Текст книги "Bloodname"

Автор книги: Роберт Торстон

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

9

Joanna's Hellbringerwas standing now, its head just below an overhanging branch. The branch was thick with leaves that sometimes bent down in the stiff breeze to brush the 'Mech's head.

It had been hard getting the Hellbringerupright, but Joanna, with Nomad's sideline help, had been able to manage it. The machine was not battle-ready, however, nor was it certain that Joanna could get it moving very far without further repair.

It was bad enough working on the 'Mech, doing the jobs Nomad normally would have done if not injured. Using his tools, she had spent hours getting an electrohydraulic servo-motor functioning, more time finding the right bypass for the hip actuator, and making sure all weapons were functional. She was lucky the damage to the machine was so slight, but that was no surprise. Clan 'Mechs were the best-manufactured BattleMechs in the known universe. Or at least Clan warriors thought so.

Now she stood outside her 'Mech and looked up at it. She recognized many of its battle scars. Though the techs removed most damaged parts during post-battle repairs, a few charred areas always remained– perhaps a groove in the metal, even some chips in armor that had been glancingly hit. Ordinarily it was not practical to replace a whole armor plate, for example, when only a fragment was missing or to replace parts that could be rebuilt and reconditioned. The warrior society of the Clans dictated that all its 'Mechs should be in top condition, but, as always, economy was the watchword, particularly when it came to technical repairs. According to the manual, any parts that could be restored to full function must remain on the 'Mech in a restored state.

Nor would warriors give their 'Mechs glamorous re-furbishings designed to produce a breathtaking and radiant BattleMech whose purpose was more to impress than to fight with efficiency. Though 'Mech pilots of the warrior caste were expected to be arrogant and difficult, excess pride was discouraged because it did not encourage combat harmony. Somewhere in The Remembrancewas a passage about a prideful warrior doomed to defeat, while the shrewd, realistic warrior won. All life was a contest and a bidding to win it, the poem stated, and of all the forces most expendable was pride, which the true warrior must learn to bid away. What remained at the end of the bid, the lowest reasonable bid, were intelligence, skill, and devotion. If one of these were sacrificed, defeat inevitably followed.

"There's a bad sound in the upper body rotating ring," Nomad said from his perch on a rather large tree root.

"How can you tell so much from a sound anyway?"

"Sounds are the key to the flaws."

"And you say there is a flaw in the rotating ring?"

"Might be, might not. I just hear a sound I don't normally hear."

Because their medkit had not survived the fall, Joanna had devised a makeshift sling for his bad arm. Tearing up an old uniform she had stored in the 'Mech cockpit, she had also tightly bound Nomad's injured wrist. He said he felt better and frequently offered to do the work himself. It was obvious he did not enjoy someone else doing his job anymore than Joanna liked doing it. But worse than the work itself was taking orders from Nomad. It was a humiliation as bad as being advanced in years without having acquired a Bloodname.

"Well, what should I do with the rotating ring?"

"Nothing. You have no access to it. We need to get to a proper maintenance area."

"Then why do you tell me about such things?"

"I had hoped they would worry you."

"Well, they do. Are there any more repairs to be done?"

"Plenty. But with these tools, we have done about as much as we can."

"Then it is time to get into the cockpit and get old Ter going." Ter was Joanna's name for her 'Mech. Few Clan warriors bothered to name their 'Mechs, although it was said to be a fairly common practice among Inner Sphere warriors. Nomad understood that she had named the 'Mech Ter after their former commanding officer, Falconer Commander Ter Roshak, but he had no idea why she would have wanted any reminder of that grumpy, excessively mean warrior. Nomad sensed that Joanna found some kind of vengeance or perversity in the use of the name, but he did not know what it was.

"I would advise getting some sleep before setting off anywhere," he said. "We do not know where we are, and it is fast getting dark. I have never seen darkness as deep as the black of this jungle, so any way we go could easily be the wrong way. Perhaps someone will contact us. There is at least one frequency open in—"

"You are suggesting we need help, quiaff?"

"Well, aff. This is unknown—"

"There is a challenge underway here for the Pershaw gene heritage, and we were bid into it, you may recall. We are doing Kael Pershaw no good sleeping in the middle of one of Glory's little jungles."

"And would we be doing him, as you say, any good, clomping around aimlessly in this, as you say, little jungle?"

Joanna stared at Nomad angrily for a long while, then put her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. "I suppose you are right, Nomad. I would rather fight. But perhaps a little rest . . ."

She sat down, leaned her head against her 'Mech's right foot, made an elaborate ritual of arranging her legs, then abruptly went to sleep. Nomad wished he had the use of his arms, so he could have climbed to the 'Mech cockpit and fetched a blanket to cover Joanna's body. Night was coming on, bringing with it intense cold.

With a frown at the soggy ground around the 'Mech, Nomad moved toward a cluster of trees some twenty meters off. He settled himself into a niche formed between two tree roots, each movement causing sharp stabbing pains in the wrist he was forced to use for leverage. As the pain gradually subsided, Nomad too fell asleep, dreaming that he was tumbling over and over as the 'Mech cocoon fell through space.

* * *

He was awakened by the sounds of the real giants about which he had been dreaming. To a trained tech, the noise was unmistakable. Only 'Mechs could sound that way, like primeval creatures crushing whatever came beneath their feet. A thin shaft of moonlight shone down through the jungle canopy, but that was all the available light. Joanna had evidently doused their portable lantern.

Joanna was already up and alert. "I am going to warm Ter up," she said, stepping into the shaft of moonlight. Without waiting for a response, she ran to her 'Mech.

"Wait," Nomad called after her, but she did not look back. "I cannot move," he added weakly. Somehow he had turned in his sleep and become pinned between the tree roots.

Joanna was in the cockpit now. Ter was in shadow, but he could make out the Hellbringer'shulking shape, a huge form darker than the surrounding night. Nomad saw some slight movement in Ter's arms, heard the quiet sounds of equipment being activated, sensed the reverberations from the massive fusion engine at the 'Mech's core. It was possible to get a BattleMech like this one moving rather quickly, but could Joanna do it in time?

As if to trouble him further, he felt the tremor of other 'Mech footsteps approaching. They seemed to be coming directly toward him. A moment later, he realized they were.

Whatever side these 'Mech pilots were on, and whatever their decision about what to do with an injured Jade Falcon tech, Nomad knew he was in deep trouble. He was so wedged between the tree roots that it did not matter what side the pilots were on. They would not see him anyway.

He twisted his neck to get a look in the direction of the reverberating sounds. At the same time, he heard the unmistakable crunch of Joanna's 'Mech crushing some undergrowth as it took a step. He was certain that she was turning Ter to face the oncoming intruders.

The lumbering sounds grew louder and finally a Summoneremerged from the surrounding forest, bending a pair of trees almost to the ground as it did. Its pilot did not seem to see Nomad or Joanna in her 'Mech. The 'Mech merely continued forward, looking somewhat like a big machine out for a stroll. It seemed about to pass by Nomad's tree, but stopped a few meters away instead, appearing to scan the terrain. There was a sudden change in the 'Mech's movement; the pilot had probably discovered Ter's presence.

Surging forward, the Summonerdrew nearer to Nomad's tree. With a fascination that was almost scientific, Nomad watched the 'Mech's feet, measured their apparent tread. It was clear that in a few seconds one of those giant feet would be on a direct path toward him, its step heading right down onto the pair of roots between which he was wedged. The roots would be crushed, along with any foolish being unfortunate enough to be trapped there.

Before Nomad could calculate any further, the 'Mech's enormous foot was directly over his head and bearing straight down.

10

Seeing Nomad about to be crushed underneath the gigantic foot of the Summonerthat had abruptly emerged from the mist, Joanna knew she did not have time to properly identify the intruder. Clan Wolf or Clan Jade Falcon, it did not matter when the life of someone under her command was in danger. Even though she despised Nomad whenever she bothered to think about him—and under some circumstances could have crushed him herself without compunction—to stand by and watch him die would have been wasteful. Reacting instinctively, she fired her laser cannon at the descending foot. Her aim was true and the laser pulses seared leg armor at ankle level, enough to throw the 'Mech off balance and divert the direction of the foot. The giant metal foot bounced off the trunk of the tree, then landed next to one of the roots enclosing Nomad, missing him by centimeters. This particular shot had always been a specialty of Joanna's, and it forced enemy pilots to divert their attention to regaining their 'Mech's balance. In that crucial moment, Joanna could often land a killing blow in a real battle.

Some smoke arose from the hits. Joanna had connected with something. When the 'Mech came to a dead stop, its thick, towering legs were directly over Nomad, who was staring up at them in terror.

"Good shot, warrior," came a voice over the commline from the new 'Mech. "Do you ordinarily make a practice of going for the lower limbs of BattleMechs from your own side? What right have you to-"

"I recognize your voice, warrior. It is Aidan, is it not?"

"No, it is not. The name is Star Commander Jorge, of the Glory Station Garrison Cluster."

If she had not been wearing studded gloves, Joanna might have clapped her head against her forehead for making such a stupid mistake. Of course she could not call him Aidan. That was no longer his identity.

"Sorry, warrior. You sound like someone I knew once. Foolish. Aidan is long dead."

"You have not answered my question. I do not appreciate being shot at when I am on a friendly mission."

"You were about to make a meat patty out of my chief tech, Star Commander Jorge. I had no other way of preventing that."

Instead of replying, Aidan checked out the situation. When he saw the man crouching between the two roots, he muttered inadvertently, "Nomad."

The mutter was picked up on the commline circuit. It surprised Joanna. She had forgotten that Aidan and Nomad had worked together during Aidan's short period as an astech.

"Horse, you and the others stand by while I confer with the Star Captain," Aidan said. "I will be out of my 'Mech for a while."

He released the restraining belts that held him into the command couch and descended from the 'Mech to where Nomad lay, still staring upward at the gigantic Summoner.

"I never expected to see you again, Nomad."

"Same here. You look well. You have put on weight, muscle. Finally you look like a warrior."

"Did I not look like one before?"

"Not to me. And since you had failed your trial, there was no—"

"Quiet!" Why did everyone want to refer to his past identity today, he wondered. "Someone might hear."

"Who is there to hear? You, me, Joanna? We all know."

"Still-"

"Still nothing. I did not think a warrior could be so fearful. Anyway, what do you fear? If someone finds out, then—"

"Then I am dead. I can be nothing less than a warrior, and I can only be a warrior if I am Jorge."

"No, I can see in your eyes you will always be a warrior, whatever anyone does to you."

"I am told that nothing can be read in my eyes."

"Perhaps I read between the lines."

"You are deliberately mysterious. Can you move?"

"No. My arms, you see, they—"

"Let me lift you."

Aidan gently maneuvered Nomad out from between the tree roots and picked him up. He started to carry him away from the tree.

"A touching rescue," said Joanna, who suddenly stood in their path.

"Not as impressive as yours." He nodded toward his 'Mech's foot. "I will have to work on it to restore it to maximum mobility. There are already too many limping 'Mechs in this area."

Joanna's eyebrows rose, and Aidan explained about the Mad Doghe had encountered in the middle of Blood Swamp.

"Blood Swamp, eh?" she said. "Glory Station seems more attractive by the moment. Did you make contact with any of my other warriors?"

"Nothing so far."

"Does that mean that most of the Trinary did not survive the drop?"

"Not really. Some of them may not have regained consciousness. Others may be sending out distress calls. A peculiarity of this jungle is that it blocks out long-range communications. Even short-range is diminished. It is important for a BattleMech unit to stay close together here. One 'Mech strays away, loses touch, then becomes completely disoriented in the confusing maze of trees and eternal night. Radar and magnetic anomaly detectors are useless. Navigating by visual light is like groping in a green darkness. Thermal sensors are better, but shadows and objects can become so indistinguishable that you can end up crashing into an obstacle you swear is at least two meters away. Operating together, however, a unit can manage to get through the place without too much accidental damage."

"Sounds great. How easy is it to get to Glory Station?"

"It is something like traveling through hell in a paper 'Mech."

"At this moment we do not need colorful warrior phrases. Why do you not put Nomad down somewhere? He is able to use his legs, after all."

After Aidan had set the tech down, Joanna ordered Nomad to walk a short distance away so she could talk to Star Commander Jorge in private. It was obvious Nomad wanted to comment that there was nothing so vital it had to be kept from him. But caste was caste, and even he had to obey its rules.

"I had not expected to encounter you here," Joanna said after Nomad was sufficiently far away.

"No. It is not the way of the Clans for old comrades to keep in communication."

"Do not be sarcastic. I get enough of that from Nomad. And I am sure he is much better at it than you. Report to me on the composition of your unit, its personnel and firepower."

"What need have you to know that now?"

"If I am to take command,I must know what—"

"Take command?"

"I outrank you, quiaff?"

"Aff. But I have a mission to—"

"You still have that mission, Star Commander. And it is mine as well. I must assemble what has survived of my Trinary in order to join the combat over the Pershaw genetic legacy. Do you chafe at obeying me? Respond honestly."

"Yes, I do. This is my Star and you—"

"In battle conditions, rank is all, you know that. Step into the light."

Aidan walked into the thin shaft of light. Standing there felt like being on a stage in the harsh brilliance of a spotlight.

Joanna nodded. "I thought so. I saw your uniform was decorated, and we know warriors do not go into the field wearing battle citations. I suspected it must be the dark band. So you have not changed much, eh, Star Commander Jorge? You were obstinate as a cadet, and a troublemaker into the bargain."

"Is it obstinacy to fight for—"

"Silence, filth. You should not even be speaking to me unless I give you permission."

"With all due respect, Star Captain, I do not think that dark-band protocol applies during rescue missions."

"Oh, they do, Jorge, they do. And I will enjoy applying them."

"Joanna, I—"

He had not seen the whip she held in her right hand. She flicked it out lazily, just missing the side of his face.

"That is enough, Star Commander. We will restore proper discipline. You will address me only as ordered. We must respect the dark band. Nomad will instruct you in repairing the damage to your 'Mech's foot. He is quite good at that. Then we will proceed."

Aidan glared at her as she shouted for Nomad to return. She had arrogantly turned her back on him, and he wanted nothing more than to jump her, perhaps grab her neck and snap it, just as he had done to Bast. But, no, even if the way of the Clans and the dark band had not restrained him, he knew that he could not overcome Joanna so easily.

Nomad inspected the damage to the Summoner'sfoot. Following the tech's instructions, Aidan pulled a few charred pieces out of the long streak where Joanna had made hits. Nomad had him twist a couple of wires together, then alter something on a microprocessor board. Then the tech pronounced the 'Mech foot usable again.

"Jerrybuilding, but should work," Nomad commented. "It's something like pulling a thorn out of a lion's paw."

"There is a Terran legend—"

"So I have heard."

Because Nomad could not climb into Joanna's Hellbringeron his own, she climbed up to its cockpit with him on her shoulders. Aidan watched them ascend in silence, then he got into his own 'Mech.

"Star Commander Jorge, you must provide me coordinates for the probable locations of my Trinary survivors. Respond."

In a flat voice, Aidan gave Joanna the information she required.

"I do not know the names of your personnel," she said next. "I do not need to, for undoubtedly they are all freebirth filth. Like yourself." Since Joanna was one of the few who knew Aidan's true genetic identity, her insult was carefully calculated. Waves of long-forgotten but deep resentment surged through his body. Though he had not seen her in several years, the hate was fresh, unchanged. When the dark band was off, he knew now which particular warrior would be his adversary in the Circle of Equals—if Kael Pershaw ever restored the Circle.

"Star Commander, one of your warriors must travel as point, clearing the way. I will follow, then you and the other two 'Mechs behind me, quiaff.Respond."

Aidan felt as if he were back on Ironhold, having to do Joanna's bidding in her role as his training officer.

"Aff, Star Captain. Horse, you take the point."

"Yes, Commander."

Aidan watched on his monitor as Horse forged ahead of Joanna. On their private channel, Horse said softly, "Jorge, what is going on here? That arrogant bitch is bossing you around like a—"

"She has the rank, Horse."

"But she has never been on Glory before. Any sensible officer would defer—"

"She has the rank."

"You are capitulating too easily. That is not like you. Something is wrong. Is it the dark band? It is, isn't it?"

"Do your job, Horse."

"I did not know the dark band turned its wearer into a coward."

Aidan felt like screaming at Horse, but he kept his voice calm. "Do as you have been ordered, Horse."

Horse grumbled, but he began to lead the Star, restored temporarily to the full five Points, out of the clearing and into an area of jungle that seemed darker and more threatening than anything they had seen so far.

11

With every unit in which she had ever served, Joanna immediately became notorious for her cool indifference. No disaster, no tragedy, no death of a comrade could break through her wall of ice or rock. However, the wall broke down often enough to terrify her subordinates. She could become angry, even wrathful, in the face of incompetence and stupidity. Too many such eruptions had, in fact, kept her in rank for too long. And a certain strategic carelessness had led to her many failed attempts to win a Bloodname.

Her famed indifference was severely tested in Glory's jungle, as she and Aidan's Star came across one piece after another of crash debris. She saw Battle-Mechs so damaged they could never be repaired in time for the current struggle with Clan Wolf. She saw warriors of her command lying dead amid tangled wreckage or barely able to walk forward to greet her. She saw blood in pools and streaks, blood as dewfall from leaves. The scenes were enough to draw a tear or a sigh of regret from even a Clan warrior. She heard gasps over the commlink from the warriors in Aidan's Star, her Star now, but of course they were freebirth filth and could not be expected to maintain proper decorum. Still, even Joanna had to admit some inner pangs of revulsion. Not that she would display them physically or verbally. Even more than revulsion, she felt anger at the sheer waste of it all. Once she had had a Trinary to command. Now she was reduced—at least temporarily—to a Star of freebirth filth. And the few operable 'Mechs from the Trinary that were able to rev up and follow her Star. She nearly smiled when she thought of the phrase. Follow her star. That was an old saying, was it not, one that probably dated back to Terran history. In villages she had occasionally heard people say, "Follow your star and success will be yours." Villages were good places to hear useless conventional wisdom. Freeborns could buttress their lives with the most regrettable apothegms and catch-phrases. Warriors did not need them. For a Clan warrior, the only gains were those achieved personally. One succeeded at the Trials, one was victorious in war, one achieved a Bloodname, one contributed to the sacred gene pool. There was no need to follow a star or rely on faith or trust in fate, as lower castes often did. A warrior was his or her own reason for faith, his or her own director of fate.

At any rate, her unit now numbered nine. She, the four warriors from Aidan's Star, and the four remaining Trinary warriors. Other surviving personnel—techs and warriors whose 'Mechs were inoperable—were crammed into 'Mech cockpits for transport back to Glory Station, where they might be useful as reserves or support personnel.

Aidan had wanted to suggest leaving behind the techs and the warriors without 'Mechs, to be rescued later. The unit as a whole could move faster without placing extra burdens on the 'Mechs. But Joanna did not ask his opinion, and the dark band prevented him from volunteering advice. So what? he thought. The band, after all, made little difference when dealing with Joanna. She would not listen to advice, no matter who offered it. Once she had decided what the universe was about, it could never be anything else. She had been that way on Ironhold, and seemed to have changed little since then.

Now all the 'Mechs were gathered in a clearing. The vegetation was less dense over this part of the godforsaken jungle, and the night brought some slight illumination from the few stars seen through the canopy overhead. Perhaps the animals of the place were disturbed by the strangers in their midst for there were more sounds of movement among the trees, and chatterings, screeches, and calls seemed to increase rather than settle down for the night.

"Star Commander Jorge," came Joanna's hated voice over the comm, "we have, I believe, accounted for every warrior in the Trinary. Some techs are still among the missing but, well, they are merely techs, after all."

Aidan understood her only too well. By "merely techs," she was saying that they were, most of them, freeborns. And the trueborns among them had failed to qualify as warriors. So they were all expendable, disposable.

"Can you supply me the coordinates of this location so I may plot our journey to Glory Station?" Aidan enjoyed the privilege of remaining silent, awaiting her specific permission. "All right, all right. Respond, Jorge."

"I can transfer the program to your communications system, but I recommend you allow us to guide you and your warriors out. We have traveled this way before. There are many pitfalls, dangers ..."

Her sudden silence entertained Aidan. He pictured Joanna in her cockpit, squirming relentlessly, struggling with herself to give in for onceon a point.

"I agree," she finally said. "And Jorge . . . From now on, I give you permission to respond without awaiting my signal in any mission or tactical situation."

How much that concession must have cost her, he thought, and the idea gave him more enjoyment than a triple fusionnaire with a native wine chaser.

His pleasure was short-lived, broken by the distant sound of explosions and the flashes of light suddenly illuminating the jungle canopy.

"Freebirth!" Joanna shouted. Even over the comm, the stridency of her tone came through. "The battle has begun. We must get started. How far is it to Glory Station?"

"About a hundred kilometers."

"And the plain is nearby?"

"The site Kael Pershaw has chosen is ten or twelve kilometers from the station."

"That is too far. Plot our course so that we come out of the swamp on Glory Plain."

"With all due respect, Captain, I think we require some downtime in the station to make repairs and—"

"We have no time to backtrack to the station. We are Clan. It does not matter if our 'Mechs need repair. Considering the many we lost in the crash, I believe destiny has awarded us our present condition."

Aidan wanted to tell Joanna that she was getting carried away, but he held his tongue.

"Kael Pershaw is undermanned," she continued. "His bid is demeaned by Clan Wolf's deceptive strategy. If we are not on the field soon, the battle will be lost. Jorge, you and your unit are bid into the battle, quiaff?"

"Aff."

"I thought that, as you were freeborns, you might have been withheld. You must choose our route to Glory Plain."

"Star Captain Joanna, with all due respect, you just delegated me as your guide out of here. Not only do the 'Mechs need to be checked out, but we should go out into the field fully armed. We do not even know if the weapons systems of your surviving machines are completely operable. Not only that, but—"

Even though Joanna was not speaking, Aidan could sense her busily plotting and relishing her next words. "Star Commander Jorge, you seem to have no taste for combat. I had not thought your dark band was for cowardice."

"It was not. It was for—"

"Then why do you attempt to oppose my order? I propose getting right into battle and not slinking back to Glory Station to lick our wounds. We are fighters, we are warriors. You know all the chants. They do teach the chants to freeborns, do they not? Respond, please."

"They do, Star Captain."

"I see. Perhaps the words are not understood by freebirth filth in the same way we trueborns do. Indeed, for us it is more than mere understanding. We absorbthe words that proclaim the bravery of our warriors and the way of the Clans. They become part of our personality, our character. Listen to me, Star Commander Jorge, and do not protest like the freebirth filth you are. Plot our course out of his hellhole. Do you understand?"

"I understand. But there is one order . . . belay that word, one requestI must make of you and your warriors."

"Yes?"

"You must power-down your weapons systems, shut them off completely wherever possible."

"Your request mystifies me, Star Commander."

"We are going to be traversing one of the most cluttered terrains in the entire Clan empire. The area we will pass through is more forest than jungle. At times you will be surrounded by trees. A blast from a laser, an idle shot at a spooky shape in the darkness, and the entire forest can be instantly aflame around you. You could be incinerated or turned into a dessicated shell before you could eject. And, if you did manage ejection, chances are you would drop into a severe conflagration. With a battle raging at the other end of our journey, and the odds against us, we cannot afford to lose any more 'Mechs through accidents."

"All right, Jorge. I will give the orders. But when we are in Blood Swamp and can smell the foul stench of the Wolves, we jack them back to full power."

"Agreed."

"What right have you to agree, freeborn filth? The proper response is a mere affirmative, quiaff?"

He suspected she relished his hesitation as much as she liked the sound of her own words. "Aff," he said finally.

As she instructed the contingent to phase down their weapons, Horse's voice came over their private comm-line. "What kind of swamp gas were you emitting there? The whole forest instantly aflame? There's about as much chance of that happening as there is of me becoming ilKhan. The leaves positively drip with moisture, the bark is like sponges."

"I was counting on Joanna's ignorance of the terrain. Her weakness has always been impulsive action. I did not want her to endanger her . . . her commandwith a rash act, especially since a too-quick trigger finger could—"

"Wait, wait. You know I hate the trashborn and would not mind if they were all enveloped in fire. But I don't believe you are all that concerned about the safety of the command.This is something between you and Star Captain Joanna, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"Please, Horse, no contractions."

"Now I know that something is going on with you. You only get upset about contractions when you go back to seeing yourself as trueborn. You're on your high horse, Jorge. This Joanna has taken over your role and you're looking for revenge. I hear it in every response you give her. And maybe this urge for vengeance goes all the way back to Ironhold, am I right?"

"I just do not want trigger-happy intruders killing wildlife native to—"

"You are reaching for straws. Since when were you so worried about wildlife? You're angry at her for pulling rank. You want to exert control, even if you have to do it secretly. Pull strings from behind the scenes."

"Give it up, Horse. We have a mission here."

"Just don't put the rest of us in jeopardy for your own private vendetta, Jorge. We may not have the same genetic brand as you, but we have served you well."

"I know that, Horse. I grant you that I resent Joanna, and I would welcome the chance to get her into the Circle of Equals and crush her this time, but-"