Текст книги "Way Of The Clans"

14

At first the neurohelmet seemed heavier than it was. His neck muscles strained at its weight, and he felt an odd discomfort in the various places where the neurohelmet touched him. And so heavily did it make his scalp perspire that he wondered if it would soon cause a short circuit that would damage the functions of both his brain and the neurohelmet.

From the headgear's built-in commlink, he heard the voice of Falconer Alexander, the instructor for this particular phase of training. Alexander's voice was flat, un-involved, with none of the clipped harshness so common to training officers. He was giving a rundown on the neurohelmet's capabilities, all of which had already been drummed into the cadets' minds ever since the early days of training.

Aidan glanced back at Nomad, who was slouched lazily in the other seat in the testing chamber. The Tech was there, Aidan knew, to disconnect the helmet quickly if he panicked or something went wrong with the equipment. He derived some confidence from the fact that Nomad appeared to think neither possibility was likely.

"Cadet Aidan," Alexander said, "your neurohelmet will now be activated. The first sensations may be a bit disconcerting, but as you know, these will diminish with further use of the equipment. Are you ready?"

"Ready, sir."

One of the pleasures of this phase of the training was that the regulation against cadets addressing officers was relaxed. They were, in fact, encouraged to speak freely. Aidan suspected that the practice was motivated as much by psychology as it was born of the necessity for instant communication between cadet and trainer. After all the repressiveness of their previous training, the cadets could now draw confidence from the fact that officers considered them worth listening to. "Neurohelmet . . . activated!"

The moment Aidan heard the word, a sudden, almost deafening hum seemed to surround him. At the same moment, his head began to throb from a pain that felt like electric shock. His vision blurred. He felt like he was going to pass out.

"Easy, cadet," came Alexander's calm voice. "We all feel disoriented the first time. That is why we check you out on the neurohelmet in a test chamber. In a 'Mech, you would be too dizzy to control balance, and it would go kerplop, face-up in the mud."

There were several staticky sounds in his ear, which Aidan knew were Alexander making adjustments on the electronics of the neurohelmet. Momentarily Aidan felt downhearted. Until now, everything involved in running a 'Mech had seemed simple. It was as if the neurohelmet was being introduced at this time as a way of unnerving him and the other cadets. He had an urge to pull the thing off, cast it away from him as far as possible, and announce that he would run a 'Mech without using the contraption as a conduit for his brain waves.

"I can see that certain adjustments still need to be made," Alexander announced.

Great, Aidan thought, maybe you would like to reach in and rearrange my brain matter while you are at it.

"Shut your eyes," Alexander continued, "and concentrate on a world lovely in its colors in a slow orbit around a distant sun. See the rich hues almost in a pattern on the planet's surface, the suggestion of orange rivers and yellow mountains. A village, blue-skinned villagers going about daily routines amid rainbows of buildings, traveling on purple roads ..."

Alexander went on in this vein, speaking very softly, and Aidan found he could visualize the scene the man was describing. It made him feel better. An odd pain was still in his head, but the hum was slowly weakening. He thought he could smell sea brine, but that must have been some effect of the neurohelmet on his brain.

"All right, now," Alexander said. "Concentrate again on the neurohelmet. Are you yet in pain, cadet?"

"It is fine now."

"No bravado here. The cockpit is the one place where you must maintain common sense. The bravery is what you do with the 'Mech, not some empty need to show others how courageous you are by not admitting discomfort. I know that the neurohelmet is not fully adjusted. It never is on my first try. Now, are you in pain?"

"Some. But it is better. And there is a hum, a . . ."

"Yes. We know about the hum. It has never been defined, but we can eliminate it. It will come back at times, and chances are you will not notice it. Some believe that a pilot may be harmed by it, gradually losing hearing. That I know nothing about. The half-deaf pilots I have seen are few. Techs more often suffer hearing loss in their jobs."

Inadvertently, Aidan glanced back at Nomad, who seemed drowsy. Of course, he was not wearing a headset and did not hear anything that Alexander said.

"Go back in your mind to that village. If you like, you might imagine a troop of young maidens all come to serve you, the heroic pilot who has come with his BattleMech to save them."

"Why should I think such outrageous thoughts?"

He heard a soft laugh from Alexander. "Oh, you are another of the unimaginative cadets? The Clan does not turn out romantics, does it? Do you not dream?"

"Well, yes, I do, sir."

"And do your dreams bear any relationship to your ordinary day?"

"They do not. They are filled with fantasies."

"And you are not comfortable with fantasies, I surmise."

"Well, yes, that is true."

"I have found great uses for imagination. It is even useful for battle strategies, even for unimaginative Clan warriors. Cultivate it, cadet. It may save you some day."

"Yes, sir."

"At any rate, I have made some more adjustments while we talked and the neurohelmet may be more comfortable now."

"Sir?"

"You may call me Falconer Alexander, or just Alexander."

"This is difficult when you are just a voice in my ear and I do not know you in any other way."

"And you never will. I never meet cadets of the Jade Falcon or any other Clan. I am an untouchable."

The man's words were as dizzying as the contact with the neurohelmet, especially as he followed them with a weird chuckle.

"I do not understand, Alexander."

"You were not meant to. You see, I am not of the Clan, or rather I am a Clansman from the other side of the bed."

In confusion Aidan shook his head, trying to clear it so that he could comprehend Alexander's words. But the action was a mistake. Something in the neurohelmet was affected by it. The hum increased and he felt a sudden twinge of mild pain in his head.

"Easy now, cadet. I can see you still need some fine-tuning in getting used to the helmet, quiaff?"

"Aff. Alexander, what did you mean about being an untouchable?"

"Just a fancy allusion, boy. What I mean is that I do not really belong. I was a bondsman, snatched off a Periphery vessel by Clan Jade Falcon. Through many misadventures, and some truly painful hard labor as the slave that a bondsman can be, my abilities were discovered and I was welcomed into the Tech caste. But somehow I remain close to my origins as a citizen of the Periphery, and you Clansmen will always be a mystery to me."

"Perhaps you are the mystery, Alexander."

Alexander's sigh was audible over the commlink. "That was impressive, cadet. Very unClanlike, that comment."

"I do not know what you mean."

"Of course you do not. You know nothing but the Clan, quiaff?"

"Aff. I think so, anyway. I know mostly the life of the sibko and the trainee."

"Well, there is much to come. I envy you."

"Why?"

Alexander's voice suddenly switched from soothing to irritable.

"Stop asking questions, boy. We have work to do."

During the course of a long morning, Alexander worked with Aidan and the neurohelmet, making—it seemed to Aidan—many adjustments. But soon it felt better. He felt no pain and the hum was barely noticeable.

After, he asked Nomad about Alexander.

"Heard of him," Nomad said. "Keeps to himself. Says things no one understands. Odd person. I do not like unusual people."

That seemed to close the discussion. After the introductory sessions with the neurohelmet, Aidan never heard of Alexander again.

* * *

All four remaining members of Aidan's sibko qualified on the neurohelmet during that day. Falconer Joanna remarked offhandedly that it was quite rare for an entire group to master the brain-wave headgear that quickly. "As a result we may have the initiatory ritual tonight," she said, and left before anyone could ask her what an initiatory ritual was.

Before nightfall, the sibko's clothing for the ritual arrived at the barracks in four large metal boxes. The four survivors gathered around the boxes, left neatly piled by the messengers, and did not know exactly what to do. Bret wondered if they should dance around them. Rena said maybe they should ignore them. Marthe, impatient, said just open them and get the job done.

Each opened the box with his or her name on it, and each found a different uniform. When they had donned them, Aidan noted that the clothing seemed to transform them from relatively drab-looking trainees into figures that bore at least a resemblance to actual warriors.

Bret wore a cape of falcon feathers dyed bright red, with a head drooping behind as a kind of unused hood. Underneath the cape was a dress uniform of Jade Falcon green with silver buttons, each delicately fashioned with a fighting BattleMech pictured on its surface. Red stripes went down the trousers of the outfit. He was particularly pleased with a dark leather belt with a massive Mech's-head belt buckle. Aidan's garments were similar, but his cape was black, and his jade green uniform was black-striped, while his buttons depicted a flying hawk in delicate, filigreed design. His belt buckle was a side view of a falcon going in for the kill (or at least that was how Aidan chose to interpret it.) Rena's cape was dyed a light green and her button-and-belt motif was a falcon with wings outstretched. For Marthe, the sender had chosen a deep purple cape. Her buttons and belt were decorated with various images of 'Mechs in ground combat. All of them were equipped with high black boots polished to a radiant sheen. The outfits had been precisely tailored to fit the cadets assigned to them. There was no way they could have exchanged uniforms.

They had dressed in some confusion, not knowing what to expect. What it turned out to be was Joanna leading two ranks of the camp personnel in a march. Directly behind her were four falconers from other training units. Joanna and the falconers were dressed similarly to the cadets, but with many medals and achievement patches on the basic uniform. Behind them was a line of orderlies and other support personnel, each in starched work uniforms. They walked in precise rhythm, reminding Aidan of what a band of 'Mechs might look like if they were to march in synchronous pattern. The idea was slightly ridiculous, but with Joanna and her cohorts, the march was impressive and even pleasing to look at because of its unified movements.

Joanna stopped at the door of the barracks, where the four resplendently dressed cadets stared out in disbelief. The buttons of her uniform depicted the stately Jade Falcon itself, perched apparently on an aerie, surveying for potential prey. With a gesture in which her hands seemed to revolve on her wrists like a 'Mech's arm rolling on its torso, she bid the cadets to come forward. They walked uncertainly to her.

Without speaking she gestured the cadets to line up in much the same way they would on the parade ground. Going from trainee to trainee, she inspected their clothing, managing to find something to adjust in each outfit. She straightened Aidan's collar, wiped a smudge off Rena's top button, adjusted Bret's belt buckle, and retied Marthe's cape. When satisfied, she backed away from them and rejoined the others, who had remained at stiff attention the whole time.

Joanna's voice broke the silence. "I am the Oathmaster! All are bound by this conclave, until they are dust and memories, and then beyond that time until the end of all that is."

"Seyla," whispered the gathered throng.

Her next words Aidan recognized as spoken in a Clan dialect of mountain tribes, but he could not make out the sense. As part of a ritual, perhaps the words signified something about origins. It was said that Nicholas Kerensky retired to a mountainside cache where Battle-Mechs and other war weapons were hidden, and there the concept of the Clans came to him. It was also said that he conceived the idea from watching several 'Mechs lined up in what seemed to him like a fighting attitude. He had been brooding about how to unify his dispersed and combative people so that one day they could return to the Inner Sphere and restore the Star League to its wayward worlds; a more immediate problem was how to do it while adhering to his father's fiercely austere theories about the need for the people to sacrifice on altars of Spartan necessity. While considering all this, he either fell asleep or had the vision. Whichever it was, he saw the 'Mechs of the cache transformed into a fighting horde, exhilarated by the blood and glory of warfare. When the dream or vision was over, he saw that he could organize his warriors in a new way, eliminate the Regular Army, with all its unfortunate sympathies to Inner Sphere political divisions, and reform it into separate clans that would compete with each other while devoting their energies to preparing for the return to the Inner Sphere. Each clan would have its own allegiances, its own particular beliefs. These would replace the old alliances and sympathies.

Whether she chanted of the Kerensky vision or of something else, Joanna's voice built to a deafening crescendo. Then she stopped suddenly, saying: "You are no longer cadets. Whether or not you succeed in becoming warriors, you have left the sibko and will be on your own in whatever caste to which you are assigned. Tonight we initiate you into your future, while you give up the ties to your past. Come with us."

Signaling to the others, she marched them away, gesturing for the four cadets to take up the rear and follow.

They came to a clearing lit by many fires. The group gathered around the flames of various fires, apparently taking up already chosen positions. Joanna stood alone by the largest blaze, in the center of the clearing. The firelight illuminated the Jade Falcon figure on her belt, making it seem alive and fierce. Its flickering was also reflected in her eyes, whose own natural flames had always been powerful enough. Now her eyes seemed those of some mythic demon or dragon, glowing with a mystery that Aidan knew could probably never be comprehended. It occurred to him that Joanna was certainly beyond his ken and always would be.

Joanna raised her arms above her head. Again the firelight changed her aspect. Something shiny in the sleeve of her dress uniform caught the light and sent it rocketing outward. Blinding flashes swept by the cadets' eyes briefly. For a moment Aidan was gripped by a fear that the fire would grow and envelop them all.

Then Joanna walked through the fire, actually took a step into it, then another, then was on the other side of it, walking toward them, no hint of pain in her glowing eyes or even the knowledge that she had passed through the fire.

Taking Marthe's hand, she told the other cadets to also link hands. Aidan grasped Marthe's other hand, and also took Rena's. Bret, looking frightened, followed Rena. Joanna led them forward toward the fire. It was a moment before Aidan realized that they, too, would walk through the flames. He had a sudden urge to release the hands of both women and bolt this clearing. But such timidity was, he knew, unClanlike. He felt all his muscles tighten as he continued forward.

Joanna again stepped into the fire without looking back. Marthe followed her without the slight hesitation that Aidan felt. But he was pulled forward by Marthe as he, in turn, drew Rena toward the fire. He wanted to close his eyes as he stepped into the flame, but his fascination with his own possible demise kept them open. Though he was only within the flames briefly, it seemed long enough to burn him to a shriveled darkness. The heat was tremendous, but he felt none of it within his high boots. It was then he realized that the footwear must have been treated beforehand to resist the flames. Still, as the flames warmed the rest of his clothing, he did not feel at all safe and was glad when he had stepped onto the ground on the other side of the fire.

After Bret had cleared the fire, Joanna lined them up and gestured toward the path they had just taken. "On the other side of the flames is your old life, the life of the child, the mistakes and the foolishness, successes and failures ... the members of your sibko who have not reached this point. On the other side are the useless fantasies and unClanlike ambitions. Your life is no longer your own. It is ours. We are all connected in a vast network. Your 'Mech cannot move without you, just as you are guided by your superiors. We all are controlled by the rules of our individual Clan, and the Clans must work together for our common goal, the restoration of the Star League. Complex as these links are, each is crucial to the others. When one is broken, others along its line are weakened. If you fail in a battle, others may be killed. If you bid ineffectively, you may be taking away the futures of others. If you show traits that are weak or even evil, others may copy them, transmitting the weakness or evil in rays throughout your part of the network. So you are more than an individual, you are many individuals with each act you perform, each word you say, each gesture you make. You must think of this with each act, word, and gesture. If you are a Clan warrior, you are not like the effete warriors of the Inner Sphere, with their showy displays of empty valor. You are strategist when you bid, tactician when you fight, warrior in winning battles, hero when you return with your unit intact. Cadets, you are on the verge of becoming Clan warriors. Think on what I have told you."

Joanna had barked out this speech in the same manner she gave orders during training. Now her voice lowered and she spoke quietly and precisely: "It is time for the trial by sword."

The cadets exchanged puzzled glances. None of them had ever heard of anything called a trial by sword.

Joanna clapped her hands and an orderly brought forth four swords on a dark blue cloth. She lay them at Joanna's feet. Joanna clapped her hands again and the four falconers joined her by the fire. Their faces were grim as each picked up a sword and took up a position in a semi– circle. Each crouched and held his or her sword in a battle position, pointing outward.

"In a battle, trust is important. If we, as Clan warriors, do not trust the others above and under us, then he must fail. Cadets, each of you must now face one of these swordsmen."

Still mystified, the four cadets arranged themselves so that each faced a different swordsman. Joanna walked to a point directly in back on the sword-wielding foursome. Holding her arms out, she addressed the cadets: "Each Clan warrior must trust all others. An untrustworthy warrior would also break the links. You, my cadets, must trust these four swordsmen. At my signal you must run toward the warrior in front of you, right at his sword. You will trust him or her not to kill you. This ritual goes back many generations of Clan warriors. When my arms come down, run. More, you must run as fast as you can. I can tell if you shirk. I know each of you as well as I ever knew any warrior with whom I served, any member of my own sibko. I can read your faces as well as your actions. For the time being, as has been true since I first encountered you, I am your god."

She stared at the cadets for what seemed to Aidan like an eternity. He set his feet for the run, wondering if he should just turn his back on this ritual and walk out of the clearing. He had an urge to defy Joanna, but looking into the face of the swordsman in front of him, her face dour but firm, he knew he was not afraid of the woman or her sword.

Joanna's arms came down slowly. When they reached her side, Aidan and the others broke into a sprint. He bore down on the swordsman, focusing on the sword itself. There was no wavering. The swordsman held it firmly. Was it possible this was a suicide ritual because Joanna or Ter Roshak had decided none of the four were worthy of becoming warriors, so they must be killed? No, Joanna had said they must trust. He must trust this woman, even though he had never seen her before. And only because she was a warrior of the Jade Falcon Clan. At his last free step, with the sword still pointed at his chest, he leaped at it.

And landed at the woman's feet, on his face. As he learned later, all four swordsmen had whipped their swords out of the way at the last possible instant. It was, as Joanna had said, merely a ritual.

As Aidan and the others stood up, Joanna walked around the line of swordsmen. "You see," she said, "the act of running at the sword required trust. You had to know deep down that you can trust your comrades—that is the way of the Clan. It is essential to know that completely. If you doubt us, then we doubt you."

She walked slowly among the group of cadets. Aidan and Bret were brushing dirt off their clothing. Marthe apparently had run at her sword without falling to the ground as a consequence.

Joanna stopped by Rena, who stood quite still. Without warning, the falconer, with a clean swift stroke, drew her sword across Rena's cheek. Rena backed away two steps but did not bring her hand up to her face. A line of blood appeared at the cut and began to drip down the side of her face in several thin lines. Aidan noted that the blood seemed dark, almost black, but perhaps that was a trick of the firelight.

Joanna peered into Rena's eyes. "You hesitated," she said. "It was perhaps only half a second and you did not quite stumble, but I saw clearly that you nearly dodged sideways, that your step slowed before you completed your run. For an instant in time, your trust deserted you. Perhaps you are not ready to be a warrior, quineg?"

"Not so," Rena said. "I am ready. But you are correct, Falconer Joanna, I did—I do not know how to describe it—I did flinch, nearly hesitate, had a moment where I did not expect the sword to move. I deserve the punishment you gave me."

"Of course you deserve it. You have no reason even to hint at a doubt. The hint is like the flinch before the sword. Yet let me say your honesty is to be praised. Do you wish to continue your warrior training?"

"Yes!"

Joanna nodded her head. "Then you will. Everyone, form a circle and link hands."

The training officer who had held the sword for Rena gave her a med-cloth, treated to staunch blood at a touch. Rena held it on her cut for a short time. When it came away, the bleeding had stopped, although the cut itself was red-rimmed and appalling to look at.

In the circle Aidan linked hands with Marthe and an orderly. Joanna stood in the center of the circle, by the fire again, now holding one of the swords. New wood had been heaped on the fire and the flames burned high. When Joanna began to speak again, she swept the sword through the highest flames at her words' many points of emphasis.

"Hail the Jade Falcon as it swoops down on its prey!"

"Seyla," came the response of all.

The Clansmen in the circle, including the cadets, affirmed in the same ancient way each of her bellowed statements. They were all used to the ceremonial forms. Most of her words described the greatness of the Jade Falcon Clan. There were praises of heroism, war, the proper behavior of warriors, the values of all the Clans, the greatness of the Kerenskys. The ceremony lasted for more than an hour, at the end of which Joanna's voice had become hoarse. She ended by yelling, "Thus is the way of the Clan!" She attacked the flames with her sword as if they were the souls of her enemies.

"Seyla," the circle breathed as one.

Then Joanna repeated the phrase, her sword working at a feverish pace now.

And again did they affirm, "Seyla." Several times more did Joanna bellow, "Thus is the way of the Clans!" Each time there followed the chorus of voices, "Seyla!"

Then Joanna held her sword pointed high above her head. "The Clan will prevail!"she shouted.

"Seyla," came the answering, massive shout to the heavens.

Aidan was exhilarated, adrenaline rushing through his veins as the fever pitch of the ceremony combined with the way he had risked his life at swordpoint. He had always wanted to be a warrior, but sometimes had doubted his own worth. Tonight there were no doubts. He wouldbe a warrior of the Clans. He had to be.