We will be traveling together for nearly a year, and by the time we arrive on Huntress, we shall show the other Jaguar warriors that solahma is merely a word. We shall stand with backs proud and heads high when we set foot once more on the homeworld.
A gentle rapping at the stateroom door interrupted these thoughts. Trent rose and opened it to find Judith floating there in the corridor. He motioned for her to enter, then carefully secured the door as she drifted into the room and grabbed onto a chair to come to a stop. "I thought you would be sleeping by now," he said.
"I wanted to thank you for earlier today," she said.
"Thank me?"
"Aye, for your praise of me before Star Commander Allen. You made me remember the pride I once felt as a warrior. And it made me certain we are doing the right thing."
"I only spoke the truth," he replied.
"This Star Commander seems like a good man," she replied. "His company will help make the long trip pass quickly."
"Aye, and his friendship can help get me access to the Admiral Andrews." Star Commander Allen had given them a tour of the JumpShip, which had already been a help in their plans. Help they would never be able to thank him for.
"Everything seems to be falling into place," she said.
Trent shrugged slightly. "It is a long way to Huntress, Judith. Many things can happen before we get there. Many things can go wrong."
21
JumpShip Admiral Andrews
Zenith Jump Point Richmond
Smoke Jaguar Occupation Zone
2 June 3055
Trent walked through the corridor of the JumpShip using his deck shoes. Mounted with light magnetic plates, the shoes allowed contact with the deck and at least some degree of normal walking and movement in the weightlessness of zero-gravity. The shoes were not common on most short trips, but on a journey that would last for the better part of a year, ship's personnel used them to help maintain their personal stamina. Muscles tended to weaken during long space flights, and the exercise of walking was important to keep up health.
He stopped near the maintenance airlock and glanced both ways down the corridor. He punched in the access code given to all officers aboard the ship, and the inner door hissed and whirred as it opened. Trent stepped into the airlock, then reached for the neutrino sensor hidden behind a handhold and tucked it into his belt. This was a trial run, one of several he and Judith had carried out in their trip across the occupation zone. As he exited the airlock, Trent punched the stud that would close and seal it shut.
Later tonight Judith would analyze the device to make sure that it was working properly. They would probably never get another chance to travel to Clan space, and if the device was not in proper calibration, the whole operation would be for naught.
As he moved down the corridor parallel to the jump drive core that ran nearly the length of the ship, Trent thought about how far they had come already. The brilliant orange star of Richmond shimmered below, a beacon marking the outer limits of the Inner Sphere. Beyond Richmond was the Deep Periphery and the first stars on the Exodus Road.
He stopped at the end of the access corridor and checked himself over. He had donned his dress gray uniform, complete with regalia, for the meeting with his new officers. The fourth and final DropShip had docked onto the Admiral Andrews at the last recharge station at Idlewind, bringing with it the last of the warriors in his charge. He had sent them orders to meet in one of the small briefing rooms so he could take their measure and let them know what he expected of them.
Trent opened the door and stepped in. Half the warriors rose to attention, careful to hold their positions in place with one foot so that they did not drift up off the deck with their sudden standing movement. The others remained seated, some of them looking bitter and defiant. Trent walked over to a table set up at the head of the room, then turned to his command. "At ease," he said, taking the end seat for himself. "I am Star Captain Trent, your commanding officer during this trip."
One of the men who did not rise leaned forward on the table with his elbows. "In other words you are our warden, here to take us back to Huntress so we may serve out the rest of our lives as prisoners."
"Negative," Trent replied. "I know that you have been declared either solahma or even dezgra, but that means nothing to me. In my eyes you are still Smoke Jaguar warriors, and as such you will behave accordingly." He rose from his seat, and the warrior who had spoken took his elbows off the table and pulled himself up straighter.
"Bold words from an officer so aged that he will most likely not return from this mission," said a female Star Commander who Trent easily identified from her file as Krista. "Is there a point to this meeting, Star Captain Trent?"
Trent understood both her bravado and her comments regarding his own status. "I am sorry for disturbing your schedule, Krista. I thought I had come to address warriors worthy of being called Smoke Jaguars. Apparently you are not that, but are some foolish freebirth who has no sense of command or duty. Perhaps I should contact security and let them know that the bandit caste has infiltrated this ship and can be rounded up here in this room, quiaff?"
Her face and the faces of several others turned bright red with anger. "I am a warrior," Krista said. "I am merely denied the chance to prove it." Others in the room echoed her sentiments. Trent did not smile, but felt like it. He had struck a nerve.
"Good, Krista, and the rest of you. It is encouraging to know that the blood of the Jaguar still runs through your veins. I understand your sentiments, but this is not a time for such matters. Now is the time to show those who sent us here that they were wrong in doing so. That we are not worthless chaff of the Clan, but true warriors, now and forever."
"Your words have no meat behind them," a slightly overweight officer said from the far end of the table. Trent recognized him as Marcus, the warrior declared dezgra. His violation of Clan custom had cost him his command and posting to a brig for several months. "Why not just leave us be, Star Captain? You have nothing to gain by taking your role with us so seriously."
"Negative, Marcus," Trent said sharply. "I have everything to gain in my own self-respect as an officer and a member of the Clan. You need not participate, however, if you think serving under me as a warrior is pointless or a waste of your time. Do note, though, that as your superior officer I will treat your insubordination as outright mutiny now that we are about to depart any formal authority of the Smoke Jaguars."
"Mutiny?"
Trent saw that the word stung deeply. What Clansman did not know about the mutiny in the Deep Periphery of the Prim Eugen, one of the ships accompanying General Kerensky's great Exodus? Once captured, General Kerensky had ordered all officers aboard the vessel executed. Mutiny was the gravest of betrayals among the Clans.
"Aff," Trent said, again knowing this barb had hit home. "Those of you who do not follow orders will be treated as mutineers. Punishment will be swift and suitable to the crime. I will order the Marines to throw you into an airlock and jettison you into space." Trent meant everything he said, and he wanted to leave no doubt about it.
There was a long pause while the dozen officers seated at the table seemed to reflect briefly on what they had heard. Trent surveyed their faces and was satisfied they had understood.
"Any other questions?" he asked. No one spoke.
"Does anyone wish now to declare that my program is not in his or her best interest?"
Universally, the warriors responded, "Neg."
Trent took the opportunity to smile. "Excellent then. There are four simulator pods aboard the Dhava. We also have several isorla Inner Sphere BattleMechs in our bays. I will instruct my technician to begin any repairs necessary in case we need the 'Mechs operational. In the meantime, I have established regular instruction and simulator sessions for each of you. We will meet every day for calisthenics and to go over tactics drills and scenarios I will post for you daily."
"Star Captain." It was a bearded warrior who Trent knew was name
d Stanley. "An indulgence, quiaff?"
"Aff," Trent said, granting him permission to raise a question.
"The rest of us have spoken together informally before this meeting. We understand why we are here. How is that you come to be our commanding officer?"
Trent pondered the question for a full five seconds. A part of him was tempted to say what he really thought. I am here because of internal politics, because of distortions of Nicholas Kerensky's vision, because of failed policies, and because I believe that warriors are more than murderers of unarmed civilians. He resisted the temptation, however.
"I am here as honor guard for one who has fallen. I have the task of accompanying her genetic legacy to Huntress and making sure it is properly interned there. She and I were sibkin, and I was deemed the most appropriate to make sure she achieves the fate she deserves." Speaking the words, Trent knew he was the only one to appreciate the irony of them.
"Over the coming months we will come to know each other well. And, by the time we arrive on Huntress you will be the best warriors to ever emerge from their sibkos."
* * *
Judith stood with her back to the door of his cabin and looked at the neutrino scanner, inputting the information into her digital pad perscomp. "Everything seems to be going as planned, Star Captain. I have used simple hand-held imaging binoculars to give me the spectrum readings to correlate your data."
Trent stood next to her, holding out his wrist and the attached watch. "You will download the information into my wristscomp for storage."
Judith began to move, then hesitated slightly. "Sir, it would be better to keep the information stored in two places. Is your wrist computer for backup or primary storage?"
"Neither, it is the only place that the information will be stored," Trent said.
"I do not understand."
"I trust you implicitly, Judith. You have proven yourself to be a worthy warrior in battle and one I might call friend. I believe that you are honorable or you would not be alive now," he said, remembering the sabotage of his Timber Wolf after the Grand Melee. "These people you are dealing with, however—your 'contacts' on Hyner. They are strangers to me. I know nothing of them, and so will retain possession of the data until I am sure of their honor."
"Star Captain," she said, carefully weighing her words. "They are ComStar, as was I."
"Do you know them personally and can you verify their integrity from experience?"
"Negative."
"After today I realized something, Judith. This thing that we are doing is no small matter. The information we are gathering can only be used for one purpose, to take the fight to the very heart and soul of the Smoke Jaguar Clan. I am prepared to deliver that information, but I will not take that risk foolishly."
"What I will be giving your 'contacts' is the means to crush a deadly enemy, a rabid animal who is no longer able or willing to control itself. In doing so I am placing both our lives at risk. If captured we will be tortured to death, at best."
"The risks are shared by us equally, Star Captain," she said firmly.
"Neg, Judith. I am your bondmaster still. Your life and actions are my responsibility and mine alone. If we are to fail, then I am the one that must pay the price."
She nodded and began to transmit the information from her datapad computer into his wristscomp. Trent could tell from her face that Judith understood that no matter what happened, he was still a true Clan warrior. Not a Smoke Jaguar warrior, tainted by failed policies and leadership. Neg. He was the warrior in the true tradition of Nicholas Kerensky, founder of the Clans. No matter what he did, it must be with honor. He wore the mantle of warrior proudly, yet the weight of it seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.
22
DropShip Dhava
Nadir Jump Point, Unnamed Star System
The Exodus Road
15 November 3055
Trent stood behind Lucas' simulator pod, where the tactical and damage indicator and sensor displays were being relayed. He had a good view as Lucas moved in for the kill.
There were only a handful of functional BattleMechs on the DropShips attached to the Admiral Andrews. Most had suffered some damage, having been taken in battle or captured after a fight. Judith had been able to get five up and working.
Faced with a command of twelve warriors and only five BattleMechs, Trent had let Clan tradition determine who would pilot a 'Mech should the necessity arise. A Trial of Position was being fought for each 'Mech. He himself had tested, earning the right to pilot an isorla Marauder II, a machine that reminded him of his Timber Wolf. The other warriors were vying for the 'Mechs that remained. Thus far Lucas was showing great potential, while Trent was silently pleased that Marcus had failed in the first round, falling to a tall female named Tamara.
From the multi-screen displays, Trent was able to monitor Lucas' status as he waded in against the warrior named Stanley. Both warriors were piloting in the same model of 'Mech for which they were competing, which would show how well each would handle the machine in battle. Lucas was a determined fighter, pushing his simulated Hatamoto-Chi to its limits of speed and endurance. Despite having lost more than half his armor, Lucas unleashed a driving assault that forced Stanley to seek cover for his simulated 'Mech in a small forest in the holographic battlefield where they fought.
Unrelenting, Lucas did not try to flush out his foe by firing into the woods, a tack many warriors might have tried. Instead he charged in after Stanley's own Hatamoto-Chi, holding his fire and venting as much heat as possible. The charge caught Stanley unprepared as he tried to turn and fire. Lucas did not engage his weapons, but instead ran at full throttle into his foe. The impact shredded the remaining armor off both 'Mechs, and belches of computer-simulated smoke filled the space between them as Stanley's 'Mech wavered under the attack. Still not done, Lucas threw a barrage of punches so violent that his simulator pod rocked to its maximum pitch with each blow.
It was over in a matter of seconds. Stanley's simulator pod lights and external screens went off as his engine went into a failure. Lucas' pod door opened, and he almost leaped out of it. His body was drenched in sweat, and the pungent aroma stung at Trent's nostrils. He had set the internal temperature of the pods to what would actually be encountered. The isorla 'Mechs were Inner Sphere models that suffered much higher heat levels than their cooler-running Smoke Jaguar counterparts.
"The victory is yours, Lucas."
"Now all we need is an enemy," Lucas said.
Trent hoped Lucas and the others would find what they were seeking. He himself had already found his enemy, the greatest foe he had ever faced—his own Clan. "Perhaps, Lucas, time will bring you your wish."
* * *
As he made his way through the JumpShip, Trent stopped near the small maintenance airlock where he had planted the neutrino scanner. The ship had jumped thirty minutes ago and was now in the process of deploying its solar sail. The vast solar-collection sail would gather the free-floating charged particles from the unnamed star system, and store them in the JumpShip's drive core. Once fully charged, in four to five days, the ship would be able to jump again.
In the meantime, Trent had to recover the device, store its readings, then plant it again before the next jump. Being commander of the warrior contingent aboard the DropShips had proven useful to Trent. It had made it a simple matter to persuade Star Commander Allen to let him know the jump schedule in advance so that the jumps would not interrupt his training regime. It was a perfectly legitimate request, though, of course, no one would ever guess his true purpose.
Stepping into the airlock, he glanced out through the small viewing port before pulling the neutrino scanner down from its hiding place. Visible less than a kilometer away was another ship. Not simply a JumpShip, but a WarShip. Shimmering in the external lights on the hull was the insignia of a pouncing gray Smoke Jaguar.
Destroyer, Trent told himself. Whirlwind Class, from the looks of it. His warrior instincts kicked in
immediately, the statistics for the ship playing through his mind. While Jump-Ships generally stayed out of a fight, WarShips were built to plow right into the heart of battle.
WarShips were not a common sight away from the Inner Sphere these days. The few not active in the occupation zone were positioned every few jumps on rotational duty along the Exodus Road. They were there for protection and to transmit a small piece of the ever-changing navigational map of the path back to Clan space to other vessels in route.
WarShips were powerful and impressive, but they offered very little of interest to a warrior. Aboard such a vessel a warrior was merely a passenger. Only riding high in the cockpit of a 'Mech did he or she truly live in service to the Clan. Or, so thought Trent.
As he slipped the neutrino scanner into his pocket and turned to go, he discovered that he was not alone. Standing behind him in the narrow doorway to the airlock was a young man with an unruly mop of sandy-colored hair and wearing the uniform of a ship's tech. Trent's heart skipped a beat, but he did what came most naturally to him. He went on the offensive.
"Is there a problem, Tech?" Trent eyed the man's ID tag and saw the name Miles. Trent had no idea whether this Miles had seen him with the scanner or had just come to the door.
"Negative, sir. I just noticed that the airlock was open." There was a hint of nervousness in the man's voice, but Trent knew it could be merely the fear the lower castes felt toward an angry member of the warrior caste.
Trent gestured to the viewport. "I was observing the destroyer. It is an impressive vessel, is it not?"
Miles rose on his tiptoes to look over Trent's shoulder through the viewport. "Aff, it is impressive, Star Captain."
Trent gestured toward the passageway. "I must attend to my duties," he said. "You will be sure to seal the airlock behind you, quiaff?"
"Aff," Miles said, still looking out the port at the fearsome sight of the Clan WarShip.
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