Jade Phoenix - Falcon Guard

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2024-12-19 0 0 769.81KB 100 页 5.9玖币

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To the memory of my parents

Prologue

Star Captain Joanna, in her darkest fantasies, saw herself dying with a projectile ripping through her body, or

incinerated in a BattleMech, or destroyed by a lucky shot from an enemy MechWarrior's weapon. In her wilder

nightmares, she imagined being murdered in her bed by a vile freebirth, or mauled by a bloodthirsty creature on some

planet where she was stranded, or perhaps ejecting successfully from the cockpit of her 'Mech only to drown in a deep

lake before she could free herself from the restraints of her ejection seat. Once she had dreamed that the best death

would come in heroic combat or even during a Trial of Bloodright, where she would meet her end in a ferocious final

round of the competition for a Blood-name.

But now her dreams had faded, for she had become an old warrior. She still piloted a 'Mech as a warrior of Clan Jade

Falcon, but no longer would any Bloodnamed warrior sponsor her for a slot in any Trial of Bloodright. Without a

nomination, Joanna's only hope for eligibility was to take part in a Grand Melee, but to that she would never stoop.

(Joanna knew of only one warrior who had eventually won his Bloodname via that route, and the man was high on the

long list of people she despised.) Her best hope now was cremation after death so that her ashes would return to the

same sibko system that had spawned her existence, to be blended with the amniotic fluid of the artificial wombs.

Without a Bloodname, Star Captain Joanna could never achieve the ultimate goal of all Clan warriors, the inclusion of

her genes in the sacred gene pool. Letting that dream die had been the most difficult of all, even after Joanna realized

she would never win a Bloodname. Since then she had added an even more dread possibility to her fantasies about

death, this one of surviving to the time when she would die in her bed either from disease or sheer old age. Of all the

ends she could imagine, that was the most appalling.

Despite all the conjectures, Joanna had never foreseen being buried alive while trapped in the cockpit of her 'Mech,

which was exactly where she was at this moment. The Clan invasion of the Inner Sphere had been going on for nine

months now, and Joanna had just been assigned as a replacement to the Falcon Guards. Almost immediately after she

had reported to the Cluster commander, Star Colonel Adler Malthus, the Cluster had been ordered to defend against an

Inner Sphere counterattack on theplanet Twycross.

The Falcon Guards had been traversing a pass called the Great Gash, when a single, battered Inner Sphere

Hatchetman crested the ridge line. The BattleMech pilot identified himself as Kai Allard-Liao and issued a clumsy

batchall for the pass. The enemy's bravery was admirable, but Star Colonel Adler Malthus went too far. Instead of

simply refusing to grant Clan-warrior status to an Inner Sphere MechWarrior, he halted the Cluster's advance, and

went out to finish off the Inner Sphere warrior alone. Star Colonel Malthus advanced and raised the arms of his

Summoner to smash the Gash's defender into rubble, but before the blow could land, the Hatchetman exploded.

As though in sympathy, the Great Gash itself blew apart, sending rocks and dirt spouting and flying, boulders

bouncing off the surface of Joanna's Hellbringer with a horrible clanging that nearly deafened her. Then another

nearby «Mech exploded, and before Joanna knew what had happened, she was staring through her viewport at a wall

of geological debris. With enough air trapped in the Hell-bringer's cockpit to keep her going for awhile, she kept her

panic at bay, using the 'Mech's still-functional computer to calculate the compartment's volume plus the amount of air

that might still remain in the circulation system. It looked like it might be enough to survive for at least fifteen minutes,

perhaps more. Who could be sure?

When it came to survival, the human organism sometimes went beyond its own limitations. Perhaps she had even

more precious moments than she estimated.

Joanna briefly considered using some of the deep' concentration techniques she had learned during warrior training

so long ago. By slowing her breathing profoundly, she might be able to remain alive even longer. Then she decided to

hell with it. She needed her wits about her and did not particularly want to sink into some deep meditative funk. What

she needed now was to keep her mind busy enough to figure a way out of here.

With so much of her Hellbringer apparently still operational, Joanna thought that perhaps she might still accomplish

some miracle. Was she not a warrior, the product of a scientific program that engineered the production of superior

humans by mating only the most superior genes? Add to that the abilities of the massive piece of fighting machinery

called a BattleMech—and who knew what might be possible? Joanna had neither much faith nor liking for humanity in

general, but she had confidence to spare in herself. As for 'Mechs—she respected them to the point of reverence.

She tried her communications system, which produced plenty of crackle and static, but no response from anyone on

the line. Perhaps it was because fallen rock and dirt had cut off communications. Or perhaps all the other Jade Falcon

warriors were as trapped in their 'Mechs as she was, but had not escaped death. Scanners proved inoperable also, so

she could not tell how deep she and her machine were buried in the debris.

Staring at her secondary screen, Joanna tested other systems. It was immediately obvious that operating any of her

weapon systems would be dangerous. If she tried to fire any of them, the weapon would simply explode and that

would be the end of her. A mercifully quick end, to be sure, but not the one she craved.

Neither of the 'Mech's arms seemed functional, either, so she could not use them to dig herself out. Then she tried

the right leg. Nothing.

The left leg, however, surprised her. She felt it strain at her attempts to move it, though that was about all. When she

switched her concentration to the left foot, at first it failed to respond. With a little more effort, she felt it move, but

ever so imperceptibly. Not much more than a twitch, but movement nonetheless. Pressing the foot pedal that operated

the 'Mech's legs, Joanna tried again to move the left foot forward. This time it seemed to budge slightly. Not much, but

enough to keep her trying.

Bit by bit, she kept at it until she had the left foot moving more freely. Now she made it slide from side to side, each

time sensing its movement to be easier. If only her sensors were working, she could get an external view of the leg's

movements and thus a clearer idea of its cur» rent mobility.

The air in the cockpit was getting hotter, the excess of carbon dioxide making her dizzy. No telling how much time

she had left. But then, what did it matter when the time you had left was all the time you had left?

She decided to try to kick out with the Hellbringer's leg. A dumb maneuver in most battles, but one that might prove

useful when buried alive. Working the foot pedal, she was pleased and astonished to feel the whole leg wrench free.

Then she kicked again, laughing aloud just to feel the leg's freedom. With that kick, Joanna had a sense of the outward

thrust dislodging even more rock and dirt. That was a start, she decided. With her next kick, she noticed a slight

movement of the 'Mech at hip level. Perhaps it was the 'Mech's design that was working in her favor. The machine's

wide shoulders might be blocking any further avalanche of debris from tumbling down to re-bury the 'Mech's leg, while

the outward thrust of the hip was giving it sufficient leverage to escape from the trap.

Joanna was beginning to feel drowsy, her lids wanting to flutter shut. The air was very close. If only she could get

the cleaner working again, it might be the difference between escape and death—a matter of minutes. She swallowed

hard, with a sense that she might not ever be able to swallow again. Then she swallowed once more, just to prove it

was not true. Joanna had always been stubborn, whether in jeopardy or at ease.

She realized now that she had no more time to wait through the minuscule gains won with each slight move of her

'Mech. She would be dead long before she could get to good air.

Setting the controls at high, Joanna attempted to maneuver the BattleMech forward with all the force the control

systems could generate. At first nothing happened. The right side of the 'Mech seemed completely trapped, so she

concentrated on its left. Urging the machine's left shoulder forward, she discovered that it would move slightly, no

more than a mild spasm compared to a human shoulder's muscular convulsion. But when she repeated the action, the

shoulder gave way more. In successive attempts, she sensed the shoulder's jerking motion, like a warrior punching in a

hand-to-hand battle. The 'Mech's right side was still wedged too tightly for the whole machine to break free. Her only

hope was in the jerky thrusts of the left side. Frantically, she continued to shove the left shoulder forward until finally

she saw some of the debris in her viewport move. It was a slight shift, but enough to tell her she still had a chance.

Though the cockpit was stifling and almost airless, Joanna kept at her desperate actions until daylight suddenly

showed through on the left side of the viewport. She could still not call up a computer diagnostic of the 'Mech's

internal condition on her secondary screen, but she knew the odds were good that the area beyond the cockpit

hatchway was now clear.

At the hatchway, she yanked on the manual release lever for the hatch, but the plate did not budge. The heat inside

the cockpit was now almost unbearable. Forcing herself to calm, she tried once more to pop the hatch, which seemed

to loosen but still did not open. With two hands now, first she pushed in on the control, hoping to release the

pressure, then with a lifting motion, she pulled back once more. She tried this several more times, even though it took

all her strength. Then came a sound that was music to her ears, a soap that might be the hatch lock releasing. Carefully

now, gently, she continued to pull, side to side this time, gradually opening a crack wide enough through which she

could wedge her body into the rocks and dirt beyond it. Some of the rocks fell inward, onto the cockpit's metal

flooring, creating an odd clanging sound.

Wondering if she might have gotten enough movement from the 'Mech to free it from the heaviest layer of rocks and

dirt, Joanna tried again to move the machine, but it did not budge. She was panting, the breathable air nearly gone.

Clawing frantically at the rock wall in front of her, she dislodged rocks and flung them behind her, pushing dirt to

either side of her.

Soon most of her torso was out the hatchway and into the tunnel she had dug. Instead of feeling exhilaration at the

success, her body wanted to collapse, close its eyes, rest, and fall asleep. Fighting the urge to give up, she began to

dig even more ferociously.

At just the moment when she might suddenly have tipped over the edge into unconsciousness, Joanna's left hand

broke free into the hot, humid outside air. Knowing escape was so close, she rallied what little reserve energy still

remained and frantically began to scratch, dig, and claw forward. Soon she had created a substantial hole. Air flooded

in and she hungrily drew in a normal breath. Pushing herself headfirst, she forced her body through the opening, and

emerged into the scorching air of Twycross. Joanna nearly collapsed just as she worked her legs out of the hole,

rolling three or four meters down the slope of the rockfall. She landed on her back. Looking up, she saw the

Hellbringer’s shoulder, its launch mount bent backward, and a small part of the head. It seemed to peek out from

beneath a rock pile.

With great eifort, she hoisted herself to a sitting position and then looked around her. Various BattleMech parts

were strewn all over the slope and down onto the floor of the pass. From what the wreckage showed, it looked as

though the avalanche created by the explosions must have buried the entire unit. The Hatchetman's own fiery death

must have set off the demolition charges buried in the sides of the Gash.

This Kai Allard-Liao was a courageous warrior, free-birth Inner Sphere pilot or not. The honor that should have

gone to the Jade Falcons was now due him, whoever he was, wherever he was.

That grim thought was the last of which Joanna was conscious before passing out.

The Summoner, Aidan Pryde's 'Mech, lay on a plateau, looking for all the world as though it were merely resting,

taking a breather before confronting another foe. Looks were deceiving, however. This 'Mech had met its fate in Clan

Jade Falcon's battle to take the lush but undeveloped Inner Sphere world of Quarell. The enemy warriors left behind to

defend Quarell had fought courageously, but Aidan's forces had overwhelmed them despite the low number of forces

he had bid for the battle.

As for the Summoner, the BattleMech had been ripped apart. Its left arm lay elsewhere on the field, and its entire left

side was a tangle of metal, wires, and other components. Aidan's chief tech, a grizzled old man named Lenk, reported

severe damage to the fusion engine and that several other systems were inoperative. Lenk told him that any repairs

would be makeshift, and so the 'Mech could not possibly operate at peak efficiency.

Aidan agreed, ordering Lenk to tag the spare parts that might still be useful to other 'Mechs, then assigned the rest

of the Summoner for salvage. A good Clan officer always searched for the means to turn his defeats into virtues. A

downed 'Mech, no matter how damaged, was never entirely scrapped. Someone somewhere would have a use for its

remains. Nicholas Kerensky, he who had created the Clans, had instilled in his followers the absolute necessity for the

severest economy measures. Nothing must be discarded until it had been squeezed dry of any possible new use. And,

Aidan had noticed, there always seemed to be at least one more.

Warriors, too, wore out, for they were soon too old to fight. They often moved to support positions, training units,

but failing that, these old warriors could still perform one more service for their Clan. In many battle situations the

commander's only hope was to buy time by sending expendable troops into the fray. These warriors willingly

sacrificed their lives. Aging warriors were often organized into such solahma units, then sent into the field for one last

battle. Aidan thought of Ter Roshak, the training commander who had so changed the course of his life. Only weeks

before, Roshak had given his life as a member of a solahma infantry unit.

A sad fete, thought Aidan, for a valorous warrior. Ter Roshak had survived heroically only to die as cannon fodder,

an ignominious end. But perhaps survival had been the man's fatal mistake. Aidan would sooner die in battle,

preferably in his BattleMech and while destroying both his enemy and his enemy's 'Mech, than live to see his worth as

a warrior used up.

Having served for twenty years, he, too, was edging toward being an old warrior. Aidan was almost forty, an age

when a warrior was supposed to be considering his options as an aging member of his Clan. Fortunately for him,

however, there was a war on, a war the Clans had been living, dying, and preparing to fight for centuries, ever since

the Exodus of their ancestors from the Inner Sphere after the fall of the once-glorious Star League. A Star Colonel now,

Aidan could conceivably rise to high command levels, become part of the guiding forces of the long-awaited invasion

of the Inner Sphere. That would certainly add a few years to his usefulness as a warrior. But he knew such ideas were

mere delusion. Though he had legitimately earned all his promotions to this point, including his Bloodname, he carried

a taint as a warrior that would let him go only so far as a warrior. His codex showed too many black marks. There was,

for one, the dark cloud over the means by which he had earned warrior status. After Aidan had failed his first Trial of

Position, Ter Roshak had schemed, even murdered, to give him an unprecedented, and illegal, second chance at the

trial to become a Clan warrior, one of the highest honors to which any eligible young trueborn could aspire. The

second taint involved Aidan's posing as a freeborn, the false identity he'd assumed for his second trial. The freeborn

stigma still clung to him even after he had confessed his true identity. The third black mark was that he had competed

for a Bloodname despite his past record. Only a day before the Trial of Bloodright competitions began, he had been

forced to fight a Trial of Refusal to protest his Clan's denial of his right to compete for a Bloodname. Only by winning

that contest could he overrule the Clan's decision, rfe had won the Trial of Refusal through a combination of

intelligence and skill, yet he had never escaped the taint of the accusations against him. Last, but hardly least, Aidan

had won the Bloodname through a last-ditch maneuver that no one could have imagined would succeed. Until the last

instant, Aldan's opponent seemed to be on the verge of crushing Aidan totally.

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 Rhca, 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 jfreeborn. 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 IVe read many times."

Aidan was so used to hearing Horse speak that by now he barely minded the man's excessive use of

contrac-tions:—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 MechWanior Carmen's Timber Wolf."

"The Timber WolfT' 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 dez~ gra 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."

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 first 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, MechWarrior Diana. As in your bid, no weapons for rtiis 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.

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, mat 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.

But this officer-MechWarrior battle was special. The Star Commander was new among them, and the fact that she

had been demoted because of Twycross made her an unknown quantity. Would she display the ferocity of the

reputation that had preceded her? Or had Twycross shaken her confidence, as defeat sometimes did to a warrior? In

their minds this Circle of Equals conflict was a test for Joanna as well as Diana. A few of them sent each other the hand

signals that signified discreet betting on the event's outcome. If Joanna had bothered to read the betting signs going

around the circle, she would have seen that the odds favored her by about two-to-one. It was better that she took no

note of it. Any odds that gave this inexperienced warrior a chance to beat her were an insult to Joanna.

'Are you ready, MechWarrior Diana?" Joanna asked.

'Yes."

'You do not wish to invoke surkai?"

'Neg."

'Good. Then prepare yourself for extreme pain." Joanna spoke the last three words while leaping at Diana. Diana,

accustomed to an opponent shuffling his feet, feinting, sending glares, or making some other slight move before going

on the attack, was taken completely by surprise. Joanna had her tightly by the throat, choking off air for a moment,

then sneeringly releasing her grip and hurling her sideways onto the ground. Diana landed on her side. As the Star

Commander had promised, extreme pain surged through her body from the impact of her landing. Though she was up

quickly, Diana felt a throbbing in her shoulder. Each throb made her want to flinch with pain, but she would show no

sign to this arrogant officer.

Diana did not have much time to think about the pain, for Joanna was on her again, this time coming at her in a

crouch, grabbing the younger warrior's midsection and wrestling her to the ground. Falling backward, Diana realized

that Joanna was merely employing standard wrestling maneuvers, ones they taught in the first weeks of training. But

why could she use them to such advantage? Moves that Diana might easily have countered in another young warrior

became tricky when this old crone applied them.

The only good thing at the moment was that the pain in her stomach somewhat relieved that of her shoulder, or was

she merely dividing the pain by dividing her con-centration?

Joanna, holding down Diana's shoulders and staring into her eyes, could easily have declared victory because she

had the young warrior pinned. Diana's legs thrust out futilely behind Joanna.

But before Joanna could speak, she saw something fa-miliar in the struggling warrior's eyes. At first it was a flash, a

sign that Diana would never capitulate, then Joanna saw another face, that of another young warrior from another time.

It was something in this young woman's eyes, and now that Joanna looked more carefully, it was in her facial features,

too. This Diana, this freebirth, bore an uncanny resemblance to the warrior Joanna had defeated in his first day of

training and whose life had become so intimately connected with hers at certain points. Then he had been cadet

Aidan. Now he was Star Colonel Aidan Pryde.

The revelation made Joanna rise up, releasing Diana from the pin, but then she clasped her hands together and, in a

harsh sweeping arc, swung them at Diana's head. The hands hit with a stunning impact, and Diana fell backward,

dazed.

Joanna looked around at the spectators beyond the line. Though they tried, in the Clan manner, to seem detached, it

was obvious that the sudden brutality of Joanna's blow shocked some of them.

Looking down at the fallen warrior, whose eyes were now shut, Joanna thought that except for the greater delicacy

of the features, she might have been looking at Aidan.

Diana did not give away with the slightest pre-movement the blow she now delivered. Kicking upward, she caught

Joanna between the legs, the force of the blow lifting the old warrior slightly. Diana scrambled away from Joanna, who

leaped at her with a growl of fury. Her timing off, Joanna smashed her face against the hard metal DropShip flooring

instead of connecting with her prey. Before Joanna could get up, Diana had jumped onto her back and pushed her

back down. Again Joanna's head smashed against the floor, and she was nearly overcome with dizziness.

Most warriors would have given up at that moment, but Joanna never gave up, would never give up. Helpless, she

could not stop Diana from grabbing her hair from behind and slamming her head down against the metal floor again.

Then, sensing a slight relaxation in Diana's grip right after the impact, Joanna twisted her torso enough to throw her

elbow back at Diana's lowered head. She made contact, which further loosened her opponent's grip. Bellowing her

special battle cry, Joanna twisted her body around and, with a magnificent effort, dislodged Diana, who fell sideways,

rolled, and was back on her feet again instantly.

Diana did not give Joanna a second to recover. She ran straight at her. Dizzied by the banging to her head, Joanna

was not sure who was coming at her. At first it looked like Aidan—not Aidan as he had been the last time she had

seen him, but Aidan as a young cadet. Then the image seemed to switch back to Diana. Then to Aidan. Then again to

Diana.

Whoever it was, the warrior was upon her, trying to ram her backward. The shuffling of Joanna's feet as she tried to

stay upright struck some of the spectators as comical. When they laughed, the sound made her furious.

She pushed what looked like Diana away, and what looked like Aidan did a little stumbling dance. Shaking her head

in an effort to throw off her grogginess, Joanna charged what looked like Aidan, but it was Diana who sidestepped her.

Joanna quickly adjusted to Diana's quick move, grabbing Aidan's arm and wrenching it toward her. Joanna seized the

head, not sure whose head it was anymore, and twisted it violently. Not enough to kill, but enough to cause a pain that

would linger for some time.

Yes, enough.

Her opponent fell, dazed again, but this time finally helpless.

Looking down at the fallen warrior, Joanna was again seeing a double exposure of Diana, Aidan, Diana, and again

Aidan. It was all she could do to walk without stumbling out of the Circle of Equals, but walk she did, past all those

warriors who saw that their new commander might be old but could still outfight even the best of them.

We are both pretty banged up, quiaffl" Joanna asked. "Are we? I can see you are, Star Commander. I did not look

into any reflective surface. I rarely do."

They were in Joanna's quarters. Diana's cheek showed a large, ugly bruise where Joanna had struck her, and along

the other side of her face were a couple of cuts. Joanna had glanced in a mirror, and saw she was worse off than Diana.

One eye was black and her forehead was both bruised and cut. One side of her upper lip was slightly swollen, and tiny

spots of blood had dried and caked around her nostrils. Overall, not a good appearance at all for a commanding officer.

The quarters were like every room in which Joanna had ever lived. She had never seen much use for neatness,

especially when the place to which she was assigned was only temporary, as were all places for warriors. And this one,

after all, was only a DropShip compartment.

Clothing was strewn all over the room, which was stained and dirty. When Joanna nodded for Diana to take a seat,

the young warrior had to remove a tunic and boots from the chair, and deposit them onto an already crowded table.

"Would you like a fusionnaire, MechWarrior Diana?"

“I doubt it. What is a fusionnaire?"

"A drink. Very potent. I do not know what is in it. I have it packaged and sent to me on a regular basis. Sure you

would not like a dose of it?"

"I have no liking for any substance that calms, releases, allows for fantasies, or sends one into a stupor."

There was an arrogant stubbornness in the way Diana held her head while giving her list of undesirable states that

reminded Joanna of Aidan holding his head in the same way with the same boldness.

"I understand your feeling completely," Joanna said, "but I do not agree. I need to lose my awareness once in a

while." She took a strong sip of the drink. "I wonder about what you said a moment ago—that you never look in a

mirror."

"Not never. Sometimes we see ourselves when we do not intend to. I just never look by intention, unless of course

there is a practical need."

"But why? It cannot be hard for you to examine yourself. By most standards I am aware of you would be considered

beautiful."

"Would I? That is interesting, but ultimately useless to me."

"Useless?"

"I have always wanted to be a warrior. As a freeborn, that is not an easy goal. People often attempted to discourage

me from it. But I continued, was accepted into training, qualified in the Trial, and am now serving. I have many skills,

which I have demonstrated, plus others I am eager to test. There is not much need for beauty in all that, is there?"

Joanna took another sip of the fusionnaire. Tasting especially harsh, the drink was going to her head quicker than

usual. The fight with Diana had undoubtedly weakened her resistance to the drink. She would have to settle for only

one. But, she. thought, staring down into the volatile liquid, she would make the most of the one.

"Truth to tell, Diana, you are quite right. There is not much need for beauty in the ranks of Clan warriors. Here your

looks are no more than a painting in a museum or a statue in a square. We admire you, but ours is not the kind of

culture that places emphasis on beauty, after all."

"I am glad of that."

"But I should tell you that beauty like yours does have its uses in some circles. In political ones particularly. Among

Clansmen who have forgotten the meaning of their lives, and who encourage a certain decadence."

"That is detestable, and I do not believe it exists."

"I notice that you do not have the freeborn love of contractions."

“I have resolved to be a warrior and to speak like one as well. Star Commander, if I may speak frankly?"

"As a warrior would. Proceed, MechWarrior Diana."

' 'I have been told about my beauty before. There were some who, well, wanted things from me because of it. I am not

as free with coupling as others. Even in my cadet days. The others in my training unit respected that. Out here in the

war zone, there is not as much respect. Perhaps I would have more experience with coupling if the other did not always

have to mention my looks beforehand. But once someone speaks to me of that, I wish only to hit that someone and

certainly not do anything more."

"Your honor duel with Trader was about that, quiaff?"

"Neg. Trader is a fine warrior, too. He wanted the BattleMech assignment. He would always choose a 'Mech over a

sexual partner. I like him. I was sorry to have to fight him."

Diana straightened her back, holding it stiffly away from the back of the chair. When the younger woman looked off

to the side, Joanna recalled several moments when Aidan had glanced aside in the same way, with the same tilt of the

head and a duplicate indifference in his eyes. Diana's words and her resemblance to Aidan made Joanna want to take a

big swallow of her fusionnaire. So she did.

The drink was gone. She should not have a second one, not with her head spinning the way it was now. She poured

the second one and took several guarded sips.

"Star Commander Joanna, did you call me to your quarters for this discussion?"

Joanna shook her head. The movement made it ache. She blinked a couple of times before responding. "I had no

purpose in calling you here, except to praise your tenacity in battling me in the Circle of Equals."

"Your praise pleases me." Diana did not show a bit of pleasure in her face, although her voice was softer.

"And there is another'reason, which I should keep secret, but this fusionnaire is doing its job. It often loosens

tongues." She took another large swallow of the drink. "You look like someone I once knew. Another warrior.''

Diana nodded. "And his name was Aidan."

The statement astonished Joanna, who was not an easy person to astonish.

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TothememoryofmyparentsPrologueStarCaptainJoanna,inherdarkestfantasies,sawherselfdyingwithaprojectilerippingthroughherbody,orincineratedinaBattleMech,ordestroyedbyaluckyshotfromanenemyMechWarrior'sweapon.Inherwildernightmares,sheimaginedbeingmurderedinherbedbyavilefreebirth,ormauledbyabloodthirstycre...

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Jade Phoenix - Falcon Guard

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