And yet, it was Aidan who had won the contest and his opponent who died. He recalled the moments immediately after winning the Bloodname. He had passed out and been rescued from Rhea, the moon over the planet Ironhold, where the final Bloodname combat had taken place. Upon recovering, he had expected that winning the Bloodname contest would also win the respect of his fellow warriors. Instead, they regarded him with more suspicion than ever. Even the official ceremonies seemed to smack of perfunctoriness rather than the usual solemn Clan ritual. Perhaps, Aidan thought, his life would never again be free of the stain of scandal no matter what Trials or battles he won or lost.
Even with a Bloodname, his warrior assignments had been not much better than his assignments as a "free-born" warrior. Over the years, Aidan sometimes thought he must have served in every backwater military facility in the whole globular cluster that was the Clan empire.
"You're thinking bad thoughts again," Horse said, coming up alongside him. Aidan had qualified with Horse during his second warrior trial, and the two had served together ever since, with only three short interruptions. This time Aidan had specifically requested that Horse be assigned to his new command. Many of his trueborn officers grumbled secretly about that because Horse was a freeborn. Trueborns did not like serving with freeborns, especially within the same Star.
"I am famous for being unreadable, Horse. How can you know my thoughts?"
Horse stroked his new full beard, which he had recently grown. Freeborns often chose clothing or grooming styles in direct opposition to what the trues favored. Trueborn warriors were generally clean-shaven, and if they chose to be bearded, theirs tended toward thinner, less full growths. Horse's flowed outward like hairy flaps on either side of his jaw.
"I've known you for a long time. You're like an open book to me, one that I've read many times."
Aidan was so used to hearing Horse speak that by now he barely minded the man's excessive use of contractions—excessive even for a freeborn, who often used them out of defiance.
"How many books have you read many times?"
"More than you, especially since you made Star Colonel."
Horse was right. Lately Aidan had little time for his secret library, those paper books he had discovered so long ago in a Brian Cache. He had carried them hidden away and undiscovered from one assignment to the next. Now that he was a Star Colonel, he could read them openly, but no longer had the luxury of time.
"Well, what are you going to do now?" Horse said, pointing to Aidan's downed BattleMech. "We have no more Summoners."
Aidan had fought almost exclusively in Summoner 'Mechs during his military career. He liked their tonnage, their various configurations, their jump capacity. Some warriors called him a "jumping fool" for the daring leaps he took with his 'Mech in battle. Yet there were few warriors who could attack while descending from a high jump as well as Aidan Pryde.
"I will take out MechWarrior Carmen's Timber Wolf."
"The Timber Wolf!" Horse's eyebrows went up in surprise. "That's a killer 'Mech."
"You should not call it that."
"Should I call it Deathtrap then? That's the name for it among the Elementals."
"Our Elementals have a morbid sense of humor, always have. But it is wrong to ascribe traits to a BattleMech. The fact that a few warriors have died piloting this particular—"
"A few? The Deathtrap has had more pilots than—"
"Stop, Horse! I need no statistics quoted at me. I know them as well as you. And the truth is that many pilots have survived this Timber Wolf."
"Most of them with crippling injuries or lost in madness."
"Now you exaggerate. At any rate, I will take the Timber Wolf, and that is the end of it."
The two fell silent as they watched the techs working around the Summoner. It reminded Aidan of a story from his secret collection, the book that told of a human who landed in a strange land peopled by beings so small that they could swarm like ants over the stranger's fallen body. The techs were larger in proportion than those lilliputian literary creatures, but the effect was similar.
"Oh," Horse said suddenly, threading his fingers through the beard, "I almost forgot the purpose that brought me here. The reinforcements we requested have arrived in-system and should be landing at first light this morning. Just in time to miss the battle, as it happens. Do you want to greet 'em and brief 'em, once they are down?"
Aidan felt weariness and pain all through his body, the typical aftermath of a fierce battle. He wanted to lie down, like the Summoner, and sleep straight through the next two days. But duty was always of the utmost importance to him, even routine duties like inspecting a new contingent of warriors.
"All right," he said, straightening his shoulders and lifting his head proudly. "Wake me two hours before their arrival. Shall I give them the abandon-hope speech?"
"I hope not. That might be like something you read, but it definitely would not be Clan."
"No it would not. Anything I should know about these reinforcements?" Aidan stopped suddenly, puzzled. "Why did your mouth fall open, Horse?"
"You are sometimes uncanny. It's not the first time you seem to read my mind. Yes, there are things you should know. First, a number of freeborns are in this lot."
Aidan shrugged. "No problem there. We are experts on freeborns, you and I."
"You speak of me as if I, too, were trueborn."
"I do forget. I do."
"Anyway, I know these freeborns will be trouble. A lot of anti-freeborn resentment has developed among our Cluster, and that could lead to disputes and fights. In a war zone, we cannot afford to lose personnel to stupidity."
Aidan nodded. "And if I seem to support the freeborns, the trues will be against me. If I support the trues, not only the frees, but you, will resent me. A dilemma, but I can handle it."
"I am sure you can," Horse said drily, "but I am not so sure you can deal with my other piece of information."
Aidan said nothing for a long moment, but let his gaze sweep the once-green Quarell landscape, which was now battle-scarred with scorched trees and long, deep gashes in the land. Then he turned to face Horse once more. "Well?" he said finally.
"It seems that this replacement pool includes a Star Commander. She is, well, an old warrior. She was one of the Falcon Guards who dishonored us on Twycross. In fact, this warrior is one of the few survivors of that debacle."
"I did not think you cared so much for abstractions like the honor of the Clan and such."
"I do not. I am merely presenting the situation the way most of your trashborn warriors will see it. The defeat on Twycross has shamed the Jade Falcons deeply. Anyhow, this new Star Commander carries that dezgra with her. She was formerly a Star Captain, but has been retested and reduced in rank to Star Commander."
"Ah, Horse, perhaps I understand you now. This dezgra warrior is none other than our very own Joanna, quiaff?"
"Aff."
Aidan frowned, the lines forcing his expression into something unfamiliar. The Star Colonel so rarely showed emotion that even a frown looked fresh on his skin.
"This is bad news, Horse," he said. "Very bad news indeed."
2
As always in battle, Diana faced her adversary with a stare as grim as it was threatening. It was a pose she had developed long, long ago, even before becoming a warrior. She had assumed this look in her early childhood games, which she had tried to model on her mother's tales of her warrior father. Diana always played her father's part, pretending pots and other utensils were parts of a BattleMech. Then, with proper battle shrieks, she would run after the other village children. Diana always won, for most of the children had neither her ambition nor, for that matter, her tenacity.
Those childhood games had borne significant fruit. Diana knew she would never be satisfied with any caste less than warrior. Even though she was not trueborn, she knew she must become a Clan warrior. It was that fierce conviction that had taken her with ease through training and her fir
st warrior assignments. Unlike many other freeborns, she simply accepted her inferior rank in Clan society, easily ignoring the cruel remarks the trues often hurled at her. The word freebirth, a curse among warriors, did not ordinarily inspire her to seek retribution, as it did so many other freeborns.
She had two goals in life: to be a fine warrior and to find her father. Her skills in the first she had already proven time and again. As for the second, Diana was content that she would achieve it in time.
Now she stood poised in an improvised shipboard Circle of Equals, facing off against—of all people—another dedicated freeborn warrior. The several trueborns who had joined the observers at the outer rim of the circle seemed amused by the sight of two frees going at one another. They shouted encouragement now to one, now to the other warrior, always peppering their cheers with scornful insults. As usual, Diana noticed the condescension, but did not let it affect her. If she were a trueborn standing outside the circle, she would be shouting the same insulting remarks.
Her opponent, a stocky, muscular warrior named Trader (the nickname deriving from his origin as the son of a merchant), growled at her in the traditional manner of honor duels. His challenge had come over the right to pilot the Warhawk that had become available when its regular pilot took ill during the interstellar journey to the Jade Falcon corridor of the invasion of the Inner Sphere. The 'Mech assignment would normally have fallen to Diana because the Star's new commander had claimed her Timber Wolf.
After hearing the assignment, Trader had stepped forward to claim that his seniority and longer battle record made him more deserving to pilot the Warhawk. While acknowledging privately that Trader's fighting prowess was enviable, Diana could not, as a Clan warrior, merely acquiesce and back down. No, the two of them must battle it out for the 'Mech.
The new commander had insisted that the contestants bid their way into the Circle of Equals. Diana had cut off the batchall immediately with her bid that she would meet Trader with no other weapons but her gloved hands. The bid drew some admiration because the tall, slim Diana seemed no match for the shorter but definitely more muscular Trader.
At the signal to begin, Trader gave a great yell that seemed to bounce off the DropShip's walls, then charged like a wild boar straight for Diana. He landed the first two blows, one to Diana's midsection, knocking some of the wind out of her, and a punishing punch to the left side of her face. That one drew immediate blood and sent her reeling backward. Her low kick in response was ineffectual, connecting with nothing. If anything, the effect was comical.
* * *
Joanna watched with some pleasure the brawling between the two freeborn members of her new Star. Though she hated this new assignment, she had mellowed with the years and could accept it with more aplomb than she might have in the past. Yet the demotion to Star Commander had definitely raised her ire. It was like wearing the dark band, the special ribbon that denoted shame in Clan warrior culture. The lower rank was like an eternal dark band, for the shame would not end on any specified date, as did the punishment of the dark band. Her chances of ever climbing back up the ladder of rank were almost nil. Her chances of ever being a Star Captain again were remote. Reaching Star Colonel would be well-nigh impossible.
So what could Joanna do but perform her appointed task as well as possible? There was at least some service in it, especially the job of whipping into shape an undisciplined group like the new lot they had saddled her with this time. Like all Clan warriors, Joanna was committed to the goals of the Inner Sphere invasion, especially the dream of restoring the Star League. It was the Clans' almost sacred covenant that they would conquer and replace the corrupt, decadent governments that had destroyed the Star League centuries before. That was the word of the great Kerenskys, which was good enough for Joanna and nearly all the rest of the invading force.
She admired something about this Diana. Perhaps it was the pride showing in the young warrior's eyes, or her confident stance, or the fierceness of her demeanor. Joanna could not be sure, for it was so unusual for her not to roundly dislike the newer warriors.
As Clan warriors went, Diana was an impressive specimen, Joanna decided. She might also have been judged beautiful in those old cultures that cared for such rubbish. The young woman's olive skin was just dark enough to suggest mystery, while her dark eyes under strongly arched eyebrows said there would never be a solution to that mystery. Her black hair shone with red highlights, a subtlety like the dark red of her lips. A slight "flaw," a bump in her otherwise well-shaped nose seemed to add to the overall striking effect of her angular face.
Joanna was disappointed when the other warrior, a typically repulsive freeborn named Trader, took the immediate advantage in the Circle of Equals contest. He kept hitting Diana hard, at one point nearly sending her over the edge of the circle, which would have meant Diana's instant defeat. Though Diana remained on her feet and within the Circle, the jabs she dispatched with her left hand were useless.
Joanna almost yelled to her to use her right, or at least to try for a harder punch. Instead Diana spun out of the way of Trader's new assault and rushed back to the center of the circle, where she turned to face the charging and ready-for-the-kill Trader. As he came up to her, gloved fists flailing, Diana knocked him off-balance with a hard jab to the center of his nose. Then, as he fought to regain his balance, she delivered a solid blow, finally using her right hand. There was a flash, something on the right-hand glove catching the light.
It was a good punch, Joanna thought, but hardly a disabling one. Yet Trader's eyes flickered, then closed, and he fell forward onto his face. Diana stood over him the requisite amount of time, then declared herself the victor before strolling to where Joanna stood at the edge of the Circle of Equals. At that moment, realizing the meaning of the flash of light during the punch, Joanna's expression was transforming from relative calm to pronounced anger.
Diana casually removed her gloves as she stepped over the circle and came to stand before Joanna, ready to accept the prize of the Warhawk, the final stage of the contest. Instead of beginning the ritual words, Joanna reached out and snatched the gloves from Diana's hands. The younger warrior did not so much as blink at her commander's actions.
Joanna examined the gloves. "I thought so," she said, holding up the right-hand glove. Those closest to her could see that the glove bore five metal studs arranged in a star pattern at the middle of the knuckle line. Joanna now recalled that Diana had not only connected with the side of Trader's face, she had seemed to rub the blow in, obviously to further punish with the studs. No wonder the man had gone unconscious.
Joanna pointed silently to the glove's enhancement, and Diana shrugged. "I bid gloves as the only requirement of the battle," she said. "No specifications were made about the gloves, nor was it in any way limited whose gloves I could use."
"But you stole these gloves from me, freebirth!"
Diana again showed not a flicker of reaction at the insulting term. "I return them to you now, as I intended. Whether or not I stole them, I leave to others to judge."
"You think you can get off with Trinary punishment?"
"That would seem proper under the circumstances, Star Commander Joanna."
"Yes, it would, but instead I invoke command privilege and will order the punishment here and now. The two of us will return to the circle now, and you will battle me, Mech Warrior Diana. As in your bid, no weapons for this battle. And no gloves. Bare-handed. And we will dispense with the rule that makes any warrior who crosses the line of the circle the automatic loser. There will be no such rule. The winner in our battle will be the one who is left standing. Agreed, MechWarrior Diana?"
"Well-bargained and done, Star Commander."
As Joanna followed this graceful, seemingly unruffled warrior back in to the Circle of Equals, she wondered briefly whether challenging a strong young warrior barely out of the cadet ranks to an honor duel was the smartest thing for an old, and perhaps fading, warrior to do.
&
nbsp; 3
For the first time in Joanna's memory, the codex bracelet on her right wrist felt heavy. It was as if the combined weight of all her years of combat and 'Mech piloting had suddenly accumulated into the small circlet where a series of Oathmasters had recorded her achievements as well as her failures, like the shame of the Falcon Guard defeat on Twycross. Shame that she bore despite having been a member of the Guards for only twenty-four hours and without even a unit to command. Perhaps it was only the weight of Twycross, after all, that made her wrist feel as though the bracelet were made of solid lead.
The warriors around the circle buzzed with excitement. It was not often that a ranking officer went into the Circle of Equals with a new warrior. It was the regulars who usually fought these battles, with the few curious officers standing coolly outside the circle, making sure the rules were followed.
Falcon Guard Page 2
