Theodore just shook his head and continued toward the hangar door, where the little group came to an abrupt halt when he nearly stumbled over a huddled, sobbing shape.

"Kowalski?"

"Sir," the Tech mumbled as he struggled to his feet, pain obvious in the way he moved. Kowalski was bruised, his uniform torn and smudged. Dried blood crusted his hairline, making his normally immaculate gray hair stick up haphazardly on one side.

"What happened?"

"They said I didn't have the authority to requisition parts. When I told them I was your personal Tech, they laughed. They said my word wasn't enough. They offered me a chance to establish my authority. I didn't do very well."

"Who were they, Kowalski- san?"

Kowalski turned away from Theodore's gaze, his shoulders slumping. "I can't say, sir."

Theodore's eyes narrowed. "I'll find out who was responsible."

"No," the Tech protested, twisted back to face Theodore. "Sir, please don't. That's not the way it works here."

Theodore could not ignore the naked plea in the Tech's eyes. "All right, Kowalski- san. I'll do nothing for now, if you'll report to the infirmary. You are off-duty till further notice."

Kowalski bowed awkwardly and limped away.

"He's right, you know."

The four Kuritans spun to face the new speaker. The tall, strongly-built man leaned against the wall of the shed. A thatch of red hair bushed out from under his black uniform cap to shade a freckled face wearing a relaxed grin. The man wore a MechWarrior's jumpsuit with a Tai-i'sblue katakana "5" on his left collar. His cap insignia identified him as belonging to First Company, Second Battalion, of the Second Legion of Vega.

"Ninyu!" Theodore exclaimed, recognizing the face he had first seen in a dark alley on Kagoshima. "I haven't seen you since that commando scare on Al Na'ir."

"It's been too long, my friend. Still keeping up your kendo?"

"Not as much as I would like. It's hard to find an opponent of Subhash -sama's caliber," Theodore said as he stepped up to shake his friend's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my station," Ninyu replied, tapping the insignia on his cap. "Loyal MechWarrior among the scum of the Combine."

Theodore nodded. He knew Ninyu was a fellow member of Indrahar's Sons of the Dragons, and unlike himself, well-versed in subterfuge and the dark side of the military. If Ninyu was here, there would be a reason, quite possibly one not to be pursued before witnesses. To cover what was becoming an awkward pause, he said, "Let me introduce you to my lance."

Theodore indicated each of his companions with a gesture and each made a formal bow of greeting to Ninyu. "Tai-iTomoe Sakade, my exec. Chu-iHirushi Sandersen, operations specialist. Chu-iBenjamin Tourneville, comm specialist."

"Chu-iTourneville and I are old acquaintances," Ninyu said.

"So ka,"Theodore acknowledged, understanding by Ninyu's remark that he knew of Tourneville's other occupation. "This is Ninyu Kerai, an old friend." Sotto voce,he added, "Be careful around him. He's ISF."

Ninyu grimaced in mock annoyance, from which Theodore gathered that the man expected the others to know that already. "You'll find that quite a few people here are ISF," he said. "Watching the malcontents, and each other."

"We were headed for the mess hall," Sandersen reminded them, patting his belly.

"A man with his mind on important business," Ninyu laughed. "Come on. I'll show you the way. I wouldn't want you strangers to get lost trying to get to the most wretched hive of scum and culinary disasters in the Combine."

Theodore was glad to have Ninyu for a guide. In the daylight, the scramble of buildings and huts did not seem to correspond to the orbital photographs he had studied. The walk to the messhall was mercifully short; Sandersen's continual grumblings about the lack of food were beginning to get old.

The hall was crowded, the noise and smoke combining to give it the air of a seedy cantina on some backwater planet. Most of the men and women were already seated, many halfway through their meals. Theodore wondered briefly what they had been doing all day.

The trip through the chow line was frustrating. The servers and the few others still in the line met Theodore's attempts to be comradely with ill-concealed hostility, answering his questions with the absolute minimum response and perfunctory politeness. Comments were ignored in the surly atmosphere.

"What's going on?" Theodore asked Ninyu quietly as they left the chow line.

"You're new, an unknown quantity," he replied. "They only know what they've heard and most of them think you're a wimp, a disgrace to the Dragon. It's true most of these hardcases don't give a fart for the Dragon, but neither do they like papa's boys. You've got yourself a kettle of hot water, hotshot. Let's see you make tea."

Ninyu drifted off in search of a place among the crowded tables.

Theodore spotted two open spaces and nudged Tomoe toward them. They put down their trays and sat down while their new table companions traded shifty glances.

"I don't feel very hungry anymore," a sallow-faced woman announced, standing up with her half full tray. The others at the table grunted agreement, and in a moment, Theodore and Tomoe sat alone.

Two tables down, a man stood and said something to his companions. Coarse laughter followed as he strode across the space between the tables.

"Here comes the welcoming committee," Tomoe whispered.

"Let me handle it."

The man approaching them was huge, over two meters tall and heavily muscled. Despite the fact that the fellow wore a shabby MechWarrior's jersey, Theodore found it barely credible that the man's massive body would fit inside the cramped cockpit of a BattleMech. His lower face was covered with dark, bristly stubble, except for a line running from chin to his left temple. The scar stood white against his swarthy skin and did nothing to improve his sinister look. That look was obviously cultivated, as indicated by the gold stud through the lobe of his left nostril and the blood-red scharacki feather dangling from his right ear.

"Olivares is my name," the man said in a voice that rumbled up from his broad gut and through his barrel-chest to erupt from his full-lipped mouth. He plunked down his tray on the table, pulled up a stool, and sat. "Sho-saEsau Olivares. I'm ramrod here. You get along with me, you get along with them."

"I was under the impression that Ihad been given command of this regiment."

"Listen, pretty boy. This here's the frontline. Them Elsies could come dropping in any old time. When Steiner 'Mechs are falling on our heads, we ain't got no time for a wet-eared academy boy getting in our way. I been fighting Elsies for ten years. I know 'em. We get company, you just curl up at HQ with your books and your bimbo. I'll take care of business."

Theodore raised a quizzical eyebrow. The gesture was lost on the Sho-sa,who continued on.

"We hear you think you're real hot, been burning up the sim tanks with your tactics. But you ain't in the classroom now. This here's the real world. It ain't anything like you think. Your Kurita name ain't gonna make the Elsies bow down and kiss your behind. So if them Steiner MechJocks come to call, stay out of my way. You can sashay back to HQ, and stay safe and sound with the other pretty boys. You should have lotsa fun."