“Enjoy that, you bastard,” Betsy shouted at the fire. “You deserve worse. Don’t anybody shoot at him.”

Grace was more worried about people shooting her. She’d hit the ground after hurling her bomb, wanting to get as much out of the line of fire of lasers and missiles and slugs as the cobblestone pavement allowed. She made a grab for Betsy to pull her down, but the woman knocked Grace’s hand away.

Ben had a better idea. He swung a leg out, sweeping Betsy’s legs out from under her. She showed her gratitude by diving on Ben, fists swinging. Anyone but Ben would have been in for a thrashing, but the Lone Cat parried blow after blow, laughing like some kind of maniac as the roar of rockets and cannon washed over them. Somehow Betsy came to see the humor. Her blows came more slowly and fell more softly until her own laughter joined Ben’s.

“We killed the bastard!” Ben shouted.

“We killed the bastard,” Betsy finally said. Looking up, she shivered. “And he is as dead as the very deadest.”

He was dead, and the other Black and Reds were running. It was every man for himself among Alkalurops’ late masters. The big Jupiter knocked over a LoaderMech, stomped a gun truck, and ran, a hail of rockets following it. The black-and-silver-uniformed driver of the Legionnaire who had been at Santorini’s left didn’t react fast enough. Facing a Roughrider Legionnaire, its huge autocannon already rotating and leveled at the other’s open cockpit, the pilot’s hands went up. His “I surrender” came in a small voice.

There was at least one for the hangman.

“Damn, all these lovely BattleMechs just standing around for the taking,” Danny said. “But I know which one’s gonna work for me.” He bounced to his feet and headed for a gray ’Mech MOD among the Roughriders’ victory trophies. He went up the ladder fast, giving Grace an answer to what Scots wore under their kilts. The driver popped the canopy and handed Danny the MechWarrior’s own neurohelmet. Only when Danny was ready to plug in did the driver unplug his own helmet. The ’Mech MOD swayed for a second as control passed from driver to MechWarrior, then steadied. Danny settled into the control couch as the driver dropped down the ladder. Behind Grace, Ben was doing the same, replacing Eddie in the Lone Cat’s giant Atlas.

Still lying on the ground, Grace called up, “Good luck,” as the hatch on the Atlas sealed. Eddie hit the ground and trotted over to her, fixing a radio to his belt. “Here’s a radio for you,” he said. “You’re Roughrider A-8.”

Grace settled the headset in place as she snapped the radio to her waistband. “This is Grace O’Malley,” she said. Damned if she’d use a Roughrider call sign. “Loren, you available?” She turned to take in the scene around her.

Heavy weapons were silent now. Merc infantry trotted from their carriers to take control of the town and stalled BattleMechs and MODs that didn’t make it out in the first crush. For a second, Grace watched the Ryoken II burn. When the flaming lump of what had once been a ruthless madman collapsed below the lid of the cockpit, she turned to see Ben and Danny trotting off in their ’Mechs. Hanson’s Koshi stood in place with his two other command staff BattleMechs, towering over her, while providing cover and protection to her little sacrifice team.

Then it hit Grace, like fresh air when she popped Pirate’s cockpit after a long, hot day– I’m not going to die today. She’d walked into Allabad, fully prepared to die if that could start the battle that would free her people. I’m not dead. Santorini is—horribly. She craned her neck to look up at Hanson’s Koshi and keyed her mike on the Roughriders’ command channel, a mere mortal standing before giants. “Why is everyone running?”

“Because there’s an under-protected DropShip parked at the spaceport,” Hanson said dryly. “Listen, Grace, this contract has been a big enough disaster without me having to tell the Colonel that I let a bunch of bozos run off with our armored DropShip.”

“Leave me some of my MODs and your infantry,” Grace said. “I’ll police this mess and send patrols after the runners.”

“And I’ll secure the port,” Hanson said.

“Danny and I will lend Grace a hand,” Ben said over the command channel, “chasing ’Mechs running amok in Allabad.”

With few orders and no debate, they organized themselves. Hanson led his mercs across the Alhambra River and out of town. Ben led Danny into town. Betsy led the infantry as they assaulted BattleMechs and MODs, and disarmed gun trucks that had smashed into buildings, ’Mechs or each other. Everyone had a task.

Benjork Lone Cat stalked the Jupiter. The one who fought in that BattleMech had power and the will to use it. That one had to die before he slaughtered innocents in his flight. Already, Ben had seen evidence of his prey’s desperation. In its haste to escape, the Jupiter had salvoed both fifteen-LRM pods to punch a gaping hole in a three-story building across the street from the Guild Hall. People were pulling crumpled bodies from the wreckage as he and Danny raced past.

Benjork followed the Jupiter by the gashes taken out of buildings as it swung around tight corners, but the panicked flight ended after just a few blocks. Then he caught glimpses of the Jupiter by the two or three meters it towered over the two-story buildings of Allabad. But central Allabad was mainly three– and four-story buildings, and that was where Hadrian quickly headed.

That took him away from the spaceport. What dream paths does this one follow?

“I found the Jupiter,” came over the emergency guard channel in a thick brogue.

“Where, Danny?”

“Two blocks ahead of you, three closer to the canyon wall. Ben, he has hostages.”

That did not slow down the Lone Cat, though it did drive his thoughts like a cold wind across a barren tundra. Hadrian had not fled to the spaceport. No, he went looking for his own ticket off-planet. Cold. Very cold.

“Freeze. Both of you,” came in a tense voice on the guard channel as Benjork turned a last corner and found himself a long three blocks from the Jupiter. It towered over a pickup with a man at the wheel, a woman on the seat closest to the Jupiter and two small children between them.

A block closer, Danny’s gray ’Mech masked the Atlas’ line of fire. “Back up,” Benjork ordered. “Give the Jupiter space.”

“Yeah, give the madman the space he wants. You do that, and while you do, think about why you were dumb enough to chase me.”

“We protect these people,” Danny said as he backed away.

“Protect them? These people were fine,” Hadrian shouted, jostling the truck with the Jupiter’s huge fist. “Just fine before you made me take them for my ticket out. Now, don’t you do nothing that will make me hurt them. See how you’ve scared that cute little girl? Woman, make her shut up.”

The mother tried to soothe her daughter as the man held his baby son closer. This would neither take long nor end well. Nothing that combined a desperate, high-strung man and children could last long.

Benjork stretched out his ’Mech’s right arm as Danny came close. The Highlander stopped as they touched. Good man.

“Mr. Hadrian, you can’t get out of here,” Danny said.

“You dumb-ass, I’m not Mr. Hadrian. I’m Mr. Hadrian Heckie to you,” the Jupiter pilot spat while the Lone Cat measured the distance between them. Here, the yellow rock of the canyon wall kept the wind away. The Jupiter was a huge target, but Benjork was interested only in the cockpit.

“Then what, Mr. Heckie, do you want us to do for you?” Danny went on with dogged kindness in his voice.

“I want out of here. You will take me to the spaceport and put me on the next DropShip out of here—and I want you to wave real nice as it takes off with me. You hear?”