Bloodname

by Robert Thurston

  Grabbing Bast by the neck brace, he pulled him forward roughly. Then he butted the truebom warrior's head, letting go of the neck brace and pushing him back. Bast staggered backward, knocking over the chair on which he had been sitting, and his hands went to his neck. His eyes showed terrible pain. Aidan hoped he had reinjured the man's neck, that the injury was even worse than before. He relaxed, the anger out of him now. The other trueborns, clearly enraged but prevented by Clan warrior law to act as long as the fight was only between Aidan and Bast, muttered encouragement to their still-reeling companion. Aidan laughed scornfully. Bast reversed his backward motion and took a pair of stumbling steps forward, his hands still clutching the neck brace.

  Aidan was caught off guard. He should have seen that some of Bast's pain was fakery. Bast drew a knife from some hiding place in the neck brace and quickly flung it at Aidan. The knife, aimed at Aidan's left eye, nearly hit its target. Jerking his head to one side, Aidan seemed to feel a light, glancing touch from the weapon as it passed by without being diverted from its path. Then Bast charged at him like some mad animal.

  There was no moment when Aidan considered choice. He knew he could take Bast, he had done so already, and he merely wanted to finish him forever. After a few moments of scuffling, Aidan grabbed at the neck brace and tore it away from Bast's neck, exposing bruised and reddened skin. Slapping Bast across the eyes with the edge of the brace, he took advantage of his enemy's obvious dizziness by going for the man's weak spot. Throwing his forearm around Bast's neck, he squeezed with a steady pressure. Clarity came back into Bast's eyes for a moment, then something in the man's neck snapped and vision left his eyes forever. His body slumped heavily, and Aidan threw it to the floor as though it were only so much litter.

  Bast's companions, now shaking with anger, rushed at Aidan. Horse intervened. Soon the whole room was in a free-for-all. Aidan personally, and with some satisfaction, seriously disabled two warriors from Bast's Star.

  When a group of Elementals from Lanja's Point came into the lounge to break up the battle, Aidan volunteered responsibility and was taken to command headquarters.

  Before he left, he stood over Bast's corpse and muttered, "What's the difference between a truebirth and a rock swine in a Clan uniform?" He paused for a moment, as though the dead man would respond, then he said, "No difference, Bast. No difference."

  2

  "A Jade Falcon JumpShip has been detected arriving in Glory Sector. A DropShip has detached and is heading for Glory," Star Commander Craig Ward reported to his superior, Star Captain Dwillt Radick. They were officers in the Wolf Clan's Sixteenth Battle Cluster, and they despised each other.

  Radick, who had been pretending to examine a star map of the Glory Sector, merely nodded to Ward, the slight shift of his head seeming to indicate that the news was of little interest. It was, in truth, fascinating information.

  "Perhaps the Jade Falcons had advance information about our attack," Ward commented. He could not have said anything that Radick liked more, because it set him up for his superior.

  "They could not have advance information, as you say, Star Commander. It is obvious that the Jade Falcons do not value Kael Pershaw's genetic legacy. They have given him a backwater command on a planet the Clan does not value highly. His Cluster's equipment is obsolescenp'and his command is full of freebirths. Clan Jade Falcon would never even imagine that Clan Wolf desires the spawn of Kael Pershaw for mixture with one of our own, quiaff?"

  "Aff."

  "And you will use any excuse to express disapproval of our operation?"

  "That is not true, sir. My—"

  "Come now. Your pacifistic views are well-known. Am I to understand that you believe our coming challenge and the acquisition of Pershaw's genetic legacy is to be praised? You would praise them, Star Commander Craig Ward, quiaff?"

  Ward knew that it was futile to argue with Radick, and he had devised several slippery ways of escaping the man's verbal clutches. This time, however, he was stopped cold. If anything flustered him, it was being challenged when merely performing the duties of a messenger.

  'Quiaff, Star Commander?"

  "You know where my sentiments lie. But I will also do my duty."

  "You will certainly do your duty."

  Radick continually sent Ward out on the most difficult and risky missions.

  "Well," Radick said, "what do you make of the JumpShip's sudden appearance?"

  "If it is not the result of intelligence data, then perhaps it is a normal cargo delivery or a troop rotation."

  Radick looked thoughtful, the effort making his face look pinched. "All right then," he said. "I think we should make a contingency plan for the bidding. If new warriors and 'Mechs will be arriving on Glory, which the presence of the DropShip does indeed suggest, then our bid must include some aerofighters."

  "Why aerofighters?"

  "To help us win the bid against Star Captain Zoll, for the honor of leading the attack."

  "I still do not understand."

  "Star Colonel Mikel Furey intends to issue the challenge for the Trial of Possession within a few hours. It will take the Jade Falcon DropShip at least five hours to land. Nevertheless, I believe that Kael Pershaw will include the DropShip and its 'Mechs as part of his defensive forces.

  "Star Captain Zoll is not very imaginative. He will simply adjust his bid to lead, the assault by a Trinary of BattleMechs. I, on the other hand, will bid three Points of aerofighters, along with two Trinaries. The aerofighters will eliminate the DropShip and its load of 'Mechs before it lands. I will win the bid and defeat Kael Pershaw."

  * * *

  Star Captain Joanna, of the Falcon Guards, fought the severe nausea that always overcame her traveling in a starship making its jump across hyperspace. This time the waves of nausea were more like fierce tidal blasts that crushed cliffs and made beaches disappear. She did not vomit, however, having carefully avoided food the day before and having taken every known anti-nausea remedy. She coughed up some bile, but that was about it.

  In contrast to the severity of the nausea, the dizziness that usually followed it was not so bad this time. The room spun only about ten or twelve times before settling back to normal. She could, like the other passengers, have spent the arrival time in med bay, but that would have been an admission of weakness, something Joanna never did. Knowledge of one's weakness could give another warrior an extra edge. Besides, too many warriors considered any sign of vulnerability to be proof of old age. Among the Clans nothing was worse than being considered too old. She could not allow that.

  Joanna knew, of course, that she was getting older and still going nowhere as a warrior. If she had not won her Bloodname by now, it was not for lack of trying. Several times she had even made it to the final stages. But there was always someone better, someone else with the skills to win the Bloodname, leaving Joanna behind, with battle scars and great courage but only a single name.

  Gripping the stumble-bar, the long railings on at least three sides of any compartment and both sides of all JumpShip corridors, she waited to make sure she could walk without stumbling. Unfortunately, before she felt steady enough to move, her chief tech, Nomad, entered the compartment. What bad luck! The last person she wanted to see while in this condition was Nomad. Though he was of a caste famous for deference and politeness, Nomad never lost a chance to remind Joanna of a weakness or a failure.

  "A bit of a hyperspace spell?" he said immediately. "Or were you just doing an exercise series on the bar?"

  "No spell, and how many times have I already reported you for rudeness?"

  "Lately? Or over the years?"

  "Lately."

  "Five, I think."

  "Only a third as much as you deserved. I do not see why you stay. You could have transferred long ago."

  "I like it here."

  "Are you some kind of curse that has been put on me?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Nevermind."

  There was
the usual sarcastic twinkle in Nomad's eyes, their color so pale they almost disappeared into the dark skin around them. He was bald now, had been for some time. When they had first worked together, Nomad's skull had been decorated with a full head of light brown hair. They had gone on a mission to locate Cadet Aidan, who had become an astech and then escaped the training planet on Ironhold. He had been thinner, too.

  When Joanna had finished her tour as a training instructor on Ironhold, Nomad had also been reassigned, coincidentally, to her command as its chief tech. She had no doubt that it was thanks to his efficient supervision of the maintenance and repair crews that the unit lost so few 'Mechs. In the early days, she had blocked any move on his part for transfer. But then came a time when, in spite of his invaluable abilities, she could no longer endure his continual sarcasm. She had told him he could have any transfer for which he might apply. He had not applied since.

  She had even considered killing him. But how? He was not easily ruffled, so he could not be provoked to a fight. Besides, a fight with one's chief tech, even if condoned in the Circle of Equals, had an element of dishonor attached to it. Deliberately putting him in jeopardy under fire was possible, but against her sense of ethics. And murder was out of the question. So she had to let him live. Worse, Joanna knew that if ever she were to see him in danger during a battle, she would rescue him. How often had she pondered what good it was being a Star Captain if you could not get rid of your chief tech?

  On the other hand, her own success as an officer was partly due to Nomad's efficiency. She could think of a number of close skirmishes where the makeshift battlefield repairs by Nomad and his crew had made the difference. An inept or indifferent chief tech could send his or her Star down the crater to oblivion.

  "I am stuck with you, Nomad, quiaff?"

  "Aff. We might as well be lovers."

  "Do not blaspheme. I would not bed a tech, you know that."

  "Yes. Warriors do not have sex below their caste?"

  "Is that sarcasm? You know they do. I do not."

  "A sense of ethics?"

  "A sense of disgust. You are not appealing, Nomad."

  The ironic look did not leave his eyes, but the remark silenced him. Joanna would have liked to continue the silence, but there was the ritual of duty to be performed.

  She and her Trinary of fifteen MechWarriors were being rotated to Glory Station to replace the MechWarriors of Trinary Striker. Nomad made a daily check of the cocoons where their unit's 'Mechs were stored before reporting to her. Nothing, of course, would be wrong. It was routine duty, the kind that made Joanna's nerves edgy with boredom.

  There were rumors that the invasion of the Inner Sphere would come soon. She hoped so. Clan warriors did plenty of fighting, it was true, but it was mere skirmishing, trivial battles over geographical territory or fights over genetic materials. It was a way to keep one's combat skills sharp, but had never been enough for her. She wanted the landscape of a major battle, the prodding to heroism. That was what being a warrior was all about. By the sacred name of Nicholas Kerensky, she vowed that she would not die in some minor battle or become cannon fodder like so many old warriors whose skills had diminished. She did not fear dying; she only feared dying for an inconsequential cause.

  Joanna had initially tried to protest her assignment to Glory Station. If a significant war broke out or the Inner Sphere invasion began while she was on this remote outpost of the Clan empire, she could end up either out of the invasion altogether or summoned too late, when the really good fighting was over. It would take all her considerable manipulative powers to find a way out of Glory Station, but she was certain she could accomplish it.

  She was about to give Nomad his orders for the day when the DropShip captain's voice came over the private intercom, the one that fed only into officer's quarters. "This is an All Officer Alert. Ensure that all troops are in combat readiness, then report to the bridge." The message was repeated, then the intercom went silent again.

  "Down to the 'Mech bay," Joanna told Nomad. "It is time to prepare our 'Mechs."

  The tech needed hear no more. He knew the meaning of an Officer Alert.

  "Make sure the 'Mechs are secure," she shouted after him as he rushed down the corridor. Then she turned in the other direction, heading for the bridge. Coming to the corridor leading to it, she was not surprised to find it already crowded with other officers.

  The DropShip captain, a sharp young warrior named Essel, informed the assemblage that a JumpShip from Clan Wolf had just appeared in the region and was sending out DropShips, all of them headed in the general direction of the planet Glory.

  "No communication has come from the Clan Wolf ships, but we suspect that combat is imminent. Star Colonel Kael Pershaw has informed me that he intends to include this ship and the Trinary it carries in his defense. Please prepare your troops and await a General Alert. Return to your stations."

  The adrenaline always came early for Joanna at the slightest prospect of a fight. She needed a good one to rid herself of her current frustrations. Taking it out on someone like Nomad, no matter how insubordinate the man became, did her no honor. She was a warrior, and only happy when functioning as one.

  What luck that Kael Pershaw intended to use this ship and her Trinary. Joanna could not be sure whether this was genius or desperation on the Star Colonel's part because this DropShip was only a troop transport never intended for orbital assault. The move surprised her, but she could not help but admire the man's determination.

  I hope we can get off this ship before combat begins, she thought. I would hate to sit this one out as an onlooker in orbit around Glory. I surely would.

  3

  Kael Pershaw indeed had no advance intelligence network to warn him of the Wolf Clan's intrusion into his sector. Clan Jade Falcon was not expecting any attacks, for what enemy would seek to invade Glory Station?

  When the commtech brought him word that some anomalies at the outer rim of the sector might be ships, Pershaw was not much concerned. Perhaps these were only merchant ships arriving a month or so early, or even some pirates looking for a place to hide. If the ships were merchant, their captains would bring their deals planetside soon enough. If pirate, Pershaw would let them hide here, provided it was not in his hemisphere of Glory.

  What really was on his mind was standing before him right now, looking calm. Star Commander Jorge's uniform was not even marked from his recent fracas. It was as if the clothing had smoothed itself down around his body even after having been severely rumpled. Jorge was the type who survived anything. A good trait in a warrior, Pershaw thought, but this particular warrior, skilled as he was, was only a repulsive freebirth.

  "It seems we have just had this same encounter, Jorge," Pershaw said. "The last time you fought with Star Commander Bast, was it not?"

  Jorge nodded. Pershaw glowered. This Jorge was a block, a statue, a grisly piece of work. He would have to crush him.

  To Aidan, Kael Pershaw's face appeared calm, almost serene. That was a clue, he knew, to the man's actual wrath. The angrier Pershaw became, the less it showed on his face or body. Warriors said that when Kael Pershaw became insane with rage, he looked nearly comatose. At this point, Aidan realized, the base commander was nearing the comatose state.

  He had stood up to greet Aidan. When their eyes met, Pershaw smiled hugely. Another bad sign. If the man laughed, Aidan would consider making out his last will and testament.

  "This time, however, Bast is dead," Pershaw said, his smile and voice not losing even an ounce of good cheer.

  "So it appeared when last I saw him," Aidan replied.

  "You choose to be insolent even at such a moment?"

  "No, sir. I merely stated a fact, sir."

  "I know you, Jorge. You have a way of stating facts that is not a way of stating facts."

  "I do not understand, sir."

  "You do not understand, but you do. You are not ironic, but you are. You do not lie, but you do. Yes, you do unde
rstand. You certainly do."

  There was something like a twinkle in Pershaw's eyes as he studied Aidan, looking him up and down as if measuring him for a burial cloth.

  "Bast was not a bright man, as warriors go. But he had learned how to make his 'Mech think for him, something you, Jorge, will never do. He was a valuable warrior, and—however much he may have provoked your assault—Bast is a greater loss to me than your worthless freebirth self will ever be."

  "I have served the commander well, I believe."

  "And you are arrogant enough to point that out. Well, arrogance is a good trait in a warrior, and I will not fault you for it. There are times when you are almost like a trueborn in your manner, speech, and abilities."

  "What if I were a trueborn?"

  When Pershaw let out a loud laugh of true mirth, fear seemed to prod at Aidan's spine. "Do not blaspheme," the commander said softly. "Some free-births make competent warriors, and you are one of them, I must reluctantly admit. But a freeborn can never be a trueborn and you befoul the eugenics ideal by even suggesting an equality between frees and trues. Saying such is just another black mark on your already well-blotted record, Star Commander Jorge."

  "Sir, am I to assume that you hold me to blame for the death of Bast?"

  Kael Pershaw's grin got wider, more mysterious. "Hold you to blame? How do you even ask the question? Of course I hold you to blame! You killed a fine warrior, one already injured from a previous brawl with your worthless freebirth self. We do not waste our personnel in inconsequential spats. We have a duty here, and that duty means conserving warriors, just as we conserve our weapons and supplies. That is the way of the Clan. Bast's death was wasteful, especially as it merely satisfied the petty feelings of a worthless freebirth warrior."