* * *
Judith's quarters were in an old bunk house that had apparently served as military lodging somewhere in Hyner's past, most likely for planetary militia. The rest of the Smoke Jaguar command complex was newly built, while this older structure near the outer wall was a throwback to a time before the Clans.
Most of the building was used for storage, the old bunk beds dismantled and stacked against the wall except for her own, which was tucked into one corner. Storage crates otherwise filled the room. The Smoke Jaguar warriors and other technicians of the Cluster slept in their new quarters. This, however, was the place to which Phillip has assigned her, an old, cold warehouse. She had spent any free time she enjoyed when not tasked in the repair bay just getting the centuries-old latrine to operate.
Judith understood that the accommodations were fitting, given her place among the Smoke Jaguars. She was a bondsman. Thus far she had not met any other bondsmen, which also told her something of her status. They had placed her here, alone, isolated, not part of the others yet attached to them. It was symbolic and somehow just. She never thought about complaining, which would have been too "unClan-like." Instead, Judith simply adapted.
The chill of the wintry night had begun to settle in, and she pulled her blankets out of the small footlocker she had found in another part of the old bunkhouse. It was going to be another cold night, but she was thankful that at least a few of the heating units still worked. She was just spreading the blankets out on the bed when she heard the steady tapping of footsteps on the wooden floor outside her door.
No one had ever come here since she'd been assigned. Few except for Trent and Master Tech Phillip had even talked to her. Turning slowly to look toward the open doorway, she saw a shadowy figure approaching. She felt a brief stab of fear, but her training instantly kicked in as she looked about quickly for anything that might serve as a weapon.
Then she saw who it was standing in the doorway. Star Captain Trent. The mangled face was the same, yet this was not the same warrior of a few days before, after his Grand Melee. There was something brooding and defeated about this man who owned her, something she had not see before. Judith rose to attention. "Star Captain, I am surprised to see you here."
Trent tossed a bag on the floor between them. His scarred face wore a scowl, yet she sensed his weariness. "These are my dress boots. Clean and polish them by the morning. I am going to address my new command and wish them to see me at my best."
Judith bent over and picked up the bag. "Aye, Star Captain." She had learned that menial tasks were part of being a bondsman, yet Trent was neither abusive like Phillip nor as contemptuous as many of the other warriors. She had despised him at first, but now she saw something more in him, a complexity, perhaps a mystery. Among her many skills and talents, Judith liked complex things—be they puzzles or people.
Trent made no move to leave but stood there looking around Judith's less than Spartan accommodations. "Your quarters are quite private." He gave a short laugh. "One of the benefits of being a Jaguar bondsman."
"Aff," she replied, careful of her Clan talk. "I have not yet met any other bondsmen, and these quarters suit me well."
Trent shook his head. "You will not likely meet many other bondsmen in your life, at least none from the Inner Sphere such as yourself. Clan Smoke Jaguar rarely takes bondsmen. Many among us believe it would dilute our genetic lines, and others do not approve bringing freeborn warriors of the Inner Sphere into our midst. Our new commanding officer pointed that out to me when we met earlier."
"Yet you took me as a bondsman."
"I am 'different,' Judith. Which our new commanding officer is also pleased to point out. I saw your fighting against Jez, and saw that you had the heart of the Jaguar beating in your chest. You fought as I do, bold and daring. I was impressed. My claiming you as a bondman was a spontaneous act of admiration. I would do it again given the opportunity."
Judith gave him a look of surprise. "I don't understand. You are only a few years older than I am. You have plenty of years in the cockpit still."
Trent shook his head. "You are Clan now, Judith. I have heard stories of warriors in the Inner Sphere fighting into their fifth century, but that is not the way of the Clans. Combat is for the new generation of warriors. By the age of thirty, a warrior is at his or her peak. He must soon step down for a more advanced replacement, a newer, fresher warrior from superior genes. It is the way of the Jaguar, a way that you will learn." Trent spoke the words dully as if he were reciting them, no longer fully believing them.
She watched him carefully, and noted that he looked even more tired now as he spoke, as if the burdens of the day were overwhelming him. He uttered the words she might have expected, but the force behind them seemed weakened, as if he doubted their rightness. She wanted to ask him what happened to the older warriors, but given his mood, she thought it might make matters worse. "You mentioned our new commanding officer. I assume that you presented the evidence of tampering, quiaff?"
"Affirmative," Trent said with a bitter tone. "Star Colonel Moon has little care for me or for any evidence that you may have been able to find. He has refused to acknowledge my protest and has assured me that he and the Council would never reverse the findings of a test of battle. And"—Trent paused for a second—"he is correct. I was foolish to think otherwise."
"Then the matter is simply dropped?"
"Aye, Judith. I have a command again, however. A Star of warriors to lead and prepare." He seemed to perk up at that. "We are members of Beta Striker now, Judith. You will help me get their 'Mechs ready for battle."
Trent's eyes seemed to wander, as if he were looking past her, into the future, or perhaps into his own past. Either way, his face, despite its emotionless synthskin, seemed to become radiant as he spoke of command again. Judith took mental note of that. Perhaps it was something she might be able to use someday. If nothing else, it told her more about Trent.
She nodded. "And perhaps we can teach our new Star Colonel a thing or two about us, quiaff?"
Trent smiled slightly. "I would like very much to do just that, Judith." Silently he pulled out his combat knife from a small sheath on his belt. She blinked at the sight of it, wondering what he was planning to do.
"Hold out your wrist," he commanded. She did so as if hypnotized by his words.
Trent reached down and cut one of the three cords wrapped around her wrist. "We did not discuss this earlier, but each of the three bondcords you wear ties you to me as your superior. The first is the bond of integrity. I have severed this because you have shown me that you are honorable.
"The middle cord is the cord of fidelity. You have shown me faithfulness, but it has not been tested. When it is, I shall sever that cord as well.
"The last bond is prowess. Because you are a freebirth of the Inner Sphere I will never be granted the right of severing it. My peers in the Jaguars would never permit you to serve as a warrior. Should you ever prove your fighting skill to me, however, and this I swear, I will cut that cord—even if the whole of the Smoke Jaguars should stand against me."
Judith looked at her wrist and at Trent, nodding silently at the ritual she had just experienced. He has the potential I was supposed to seek. Only time will tell whether I corrupt him, or he and the Jaguars corrupt me. . . .
BOOK TWO
Tempered Steel
Politics is supposed to be the second oldest profession. I have come to realize that it bears a very close semblance to the first.
—Attributed to General Alekandr Kerensky
Politics is of great use to men such as myself. It helps determine who should be on the dangerous end of a PPC.
—General Aaron DeChevilier, second-in-command to Alekandr Kerensky
As the insect feeds the bird,
As the bird feeds the wolf,
As the wolf feeds the smoke jaguar,
So all give life to the warrior
Who sheds his blood for their glory.
—The Remembrance (Clan Smoke Jaguar), Passage 121, Verse 43
7
Beaver Falls
Hyner
Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone
10 November 3054
Beaver Falls was a sleepy little hamlet about 50 kilometers to the southwest of Warrenton. Though tiny and isolated, it was a crossroads of sorts, sitting astride the intersection of Leesburg Pike and a lonely road known as Harper Creek that ran north and south and led to nothing but other small towns. A grand total of perhaps three dozen buildings, shops, and houses comprised the tiny village, and the falls were little more than a stream that broke over a three-meter rocky area of rapids in a place the villagers called Ketchum Park.
The structures themselves seemed to date back centuries, the long-faded bricks giving away their age. Some buildings showed signs of renovation, while others retained the facades they must have worn for decades. The population consisted mainly of the families of local shopkeepers and farmers, and peace and quiet was their way of life.
The hot humid winds of Hyner's early summer made Trent curse his allergy to the local flora as he sat waiting in the restaurant. His unit, Beta Striker Star, had been stationed nearby for close to five months for field maneuvers and training, and in all that time he had visited Beaver Falls only twice before. Both times he had been with Russou, whose unit was also stationed in the nearby countryside. As was their custom, the two Star Commanders met regularly to talk of things both military and otherwise. It was a good diversion, one of the few things Trent had to look forward to during nearly two years on Hyner.
Jez had stationed his Star out here, in the middle of nowhere, apparently more from spite than for any good reason. Jez, who had won the Howell bloodname in a furious fight a year and a half earlier, seemed more driven and ambitious than ever. Trent thought some of that might have to do with the neutral circuity she'd had surgically implanted six months earlier. Only the most fanatic warriors risked the surgery involved with the implants, and hers showed through the skin of her face like a gray tattoo of the legendary Smoke Jaguar.
The neural implants gave a warrior an unsurpassed, direct neural connection with his or her OmniMech. This wireless link made control faster and more immediate and eliminated the need to wear a neurohelmet. But they were a mixed blessing. There were rumors that some warriors who opted for the implant eventually went insane. There were drugs to counter the problem, but Trent wondered if Jez might now be suffering mental disturbances because of the device linked to her brain.
He had brought Judith along today, though it was certainly not her place as bondsman to join the two Clan officers in their meal. She would be needed for some inspections he needed to make after this meeting with Russou, and she would wait for him in a park across the street from the little restaurant.
The House of the Lazy Duck boasted six or eight tables, which were mostly empty today. He looked around and decided to sit down toward the rear of the small dining room. His sense of smell was much impaired because of the artificial skin around his nose, but the strong aromas wafting from the kitchen were enough to penetrate even his clogged sinuses and long scarred nostrils.
As he took his seat to wait for Russou, Trent reflected on how well the past year and a half had gone for his bondsman. She was leaner now, more muscular, and she carried herself with an air of confidence despite her fall in status. She'd also cropped her black hair to shoulder length. She had insisted it was merely to keep it out of her face while working, but Trent suspected it was also a bow to a style favored by many members of the technician caste.' She refused to admit that she was giving in to Clan ways, but that stubbornness was one of the things he appreciated about her.
Star Commander Russou dropped heavily into his seat across from Trent, startling him out of his reverie. "Greetings, you remains of a scarred surat," Russou said jokingly.
Trent grinned back, known that his synthetic skin and mangled features must make him look like a demon from the gates of hell itself in the dim lights of the restaurant. He remained proud of his scarring, and never minded the good-natured joking by Russou, who had been his friend since their days in the sibko.
"I may have lost my good looks," Trent returned, running one hand over the left side of his head, where he still had some hair, "but at least my genes have not failed me and left me bald like you, old friend."
Russou shrugged, for his retreating hairline was a simple fact. "This hole in the ground is almost as bad as the place where Jez buried my Star, but at least you have a good restaurant in your field of operations." Russou had also been posted to Jez's command when her Binary had been upgraded to a Trinary three months before.
"She never liked me and now it appears you are guilty by association," Trent said. "Now that she has a bloodname and the rank to back it up, we have no choice but to put up with whatever she decides to hand us," Trent reminded his friend.
"Aye," Russou said. "I did not expect us to end up like this, though."
"Nor did I."
"And how goes it with your command? Are you still making them toe the hard line, quiaff?"
Trent beamed as much as his visage allowed. "Aff. They are strong and good warriors all, most of them young and fresh. They came as replacements for our losses and are untested in combat. We veterans have experience, while they have enthusiasm."
Russou nodded. "The same is true of my Star. They have little wisdom of what the invasion was like. And even less respect for those of us who have fought in it thus far."
"That comes from our commanding officer," Trent said.
Russou nodded. "Our Star Colonel has his own interpretation of what happened even though he himself was not always involved in the fighting. I am tainted in his eyes because of my actions on Luthien." The Jaguars' humiliating defeat on Luthien preceded the further destruction suffered the Jaguars on Tukayyid. The end result of both campaigns was an almost total reorganization of the Smoke Jaguars in order to make up losses and to regroup. "And you, Trent.. . he does not speak well of you at all."
Trent shrugged. "I serve the Smoke Jaguar. He is but a man. Let him think what he will of me. All that matters is the truth, and I know what that is." Trent's conversations with Star Colonel Paul Moon had been limited over the past year and a half, but his CO had never treated him with less than utter contempt.
It was a mutual feeling matched by his sentiments for Jez.
The owner, an older female, came to the table and silently handed them menus. She seemed nervous, her actions quick and jerky. Her eyes also seemed to dart about the restaurant, as if looking for something or someone. Trent noticed her hands were shaking too, but she was not yet of an age to show such infirmity. He was unsure how much to read into it, if anything at all. "I have heard rumors of some sort of guerrilla activity here on Hyner."
"Aye," Russou said. "Our Trinary commander was kind enough to let me glance at a report she received. Apparently we did not wipe out all of the garrison force when we took this world. A few managed to survive and have been carrying out strikes against our forces. Minor raids, usually against convoys and troops transports."
"I did not know the extent of these activities," Trent said, wondering why he had not been briefed. He too commanded troops in the field. Such threats were a danger to them all.
Russou shrugged in reply. "Such guerrillas are nothing but filthy bandits. They do not merit our attention." He glanced around then. "I wonder what has become of our waitress?"
* * *
Sitting on a bench in the park across the street from the House of the Lazy Duck, Judith sighed and shifted in frustration. After all this time as Trent's bondsman, there were still times when he pulled her off her duties without explaining why or what for. Although she had forced herself to adapt to Clan ways and her subservient role as a bondsman, she would never totally understand her place in this strange society.
Stretching her arms for the hundredth time, Judith suddenly noticed two people she recognized as the owners
emerge from the rear of the restaurant, then move rapidly away from the building in her general direction. She thought nothing of it until she saw the looks on their faces, as if they were fearful for their lives. She stood up quickly, sensing that something was wrong here, very wrong.
Laura Quong, the older woman who co-owned the establishment, ran up to her. "You must leave this area. You can come with us." Her breath was racing and her tone fearful and desperate.
"I do not understand," Judith said, eyes darting back to the restaurant where her bondmaster was.
"You're one of us, not one of them," said Mr. Quong, the husband. "We know you're a prisoner of these filthy Clan animals. You'll understand soon enough, girl. Come with us and you can be free."
Now Judith understood. She had heard reports of guerrilla activity in the region, mostly among the lower castes. According to rumors, members of the Second Arkab Legion, the Draconis Combine unit that had defended Hyner against capture by the Smoke Jaguars, had somehow survived and organized a resistance effort. She had spoken with the older couple many times before when she came alone to the Lazy Duck. They knew that she had been with ComStar, that she had fought on Tukayyid. Now they thought they were doing her a favor.
"You are mistaken," she replied. "I am part of Clan Smoke Jaguar. As are you."
"They can change the flag we have to fly, but they can never change what is in our hearts. They killed our son on Schuyler and have cut us off from the rest of our kin on Pesht. If you want to live, come with is. Otherwise, you are nothing more than a traitor in our eyes and in the eyes of those who represent the true government," Mr. Quong said coldly. He and his wife then both bolted away to where they had a vehicle waiting.
Judith stood there for a moment, watching and listening intently. The rumbling noise she heard in the distance was all too familiar and was getting closer. The sound was unmistakable. A BattleMech. The distinct thunder of at least one 'Mech closing on Beaver Falls, perhaps more.
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