Текст книги "Way Of The Clans"

Автор книги: Роберт Торстон

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The third officer started to pace among the sibko. Aidan saw that his fellow sibkin were like statues, each commemorating some fighting pose or other—fists reared back, struggle checked in sometimes absurd tableaux, legs locked in what seemed like physically impossible knots. He relaxed his grip on Orilna and sat back on his haunches. Orilna did the same. Some of the others shifted position.

The third officer, a man whose complexion was so bad that he seemed a genetic anomaly for the warrior caste, made odd sounds of disgust in his throat. "You call this fighting?" he finally said in a gravelly voice. "This is horseplay. It is soft, too soft. You call your caresses punches? Go home and spend your days among the fields of flowers, coupling and quoting the pornographic sections of The Remembrance.Create a freebirth in a real womb."

Aidan nearly vomited, so insulting and obscene was the third officer's last remark. Among warriors, any reference to freebirths or the freeborn was the deepest curse, the most profound of insults. To be born from the womb of woman was disgraceful. Male warriors could sire children with a woman from another caste, but the child would then be freeborn, a word synonymous with lowborn in Clan society. Warrior fathers never spoke to their freeborn children. There was no meanness in it; they were merely indifferent to their bastards.

"You," the third officer said, pointing toward Endo. "What is that on your lip? Do you grow vegetables there perhaps?"

Endo instinctively felt for the sparse group of hairs that he called his mustache. He was so proud of it.

The second officer now strode among them. "Facial hair is forbidden for cadets," she said. "You will shave that off by tomorrow at dawn or we will pluck it off hair by hair."

For a moment, Endo looked as though he were experiencing the sensation she described. Aidan ran his hand along the underside of his smooth chin, fearful that he might have grown a beard there and forgotten it.

"Stand up!" the first officer suddenly shouted. "All of you!"

All members of the sibko were on their feet within an instant, standing stiffly at attention.

"I am Falconer Commander Ter Roshak, but until you are yourselves warriors, you are forbidden to refer to me by name or by rank. You may not, in fact, address me directly or refer to me when talking to anyone else. The same holds true for your other officers, Falconer Joanna." The woman officer nodded. "And Falconer Ellis." A grunt from the other male officer. "Falconer Joanna, explain semantic code."

Ter Roshak was a tall man who held his left arm strangely. Slightly curved, but not in an anatomical way, it seemed to cling to the side of his body as if attached there by invisible wire. It barely moved as he spoke.

Falconer Joanna, bellowing instructions, wove her way among the trainees. "You must give full attention to us when we address you, but you must not respond to us. If words must be delivered, you must couch them in indirection. You do not understand what I mean. I will demonstrate."

Suddenly she stood in front of Aidan. She was a head shorter than he, but the difference in height diminished in no way the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes were blank, almost colorless, mean. Palms together, she held gloved hands in front of her face, tapped them against her chin. They were falconer's gloves, thick, decorated with sharp-pointed metal stars. The stars no doubt denoted some kind of military information, something about the military division called a"Star" in Clan fighting units, unless they merely represented the vanity of Falconer Joanna in some way.

"You are a tall one, cadet, quiaff?"

"Aff."

"Aff? What do you mean?"

"As you said, Falconer Joanna, I am tall."

She slapped his face hard, using the back of her right-hand glove effectively. He felt the points of some of the stars dig into his skin. Her eyes stared into his, probing for a reaction. Except for the first startled moment, his eyes held onto their characteristic coolness. Long ago he had vowed never to let his guard down for anyone, in or out of the sibko.

Falconer Joanna continued to glare into his eyes, without blinking. It was now a battle of self-control. Her mouth hardly moved as she spoke to him: "You spoke to me! You addressed me by name! You must respond to our direct questions, but never in any way talk tome. You must talk as if to the air. Do you understand?"

"Yes. This cadet must talk to the air. As he is doing now."

"You learn quickly, eyas. We weave among you cadets like the harsh, relentless winds of Ironhold," she said softly. "You follow our orders, immediately doing whatever we command. What is you name, eyas?"

"Aidan."

"Aidan. Put your arms around me, Aidan. Around my shoulders."

He was about to protest, but realized that meant addressing Falconer Joanna directly, offering an independent comment, so he did what she said.

"Good," she said. "A bit slow, but obedient. But you are like a tentative lover, holding your body away from mine. Come closer. Good. Your arms are strong, eyas, muscular. But I can take you."

She brought her arms up through his and roughly broke his grip. She hit him in the stomach, digging her glove in deeply so that the points of the stars scratched his skin beneath the thick hide of his clothing. He doubled over, he had to, and could not blink back the tears that sprang into his eyes. But despite the pain ravaging his insides, Aidan looked back into Joanna's eyes, refusing to show her even a hint of it. She seemed ready to hit him again, then suddenly backed away.

"You have falcon's eyes, cadet," she said quietly. "I will be watching you."

Aidan cursed inwardly. His first minutes in training and he had caught the attention of an officer with a fierce temper and a strong punch.

Nearby, Falconer Ellis was dressing down Tymm and giving him a series of punches on his arm and chest. Tymm looked about to cave in.

Then Falconer Commander Ter Roshak strode into the middle of the group, bellowing: "Can we send these little birds back to their nests? My time here on Ironhold must have some meaning. I will not waste it on a doomed project."

Up close, as close as Aidan was willing to look out the corner of his eye, Ter Roshak was an odd-looking individual. His face seemed made of jagged rock, with many signs of erosion. The eyes were hard to see beneath the overhanging cliff of his brow; his mouth a forbidding mountainside cave. Emphasizing the analogy of stone was the man's hairlessness, just a few blades of hair growing around his nearly shapeless ears, and none visible on his arms and legs, as if the ban on hair had included limbs as well as face. The falconer commander had seen more of life than Aidan ever wanted to, probably most of it in the cockpit of a BattleMech.

"Shall we test them, Falconer Commander?" asked Falconer Ellis, his terrible voice eager for something. Aidan could not tell what, but he immediately dreaded it. The man's pockmarked skin, its apparent malleability a strong contrast to Roshak's hardness, reddened with anger, or perhaps it was merely the assault of a wind that seemed to get more turbulent by the minute.

"Test them? Of course we will test them. I would do it myself but I can see in your eyes, falconers, that you would prefer to bid for the privilege."

As Roshak strode toward his subordinates, Aidan realized why the man's arm had appeared odd. It was not his real arm, but a prosthetic creation. He must have lost his arm in battle.

"It is not a bidding situation, Commander," Falconer Joanna said. "Twelve to one is too great odds even for warriors like myself and Falconer Ellis. However, I would be willing to divide them up seven to five. Seven for me, five for Ellis."

Ellis grunted. Aidan could hear the insult in the grunt, but was not sure how to interpret it further.

"Seven, Falconer Joanna? You are tired today, I suppose? I will take on eight of these paper-thin warriors, leaving four for you to toy with."

"Eight might be a strain for you,but I will offer nine. What say, Falconer Ellis?"

Ellis smiled and looked smug. "Nine? Bargained well and done, but I should add that I think Falconer Joanna has typically overstretched her ambition. So nine it is, Joanna. I will flick off the other three like flies."

Gazing at the bemused expression of the new trainees, Ter Roshak shouted at them: "You three!" He pointed to Bret, Orilna, and Quenel, who had the most muscular-looking body of the sibko. Muscular-lookingbut, oddly, less adept at feats of strength than many of the others. "Those are yours, Falconer Ellis. All of you: Show me your best. No cowardly holding back of your blows out of misplaced respect to an officer. We do not accept ritualistic respect. That is for freeborns. We prefer only that respect due us, that we have earned. That should be clear enough, even for nestlings like you. Falconer Joanna? Falconer Ellis?"

The nine chosen members of the sibko moved closer to each other, all of them facing Falconer Joanna nervously. About fifteen meters away, Ellis' trio was grouped similarly. Aidan felt Marthe's shoulder against his; the shorter Endo stood slightly in back of him.

"You seem to cower, eyasses," Falconer Joanna said, a pleased smile on her face. "Are you screamers, taken too soon from your nest, tender of the hood, pulling at the jesse, unable even to be at hack safely?" The terms belonged to falconry. Being at hack was the time of liberty and exploration before the bird was trained to the hunt; a jesse was the leather thong that tied a hooded bird to its block during periods of inactivity. Aidan thought the comparison uncomfortably apt for cadets and even trained warriors.

"You heard the commander. Fight, you freebirth mutants. Fight, you sib-bastards." Another low term, sometimes used when it was discovered that there were inferior strains in a sibko's genetic makeup.

Aidan looked past Joanna at the many other groups of trainees in the huge field. Some of them were now in furious activity. Some were assembling to march, others were already marching away from the landing site. In the distance he could see a brawl going on. Closer by were two groups, whose members were lying on the ground, with training officers urging them back to consciousness and mobility. The wind had died down, but the air was still bitter cold. Far away he noticed for the first time a chain of ragged mountains that looked like a line of teeth—littered, he feared, with the bodies of erstwhile trainees.

"You!" Falconer Joanna shouted, pointing to Endo. "There is no use in hiding behind your fellows. Step out, cadet!"

Endo walked around Aidan. He was obviously trembling, though it was more likely because of the frigid temperature than fear. No doubt he did feel fear, like Aidan, but it would be unsib to show it, especially to a warrior like Joanna.

Endo opened his mouth as if to speak, but Falconer Joanna's scornful glare made him think better of it. "Remember not to address me," she said softly, then, with a punch that was not at all telegraphed, she hit him in the stomach. Not just hit him, but dug her fist into his extra flesh as hard as she could while grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. She was still wearing her metal-studded falconry gloves. Recalling his own pain when Joanna had gut-punched him, Aidan winced to think how the blow must hurt Endo. "You are allowed to hit me, surat." Surat was a loathsome word, the name of a disgusting, monkey-like creature. "Hit me, surat. Hit me." Endo reared back and, grunting, attempted a roundhouse right that, if successful, would have addled Joanna's brain for a moment. But she was too quick for him. She blocked the punch and dug her fist into the exact same place on his belly. Endo's face turned red. She pushed him away. He stumbled backward, gasping for breath.

Standing straight, Falconer Joanna ceremoniously removed her gloves and casually tossed them onto the ground. "I do not need these, not against nestlings like you." She squared away, her body loose and ready. Her eyes scanned the still-standing members of the sibko, who now had edged together. Passed out, Endo was splayed out on the ground in front of them.

Suddenly Joanna ran at the group, yelling, "This is a free-for-all. Fight, you drooling fools!" She hit Bret with a forearm chop across the bridge of his nose, then she head-butted Tymm while kicking back at Orilna, making contact in a spot that might have been more painful to a male but nevertheless made Orilna double up.

"Do you still suck the metal teat, cadets?" Joanna yelled. "Fight me!"

Both Aidan and Marthe accepted the challenge. Aidan leaped at Falconer Joanna, his arms flailing as a diversionary maneuver. She brought up her arms to block the expected blow, but at the last minute, he drew his arms in, lowered his head and butted her just below the breasts. He had been aiming for her stomach, so when his head hit her at rib cage, he was momentarily stunned. Marthe, in the meantime, maneuvering from a position to Joanna's left, missed a grab at her neck but managed to get hold of her upper arm. As Marthe twisted the arm back, Joanna laughed. "Tug and tussle do not work here, whelp." With no trick, no diversion, with just a demonstration of her own strength, she brought her arm back to its former position, then—moving so quickly that

Marthe was caught by surprise—Joanna flung her body at Marthe, knocking the cadet backward with a shoulder blow that caught Marthe at the tip of her chin. As Marthe reeled back, eyes dazed, the now-recovering Aidan saw that she was definitely out of the fight. With a yell that would have frightened an ordinary person, he rushed at Falconer Joanna. The cry did not, of course, faze Joanna.

Leaping, letting out a scream that didscare Aidan, she sent him dizzy with a kick to his head. Around him the sibko had come to life, and as he fell, they all tried to pounce on the falconer. Reacting quickly to evade their smothering assault, she managed to make contact with her fists, elbows, knees, feet, head—all her destructive body parts dealing blows that bruised, stung, and pained, even injured, her attackers. Wading back into the melee once she was free, Joanna quickly dispatched the remaining sibkin and soon stood over a groaning, squirming mass of cadets.

She stared around her, her cruel eyes daring any of the downfallen to try again.

Aidan tried again.

He stood and rushed toward her with all the strength left in his legs. As he reached her, she brought her forearm up to ward off a weak blow that he had intended as a feint, but then he brought around his other arm slower than he wanted and she dealt him a punishing backhand right without bothering to ward off his attack. Another couple of solid punches, and Aidan was down on the ground again.

Above him, her eyes sent out the dare again.

Aidan dared.

Pulling himself to his feet, swaying from side to side, he clasped both hands together and, running forward, managed to hit Joanna on the side of her face with the joined hands. The impact seemed to surprise the falconer, who had arrogantly made no attempt to defend herself against his onslaught. She stumbled sideways, but regained her footing and turned to him, smiling. The smile was peculiar. Though her eyes retained their scornful cruelty, her smile was pleased. It seemed almost appealing. She walked toward him, the smile becoming friendly. She held out her hand.

"I see you do not like me, cadet. Good. I admire your tenacity."

With her outstretched hand, she took his and held it for a moment. Then, releasing his hand, without rearing back or giving any indication that a punch was coming, she jabbed him in the nose with her other hand, and he felt something break. She hit him again in the same place, and the pain was so bad he could not see straight—or, rather, he could see too well, in too many images. The third punch sent him back to the ground.

He looked up to see Falconer Joanna standing over him.

"Are you through yet, nestling?"

He tried to sit up, and she gently pushed him down. This time he stayed there.

"This one might test out all the way," she said to Falconer Ellis, who now stood beside her. As she spoke, she was putting on the falconer gloves, whose star-shaped studs caught some light and sparkled. She held each glove, palm side toward her, directly in front of her face as she pulled it on, grimacing as she stretched it tight. "He does not, as you saw, give up easily. Let us make his stay with us especially difficult."

Her compliments gave Aidan no pleasure. He was not sure he wanted her approval. He wassure he hated her.

She might have said more about him, but things blurred and he passed out.

He was probably not unconscious long. The next thing he knew, he and the others were being hauled to their feet by their now businesslike training officers.

Aidan felt around in his tunic pocket for something to wipe away the blood he tasted along his lips. He found nothing. He must be content to let the blood dry. His fellow sibkin were all standing now, looking confused and in pain.

"Well," Falconer Commander Ter Roshak said as he strolled among the sibko, "Joanna and Ellis have taught you something already. There is more to combat than your acrobatic but rather absurd struggles. A BattleMech does not move gracefully, nor is its jumping particularly acrobatic. Entertain us no longer with your morning exercises. We expect real effort from you, not ballet. Falconers, line them up and march them out."

Pushing and shoving, the falconers managed to get the sibko into two swaying but relatively even lines. Joanna saw to it that Aidan was beside her, at the head of one of the files.

"It is a long walk to your barracks. You will march every step of the way. In double-time."

Aidan could not imagine walking for long, much less marching, but as soon as Joanna gave the command, he put his left foot forward briskly, and with hatred of Joanna keeping him going, he somehow kept up with her. He had to. Whenever he did not, she kicked his nearest leg with the sharp metal toe of her boot.

At one point, just after they had joined a mass of other marching cadets, Joanna tapped him with her glove and said softly: "You are mine, cadet. You may resist and I sincerely hope you do. I will destroy you or make you the best damned MechWarrior of all these sibkos. I will probably destroy you. You will fail."

Her words angered him.

"Never," he said defiantly.

She pulled him out of line and threw him to the ground. "You are notto address me or any other officer. Understand?"

He had not forgotten that rule. He had chosen to answer Joanna. Without looking at her, he stood up and ran to catch up to the others, retake his place in line.

The march was long. There were times when Aidan felt such pain in his legs that he could only take one more step. Then another step after that. Every muscle in his body had discovered its own private, selfish ache and was competing with the others to be the biggest single pain of his lifetime.

He began to walk with his eyes closed, sensing direction and pace from the sibkin in front and back of him. Finally, there was a shouted halt. The two falconers now stood in front of them, eying them with distaste. Ter Roshak had disappeared. Aidan could not remember seeing him at any time during the march. He tried to relax his body, but he could feel every bruise Joanna had left there, plus some pains that could not logically have come from her assault.

Joanna took off her gloves and hooked them in her belt. A frail-looking man in a Tech jumpsuit brought her a towel. She pulled it out of his hand roughly, even though he was offering it to her. He seemed not to mind her rudeness. Methodically she wiped away sweat from her body, first burying her face in the towel, then scraping it against the back of her neck and vigorously rubbing down her glistening arms.

She threw the towel down to the ground, where the Tech quickly picked it up and retreated. Joanna meanwhile eyed the new trainees contemptuously. For a moment her gaze stopped at Aidan and she nodded.

For years he had spent most of his time with the sibko and their sib-parents, older warriors whose combat was behind them. They were in charge of the education and training for the sibko's childhood and adolescence. The sib-parents had been tough, but the sibko had come to love them. He felt he would never feel such affection for Falconer Joanna. He was too frightened of her for that. It was the first time in his life he had felt fear of another. Looking around him, he saw his fear duplicated on his sibkin's faces, as if imprinted there, a new expression upon faces that already resembled each other.

They were assigned their barracks, a thin-walled wooden building with visible cracks through which the wind blasted. The falconers told them to get undressed and get some sleep in their assigned bunks. There would be uniforms in the morning and the beginning of training. "After tomorrow," Falconer Ellis said in his rough voice, "today's activities will seem like frolic to you."

Inside supposedly indestructible boots, Aidan's feet felt less eternal. When he released them from the footwear, arches ached, toes were bloodstained, heels showed calluses the size of pebbles. After undressing, he literally fell onto his bunk, whose thin, uncomfortable mattress stank of the fears and misery of the generations of cadets who had been, it seemed to him, condemned to this place at other times. Even with a scratchy blanket wrapped around him, he could not get warm. He wished he could go to Marthe, snuggle up to her for warmth, take her in his arms and—Aidan was asleep before he could take this comforting, if not warming, fantasy to its logical conclusion.