Blue Skye

7 April 3050

Black Earth Spaceport

Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth

Margaidh never got the chance to thank Captain Harrison for breaking orders, and diverting his Jumpship to Barcelona to evacuate the Rangers. Harrison had already picked up the remnants of the First Grave Walkers’ mercenary regiment from Bone Norman, which had also been captured by the Clan Jade Falcon. He’d heard news from other planets too; from Steelton, Here and Winfield, and he knew that this was no ordinary pirate incursion. As a native of Summer himself, Harrison was not about to ignore the cries for help from the regiment he considered his own, even though he never was fortunate enough to serve with them.

Harrison was the shy type, and for the whole seven day trip to Black Earth (seven days recharging the Kearney-Fuchida drives, and seven seconds gut-wrenching hyperspace jump) he stayed out of sight.

The first thing that crossed Margaidh’s mind when she disembarked from the Dropship onto the tarmac at the Black Earth spaceport was that the place lived up to it’s name. It’s climate seemed as grey and miserable as that on Summer, and in the distance dark hills loomed, forboding and grim-looking. The spaceport itself sprawled across the land like a steel and concrete fungus clinging for sustenance to the black hillside. Margaidh pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck as a barrier against the chill, damp air, and longed for the sunny warmth of Barcelona.

“Pretty place, isn’t it?” said Steve McKernon with a wry smile.

“Just right for sunbathing,” Margaidh replied, looking up at the pale red M-class sun in it’s hazy grey sky. “No chance of sunburn.”

The mercenaries, who had kept themselves to themselves during the journey, moved what was left of their regiment to the capital city of New Houston, some four hundred kilometers away. Maybe they had contacts there, maybe someone told them to go there, Margaidh didn’t know. All she knew was that the Rangers had been ordered to stay garrisoned in the Spaceport itself, to defend it in the event of possible attack. She hoped fervently that their support would not be needed, and steeled herself for a dull tour, however short it might be before the remaining Rangers were shipped back to Summer. The sooner the better, she thought as she looked around. This place looks about as exciting as the back of beyond.

After settling the Mechs and other vehicles in the repair bay, which was surprisingly well supplied for such an out-of-the-way place, Margaidh sought out Steve and together they explored what was to become their home, for a while at least. To their surprise and relief, it seemed as though it was not going to be as dull as Margaidh had feared. Because the spaceport was so isolated, it had evolved into a city of it’s own, with everything it’s inhabitants might need. Shops, restaurants, even casinos and venues for such sports as boxing and Babaeski Hockey, both of which were too violent for Margaidh’s taste.

They found a bar called Stevie’s Place and Steve McKernon insisted on trying it out. Margaidh was in no mood to object; a good stiff drink was exactly what she needed. She followed the Sergeant into the bar, and immediately wondered if they had made the right choice.

Stevie’s Place was dark and smoky, with loud dance-music piped through a cheap PA system. Pink and blue neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy, pounding beat. There was a dance floor but no-one was dancing; it was too crowded with heavy-set, heavy-drinking dockworkers and techs. Steve pushed his way to a table in a corner and they sat down. Margaidh frowned at him. “Are you sure about this?” she mouthed above the loud music. Steve shrugged.

Just as Margaidh was about to change her mind and go somewhere else, a waitress in a short leather skirt came up to the table. “What d’ya want to drink?” she said brusquely, and blew a bubble in a wad of gum.

Steve hesitated, not wanting to seem unmannerly in front of his superior officer. Margaidh sensed his unease, and ordered for them. “Two PPCs,” she said, or rather shouted.

“What’s a PPC?” Steve hissed.

“Rocket fuel, mixed with the spirit of your choice,” Margaidh replied. “Named after the successor houses.”

“What’s in a Steiner?”

“Peppermint schnapps.” She paused, trying to remember what the others were. “Ouzo for Marik, Bourbon for Davion, Peach brandy for Liao. And the Kuritans mix it with Sake, which is a bit like dousing fire with kerosene.”

“Steiner sounds good to me.”

Margaidh turned to the waitress. “One Steiner style, and one Skye.”

The waitress frowned, and chewed hard on her gum. “Never heard of that one,” she drawled.

“Not surprised. I invented it myself,” Margaidh replied with a wolfish grin. “Cut it with a double Scotch.”

“Gotcha.” The waitress turned and walked back towards the bar, waggling her backside.

When the drinks arrived at the table, Steve just held his glass, watching the clear liquid vibrating slightly with the pulsing beat of the music. Margaidh watched him cautiously sniff it, then take a hesitant sip and pull a face, and she smiled.

An ability to stomach strong drink was a Celtic trait Margaidh had inherited from her far-away ancestors in the Scottish islands. She swirled her drink once around the glass then threw her head back and downed it in one go. Steve stared in surprise then, not wanting to be out-done, attempted to do the same.

Margaidh watched his face pass from curiosity, briefly through pleasure, and into sudden shock. When he’d finished coughing, he paused and stared at Margaidh, then at her empty glass, with wide eyes. “Don’t ever ask me to get into a drinking contest with you,” he said, as soon as his throat had recovered from the burning sensation sufficiently for him to speak. He looked down at the remnants of his drink, and drained the rest of it. Margaidh ordered another PPC for herself, Steve backed out and asked for a beer.

Later, they sat outside under the starlight where the air was cool and the noise faint enough to allow conversation. “Where the hell did you learn to drink like that?” Steve asked, seeing Leftenant Lewis in a new light.

Margaidh shrugged. “My mother, I guess.” She smiled to hide the sudden sharp stab of pain she felt when she remembered how heavily her mother had taken to the bottle in an attempt to drown the depression after her accident. “She always seemed so strong to me. A real warrior. And then suddenly the fire inside her was gone. She hit the bottle hard after her accident.” She paused. It was not often she spoke about her mother the way she was after the accident. Maybe the strong drink had loosened her tongue.

Steve sensed Margaidh’s pain and held her hand. Margaidh squeezed it in return. She looked at him with an expression that bordered on desperation. “If anything happens to you, don’t give up fighting. Never give up.”

“What do you…” Steve began, confused.

“Promise me.”

Steve shook his head then shrugged. “Okay, I promise,” he said.

Margaidh smiled and stood up, looking at the moonless sky and suddenly realising how cold it had become. “Let’s go home,” she said, trying to suppress the images of Summer she saw in her mind. They put their arms around one another and walked back to their quarters in mutual support.