Author's Note:

Thank you to FASA for creating Battletech, WizKids and CGL for keeping the setting going over the years, to HBS for their game and to the fanfiction community for giving me ideas.

I don't own Battletech or the associated copyrights, I'm not making a profit off this so no one else should. Making fun of it, on the other hand…

Dedicated to the memory of Margaret Robb Pyle, 1925-2018


Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Chapter 1

St Marinus House, Zaniah III

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

6 December 3062

For a moment, Peter saw stars and then he felt the sand-covered stones of the yard beneath his back.

"It's fortunate you have a thick head," Brother Keith informed him, bringing his stave up to rest position. "Even with headgear, you take enough knocks that I'd be afraid you were losing what wits you have."

"Not as many as I used to." Taking a deep breath, Peter kipped up and recovered his feet, his own stave still in his hand. Dropping it when he fell had been a habit it took weeks to get out of but by now it was ingrained. "Again. Please."

The monk shook his head in disbelief but he readied his stave. "I suppose repetition may teach you something in the long run," he warned. "But it may be painful."

"The lessons that stick often are."

The staffs were plastic not wood - Zaniah III wasn't entirely without trees but wood wasn't something that could be readily replaced, at least this far from the major settlements, so more durable materials were preferred - and they cracked against each other with pleasing force and sound to Peter.

Up, across, he thought, reading the pattern of Brother Keith's moves. Now to try left and -

Keith twisted his stave and brought it up against Peter's right hand, pulling the blow enough that it stung but didn't break the fingerbones. It certainly could have if he'd chosen too.

With a cry, Peter sprang back, shifting to a one-handed guard as he shook the injured fingers.

"Enough?" the monk asked mildly, but with a note of mischief in his voice.

"I'll be fine," he snapped back and immediately regretted the tone. "I'm sorry."

"Mmm. Perhaps not the best idea to continue. If you want something to pound on, Peter, there are weight-bags in the gymnasium that will serve."

The kind tone stung worse than his hands. "I'll take that advice. Perhaps after I wrap my fingers."

"Yes, that would be wise." Keith put aside his stave and took Peter's hands. "Bruises alone, but still worth taking care of. Remember, son, your body is a temple of the Lord."

"Is that in scripture?" It didn't ring a bell for Peter even after six years in which the library of Saint Marinus House had been his primary source of reading material.

"The book of Keith hasn't been canonised yet." The older man smiled gently. "No doubt they'll get around to it someday. Go wrap your hands, Peter. We both have other things to do."

Peter bowed respectfully as Keith took both staves to put away. "Am I getting better?"

"Yes, Peter. With a few more decades to work on your temper you'll be safe to be around with a six foot pole."

Unbuckling his headgear, the redhead shook his head and felt it slip free from his sweaty hair. "Better than being dangerous, I suppose."

Keith's smile was sincere. "Any fool can be dangerous to themselves and everyone around them."

And if I can't wield a simple staff judiciously, how can I use a BattleMech responsibly? Or the political power I inherited? Questions like that had haunted Peter for six years now, they'd brought him here and he had yet to find answers.

The door before him opened well before he could reach it and another monk looked out. "Ah, Peter. Are you done?"

"Yes, Boniface. Brother Keith is free now if you want him."

The other man shook his head slightly. "No Peter, the Abbot's sent for you."

"For me?" He'd seen Abbot Giles often, but it was rare for the old man to summon him directly. Running the remote abbey was a constant labour, albeit one that had been in the abbot's safe hands for longer than Peter had been alive. While Brother Giles made time for younger members of the community, it largely had to fit in around his schedule. A summons suggested something more formal. "I see, thank you."

He entered the door and turned left towards the wing of the monastery where the Abbot's offices were, but Boniface caught him by the elbow.

Startled, Peter tore his arm free without thinking. "What?"

The smaller man drew back a half-step. "He wants to see you in the infirmary."

"Oh." He felt rather than saw Keith's disappointed eyes on him. "Thank you again, Brother. And my apologies. I'm... on edge again. But it's no excuse."

"We all have our trials, Peter," the man said soothingly. "Will you share your concerns in with us in prayer?"

"Perhaps." Which meant no. It wasn't that he didn't trust the monks, Peter told himself as he went up the steps dug into the mesa, leading up to the infirmary. But the community welcomed mechwarriors from all across the Inner Sphere, men and women born into realms that were often at each other's throats. Admitting what had driven him here wouldn't just be talking to fellow Lyrans and Suns citizens like Keith or Giles. How would someone like Boniface, who hailed from the Free Worlds League and on the League's border with the Lyrans at that, feel in learning Peter had come within hours of starting a war between the League and the Federated Commonwealth?

Of course, there had been a war since, but that one wasn't Peter's fault. Relations could easily be ruined again if his actions came to light, right when Inner Sphere was at something like peace. And that would assuredly be on his conscience.

The infirmary was, like much of the Abbey, a mix of monastic asceticism when it came to comfort and modern technology when it came to functionality. One of the beds had a curtain drawn partially about it, but Peter could see the stand of an IV drip in place through the gap.

"I'm sorry, Abbot. I've no idea who she is." The owner of the voice stepped out from behind the curtain, looking back. The habit was the same as that worn by all the monks, but from the greying blond hair, Peter realised that this was Brother Peter - a cause for some confusion since Peter had arrived. The monk had adopted the name of Christ's first disciple when he took his formal vows - his birth name was Aldo, which had been a popular boy's name on Skye early in the century - only two weeks before Peter arrived. "Ah, Peter."

"Yes, Brother Peter. The abbot sent for me."

"I did, yes." The bald abbot followed the brother out. "Thank you for your time, brother. I'm sorry to have taken you away from your prayers."

"I'm only sorry I wasn't able to help." The Skye mechwarrior-turned-monk gave Peter a friendly smile and exited past him.

Abbot Giles turned to look back behind the curtain. One eye was cast into shadow for a moment, and Peter was reminded again of another face, a more famous one. Add an eyepatch and long white hair and that white face would have been a brother to Anastasius Focht's. He'd wondered for years if there was a connection but declined to enquire. Brother Giles, like so many of those here, had come here to leave outside ties behind. Peter owed it to them to respect that. "We have a guest, Peter."

"Not a new resident?"

Giles shook his head. "I'm not sure. Brother Morgan found her outside the monastery when he was bringing in supplies. She may have been wandering the desert for some time."

"Lost?" Peter asked, rubbing his jaw. And why call on him? And Brother Peter for that matter?

"Perhaps. She's dehydrated and hasn't regained full consciousness."

"How can I help, sir."

"There are no sirs here, Peter," Giles chided him gently. "We are all brothers and sisters at St Marinus. I am merely wondering if you might be able to identify her."

"Me?"

"Yes. She's said a few words, disjointed and mumbled. I wondered if they might shed some light on her presence." He gestured for Peter to come around. "The two that are clearest are 'Peter' and 'Brother'."

That clarified that. Peter followed the abbot around the curtain. "I don't think either of my sisters would actually come... here...?

Despite that he'd half-wondered if he'd see the red hair of his younger sister Yvonne on the pillows on the bed. Instead he saw characteristically sharp Steiner features beneath a salve he recognised as used for heat and abrasions, surrounded by a shock of blonde curls. "Dear God."

"Hmm. It's been many years since I saw royalty," Giles murmured. "And holos never quite convey the familiarity. I take it then..."

"Y-yes." Peter crossed the room and examined the face more carefully. She could have fit in seamlessly among his cousins from Gallery. Or... "May I?"

"May you what? Examine her? Within proprietary, young man."

With great restraint, Peter didn't point out that he was closer to thirty than twenty. That was still less than a third of the abbot's years. Instead he gently rolled back one eyelid and saw not the grey of his mother or grandmother's eyes but instead a warmer blue he recognised from his father, or the mirror.

Katherine, immensely proud of their maternal heritage, had considered them the one flaw in her perfect image as a Steiner.

"Oh my God."

Giles rested one reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "You know her."

"It's been years for me too... but she's the spitting image of my elder sister."


Chapter 2

St Marinus House, Zaniah III

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

7 December 3062

The next day, Peter was in the Abbot's office. They'd been politely asked to take their conversation out of the infirmary by Brother Antony, the nearest thing they had to an on-site physician and by mutual agreement had deferred further conversation on the new arrival for prayers, supper and a good night's sleep.

Well, Peter hoped it had been a good night for Giles. The old man needed his rest. Peter, for his part, had laid on the narrow cot of his cubicle - the traditional term of cell hadn't survived the centuries - with his mind working too hard trying to come up with scenarios that left Katherine walking through the desert to Saint Marinus. He'd eventually managed to snatch a few hours of sleep that didn't feel at all satisfying.

"It seems rather unlikely that she's actually your sister," Giles pointed out. "The Archon is supposed to be on New Avalon, which is... sixteen jumps away, give or take. Granted she might have a command circuit but even that would mean days without any public appearances."

"Holo and video appearances can be pre-recorded." Peter leant forwards. "Or she might have a body double - my mother had one when she was in her late teens."

"Possible, although in that case how can we tell if this is such a double." The old man sighed. "And surely she'd have more resources than to be left wandering the desert looking for us? We don't advertise our location but I'd assume LIC has a file."

"I know. We'll have to save questions for when she wakes up." Peter rubbed his chin. "Can I check her personal effects?"

"I don't see why not. Hopefully we can wrap this up without disrupting our community here, too badly."

Peter nodded and automatically offered a hand to Giles as the older man rose to his feet. They walked in silence down to the infirmary, the abbot returning the shallow bows from his brethren that they passed, and Brother Antony willingly handed over a basket containing the clothes that Katherine - or so Peter assumed - had been wearing.

"This isn't exactly the fashion I'd envisaged the Archon would wear." Giles held up a bulky black overcoat and indicated the metal snaps. "This is a man's jacket."

Peter noted which way it buttoned and shrugged. "Could be. Or from a world where they customarily button the other way around. I don't think it would fit her though."

"Possibly a donation from someone." The abbot handed a wallet over. "No identification."

"No, and these aren't kroner." Peter pulled out some coins and then a bank note. "Actually, I have no idea what these are. They don't look like any currency I've seen."

"Hmm. Not much more than ink on some sort of polymer," agreed Giles, taking the bank note. "It says pounds, what should there be on a Davion ten pound note?"

"The Federated Suns treasury doesn't issue ten pound notes. Or any pound notes since 3045."

Giles frowned. "I could have sworn they started issuing bank notes again. But... hmm. My eyes aren't the best anymore. Bank of England?"

"It doesn't ring a bell," Peter admitted. "I'd think it would be some kind of toy money - from a board game or the like - but why keep that in a wallet?"

"Indeed."

The other clothes were fairly plain - worn jeans and work boots, a polo-shirt and a sweater with a torn collar. All men's cut and too large for the woman in the infirmary.

"I don't see why any woman would be walking around wearing this, whether she's your sister or not," the Abbot admitted. "The keys are no use without any guide to where the doors they belong to are and the personal comm isn't working."

"Looks like a cheap disposable. I suppose she could have had to replace her clothes if her own were damaged, but did she have any other injuries?"

"Nothing Antony mentioned and..."

As if summoned, the infirmarian opened the door to the sideroom where they'd been examining the clothes. "Brother Giles, Peter." He dipped his head. "Our guest is awake now."

"Then we can hope for answers," Peter declared and burst to his feet, striding through the door with barely a pause for Brother Antony to let him pass.

The mystery woman still had the IV in one arm but her eyes were open and they snapped to Peter as he came around the curtain. "Why a JagerMech, for god's sake?" she asked him.

"What?"

She blinked. "Peter, I'm sorry about your son."

"My what!?" He didn't have a son! Did he?

The woman's face showed nothing but sympathy. "I'm sure Adam will care for him."

"Who is Adam?" asked Brother Giles curiously.

"You shaved your head!"

The abbot ran one hand self-consciously over his head. "No..."

Peter cleared his throat. "Who are you?"

"A cat," she said confidently and then studied her hands. "No, then I'd have paws... There's something..." Another blink. "Peter, where are we? Why are you wearing a dress?"

"It's not a dress, it's a habit."

"You should probably get out of it. No, not undressed." She frowned. "There's something wrong."

He moved to the bed and took her arm. "Stop this. Are you my sister? Are you Katherine?"

"Not Katrina!" she snapped, eyes furious. "Not crazy."

"No, of course you're not." The Abbot took Peter's hand and started prying his fingers open. "Calm down Peter."

"Peter, peter, peter, peter..." the woman sing-songed. "I have a... what's it called...!" she broke off in frustration.

"I think you'd better leave her alone," Antony counselled firmly. He went to the IV stand and made an adjustment. "Now, young lady, please lie down. You're a long way from being recovered."

She stared at him in confusion and then slowly laid back, raising her free hand to scrape off a sample of the salve. Gazing at it, her brow furrowed. "What is this."

"Your face was abraded by sand," the brother told her matter-of-factly. "This should take care of any infection or scarring."

"My face is my fortune," she said solemnly. "Or... no... why is this..."

Then her eyes went wide. "Arthur! The war! Peter, you have to save Arthur."

Peter blinked. "Arthur? My brother?"

"Yes, he's going to die."

"Uh, don't worry, I'll take care of it," he promised uneasily. What was wrong with her.

"No." Tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes. "You're too late. New Avalon is burning, the reactor in Tharkad City -"

"That's enough!" Antony barked. "Give her room, both of you!"

"Jihad," the woman rambled, eyes flicking back and forth from sights that clearly only she knew. "Galedon gone, HPG's silent. Stone is an idiot and the dark age is... dark."

She was slumping back towards the pillows again, Antony supporting her. Peter guessed that he must have added a sedative to the IV a moment before. "It'll be alright," the monk assured her. "Just sleep and let us take care of it."

"There will be no victory for Victor. The eagle will fall. The gardener, tell him about the..."

The woman's eyes closed and her breath began to steady. No more words escaped her lips.

In the silence, the three men looked at each other. Giles shook his head slightly. "Well, clearly she's in no condition to answer our questions, the poor child."

"She spoke like Katherine," Peter said slowly.

"Really."

"The tone of voice, more than what she was saying. And she was trying to tell me something." Peter took her free hand and tucked it gently back under the blankets. "It's her. I'm sure of it."

"I realise it's not entirely fitting to my office, but to play devil's advocate she might be acting," the abbot cautioned him.

"I doubt that," Antony disagreed. "She was driving herself into a panic attack. That's hard to fake. I've seen a few."

Giles seemed about to comment but bit the words back. Peter glanced at him and then nodded in concession. Intelligence agents were trained to the point that it was possible. He didn't see what the point was in this case but even so, he shouldn't rule it out. "I can't just leave it at that."

"Perhaps we should involve the authorities," Antony suggested reasonably. "If she needs long term care this probably isn't the best place for her."

"I was under the impression Saint Marinus was a sanctuary. Open to those who sought it."

"That is so, but we're not really equipped for long term mental care," Giles said thoughtfully. "I suppose we should consult the authorities in case someone is looking for her."

"I'd rather you didn't do that, not just yet," Peter said automatically.

The old man sighed. "If she is, for the sake of argument, your sister, are you in a position to take care of her?"

"If you had a brother or sister coming to for you for help, what would you do?"

"Given the political implications of your family," the abbot said drily. "I think I'd be tempted to retire to a life of contemplation. But since you're already there, what do you have in mind."

Peter rubbed his chin. "A moment to think, please."

"Of course."

He paced back and forth, mind whirling. Was he right about who she was? Was she right about Arthur, about everything else? Victor had left the Federated Commonwealth broken and he'd assumed that Katherine taking power on New Avalon as well as Tharkad was the beginning of rebuilding their parents' empire... but where Arthur and Yvonne fell in that he had no idea anymore.

"Firstly, I need to clear up her identity," he decided. "Could I have a blood sample from her and loan of an aircar."

"You want to have someone do a comparison?"

"Yes, there should be clinics in Starboro that can take care of that."

"I would think so," Giles admitted and glanced at Brother Antony, giving him a nod. "Such places are discreet given they usually handle paternity tests and the like. Not particularly cheap though."

"There are accounts I can access." Assuming they haven't been emptied somehow, but he didn't particularly expect that. Discreet accounts with ComStar banks as well as various smaller establishments were an obvious emergency fallback for any House whose members might need a sudden ticket for interstellar travel or some other emergency. There would be no reason for Katherine to have cleared out the accounts Peter had access to - in fact she might not even know of all of them.

The abbot shrugged his stooped shoulders. "Very well, I suppose we can defer any formal reports until we know if we're actually dealing with a missing princess. Do you know how long tests like this generally take, Antony?"

"A decent lab could rush it through in a few hours. Expect to pay for that, though."

"I'll give you a shopping list then, Peter. Brother Morgan was to take our aircar to Starboro in a few days for supplies we can't get anywhere nearer. I'm sure he won't mind leaving a little early and having a companion."


Chapter 3

St Marinus House, Zaniah III

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

10 December 3062

Through the flight back to St Marinus, Peter barely looked at the reddish-yellow wasteland that surrounded the abbey. All his attention was on the paper in his lap. He'd not even wanted to let it out of his hand until he realised he'd crumpled it.

"Peter."

He turned his head and saw Morgan was looking at him from the driver's seat. "Yes?"

"We're about to land. You should secure that or it'll wind up at the bottom of the footwell."

Peter forced a smile and rested one hand on the paper, pinning against his thigh. Morgan was the third person by that name that he knew... no, the fourth. It was Katherine's middle name. But the monk was considerably smaller and his accent had the bite of Tikonov, along with a slavic face that fit with neither Morgan Kell nor Morgan Hasek-Davion. "Thank you."

"Hmm. You're leaving shortly?"

"...I think so, yes."

Morgan nodded quietly and said nothing more until the aircar had nosed into the cave that served as their hangar. Then he shut the engine down and extended his right hand to shake. "God go with you, my friend. Don't worry about the unloading. You have enough on your shoulders."

Peter accepted the hand and they shook. "Thank you. I'll help you anyway."

Exiting the vehicle, he tucked the letter through his belt and started lifting parcels from the back. Morgan recovered a small trolley and between them they made short work of shifting the supplies to the store room. "Now go," the monk said sternly and pointed to the door.

Obediently and with a slight smile on his face, Peter left and headed for the Abbot's office. The door was open and to his surprise he heard a familiar voice through the crack. What was Victor doing here?

Opening the door he felt foolish, seeing that it was simply a holovid playing. But then the details sank in. Victor was wearing the traditional dress uniform of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns - not of the united Federated Commonwealth or even of the ComGuards he currently led. As their father had, he wore the silver rank badge of a Field Marshal on his shoulder instead of the gold badge that was reserved for the First Prince.

"- Katherine's tyrannical actions, and by the sacrifices of patriots already fighting on the worlds of Kathil, Benet, Kentares, Demeter, Bromhead and others yet unreported," the half-sized hologram of his already diminutive brother declared bleakly. "We will resist with any and all means at our disposal the efforts to subjugate and enslave our freedoms. We will fight with the truth on our side, and we simply ask that everyone listen and judge accordingly. In the end, I know we shall be victorious, re-establishing a trustworthy and accountable government among our people, worlds and nations."

"...Peter." He saw the image blink out and turned to see that Brother Giles had used a remote to deactivate the holovid. "I take it that you missed the news at Starsboro?"

"What's happening? What was Victor saying?" He stepped towards the abbot forcefully. "Why did you turn it off?"

"He'd finished his speech, Peter. I have it recorded for you to watch the whole thing." The abbot seemed older even than his own advanced years. "But you may wish to sit down. It's hard to crane my neck back to look at someone as tall as you."

Peter took a deep breath and deliberately stepped back. "I'm sorry, but what is going on? Is Victor... back?"

Giles hunched forwards in his simple wooden chair, not meeting his eyes. "Yes. That's part of it."

"And the rest?" he demanded.

The bald abbot looked up sharply, "Sit down, nephew and I will tell you."

The snap of command cut Peter's knees out from under him and he groped blindly for the spare chair. Sat. Thought. Nephew? His parents were dead and neither had a living brother so... oh. "Hermann Steiner?" he asked.

Giles made a face. "I haven't used that name in more than half a century, Peter."

"You've been here all along?" Hermann was the younger brother of Alessandro Steiner, the inept Archon whose power had been usurped by Peter's maternal grandmother with popular support. Despite his abdication, the dethroned Archon had remained a focus for opposition for two decades and many thought that if Hermann had backed him then he might have been able to reclaim his former power. But instead the commander of the Second Royal Guards had resigned his commission and vanished into obscurity.

"I did not wish to trigger a civil war within the Commonwealth," Giles said softly. "It seems your brother is less resolved to his exile. No," he added, raising his hand. "My apologies. That was unfair, he has reasons I do not."

"What reasons."

The abbot pressed his hands together. "Peter, I have bad news. Your brother Arthur has been taken to heaven, along with many other innocent lives."

A chill went through Peter and his jaw hung loose as his tongue searched for words. Arthur? His little brother? "H-how?" he asked once he was able.

"It was..." Giles looked away. "He was making a speech at a stadium on Robinson, in the Draconis March."

I know where Robinson is! Peter bit back before the words. Arthur had been a cadet at the Robinson Battle Academy. The news, although Peter didn't follow it closely, had suggested that he distinguished himself defending the capital of the Draconis March when it was raided earlier in the year. That he was the sort of bold mechwarrior that both of them had dreamed of as boys on New Avalon.

"There were explosives," Giles continued sadly. "The stadium was demolished, the podium where he stood almost obliterated. Victor claims that your sister Katherine was behind it, that Arthur was speaking against her."

Peter shook his head in denial. Their mother had been blown up as well, an assassin's bomb. Victor hadn't managed to return for the funeral. But this would bring him back. "Was he?"

"I don't know. His speech, what he had said before... before, hasn't reached our news outlets yet. It's been four days apparently. Victor's speech was on the eighth."

"He heard sooner than we did?" Victor was supposed to be up on the Clan border, commanding the ComGuards there, the supposedly neutral armed forces of ComStar. That was considerably further from Robinson than Zaniah. "No, foolish of me. ComStar must have sent him a priority message."

"I would assume so." Giles nodded. "Here, I'll re-start the speech for you."

Peter nodded and started to turn his chair but his sleeve brushed against the paper he'd forgotten about. "Katherine... has she made a response."

"I'd assume so, but not in the news." Giles saw the paper and smiled slightly. "Our little lost lamb?"

Unfolding it, Peter handed it over. "In summary, yes. She is my sister."

The abbot scanned it. "I can't say I've studied this sort of thing in detail but..." He visibly blinked at as he reached the summary. "They do consider all the permutations, don't they?"

The younger man nodded his head. Probabilities for sharing one or both parents, anything from one to four grandparents... but all of them well above ninety percent certainty with an added note that both had grandparents from two distinct planetary ethnic mixes, most probably with one from the core worlds of the Federated Suns and one from their Lyran counterparts. Which was true of course. "From the way she looks, either she's the real Katherine or I have a third sister no one told me about."

"That seems just a little far fetched," Brother Giles conceded. "A missing princess either way."

"Not missing," Peter corrected him. "We know where she is... unless you've moved her."

"No, no. She's still in the infirmary. Calmer, when she was awake, but not really able to converse, at least so far."

"I see." No answers yet then. "Perhaps when I see her again she'll be more coherent."

"One can hope," Giles agreed dubiously and started the replay.

The infirmary was quiet and Brother Antony let Peter sit by his sister's side without comment other than to remove the IV and inform Peter that she should drink water cautiously when she woke.

The waking, when it came, was so quiet that Peter almost missed it, mind light years away as he tried to guess what was happening on the nearly one thousand worlds that Katherine - or whoever she was - ruled. The hand he held between his twitched, catching his attention and he saw the blue eyes open, staring in confusion at the ceiling.

"Katherine?"

She made a noise he took for affirmation and then coughed. Freeing one hand he filled a glass with water and held it to her lips. "Just sip."

Obediently, she suckled on the edge of the glass, swallowed, sipped again. Peter removed the glass and got an indignant look. "Sit up first," he advised, thinking back to how his mother had treated him when he was a child and stuck in bed with some flu or the like.

Katherine tried to sit up abruptly only to find she didn't have sufficient leverage and she slipped backwards, head embedding itself in the pillows with a look of astonishment on her face. "Peter?"

"Yes. I'm here." He offered her his arm as support and then adjusted the pillows behind her, giving her support as she sat back cautiously.

"Peter," she repeated. "James. John. Thomas, doubter. Judas... no. No-no. Wrong."

"That's Saint Peter," he said lightly, trying to hide his concern. "I'm Peter Steiner-Davion. Not quite the same."

"No," she agreed. "Peter. Not saint. At saint. Saint Ma-mare-mm... gh."

"Saint Marinus?"

She nodded sharply and then started looking around hopefully. "Arthur!" she asked in a voice that was so childishly hopeful that Peter choked, feeling the sting of tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"No, no. I'm sorry." He took her hand between his again, studying it. "Arthur's gone, Katherine. I wasn't in time."

"Time is the fire in which we burn," she said in a flat voice.

He looked up sharply and found she was leaning towards, aiming a kiss for his forehead that landed on his nose instead.

"Eskimos?" she asked abruptly and leant back, shaking her head. "Nu-uh. Bad."

"Yeah, uh. Don't do that please." What the hell was an eskimo? "What happened to you?"

She looked at the glass pleadingly and he passed it to her. Holding it in both hands she sipped from it. "Desert..." she began. "Storm."

"There was a storm?"

"Storm hammers!" Letting go with one hand she thumped it down on the bedsheets. "Kelswa!"

"Kelswa? Robert Kelswa?"

"Grandson, I think. Ja...y? A J name."

Peter blinked. Robert Kelswa-Steiner's father had been a political enemy of their mother and of Victor. He'd been assassinated on Solaris right before Peter got embroiled in Tormano Liao's scheme to start a new war in the Inner Sphere. He was only vaguely familiar with Robert, who'd married into the loyal House Aten since Peter came to Saint Marinus. He certainly wasn't old enough to have a grandson.

Then again, Katherine had claimed that Peter had a son too. Which was almost certainly untrue. He'd hardly had the opportunity... at least, not lately. Damn. "You said I had a son too."

"Did I?"

"Yes. Earlier."

"Hmm. Too early," she said after a moment. "You aren't Archon yet."

Peter snorted. "Not likely to be, either."

"Victor and Katherine will see out a century," his sister said confidently. "But only Yvonne dies a natural death."

"Aren't you Katherine?" he shot back. God, what a horrible thing for her to say.

"...Katherine is crazy," she confided. "She hears voices. K is for crazy. For coconuts."

"I think that's C?" Did she have brain damage? If so then he'd have to take her to hospital.

"I like C. C for cat. Cathy. Cathy-rin."

"Katherine."

"With a C."

"Okay, with a C." Dammit.

She smiled warmly. "I'm Catherine."

"Okay, fine." He thought again. "You knew Arthur was in danger."

"Stadium," she said and shook her head sorrowfully. "He wanted freedom of speech, and the loyalists silenced him."

"Loyalists?"

"Loyal to Katrina. Victor's allies."

Peter shook his head. "Victor's allies? Do you mean Victor was behind it?"

"No!" she snapped angrily. "Victor's allies against Katrina's loyalists. Two sides of the war."

"You mean the war between the Lyrans and Davions?" he asked.

The glass went off the bed with a crash that coincided with her hand almost smacking against his cheek. "No! Don't buy her lies!" Catherine shouted. "Lies lies lies, everything burns in her lies."

"Whoa!" Peter hesitated and then hugged her against him, gently pinning her arms. "I won't, I promise."

"What's going on here?" asked Brother Antony, poking his head around the curtain. "Are you alright."

Peter gestured to the glass. "Just a little accident. I'll sweep it up."

Antony gave him a sceptical look. "Right now, if you please. There's a dustpan and brush in the cupboard. I can't have broken glass on the floor of the infirmary."

"Alright!" Peter released Catherine. "You be good."

"I'm always good." She paused. "But in purple I'm adorable."

Purple? Why purple? Never mind.

Cleaning up the glass took only a few moments and in the meantime, Brother Antony checked Catherine's vitals and found a fresh glass for her. "I'll bring some soup up after supper," he advised. "Solid food probably won't be an issue but better to be safe than sorry."

Catherine thanked him in german, for no reason Peter could guess at, and the monk retreated again, shaking his head.

Taking the seat by the bed, Peter sighed. "Catherine, we need to talk."

"I think we are talking," she said seriously and then paused. "Ah. Metaphor. Sorry."

"You knew about Arthur before it happened - you couldn't have gotten here in time to have heard about it after the fact. How did you know about it?"

She pursed her lips. "I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"I -" With a cry she doubled up, clutching her head. "Too much, it's too much!"

Peter caught hold of her. "Okay, okay, think of something else, don't hurt yourself."

"I can't... I can't change..." She was biting her lip, hard enough to draw blood. "It's..."

"Think about Victor," he hissed. "Our brother, you know him. What do you know about him?"

"Mogyorod," she grated out. "He's on Mogyorod. Katrina sent an assassin. Isis Marik saved Victor and Omi."

"She did what!?" It shouldn't be a surprise, he thought. Not if she'd also killed Arthur, but to attack Victor when he'd already ceded power to her... or was this more recent. "When?"

"Months ago. I like her, she's good for Victor."

"Katrina?"

"No, god, that's horrible. Their child would carve an empire for the Wolves." Catherine shook. "No, I mean Isis."

"Isis... and Victor?" He shook his head. Most likely Catherine was subject to an over-active imagination, although it would be interesting to know if Isis really had saved their brother from an assassin. He'd thought she was engaged to marry Sun-Tzu Liao. "Never mind. What else about Victor?" It seemed to be calming her down at least.

"He wore father's uniform," she told him. "A mistake, it plays into Katrina's narrative."

"Victor wouldn't fit into father's uniform." Hanse Davion had been tall and broad-shouldered like Peter. "Wait... you mean, the AFFS greens?"

"Yes. Davion against Steiner. Anything to muddle the issue that he's fighting to end her tyranny."

Peter rubbed his jaw. That did sound plausible. It was how Katherine had won both the Lyran Alliance and then the remaining Federated Commonwealth - manipulating public opinion to create a divide between Victor and those he ruled, which she could then exploit. "I see. What would you have suggested? AFFC uniforms."

"Use the bishop to take the king."

"Are we playing chess now? Anyway, you don't take the king in chess - you checkmate them."

Catherine sniffed. "She'll kill the bishop before he can win the war. So many dead."

"What bishop?" Turning on the religious community would be incredibly clumsy for Katrina. Granted, she'd disbanded the Estates-General in the Alliance, but religion hit home in a way that elected officials rarely did. "Is he a bishop here in the Alliance?"

"No, on New Avalon."

"One of the New Avalon Catholic Church?"

"No?" She shook her head. "I don't know his faith."

"But what's he bishop of then?"

"The Guards, of course. He'll march on Castle Davion but Katrina has too many soldiers."

"The Guards." He leant back and thought. A chaplain? That didn't seem likely, military religious representation wasn't part of the command structure, but... "Oh! Bishop Sortek, the head of the Davion Guards!"

"So many Sorteks dead for us. Adriaan for our grandfather, Ardan for our brother and Bishop for our sins."

Peter rose and started pacing. "Bishop rising for Victor's sake... he'd have to have the First Davion Guards with him at least. If he could take New Avalon from Katherine it would badly weaken her... When, do you know when he plans this?"

"The avalanche is in motion, the rock has no vote."

"Rock?"

"Peter the rock."

He sighed. "That's the saint again, sis. Try again. Is there anything we can do? It'll take months to get to New Avalon and it's not as if I have a regiment of 'Mechs to take to his aid."

"Time, ask me for anything but time."

"Time and 'Mechs. Since I'm apparently making wishes."

Catherine slumped back onto the pillows. "Wishes and horses, and so we must ride."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"The bunker..." Her eyes were closed. "The militia bunker, lost for centuries. Beneath the burned capital of new... beneath new d'las," she slurred. "Forgotten cache."

Peter stared at his sister but her breath had steadied and her eyes were closed. Was he grasping at straws here? Probably, yes. But if Bishop Sortek was really going to make a play to remove Kath... Katrina... then he deserved better than to be left to die. If there was any chance at all...

"New Delos," he said thoughtfully to himself. "Anton Marik's old capital, Cienfuegos, the Dragoons burned it and if I recall correctly it's never been restored. There could be something there, stores lost in the Marik Civil War or any of the times the Capellans and League fought over it."

And while I could just go and hook up with one of Victor's supporters, if I do that I'm just another junior officer. No one's going to take me seriously, but if I bring resources to bear... I don't know if I can save Bishop or not but at least I could do something...


Chapter 4

Hartzborg, Zaniah III

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

11 December 3062

It was more than ten years since Daniel had been allowed to follow his father into negotiations with prospective clients and he'd thought that the range of Clovis Holstein's contacts would no longer surprise him. He'd been to Outreach and met Wolf Dragoons, to New Avalon where his father had dropped in on Doctor Banzai and the two of them had vanished into a workshop for three days straight, even on a couple of very bold expeditions into the Jade Falcon Occupation Zone for sanctioned but not very welcome contacts between the Inner Sphere and the occupiers from the deep periphery.

But he had to admit that he'd not expected his father to be meeting with a group of monks in traditional habits. These weren't typical denizens of the short-hire offices used at dropports for ship owners and clients to meet.

"Brother Giles, it's been too long." His father bowed respectively, dipping his head well below the oldest monk's belt. Even Daniel's deepest bow wouldn't manage that - Clovis had an unfair advantage in that, since he was a good fifty centimetres shorter than his son - but the younger Holstein tried to be similarly respectful.

The monk smiled paternally. "I see you're doing well, Clovis. And this must be Daniel. I haven't seen you since... hmm. Since Morgan stopped by in '42."

Clovis nodded to Daniel in confirmation. "You were just a child at the time."

"I worked that out from the date, dad," he murmured - obviously not quietly enough because the largest of the three monks chuckled.

"And there's a face I didn't expect to see under these circumstances," Clovis added with a nod to the man. "So this is where you've been." He turned to look at the last monk - or was the word nun? Daniel wasn't sure - and then paused. "Hmm. And the surprises keep coming."

The woman's face was delighted. "For a short man, Mr. Holstein, you've cast a remarkably large shadow on our history."

"Not so great as others." His father sounded uneasy for the first time. "You have need of a jumpship?"

"And a dropship," the younger man said.

Brother Giles looked at him and shook his head. "I'd rather you took them to Thorin or somewhere else that they would be safer, but it isn't my decision."

"I agree that it's unwise, but I'm willing to take the chance." The younger man rubbed his chin. "Of course, that depends on Mr. Holstein's willingness."

Daniel saw his father give him a sidelong look and decided to take the chance. "May I ask what it is you have in mind? I'm Daniel Holstein, my father's aide."

The monk gestured towards the chairs. "Ardan Morgan and this is my sister Catherine. What I have in mind is some salvage work... inside the Free Worlds League."

"That's... not as dangerous as it has been in the past, but the Captain-General still generally prefers to be the beneficiary of such work. I'm assuming you don't have that in mind?"

"No, not really." 'Ardan' grinned somewhat tersely. "It's an old militia bunker under Cienfuegos."

His sister frowned at that. "Cienfuegos?"

"You said the burned capital city, for New Delos that would be Cienfuegos."

"Las," she said, stretching the syllables. "Uncle Chandy found it on New Dallas."

Daniel saw a flush of embarrassment rising up Ardan's cheeks. "Right. I stand corrected," he said after a moment. "So New Dallas is..."

"I know it," Daniel's father said calmly. "Rather nearer and easier to get to than New Delos but I take it we're still in the early planning stages?"

"Relatively, yes."

Clovis looked over at Giles. "I see what you mean. Is this really a risk worth taking?"

"Warriors kill warriors," Catherine said. "Lestrades kill Lestrades. Didn't you say that?"

Daniel's father twitched, the folded waldos around his wrists scraping the table. "That was before your time."

"She's right though. Family have to deal with family." Ardan looked over at them. "A good man - a lot of good men and women - are going to die trying to make right one of our family's errors. This gives us a chance of doing something to keep those deaths to a minimum."

What did Lestrade have to do with this, Daniel wondered. That House still controlled some parts of Skye province but their political position was far from what it had been. "It's an odd thing for two monks to be concerned with, isn't it? Aren't you supposed to leave the outside world behind?"

Brother Giles smiled slightly. "Ardan and Catherine are members of our community, but they have taken no vows. They have my help, and my blessing, even if they haven't chosen the path I counsel."

Leaning back in his seat, Daniel eyed them. "So a wild goose chase after a cache of lostech? I'm not convinced this is a good idea, dad."

"Isn't it the young who are supposed to be like adventures?" his father asked, folding his stubby arms. "At your age, I'd have loved the idea of going looking for some old cache."

"Lostech isn't exactly a major concern these days."

"To be honest," Ardan told him.

"Always the best policy, just ahead of dishonesty," his sister interrupted.

"Thank you, sis," the redhead said a trifle testily and Catherine looked chastened. "From what Catherine has been able to remember, we're not really looking at Star League technology here. It's an old militia base where military hardware was put into storage when the Star League had the member states demobilising much of their armed forces."

"Wouldn't they just have dug it out again for the Reunification War?" asked Daniel.

"Probably not." His father's eyes were distant, focused on what he remembered. "The SLDF mostly commissioned new equipment that would be standardised for their needs and use the advanced technologies they were putting into production. If what had been stored away was only on par with the sort of equipment the Succession Wars were fought with, it probably wouldn't have been considered fit for service."

"Seems wasteful to me, if you're thinking BattleMechs."

"Yes, but we're used to seeing every 'Mech as valuable and worth recovering and upgrading. The Star League was intent on maintaining their military production so they'd almost always look at buying something new rather than improving what they had." Clovis nodded. "It's plausible such a cache could exist... now that you know what planet it's on."

Ardan sighed at that point. "Yes, my fault for jumping to conclusions. We'll need to find out what the capital of New Dallas was."

"Caddy... Cadooo... Caddo City," Catherine muttered, half to herself. "Upon the isthmus between the continents, a peninsula jutting northwards into the ocean..."

"Is that it?" her brother asked.

"Have you been there?" asked Daniel. He was beginning to think that the blonde wasn't all there.

She snapped her head from side to side, hair whipping behind it. "The robes had an camp there... re-education for the masses... dig the dead for a year... never doubt the horrors of war again..."

Ardan turned and gathered her into an embrace. "It's okay, sis. You're not there."

"I never was! I never was!" she sobbed.

"I'm sorry I asked," Daniel muttered. "Dad, this doesn't sound like a good idea."

"It probably isn't, but with civil war breaking out, getting out of the Alliance for a month or two sounds appealing." Clovis pursed his lips. "One thing's sure, Loki wouldn't come looking for those two on a dead world in League space."

Daniel flinched at that. The Lyran government's professional terrorism force had featured in some of Nana Holstein's bedtime stories and they hadn't been the good guys. Not at all. "Maybe you're right. But let's not get our hopes up."

His father gave Ardan a nod. "Alright, you've hired yourself a jumpship and an engineer - although we'll be talking about payment shortly. And I know a few people we can talk to about a dropship and salvage gear."


Chapter 5

Hartzborg, Zaniah III

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

12 December 3062

Daniel had hoped he was past babysitting when his youngest sister was at last judged fit to be left unsupervised for an evening, although this admittedly was only the case if she had access to a holovid and a box full of disks to play upon it. Fortunately Bifrost had a sizeable collection of the latter, even discounting those not appropriate to an eight year old girl.

It was no consolation that most of the people around him thought the blonde he had orders to 'keep happy and out of trouble' was probably his date. She wasn't, and her brother had the size and almost certainly the training to tear Daniel apart if he presumed on the instruction.

At least he got a sympathetic look from the doorman at the mall as he helped Catherine with her bags - much like shopping with his mother or sisters, that help seemed to involve carrying two-thirds of the mass of the purchases. Daniel had picked the mall as the nearest outside the drop-port. Only someone so rich they didn't care to count money or in such a hurry they couldn't afford to wait would shop on the actual premises of the drop-port. Prices were about thirty percent lower outside in the main part of Hartzborg.

Flagging down a taxi-cab he waved Catherine politely into the back seat with her own bags and waited patiently for the driver to get out and open the rear storage for the bags he was holding.

"Did she have you buy her a new wardrobe?" the cabbie asked, pushing the first bags deeper so that they could all fit in.

"That would have been bad enough, but the clothes shopping was the easy part." Pretty much everything Catherine had bought for herself was practical - jeans, work boots, several tops that were functional and only cost three or four times what the mens' section charged for equivalents. Daniel could be sure of that because his charge had done with shopping for herself only to head over there and buy some equivalents for her brother.

She'd changed in one of the restrooms so she was out of the habit she'd been wearing, although the fedora she'd found for herself was just as eye-catching in it's way.

"Why that?" he'd asked her, the only time he'd questioned a purchase (Daniel wasn't sure to be grateful or annoyed she didn't model anything for him. Mostly the former but, he was honest enough to admit, not entirely).

Catherine had perched the hat on her head and drawn the brim down over her eyes. "I am in disguise," she said solemnly. "This way no one will recognise me."

"So what was the hard part?" The cabbie closed the trunk and gestured towards the back seat.

"Then," Daniel said heavily, "She found the bookstore. Take us to the Ned Kelly please."

Along with stores, one of the many services associated with the drop port were cheap hostels. The Ned Kelly had been chosen by Daniel's father and the Morgan siblings had rented a small suite on the same wing until it was time to depart. Hauling the proceeds of several hours shopping up the stairs to the second floor room, Daniel hoped that Catherine would be convinced to stay in her room and read some of her new treasures rather than set out on a new expedition.

He'd just settled into one of the small armchairs and flipped the holovid onto a news channel when she emerged from her room, two of the larger store bags now bulging with clothes. "Where are you going?"

"Laundrette," Catherine informed him, raising the bags. "Spin and wash and dry and wear!"

Oh god. "You can't have dirtied them already, you only just bought them."

The woman pulled the bags back against her. "Washing!"

"Right, right." Daniel turned the holovid off - it was just another piece assuring everyone that the Lyran Guards had ended the rioting on Solaris - and pulled out his wallet. No, not enough change.

A detour down to the desk let him change a ten kroner note into forty quarters - more than he'd need this time but who knew what else Catherine would demand next? - and they went across to the street to the laundrette. A place as small as Ned Kelly's didn't have its own service but he knew from earlier in his visit that the laundrette ran on cash only, not smart cards.

Cat stared at the wall of washing machines with fascincation, but alarmingly little comprehension. Daniel rolled his eyes and guided her to the dispenser where she could get capsules of soap and conditioner to load in along with the clothes. It seemed to take her great concentration to feed each coin into that and then to the washing machines themselves - choosing to run two loads in adjacent free machines.

"Okay, and now we leave them for an hour or two," he explained with forced patience once both machines were operating. "I hope you brought a book or something." It wasn't a particularly bad place but only an idiot left their clothes here unsupervised.

Catherine reached into a pocket and pulled out well thumbed novel - she'd focused first on the second-hand racks at the bookstore - before opening it and carefully un-dogearing the corners.

There was a snort from the bench and Daniel saw one of the other customers was looking at them from the corner of the room. "Family?" the man asked wryly, shuffling cards he'd laid out on the bench.

"Something like that." He looked for something to do himself. Two hours of watching clothes spin around wasn't going to be very entertaining.

The other man nodded. "I'm getting bored of solitaire. Want to pass the time?"

"Why not." He moved to sit closer. "I'm Daniel, this is Catherine."

The blonde gave the man a casual wave without looking up from her book.

"Max Sears," the man said, shuffling the cards.

"Cy."

Both of them looked over at Catherine who ignored them both. Dan shrugged. "Don't mind her."

He got a nod of understanding. "Got it. You know how to play twenty-one?"

"Doesn't every school boy?"

"You might be surprised." Sears dealt two cards each and they studied their hands.

Duke of Steiner and seven of Davion for Daniel. "I'll hold," he said at a questioning look.

"Oh?" Sears dealt himself another card face up. Ten of Marik. He made a face. "Bust, dammit."

"It's not as if we're playing for money. What brings you to Zaniah?"

Sears dealt again. "I took the first ship I could get off Solaris VII when the fighting died down. Probably going to try to get a berth as far as Outreach."

"Going for mercenary?"

"I don't think it's a business that's going to shrink in the next few years. I lost just about everything but my bank account when the riots started."

"Rioters on the streets are one thing but when Mechwarriors join in..."

Sears made a pained face and then brightened slightly as he took the next hand. "Yeah. It's all very well in the arenas, but that got way out of hand. A lot of people are very unhappy."

"Both dead, so sad."

Daniel turned his head towards Catherine and saw her looking at them. "In your book?"

"No, Vandergriff and Searcy."

"Who... oh yes, the two who started it," he remembered. The championship bout had been between the Davion favorite 'Stormin' Michael Searcy' and an outside bet Lyran mechwarrior Victor Vandergriff. Their match, in the Steiner Colosseum had somehow rampaged through the spectator stands and then out into the streets. Fans and fellow gladiators had joined the battle, turning the multi-national Solaris City into a microcosm of the factionalism of the Inner Sphere.

"Chaos doesn't need a recipe, just a list of ingredients," Catherine claimed.

"And as you say, they're dead," Sears noted hollowly. "Finished their match and killed each other. What they deserved, some would say."

"Some would say, Searcy."

Daniel blinked. "Sears, not Searcy, Catherine."

"Am I wrong?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head. Not that he followed Solaris tournaments, but the champion match had been heavily advertised so he'd seen both mechwarrior's faces and... Daniel turned sharply to look at the man he'd been playing cards with.

Stormin' Searcy had been brash and confident, this man was white-faced and sweating. Otherwise... maybe...?

Catherine reached over and flipped the two cards Sears had dealt himself. Ace of Davions and the First Prince. "One more and you're bust, Mr. Searcy."

"Look," the man said quietly, voice full of dread. "I'm not asking for myself. If it gets out I'm not dead the riots could -"

The blonde shook her head. "How many mechwarriors on Outreach will know your face?"

"It's not my business, Mr. Sears." Maybe he could calm this down. "Catherine, you should leave him alone."

"My brother is hiring." Catherine pulled a pen out and scribbled her suite number on the Ace of Davion. "And we're leaving Zaniah very soon."

"Who are you?" Sears - or Searcy - demanded hoarsely.

"A turn of the cards that might be in your favour." Catherine put the pen away and returned to her book as if nothing had happened.

Dan and Searcy stared at each other then at her. Then by common assent they looked away and ignored each other until Searcy's washing was done and he bolted from the laundrette. But he departed into the Ned Kelly.


Chapter 6

Transient Jump Point, Zaniah III System

Skye Province, Lyran Alliance

13 December 3062

Peter waited for the airlock pressures to match before he opened the door that now connected the dropship Glowworm to Clovis Holstein's jumpship, the Bifrost. The last two days had been a rush of negotiations and even riding up from Zaniah's surface hadn't given him a chance to rest. In most systems the journey to a jump point would have been several days long but Zaniah's star had such a deep gravity well that it would have taken most of a month to reach the standard jump points above or below the system's plane.

Instead the Bifrost was waiting at a transient point between Zaniah III and its star. Barring those rare points times of their orbits when other planets in the system affected it, most trade to and from Zaniah III came through that jump point, regardless that it required more precise navigation.

There wasn't a lot of trade though - Bifrost was one of only two jumpships at the point right now. The difficulty of navigating to the system made it less favorable for transit and thus Zaniah remained something of a backwater despite its place on the border, an isolation that had spared it some of the worst of the Succession Wars.

On the other side of the lock he found Daniel Holstein and an older woman, probably his mother at a guess. The Bifrost's crew was tightly knit and he knew Clovis' wife was his deputy. "Permission to come aboard."

"Granted," the woman greeted him. "I'm Karla Holstein."

Peter pushed off and drifted across the interface into the jumpship. "I hope my sister hasn't been a bother." After she somehow picked up a washed up Solaris gladiator while getting her clothes washed he'd had Clovis send her on ahead to the Bifrost on their shuttle.

Karla gave him a searching look. "Follow me, please." The last word was clearly a mere formality.

What now? He looked at Daniel for an answer as he passed the man but the younger Holstein simply shrugged and crossed the airlock in the other direction.

Left clueless, Peter followed Karla into one of the narrow passages along the length of the Invader-class ship. As he'd expected she was leading him towards the habitation decks towards the prow but she stopped once they were out of easy earshot of the airlock.

"I know who you are, but I don't know what possessed you to bring your sister out here," she told him sharply.

Peter raised his hands defensively. "I can't exactly book her into a hospital, Mrs Holstein. Official attention could be deadly."

"So could digging around on a devastated colony. I had to go through the safety briefings three times with her before I was sure it had sunk in, 'Mr. Morgan'. Not because she isn't sharp, but because she can't concentrate for any extended period of time."

"Yes, I've noticed that." He ran one hand through his hair. "She's getting better, if slowly, but if need be we'll keep her aboard the Glowworm during the salvage operations. If we can get through the next few months then I should be able to get her set up somewhere safe with a therapist."

"And if those few months means she never recovers?" Karla persisted.

"Do you think she's competent to make her own decisions?" he snapped at her.

Her lips thinned. "Yes," she said reluctantly. "When she's managing to focus."

"I gave her the choice of staying at Saint Marinus, which would at least remain safe for her, or shipping for Arc Royal - one of the places she could probably get proper care and be safe - instead of coming with me. Catherine chose to come. And I'm not going to send her away if she feels safest with me."

Karla stared at Peter and for a moment he thought that she'd renew the argument but after a moment the tension left her shoulders. "I can't argue with that I suppose, but please be careful with her. You're not just her younger brother now, you're effectively her guardian as well."

He nodded and they continued as far as the habitation deck in silence. The quarters available were cramped - a narrow compartment with two bunks on each side, each given a little privacy with an opaque curtain, a small washroom and some lockers for personal items. One curtain was drawn when Peter entered and his sister's recruit was sitting in one of the others, an electronic book-reader in his hands.

"Mr Searcy."

"Sir." The man left the bunk and stood to attention, confirming Peter's guess he'd been regular military before going to Solaris.

"My sister?" he asked, nodding towards the closed bunk.

"Yes, sir. I believe she's asleep."

Peter nodded. "How much do you know about what we're doing? I realise Catherine more or less dragged you into this."

"I gather it's a salvage mission in a hostile environment. One of the old Terran Hegemony worlds?"

"Yes, that's right. You're more likely to be using a workmech or an exoskeleton than a BattleMech, which'll be a bit of a step down for you."

"Well, a change is as good as a rest. I didn't have any work lined up so this is as good as anything."

"We'll probably be moving on to Outreach or somewhere nearby after this so if things don't work out longer term you'll have saved yourself a few jump fares on the way there," Peter told him. "I take it you'd prefer to keep calling yourself Sears?" Technically false papers meant Peter was aiding and abetting a crime but he couldn't bring himself to care about that under the circumstances.

Searcy made a face. "It might be best, at least until things calm down a little."

"You may have an unreasonable expectation of the universe there."

Slinging his bag into one of the lockers, Peter stretched out on one of the vacant bunks and reached for the curtain. Then a chiming noise came from his comm.

"Yes?"

"Mr Morgan, could you come to the command deck?" Clovis didn't sound particularly apologetic. "Captain Colium wants to discuss picking up some supplies en route."

Peter rubbed his eyes mournfully. This was going to be worse than a field exercise in simulated battalion command, wasn't it? "Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

He left the bunk and went to the washroom to clean his face with a wipe. And I don't have a staff, not even an aide to help me. His mind went to Sears. Or maybe...

"Come along," he instructed the mechwarrior. "I may as well fill you in on some of the details of what we'll be doing."

The poor sap obediently shut down his bookreader and followed, not foreseeing the paperwork Peter intended to stick him with.