There were two civilian DropShips grounded at the port. The Wolves had left them alone so far—Anastasia Kerensky was after bigger game. And while she might not approve of a DropShip leaving Northwind at the moment, the odds were that she wouldn’t make more than a cursory effort to stop it. With communication these days increasingly dependent upon ships coming and going between planets, nobody wanted to get a reputation for the bad treatment of independent ships and crews.

Whether or not a single MechWarrior making contact with a civilian DropShip would strike the Wolves as a threat serious enough to need stopping… that was the question.

The nearest civilian DropShip had the name Quicksilver emblazoned on its hull, underneath the image of a winged sandal. The metal surface glittered in the first rays of the early morning sun. The vessel’s cargo bay doors stood open, as if the Wolves’ descent had caught Quicksilver in the act of offloading or taking on cargo, and her captain had opted to defuse hostility by remaining open and defenseless.

Ezekiel Crow walked the Blade up to Quicksilver’s cargo bay, where a voice hailed him over the ship’s loudspeaker.

“Blade MechWarrior, this is Quicksilver. Identify yourself and state your business.”

“I am a Paladin of the Sphere,” Crow replied over the ’Mech’s external speakers. “My name is Ezekiel Crow. And in the name of The Republic, I require the use of this ship.”

“You are asking me to lift off from a war zone. Will The Republic compensate me for any loss or damage that might result?”

“You have my word,” Crow said. By now the irony of such a statement coming out of his mouth scarcely choked him at all.

“And I am a loyal citizen of The Republic. Bring the ’Mech into the bay.”

A crewman was waiting inside the dark cargo bay. Using lighted wands, he directed the Blade forward toward a cargo cradle. Crow walked his ’Mech the length of the bay to face the cradle, then turned and backed into it. He felt the ’Mech’s balance shift as it came to rest against the bulkhead, then relaxed, sighed, and took the Blade into hot-shutdown mode. The arms and legs froze in position and the reactor sighed to minimum power drain, with gyros on standby.

He would do a full, proper shutdown later, after they were in space. But for now, time wasn’t his friend. The Steel Wolves had undoubtedly spotted him by now, and—if they were feeling particularly bloody-minded, or if they didn’t want the word to get out—a Condor tank backed by Elemental infantry could already be on the way, aiming to cripple Quicksilver before it could lift. Then there would be unpleasant questions to answer.

He disconnected and shed the cooling vest and the neurohelmet, and stood, stretching as much as possible in the cramped cockpit. His back ached. Was it possible he had been that tense? Did betraying another world not come easily?

Rather than answer his own questions—he’d have plenty of time for that level of introspection on the long flight back to Terra—Crow pushed open the access hatch and climbed out of the ’Mech. He’d stripped down to shorts and T-shirt to pilot the ’Mech; as soon as the cold winter-morning air struck his mostly bare skin, he started to shiver.

“Where is the captain?” he asked the crewman who had guided him to his spot, even as a crew of cargo hands began work on adding extra strapdowns and attachment points to the cargo cradle in order to jury-rig proper transport for the ’Mech. Their tools clanged as the bolts went in and the lines tightened. “I need to make arrangements with him for lifting off as soon as possible.”

“This way, sir,” the crewman responded. He turned and walked toward a hatch. Crow followed.

With the crewman leading, they stepped through an airtight door. Inside the ship the air was warmer, though still chilly to Crow’s overheated skin. They went down a long passageway, climbed a ladder, then took a lift up to the maneuvering and control portions of the ship.

“The captain is on the bridge?” Crow asked as they walked.

“No, sir,” the crewman responded. “While you were berthing the ’Mech, he asked me to bring you to the first-class passenger lounge. He said he’d be waiting for you there.”

I don’t have the time for social pleasantries, Crow thought impatiently. The tea and biscuits can wait until later.

The passageways were nicer here—wood-grained coverings on the bulkheads, carpet over the deck-plates, brass fittings on everything—as befitted a passenger area. The crewman stopped at a door, knocked, and stood aside.

“Through here,” he said.

Crow went through the door and into a large compartment containing a polished wooden table, dark green bulkheads with framed pictures hanging from them, and a silver tea service on a sideboard. The DropShip’s Captain was indeed seated at the head of the table—and an officer of the Steel Wolves was standing behind him with a slug-pistol in his hand.

Two more Clan Wolf troopers moved from their places beside the door to stand next to and behind Crow, each one taking hold of one of his arms.

“Good morning, Paladin,” the officer said. “How good of you to join us. Galaxy Commander Kerensky has asked me to greet you.”

“Good morning, Star Captain,” Crow replied. “Give the Galaxy Commander my compliments on her economy of effort—I assume she sent teams to all the civilian ships on the field?—and please inform her that I am on business for The Republic of the Sphere, and shall not be impeded.”

“You can convey your compliments in person,” the Star Captain replied. “My orders are very specific, and do not include leaving without you.”

Crow sighed, and relaxed. “I suppose I have no choice,” he said, and without pause swung his right leg behind the left leg of the trooper standing to his right. He threw his hip against the man’s hip, and felt the trooper’s knee snap.

The man yelped, and fell, and Crow used his now-free right hand to grasp the hand of the second trooper, the one who held his left arm.

He spun into position behind the trooper and his left arm snaked up and around the man’s throat, bending him back, lifting him from the floor by his windpipe. At the same time Crow pulled the trooper’s sidearm from the holster at his belt and raised it, bringing the slug-pistol’s barrel up underneath the trooper’s right armpit.

The Star Captain raised his own pistol and fired off a snap shot. Crow felt the projectile strike the body of the trooper he stood behind. The man jerked and slumped in Crow’s grip. Crow fired back, a double tap. The first projectile took the Star Captain in the chest, the second just under his jaw. He fell.

The entire exchange had taken only a matter of seconds.

Crow let go of the man he held; the trooper’s body collapsed to the deck. Still holding the slug-pistol loosely in his right hand, Crow walked forward and around the table where the Quicksilver’s Captain sat, and recovered the Star Captain’s fallen weapon.

“When a pistol is pointed at his head, a man does what he has to,” the Quicksilver’s Captain said. “But I’m a loyal citizen of The Republic.”

“So he does,” Crow agreed, “and so you are. And I think we should depart this planet before the Wolves notice that one of their Star Captains is not reporting back in.”