SUDDENLY THE GROUND SEEMED TO ERUPT ALL AROUND TRENT'S TIMBER WOLF
as if he were suddenly cast into the middle of a raging thunderstorm. Sod splattered onto his pitching OmniMech, and flames licked upward at him from the exploding ground.
His targeting computer demanded his attention as he rocked. Artillery—and Arrow Missiles. His enemies were not facing him in a direct fight but, instead, wanted him dead without honor.
The second barrage did not rip at the soil but found its mark on his already battered Timber Wolf. One of the Arrow VI missiles went off on his foot, then another dug deeply into his shoulder, ripping his left weapons pod away from his 'Mech's torso with a thunderous blast that filled his ears and head. My Timber Wolf is dying all around me. I must do something—and now!
BATTLETECH
LE5612
Exodus Road
Twilight of the Clans I
Blaine Lee Pardoe
ROC
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Roc, an imprint of Dutton Signet, a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
First Printing, August, 1997
10987654321
Copyright © FASA Corporation, 1997 All rights reserved
Series Editor: Donna Ippolito Cover art by Bruce Jensen
Mechanical Drawings: Duane Loose and the FASA art department REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
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"Gentlemen, you can't fight in here. This is the war room. ..."
—from Dr. Strangelove
This book is dedicated to a number of people in my life who are important. First and foremost, my family—beautiful and loving wife Cindi, dynamo daughter Victoria, and adventurous son Alexander. If not for my family, I would not be who I am today, nor would I try to be more than I am.
To Dan Q. Plunkett and Cullen Q. Tilman of Enterprise Management, two remarkable men in this or any century. From them, I have learned to master the mistakes of the past—and in their own way they helped forge Trent into being, though I doubt that they knew it. Kari Pardoe, as well as Trisha and Sarah Miller deserve some mention as my bloodkin.
Exodus Road is also dedicated to Central Michigan University, where I earned my bachelor's and master's degrees. What I learned there was beyond classroom and the many fond memories of the basement of Grawn Hall and the Malt Shop are always with me.
My thanks to Bill Keith for helping me at Gen Con with the character of Trent and for having me bone up on my Benedict Arnold. Traitor heroes can be difficult at best. Donna, as always, for your patience. My thanks as well to Sobhna Garg for her assistance in the naming conventions used for some of the ships and for Huntress locations. I also fully acknowledge the political slings and arrows that the real-life Russou faces. Credit for this book must also go to all of my former and (possibly) present employers, thanks for the political insights that allowed me to make the Smoke Jaguars so corrupt and dark. Odd how office politics can surface in fiction, eh?
Also thanks to the other BattleTech authors who will continue to fan this spark into a flame. Writing in the BattleTech universe takes a great deal of coordination and cooperation with others. My sincere appreciation to my comrades in arms, Mike Stackpole and Robert Thurston, for our meeting at Gen Con where we laid this groundwork and to the others whose books will follow in the path of the Exodus Road. See you on Huntress, lads!
Prologue
Mist Lynx Training Facility
Gray Ridge Mountains
Londerholm, Kerensky Cluster Clan Space
3 October 3037
Star Commander Porcini stood on a rock, towering over the dozen cadets in his charge. Dark gray and purple clouds hung over the Smoke Jaguar training camp high in the Gray Ridge Mountains. The terrain was rugged and stark, but the spot offered a stunning view of the treacherous jungles nearly seventy kilometers down the slopes. He was their Kit Master, as Jaguar training officers were known, and liked to bring his young charges here when weather permitted. Today he had made them jog up the steep slope as part of their morning regimen.
Porcini wore a light gray jumpsuit that looked as if it had seen many seasons and its share of action in places far from Londerholm. He stared down at the sibling company in his care, his face as hard-edged as the rock on which he stood. He showed no pride in them, only a kind of dark contempt. Perhaps he was not pleased with, their performance that day or that week or that month. More likely, as Trent would think back in years to come, Porcini hated the cadets because they were on their way to becoming warriors—the pinnacle of Clan society—and he could no longer look forward to the glory of that life. Among the Clans, especially the Smoke Jaguars, a warrior of Porcini's age was already considered obsolete.
To the members of the Mist Lynx sibko, however, he was their life, their enlightenment, their window on the universe. The Kit Master was an example of what they might hope to be one day—a trueborn warrior. To them there was no outside world, no other planets, no Kerensky Cluster, no galaxy. There was no place to go, no place to visit. This was their home, one they had never left in all their lives and all the years of training. The camps, the study, the drilling, the practice, the constant testing, these were their entire universe. All they knew. At least until they either flushed out in failure or won the final Trial of Position that would qualify them as full-fledged Clan warriors.
And today was a day like so many others, but Trent would remember it all his life for what it taught him about himself and the way of his Clan. On this day he took a stand, little dreaming where it would lead him many years and many light years from this time and place. On that misty morning, one burned into his memory like a hot brand, Trent made his true place in Clan history, more than if he had earned a line in the The Remembrance, the long epic poem that every warrior revered and learned by heart.
"You have all been trained in our history, but today I want to teach you something beyond history, something about who we are as a people. You, Cadet Sobna, tell me, who are we?" Porcini's question was, like so many others he posed, obviously a trap.
"Aye, Star Commander," Sobna said, buying herself a few scant moments as she organized her thoughts. "We are Smoke Jaguars, true heirs of the legacy of the Star League! We are the hunters of our enemies, the wreakers of havoc, the stalke
rs in the night. We are fearless in combat, the true embodiment of the warrior code!" The dark-haired girl spoke firmly and with a conviction that had been hammered into her brain almost since the day she emerged from the iron womb—the genetic engineering vat that had spawned her.
"You utter words from books and lessons, petty words in the mouths of unworthy children. You do not know yet what it means to be a Smoke Jaguar," Porcini scoffed. "Your battles are with simulators and with your bed mates." His scowl of disgust was so fierce that Sobna bowed her head in shame. Sibko members were genetically bred from the same donors and at the same time, and were then reared and trained together from their earliest days of memory. Life in a sibko was one of constant martial training and intense competition.
Failure, even minor, was feared. Porcini's cold gaze drifted to the equally dark-haired Russou, who seemed eager to take on the question.
"Cadet Russou, who are we?" Porcini commanded.
Russou faced him squarely, without fear. "We are the ordained ones, the ones destined to one day re-forge the Star League. Of all of the Clans, the Smoke Jaguar alone hunts for the thrill of the hunt alone. We are stalkers, patient, swift, and brutal. When the fog of war has lifted, we alone will bear the banner of the one Clan, the ilClan, and the flag of the new Star League."
Young Russou's whole face lit up as he spoke the dream of all the Clans, that they would one day return to the Inner Sphere, that they would reestablish the glorious Star League under their rule. And like every other Clan, the Jaguars believed it was their Clan that would rise to power over all the rest.
Star Commander Porcini turned away slightly, then pivoted back suddenly, slapping his leather glove across Russou's face with such force that the young cadet spun away under the impact. As shamed as Sobna had been, Russou grabbed at the stinging red mark on his face. Resistance was futile and foolhardy.
"You too know the words, and the words you utter contain the truth, but they still do not say who we are. And coming from a cadet who has never fought a battle in the name of his Clan, they border on mockery of all true warriors."
Porcini shifted his gaze to Trent. In the years that would come, Trent would remember this moment in the twelfth year of his life as a cadet, would remember the utter contempt on the Kit Master's face—a look of near hatred.
Porcini locked eyes with Trent. "You, Trent—you believe that the blood of the Jaguar flows in your veins, quiaff? Then, tell me, who are we?"
Trent studied the training officer for a moment, heart pounding and hands trembling as he searched his mind for a response. "No words, Star Commander," he said finally. "Words alone do not make a warrior or show the true nature of the Smoke Jaguar. Only battle can do that. I challenge you to combat in a Circle of Equals to give you the answer you seek."
Star Commander Porcini smiled, a dark, almost lustful smile. He gave a single nod. "Answered well, Cadet, and you shall have your wish. But for me to face you would be idle folly. I am a warrior and you a mere kit. But I will grant you the opportunity to prove your point. Jez will stand as my proxy." He motioned to the girl standing nearest to him.
Jez. Up until that day Trent had managed to keep her at a distance despite their cramped living conditions. Sibkos were usually a tightly knit, close group, but Trent could never feel any kind of closeness to Jez. No matter that he had seen her every day of his life, that they shared the same precious genetic donors, no matter that sibmates ate, drank, studied, trained, slept, and succeeded or flushed out together. Trent could never feel he had anything in common with Jez. She was always the favored of the Star Commander, but not because of any intrinsic worth. It was more that she always seemed to push herself to the forefront by stepping on the backs of others. She came forward now as the others formed a circle around her and Trent.
Years and years later, after the passage of many battles and many journeys, after the death of many comrades, after betrayals and humiliation, after victory over his enemies and the loss of everything he had ever known, Trent would still remember that day he fought Jez in the Circle of Equals.
Her long black hair was braided down her back, and the tawniness of her skin was tanned even darker. She was as slim and strong as Trent, but he did not share the slight Oriental tilt of the eyes that Jez and some others of his sibmates showed. She licked her lips as if she savored fighting him— or, at least, so he remembered. Perhaps memory clouded the truth, but it would always seem to Trent in later years that she was not just getting ready to fight him, but to kill him if given the chance.
He dropped into a crouch, lowering his center of gravity as he reached out with his hands. He had seen Jez fight before, and knew what to expect. She always went on the offensive. It was her hallmark. She struck fast and furious, hoping to take out her foe in the first few seconds of combat. In later years he would remember this well and use it against her then as he did on this day.
She will attempt to leap on me, get to my rear. I've seen her do it before. Trent, like the others of his sibko, was trained in the martial arts, and his mind raced with the various possible countermoves. Star Commander Porcini raised his hands in the air as he spoke from the Circle of Equals surrounding the two cadets.
"As it was in the time of 'our founders, such tests are settled by battle in view of the peers. Let none break the Circle, save the weaker and the inferior. To the victory goes justice and the right." He clapped his hands three times as the members of the sibko chanted in unison, "Seyla!"
Jez sprang even as the solemn word was uttered, her eyes seeming to blaze with hate. Trent was ready. He grabbed her even as he let his own body drop into a roll, lifting and flipping her over his head as she attempted a grapple. He completed the roll and landed squarely on top of Jez as she tried to turn over. She grabbed at his hair to pull him to the side, but Trent jabbed his palm into her windpipe.
The blow was true. Her eyes seemed to double in size as she gasped for breath that did not come. Trent did not wait for her to regain her wind. As she let go of his hair and grabbed at her throat, he rolled off her and pulled her to the edge of the Circle of Equals. The other cadets stepped aside to let him through. Once he got her outside the Circle, he had won.
Jez lay gasping for air as Trent rose to his feet and faced the Star Commander Porcini. "That is my answer, well delivered and done. That is what a Smoke Jaguar is."
"Well delivered and done," was all Porcini said as if nothing had just transpired. "You understand what it is to be a Jaguar cadet—this much you have proven. Now you must learn what it is to be a warrior." He swept his leg out and sent Trent sprawling. Trent was totally unprepared for the attack. It came like lightning and left him lying flat on his back on the stony ground.
Trent never understood why the Kit Master had behaved this way. He had defeated Jez in a fair contest, only to be humiliated. It seemed unfair that the vastly more skilled warrior would knock him down, especially after Trent had managed to beat him at his own lesson.
Many things began for Trent that day. His rivalry with Jez, his disdain for Clan politics and intrigue, everything seemed always to lead back to those moments high in the Gray Ridge Mountains of Londerholm. An insignificant day in the life of a warrior in training—a day like any other—yet like a pebble in a pond, its ripples were far-reaching. It was a starting point, but it was also the beginning of the end. Perhaps the end of the very people who had spawned him.
"One day," Porcini said, picking up his thread as if nothing had happened, "one day you or your bloodkin will take our people down the Exodus Road. My task is to make sure that you are prepared for such a journey. When the grand crusade to liberate the Inner Sphere begins, you will stand ready as true Jaguar warriors."
They all knew the story of how the Clan forefathers had long ago left the Inner Sphere to escape the pettiness and greed and vicious wars that had destroyed the glorious Star League, mankind's greatest achievement. In the centuries that followed the Clans were born, but they remained hidden deep in untrac
ked space far from the Inner Sphere. There, they had evolved on their own, adopting genetic engineering to create and maintain their warrior caste. Every Smoke Jaguar knew that the Clan's single most important goal was to one day return and reclaim their heritage.
"This 'Exodus Road,' what is it, Star Commander?" Russou asked obediently.
"It is the path General Kerensky and the Exodus fleet took from the Inner Sphere to our homeworlds. The Star League, the glory of mankind, had fallen. Aleksandr Kerensky saved us as a people by taking his followers away from the chaos that was to come.
"For almost two years they traveled into the unknown depths of space, until they came finally to five worlds that would become their refuge from the chaos of the Inner Sphere. The way was long and hard. The great Kerensky rescued our people from the age of war and destruction that has consumed the Inner Sphere in the centuries since then. After his death, the general's son Nicholas completed his father's work by creating us as warrior Clans in fulfillment of his own great vision.
"The Exodus Road still awaits us. Just as it once brought our people here to the Kerensky Cluster, it will be the path back when the time comes for the Clans to return to the Inner Sphere. The Exodus Road is our secret, and our greatest defense. No one in the Inner Sphere suspects either its existence or ours, and thus we need never fear them coming here to taint us as they taint everything they touch."
Exodus Road. Every time Trent heard those words in the years to come, he would remember this day, his fight with Jez, and the unfair treatment by his Kit Master. Trent would travel the road three times in the service of the Jaguar, and two more in the service of his own soul.
But all that was to come. Much else would happen before his future would take shape from this moment. Just how much, the young Trent could neither have dreamed nor imagined.
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