'Mary, Mary, quite contrary.'" She felt herself turning red again. "The Kommandant is correct that it was foolish."

"It was. A foolish radio game and disobeying orders." Morgan sat forward. "What do you think your punishment should be, Major?"

Sheila was tempted to tell Morgan that he could bust her back to MechWarrior and she would be fine with that, and he could get someone else to run her company. She wasn't that enamored with the job anyway. That would be disgraceful, however, and not entirely the truth. "I don't know, sir," she finally answered.

Morgan let the silence stretch for awhile. "No court-martial," he finally said. Schattenwolff opened his mouth to protest, but Morgan shook his head. "Being immature and wanting to save the life of her company commander, however stupid, is not worth disgracing a decorated and brave MechWarrior. We don't have time anyway, not with the Twycross operation coming up." He shot a look towards Kelswa, who had supported the Twycross attack far more than the Blackjack raid—the objective on the former was to retake the planet, no matter what. "Major Arla-Vlata will not command a company on the Twycross operation as I had originally planned. I may drop her from it entirely."

"But, sir—" Schattenwolff began.

"Kommandant, I said there is no time for that!" Morgan raised his voice just a little. "The Blackjack raid was a costly failure that was no one's fault. Let's leave it at that, learn from it, and move on. I consider this matter closed." He turned a steel gaze on Sheila. "Major Arla-Vlata, grow up. You've been decorated and promoted below the zone—start being worthy of it. The next time a superior officer gives you an order that doesn't involve violating the Ares Conventions, you obey it. I don't care if he asks you to kiss his ass and give an hour and a half to draw a crowd. You obey it. Are we clear, Major?"

"Yes, sir!" Sheila barked it out like she was back on the Nagelring parade ground.

"Dismissed. Return to your barracks immediately and stay there until Commander Bighorn-Vlata says otherwise. You are confined to base." She executed an about-face and left the room. "Commander Bighorn-Vlata, you stay." Morgan waited a few minutes. "Kommandant Schattenwolff, you will not attempt any further retaliation against Major Arla-Vlata. As I said, this matter is closed. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir. It is closed." Schattenwolff came to attention. "Am I dismissed, sir?"

"Duke Kelswa, anything to add?"

"Only that if this is the caliber of mercenaries that Prince Davion is sending me, I am unimpressed." Kelswa looked at Calla, who did not look back, just continued to stare straight ahead. Kelswa seemed a little disappointed that Calla had not risen to the bait.

"Duly noted, Your Grace. Very well, Kommandant Schattenwolff—dismissed. And thank you." Schattenwolff gave a brief, sharp bow of the head, turned around in the same crisp manner Sheila had, and left. Kelswa followed, after throwing Morgan a contemptous look.

Morgan sighed. "Calla, have a seat." He pointed to a chair to one side of the desk that none of the other four people had taken. Calla did so as Morgan got up, unbuttoning his tunic. "I need a drink. You want to join me?"

"I'd hate to start a family tradition of disobeying orders," Calla replied. Morgan chuckled, pulled out a bottle of bourbon from a sideboard, and poured two glasses worth. He handed one to Calla and collapsed back into the chair. "I hate doing that, but Schattenwolff forced my hand."

"Sheila forced your hand," Calla replied, sipping the bourbon. "She's got to learn to pick her fights. She should've obeyed that order. She damn sure shouldn't have gotten into that shouting match later. I'm surprised Schattenwolff didn't bring that up."

"Oh, I think he was counting on it being added to the court-martial charges." Morgan swirled around the liquor, staring at the closed office door. "He's angry now, but once he cools off, he'll realize that he dodged a bullet with me refusing a court-martial. That would've aired out a lot of dirty laundry he doesn't want aired out, once he realizes it. The Blackjack raid was botched—his plan depended on what he wanted the Clans to do, not what they were capable of. Too hastily planned, too many units all mixed together. We were lucky to get out of it with less than a battalion's worth of losses. Anyway, make all that public, and the people are going to look for a scapegoat—and throwing a mercenary major to the wolves, so to speak, won't satisfy them. A Kommandant's scalp will."

"I lost a few people, sir."

"I know. And I'm sorry to keep asking you for more." Morgan tossed back half the bourbon. "The fact is, Calla, Sheila's not being dropped from the Twycross operation. I need her too badly. I thought I might put her in charge of the company of Sentinels I want to send in, but I think I'll drop that to a lance. Schattenwolff's right—she's still too immature." Morgan shook his head. "The Sentinels' company will act as pathfinders, and then they'll go into reserve. That's it. We'll do this right this time, Calla."

"Yes, sir." Calla was unconvinced, and made sure that it showed in his voice.

"If Twycross isn't another bloody disaster, then I want to expand on that. If you don't mind, Calla, I'm putting you on the mission planning for our next attack."

"Where, sir?"

Morgan dropped his voice a little. "Planting. A few months from now, say, November or December. I want the Clans to start reacting to us for a change. We can't just take Twycross and sit back and wait."

"All right." Calla drank the bourbon, which had a pleasant, smoky flavor. "Sir, if it's all right with you, I'll get back to my regiment."

"Of course. As I said, there will be nothing more said about this incident—but as you said, Sheila needs to watch her mouth and grow up a little. If she does well on Twycross and Planting, no one's going to remember Blackjack." Calla handed the empty glass back, got up, and came to attention. Morgan nodded, and Calla walked to the door. "Calla," the Marshal called out.

"Sir?" Calla stopped at the door.

"Why do you think Schattenwolff was so adamant about Sheila disobeying an order? Hell, why did he give that order to begin with?"

Calla shrugged. "I think he was trying to get himself killed, sir. He'd rather die as a hero than be known as the man who commanded a botched mission. Hell, they might have even made a holovid about him. He'll resent Sheila forever for saving his life but not his reputation."

Morgan nodded. "Maybe, Calla. Maybe."

The Wandering MechWarrior Lounge, Sentinel Base Sudeten

Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth

12 August 3050

"And then—get this, Sheila—and then the Capellan MechWarrior says, 'You mean the heat sink doesn't go up my ass?'"

Tooriu Kku's timing was perfect. The leadup to the punchline had not been particularly funny, but the punchline was. Sheila was lifting a glass of beer to her lips, and had just begun to take a drink. She choked, laughed, and spit foam a good ten feet across the floor, luckily missing anyone passing by. She coughed a few times and gave Tooriu a dirty look. "You're an asshole."

"I am, I am."

"Who told you that one?" Sheila, for some reason, hoped it hadn't been Elfa Brownoak. For some reason, she felt oddly jealous of the older woman.

Tooriu pointed at Max, who sat to the other side of Sheila. "He did. Last week."

"Max!" Sheila sounded mock-outraged. "I am surprised at you. Telling Capellan jokes. And you from Shensi, even."

"Got to be a Capellan to get a good Capellan joke," Max remarked. "Though it wasn't that funny, really." They both noticed he wasn't smiling.

Tooriu looked around Sheila. "What's eating you, man?"

"Nothing," Max snapped. He had a beer in front of him, too—although Sheila knew that Max didn't drink liquor, not even beer. The drink was untouched.

"It's Blackjack, isn't it?" Sheila asked softly.

"I said it was nothing, dammit!" Max took a deep breath. "Sorry. You didn't deserve that—either of you."

The light atmosphere evaporated, and all three stared at their drinks, though only Sheila and Tooriu drank. Sheila had returned to the barracks as ordered, where she had exploded in rage, shouting and cursing at the top of her lungs, finally even throwing things—though what she had thrown was not fragile, and she hadn't destroyed anything. Somehow, that made her even angrier. She wanted to destroy something. She wanted to destroy Schattenwolff, but of course she couldn't. Dueling was not allowed in the AFFC, and even if it was, Sheila wasn't sure she could beat the older man in a 'Mech fight. Finally, she had wound down, thrown herself on her bed, and tried not to cry. She might not be in trouble—Morgan seemed to regard the ass-chewing she got as good enough—but she did feel dishonored. Anger at Schattenwolff for trying to play hero got turned onto herself, and Sheila cursed herself for not simply leaving the Kommandant to his fate, or keeping her mouth shut.

Or getting Mimi crippled.

Sheila tried to shut those thoughts out, but the guilt was still there. She could tell herself that it wasn't her fault: had she not attempted to rescue Mimi, more than likely Mimi would've been captured by the Wolves, to who knew what fate. The rumor was that the Wolves actually treated their prisoners decently, but no one knew if that was true, or the Clans just shot their prisoners later, when they were of no further use. Sheila hoped she'd never have to find out, but there was still the nagging thought that Mimi would still be able to walk if she was a prisoner of war. Sheila had been grateful when Tooriu had stopped by to invite her out for a drink, with a morose Max in tow.

Sheila didn't want to stare at her beer any longer, and she didn't want to look at Tooriu or Max, either, so she turned and took in the lounge. It was on base, so she was not violating Morgan Hasek-Davion's order, but she had never been in here before. She tended to avoid bars, as such places usually smelled, usually had drunk people—which she disliked—and, in the few times she had gone with Mimi on Tharkad, she had to fend off amorous advances from soused patrons.

The Wandering MechWarrior, on the other hand, was a bar for MechWarriors, which meant here, most people knew each other and everyone talked shop. It was the same kind of bar MechWarriors frequented around the Inner Sphere. Aerospace pilots and tank crews were not welcome—they had their own hangouts—and usually infantry weren't either, unless a MechWarrior had gotten recovered by a platoon of them, in which case tradition held that the MechWarrior owed them at least one round. The Wandering MechWarrior was fairly large, with a crescent-shaped teakwood bar, a dance floor, and a few tables set around the main floor. The dance floor was mostly empty, though it was still early; a few couples gyrated to rock music. Sheila noticed that the DJ duties had been taken over by Lance Commander Stykkisa Topmount, an "old hand" from the original Sentinels who was over forty and looked twenty. The lounge's sound system was as big as a Locust and looked to have cost about the same. Sheila gave a shake of her head as Topmount played a techno remix of Beethoven's Fifth for the third time; Topmount did tend to get into a rut.

"Look," Tooriu suddenly spoke, "I came out here to have fun, but I'll settle for getting things out in the open." He got off the bar stool and ambled over to Max. "C'mon, man. What the hell happened on Blackjack? I didn't get to go, thank God."

Max didn't answer, so Sheila did. As she turned, her ponytail almost ended up in her drink, so she flipped it back over her shoulder. "It was a clusterfuck," she explained. "Everything that could go wrong did. The Clans didn't do what we thought they would, and while my unit was playing pattycake with a Clan Trinary, the rest of the Cluster hit Max. They flanked them and rolled them up. Max's battalion commander—what was his name?"

"McGuire," Max supplied.

"McGuire. He got killed when his Atlas got its head taken off. You notice that the Clan PPCs are head-choppers? Anyway, Max had to take over, and he and a few others managed to break contact and get back to the DropShips before they were overrun. We hauled ass off the planet." She left out her own problems with Schattenwolff; she didn't feel like talking about them.

"Fuck," Tooriu sighed. He gripped Max's shoulder. "It's a wonder anyone got out. Sounds like you did all right, Max—all things considered."

"The hell I did," Max shot back. "I lost. We lost. I'm getting damn tired of losing." He grabbed the beer and defiantly drank half of it, slamming it back on the bar. "I'd be dead if it hadn't been for that Warhammer jock blasting that Mad Cat off of me."

"And he'd be dead if you hadn't grabbed him and saved his life," Sheila argued. "I heard he wants to marry you off to his sister or something." It wasn't true, though the Warhammer pilot had promised to buy Max the bar if he wanted, but Sheila was trying to at least get a smile out of him. Her heart ached just to see the normally affable Max—the man who had nearly become her lover—sunk in depression.

"It's the Awesome," Max finally admitted. "Whoever that guy was, he saved all of us. And I keep seeing go off to die. He didn't get out. He died buying time. He was another Sentinel, and I don't even know his name." Max pounded the bar with a fist. "I mean, Schattenwolff told me he was putting me in for the Order of Steiner-Davion for what I did. What I did! I didn't do shit. That Awesome pilot deserves the medal, not me. He deserves a goddamn posthumous knighthood."

"At least you didn't fuck up like I did," Sheila put in. "You didn't get your ass chewed by the Marshal of the Armies in front of your dad, your superior officer, and the fucking Duke of Tamar."

Max was not listening. He finished the beer angrily as his voice rose over the music. "I should've done more. I should've stepped back our fire like they taught us at NAMA. Maybe then the Awesome would've had a damn chance—"

"Excuse me, Lance Commander?" They turned to face an older woman, around the age of their parents.

"Kaatha?" Sheila recognized her lancemate, of course.

"Good evening, Major. Glad to see you're all right." She brushed past Sheila and Tooriu and sat down next to Max. "Max, I heard what you said. Don't blame yourself." She paused, and Sheila was surprised to see her fighting back tears, her face twisted with emotion. Sheila had seen Kaatha smile, but that was about all Sheila had ever gotten out of her; she knew Kaatha's religion frowned on strong emotional displays among those not of their faith. "Max," she finally was able to say, "Renni would not have made it back no matter what you did. His Awesome had lost a hip actuator. He told you that. The Jade Falcons would have killed him anyway, or worse, captured him and made him a slave." Sheila had heard those rumors as well: the Clans used their prisoners as slave labor. "His death counted for something this way."

Max turned on her. "How can you say that, Kaatha? You weren't there! You don't know!"

Sheila opened her mouth to correct him, as she suddenly realized something, but Kaatha spoke first, firmly. "I do know, Max. I was there. I was in the Griffin." She faced him directly, her face set. "And I can say that because Renni was my husband."

Max's mouth dropped open in shock, as he remembered that Kaatha piloted a Griffin; Sheila had abruptly remembered Renni's name. Like Kaatha, he had given up his surname when he had converted to her religion to marry her. They've got a daughter somewhere in Beta, Sheila thought. What was her name again? Oh—Felisanna. That's right. Marcus Drax knows her.

"Oh, Jesus." Max put his hand over his eyes. "Oh, God, Kaatha. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. That makes it worse."

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain, Max," Kaatha said, though not with the edge she would've used with others. Her tone of voice was gentle, a mother who wanted to comfort a son, even if Max wasn't hers. "Don't apologize to me, Max. It wasn't your fault. The Clans killed Renni, not you. But knowing, seeing that he died to save others makes it easier to bear. As for you, whoever saves a life saves the world entire, and you did that. You saved many lives. I've piloted 'Mechs for twenty years, and I know what I see in you. You have potential, Max. You're brave, thoughtful, and despite your youth, you act as a man should. Don't torture yourself with misplaced guilt." She looked past Max to Sheila. "Either of you. Renni would not want that. Neither, I think, would Mimi Stykkis."

Max was quiet for a long minute. "Thanks, Kaatha," he said at length. "I guess…that makes me feel better." He smiled a little.

"Told you that you weren't a fuckup," Tooriu grinned.

"Unlike Sheila!"

The four of them turned to spot whoever had shouted. It wasn't hard, because Mary Scott lurched out from behind a few MechWarriors, who tried to stop her. She shrugged them off. She was clearly drunk, beer sloshing out of her glass, her MechWarrior jumpsuit zipped down to her navel to show her sports bra, which didn't leave much to the imagination. "Yeh," Mary slurred as she got closer. "That's right, Sentinels!" She raised her voice, and the bar went quiet except for Topmount playing The Hall of the Mountain King. "Max here—he's a hero. I mean that. He's all right. But this bitch…" Mary weaved and pointed at Sheila. "She's the fuckup."

"Mary, piss off," Tooriu growled.

"Nah, Tooriu! I was on Blackhack…er, Blackjack too. I was there with Miss Hero here." She took a drink of beer and got closer to Sheila, breathing boozily over her. "She was gonna leave my ass to die so she could win her some more medals. Her and Schassen…Schattgen…whatever the fuck his name was. Yep, leave my ass to the fuckin' Green Chickens."

"Oh, bullshit!" Sheila shouted. "You were halfway to the fucking rally point. I couldn't have kept up with your Wasp and you know it. Schattenwolff ordered me off because he wanted to get himself killed, or something. I don't know."

"Yesh, you disobeyed a direct order!" Mary grinned triumphantly, finished her beer, and set the glass on the bar. "Ol' Schattenfurter wasn't too happy 'bout that. He wanted you up on charges, but you're daddy's girl, Commander's Daughter, and he got Morg Hasnik-Davion to let you offa the hook. I coulda died, but fuck me, right? Just like you fucked Mimi!"

"I was a hell of a lot closer to the Clanners than you were, Mary," Sheila snapped. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to obliterate Mary for the crack about Mimi.

"Don't give a fuck." Mary stepped back and got out of the jumpsuit's top, leaving it around her waist, with the sports bra her only covering above it. "They shoulda busted your ass down to MechWarrior, or Dispossesed you, but nah, you're daddy's girl!" Mary repeated. "Because if they had, I'da kicked your ass. Fact is, I'mma gonna kick your ass anyway. Don't care if I get a little brig time."

"You're drunk off your ass," Max told her.

"You stay outta this!" Mary yelled back. "Let's go, Sheila. Let's fuckin' party."

Sheila hadn't moved. "Fair fight?" she asked. "No one presses charges?"

"Yeah, guess you're pretty scared of bein' court-martialed still. Nah, I won't press charges—"

"Great." Sheila's right hand rocketed forward, but not in a punch. Instead, it was a vicious slap. Mary dropped to the floor, blinked, and looked up blearily, holding a hand to her cheek. "What…you slapped me! You fuckin'slapped me!"

"You're not worth punching." Sheila finished her beer and turned around. "I'm leaving. I don't feel like dealing with this shit."

"Goddammit, don't you turn your back on me!" Mary got back up to her feet, weaved more, then launched a right cross at the back of Sheila's head. Sheila, however, was already moving. The punch sailed harmlessly over her head, and Sheila launched her right elbow backwards and upwards as she turned. It connected with the bottom of Mary's jaw. There was a loud clack of teeth coming together, then Mary staggered backwards, tripped, and went down again. This time she didn't get up. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

Tooriu knelt and checked her pulse. "Well, she's not dead. Knocked the hell out of her, though. She's out."

Sheila looked around, wondering if any of Mary's lancemates would come out for revenge, and if this was going to degenerate into a riot. It would definitely not help her case with anyone if it did. Luckily for her, no one seemed to be interested, and Sheila got a few laughs and thumbs-up as people went back to their drinks and dancing.

"Nice head shot," Max observed. Sheila smiled because Max was, finally.

Kaatha was smiling too. "Well struck, Sheila. I daresay she'll keep a more respectful tongue in her head."

"I hope I'm not in trouble," Sheila said.

"Nah. She insulted a superior officer, said she wanted to fight you, and then it was self-defense. Mary shouldn't have said anything, especially about Mimi. We all know the score on that one." Tooriu picked up the unconscious Mary like she was a sack of potatoes and threw her over one shoulder. "I'll take her over to Doc Rabbit to make sure she doesn't need dental work. Hmm...she may be a bitch, but damn, that's a nice ass." He slapped Mary on the rear and left the bar, whistling the Nagelring fight song.

Sheila noticed that her hands were still shaking from the adrenaline of the fight. Max tossed some C-bills on the bar and gently took her arm. "Let's walk over to the 'Mech bays. I need to clear my head, and so do you." He nodded to Kaatha. "Thank you."

Kaatha gave a small bow. "You're very welcome, Max."