The single cockpit device meant for his attention was a gauge that allegedly measured the heat level of the machine. Though most Clan 'Mechs were equipped with double heat sinks that virtually made overheating impossible, the training cadre wanted all cadets to be made conscious of the danger of rising heat in the event of a malfunction or of an overeager warrior putting his 'Mech in such jeopardy. The gauge was fake, controlled by those who were guiding the exercise. They could arbitrarily place any cadet in a dangerous situation and announce that the 'Mech had overheated. Then the cadet was declared "dead" in his seat (unless he or she had cleverly anticipated the event and scrambled out of the cockpit before the controller noticed), and his mock battle machine judged as defeated and taken out of the exercise.
Still, frustrating as the test conditions were, primitive as the partial 'Mech was, Aidan was exhilarated by the experience of finally being in a cockpit after all the verbal abuse from instructors and the endless classroom tests and the 'Mechless combat maneuvers the sibko had undergone. This exercise—at last—began the real training, the training that he and the sibko had been looking forward to so desperately. Instead of pretending to be a warrior while shooting imaginary weapons from his bed or in the midst of rare sibko recreation, now he had the chance to operate a genuine machine with real, if decrepit and barely loaded or charged, weapons.
It was time to dispose of the boy. Leaning toward the front viewing window, all the while longing for a holographic display of the whole battlefield, Aidan took a bead on the freeborn, then slowly pushed down the button on the arm of his command couch that would direct a laser beam at the target. He wanted to relish his first training kill.
He relished it for too long. Joanna had drummed into the minds of the sibko that timing was critical, and Aidan had forgotten the lesson.
The boy, standing between two tall trees whose bark shone wetly from a recent rain, fired a flare right at Aidan's 'Mech. Aidan had not even detected a flare gun among his enemy's weaponry. Its projectile exploded, apparently against the 'Mech's left arm, where the laser was mounted. There was a long moment of fierce blinding light. Aidan shut his eyes tightly and watched, on the inside of his eyelids, large, abstract, dark blobs that seemed to be engaged in their own personal combat. At the same time, he considered his second mistake, regarding the freeborn as subhuman. Sensing the light of the flare dying out, he opened his eyes. With that, the dark blobs turned into blinding light that, for a moment, prevented him from focusing. As clearer sight returned, he sensed a hard knock against the front of the cockpit. The 'Mech seemed to shake on its already shaky foundation.
When he could finally focus on what was happening, Aidan saw the freeborn boy clinging to the outside of the cockpit, staring in at its bewildered pilot. He grinned in a way that might have seemed friendly from a trueborn, but was spookily turned into a malicious smirk on the face of a freeborn. One of the boy's hands firmly grasped the rim of the viewport, while the other clutched to his chest what at first looked to Aidan like a bundle.
Before Aidan could adjust to the boy's presence on his 'Mech's surface, the freebirth suddenly disappeared from the viewing window, leaving a streak of dirt behind him as proof that he had not been Aidan's hallucination. The last thing Aidan saw was the bundle, now held downward away from the boy's body, reminding Aidan of a suitcase.
It was a moment before Aidan realized the significance of the object. It was neither bundle nor suitcase. The little bastard was carrying a satchel charge and he was going to attach it to Aidan's 'Mech.
In her weaponry briefing, Joanna had said nothing about satchel charges, though she had pointed out that no weapon would be life-threatening; this boy's was undoubtedly powered down, like all the rest of the weapons in the exercise. Aidan felt cheated. A satchel charge seemed like a violation of the rules, but of course, as Joanna had also pointed out, this exercise had no rules. As she had said, all was fair in love and war, and on the training ground, "what's unfair is even fairer." One had only to win.
And he could not win with the freeborn scrambling around the outside with a satchel charge in a suitcase. Aidan pushed himself out of the command couch and virtually leaped at the escape hatch, working it open rapidly. As he stepped out onto the 'Mech's shoulder, he felt, in a slight movement of the 'Mech on its shaky foundation, that the boy was somewhere on the back of the machine, behind the cockpit section. Looking there, he saw that the satchel charge was now secured by metal hooks to the back of the Wasp's head. The boy had positioned it so that it would blow through to the cockpit. If that happened, the judges would surely award victory to the other boy and declare Aidan dead in his pilot seat. Even if Aidan were to eject before the charge's mock explosion, the boy would win. Ejection meant capitulation, as Joanna had said.
A sickening feeling formed at the pit of Aidan's stomach. To be defeated by a lousy freebirth—it was too shameful, a stigma for any trueborn cadet.
Realizing that his main chance now was to do something about the bomb, then defeat the boy (where had he gone?), Aidan set his feet firm against the side of the 'Mech's head and reached toward the satchel. He could hear a faint humming sound. It was unlikely that the boy had set a long fuse, so Aidan was sure he had only a matter of seconds to get at the explosive device. It looked so innocent sitting there, like some bulky kit bag that had accidentally become stuck to the 'Mech's form. His fingers brushed against the satchel's leather surface, but he could not get a good hold on it. Readjusting his body to lean out further, Aidan tried again. The 'Mech, swaying slightly on its foundation, nearly made one of his feet slip. That did not matter. His concentration was entirely focused on the dark bag. Another rocking sensation and he did lose his footing, but just as he managed to grip a good handful of the satchel. His body slid sideways, then toward the rear, right to the edge of the 'Mech shoulder, but Aidan did not lose his hold on the satchel. The rocking stopped. Wrapping his leg around a mount intended for a weapon he had rejected in his bid, he pulled at the bag. It did not budge. When he tried again, one of the far metal hooks came away. At the same moment, the rocking of the 'Mech switched directions and Aidan began sliding backward, toward the gun mount. The rocking worked to his advantage, however, as the weight of his body pulled more at the satchel. As he came to rest, still wrapped around the gun mount, but leaning out the rear of the 'Mech, Aidan gave one last tug and the satchel came away, the humming inside of it seeming louder than before. Using his left hand to prop himself up on the pitching 'Mech, he threw the satchel outward. It had barely left his hand when it exploded. Whatever kind of mild charge was in it, the explosion was loud. The bag split apart, sending out growing plumes of smoke that quickly enveloped Aidan and the 'Mech. It was like being in a dense fog, except that fog generally did not cause such pain to the lungs. Even as he started coughing, Aidan noted with pleasure that he had at least evened the contest. The satchel charge, if real, could have done scant damage to the Wasp. The boy might be a little ahead on points, but the battle was not over. Even as he continued to cough, Aidan gained in confidence as he heard the boy also coughing below him.
Using the gun mount for balance, Aidan struggled to his feet, then nearly fell again as the 'Mech reached the end of its rocking arc and started back again. Was he mistaken or had there been an extra acceleration at the start of the reverse movement? The initial swaying had been scarcely noticeable, but Aidan detected a wider arc now. Aidan suddenly realized that his enemy was attempting, through sheer physical force, to rock the 'Mech until he could, with a final thrust, knock it over. Given the usual tonnage of a real 'Mech, with all its machinery and materiel, such a maneuver would normally have been impossible. This 'Mech, however, was a mere shell with most of its equipment removed for the combat exercises. And the tactic might just work because the shell rested on an unsecured foundation so that it could be positioned easily in different sections of the training ground. It was a devious but legitimate tactic.
For once, Aidan cursed the Clan tendency
to enforce every economy, any way of saving materiel. The Clans had a long history of scavenging, salvaging, reconstructions, improvisations, replacing metal parts with human bones, repairing apparently useless limbs carried in from battlefields and putting them back on any 'Mech that needed replacements, and all kinds of Tech miracles in deep, dark dungeons (warrior Tech shops were often called dungeons for the dirt, grease, disharmony, and mysteries that seemed to lurk there). It was second nature, too, for civilians to practice complicated economies, all for the good of the Clan. Aidan believed in the Kerensky traditions. The general had decreed that even though the Clan was a technically advanced society, the shortage of supplies and the harsh living conditions on their planets made it necessary for its people to conduct their lives in primitive ways, with primitive means. That way the future takeover of the Inner Sphere and the restoration of the Star League would be supported firmly and heavily. Nothing should be wasted to give any Clans-person a better life. None of the necessities of life in any caste should be used to excess or wasted. Battle materiel and supplies should be used wisely and, where possible, recycled—again, nothing wasted. Even lives displayed their own personal economies. No emotion should be wasted, with all feelings recycled into useful activity. Even play should contribute to the goals of the sibko and of the Clan. This time Aidan might have foregone the economy so that he could be tumbling around a better-budgeted training 'Mech.
He was glad for the obscurity the smoke caused. Nobody could see his foot slip and slide beneath him as he dejectedly held onto the gun mount. Finally regaining his balance, he used his natural agility to adjust to the side-to-side. As the smoke cleared and the 'Mech reached the end of its present motion, he quickly looked down and saw the boy, now so intent on toppling the 'Mech that he had not observed Aidan's current position. Stupid freebirth, he should have anticipated that.
Aidan nearly slid off the 'Mech's shoulder as the machine's rocking arc reached its limit and the boy pushed it back, the intensity of his effort forcing the sinews in his upper arms to bulge out. At the last second, Aidan grabbed the gun mount again. Holding on tightly, he rode on the shoulder to the end of its present rocking motion. At the point where the 'Mech again stopped, it seemed to teeter for a moment before halting, enough time to suggest it might crash before reaching its opposite point in the return arc, enough time for Aidan to see dew on a patch of grass just below him. Aidan realized that his presence on the 'Mech, clutching the mount, with his weight full against the weapon, might be just enough to precipitate the fall now. However, after leaning to its left for an astonishingly long time, the 'Mech began to rock back. Aidan let out the breath he had been holding for a long time. Had he even breathed at all since he had slipped out of the cockpit?
As the 'Mech slowly rocked back toward its right, Aidan was certain this would be the last arc. The machine would definitely crash to the ground. The freeborn had to realize this, too—or else be crushed in the fall. In spite of the boy's tainted birth, Aidan devoutly hoped his opponent would have the sense to get out of the way. Having him mangled under a training 'Mech would be a cheap, almost shameful way of winning. Aidan wanted a decisive win, one that Falconer Joanna could not question either publicly or in her bunk, where she often hurled insults these days while in the act of coupling.
Aidan planned his strategy quickly. During the brief moment when the 'Mech's shoulder was level, he released his grip on the mount and leaped over it. Now he exerted pressure, using the gun mount for leverage. He wanted to guarantee the 'Mech's fall. Over a loudspeaker mounted on a nearby tree, Falconer Joanna's voice screamed out. Fortunately, some static on the outdoor sound system, plus the loud sounds of the near-crashed 'Mech, drowned out her words. Aidan was sure he would hear them all later, anyway. He suspected that Joanna had never once in her life ever considered the possibility of verbal restraint.
He set his feet so that his body would be in balance at that moment the 'Mech wavered before it began its final descent. As the machine's right shoulder tilted once more and Aidan forced the motion further by leaning into the mounted gun, he scanned the terrain below, looking for the freeborn. There he was, backing away from the 'Mech, trying to get out of its way. As the other boy stared up at the 'Mech with wide fearful eyes, his feet suddenly slipped and slid across the wet grass. It was obvious that he had not yet seen Aidan.
Timing his move with the acceleration of the 'Mech's fall, Aidan leaped off the shoulder, sailing in what would have been a perfect dive during the excruciating swim-training that Joanna had supervised in her usual compassionate way. ("Drown, you repulsive slugs. You do the stroke my way or drown.") As Aidan zeroed in on the freeborn like an aerofighter in a suicide swoop, he had a sudden moment of doubt about the wisdom of his improvised strategy. The boy did not see him until the last moment, too late to put up any kind of defense. Aidan, just before impact, ducked his head and brought his arms down on the boy's shoulders. They collided with more impact than Aidan had expected, and even before they hit the ground, Aidan was momentarily dazed. Even with his head dazed, he managed to cushion his own fall with his enemy's body. The boy yelped in pain. Aidan was bounced off the boy's body as the 'Mech and the earth met with a tremendous thump. Light as the machine was, it still sent a minor earthquake of vibrations across the immediate landscape. The tremors sent Aidan sliding across damp ground like a child down an icy slope.
After he came to a stop, he maneuvered his body around to face the boy again. The freeborn, nearly as resilient, was struggling to his feet, too!. Standing, Aidan detected movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking in that direction, he saw a long tube sailing toward him. He caught it just before it hit the ground. Jagged at each end, it looked like it must have been a section of the laser weapon's barrel.
He did not hesitate to use it. Joanna had screamed at them often enough that a warrior must use any material available to him or her to win a combat. Even the droning Dermot had pointed out that no warrior ever won an engagement by brooding over whether or not to use a particular weapon. Emitting the kind of falcon yelp that the trainers had drilled into them as the beginning and end of any calisthenic or marching drill, Aidan ran at the freeborn, the metal tube held over his head like a primitive club.
The freeborn, staring with surprise at Aidan's newfound weapon, had his own weapon ready, a short stub of a knife obviously carved out of some piece of scrap from the pile kept at the edge of the training ground. (Cadets were encouraged to scavenge from the scrap-pile for any need. Many made cups and utensils, tools, small artworks to decorate the single table allowed beside each bunk, and, although specifically forbidden, small weapons like the one the freeborn now held in his hand.)
In one part of his mind, Aidan almost admired the craftiness of his enemy in concealing a lethal weapon, getting it by the officers in charge, waiting for the right opportunity to use it. And that moment was now, with a trueborn rushing at him and ready to crush his skull with his own somewhat-less-lethal weapon.
But that was the only part of Aidan's mind that considered the situation coolly. The rest became instantly filled with rage. What right had this stupid freebirth to attempt to kill a natural warrior, a trueborn, in an ordinary training exercise? The bastard must die himself!
Aidan tried to be quicker than the boy. Switching the metal tube from his right to left hand, he brought it down toward the freeborn's forearm, hoping to dislodge the knife and hear the satisfying crack of a bone in the process.
But the boy anticipated Aidan's defense. He dodged to his right, and the tube just grazed his sleeve. Adjusting to Aidan's attack, he then quickly brought the knife up and forward, slashing the sleeveless cadet's forearm. Aidan's defensive move had not been as quick as the boy's because the momentum of his own thrust had set him off balance, with his feet stumbling on the wet soil beneath. Nevertheless, the blow was not as telling as the freeborn had intended and the knife blade just grazed Aidan's skin, barely drawing blood.
Now they were both o
ff balance, their footing so insecure they looked like bad dancers in a village celebration. But Aidan still had one advantage—his rage. The boy, with the lack of involvement so characteristic of freeborns, merely wanted to win. Aidan wanted to kill.
Ignoring the pain from the knife slash, he stepped in toward the boy, and raising the metal tube fiercely, he caught him on the side of his forehead, enough to daze him. The boy stumbled backward, trying to return his weapon to the action but unable, it seemed, to coordinate the action. His arm flopped around like that of a rag doll. He looked foolish.
Aidan grabbed the boy's knife arm, and raising it to his mouth, bit fiercely, drawing blood and tearing some skin away. The tactic worked. The boy dropped the knife. For a brief moment, Aidan considered picking it up and stabbing the freeborn, but he did not favor knives, especially ones fashioned by the enemy. He also threw the tube away. He wanted to tear this freeborn apart with his bare hands, without weaponry. In his mind were visions of skeletons and gore.
He only got to the point of bashing the freeborn's head against the ground, over and over until no consciousness remained in the boy's open eyes. Training officers suddenly appeared from odd hiding places, from inside fake fortified trees and out of manmade hillocks. The analysts for the exercise descended to a clear patch of ground in a small helicopter. It took four of the officers to lift Aidan off the freeborn and another three to talk him out of his rage. By that time the boy was fully conscious again and staring at him with hatred in his eyes. Before they yanked him away, he had enough time to mutter, "You did not impress me one bit, trashborn." The savage insult was enough to revive Aidan's anger, but the officers restrained him again, as others dragged the freeborn away.
Way Of The Clans Page 8
