Текст книги "Mercenary's Star"

Автор книги: Уильям Кейт

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3

 

Galatea's F8 sun was a tiny white disk against the shimmering heat of early afternoon. In spite of the heat, the starport field bustled with activity, especially near Bay Twelve where a DropShip crouched ponderously in its launch pit. Weaving intricate choreographies between the ship and Bay Twelve's service area were long, low vehicles whose electric motors keened under the strain of provision canisters piled high on their flatbeds. LoaderMechs lifted those canisters to DropShip crewmen, who were busy stowing them.

Bossing the whole scene was the cargo officer and her assistants. They watched to see that each cargo container and load pallet went aboard ship in computer-directed order that facilitated stowage and ensured proper mass balance for launch. Conspicuous m their khaki uniforms and peaked, black-billed caps, two port officials also watched from the blue-black shadows of the ship's hull and made cryptic entries on their handheld computer pads. Except for dark patches of sweat along their spines and underarms, these khaki-clad officials remained immaculate in the heat.

Camouflaged in mottled grays and greens, a 20-ton Stingermoved with surprisingly graceful sweeps of mechanical legs and arms across the heat-beaten field toward the DropShip's Number One ‘Mech Bay. Four ‘Mechs were already on board. Two more remained in the service area undergoing final touch-ups by Techs wielding torches, polyepox, and spraytanks of green-gray paint. Everywhere the men of the mercenary unit to which the ship belonged worked at an unrelenting pace to ready their equipment for final boarding and boost.

Grayson Carlyle double-checked the cargo manifest, which ran on interminably: fuel and spare parts; enough provisions to last nearly two hundred people for months; technicians' tools and repair assemblies; seven BattleMechs and the small mountain of spares, parts, supplies, and ammo that kept them combat-ready; and the larger mountain of military stores their new patron was shipping outbound with them.

"Everything in order, Captain," one of the port officials said, handing Carlyle a stylus. The gold piping on his collar indicated that he was a lieutenant, and the expression on his face marked him as a bored one. "Your manifest checks and your port fees are paid. All you need now is final clearance for boost."

Grayson glanced up to read the ID badge pinned to the man's khaki tunic. "Right, Lieutenant Murcheson." He scrawled his name across the compad's screen, pressed the enter key, and handed pad and stylus back to the PA officer. "We're just waiting to hear from our patron. My First Officer is working out some last-minute details with him. Can I offer you gentlemen something to drink in the meantime?"

Murcheson manipulated the touch plates that transmitted authorization to Galatean Control Center. "Thanks, no. On duty, y'know." The officer was looking up, squinting against the light of the brilliant sky. High overhead, two men in the basket of a cherrypicker gantry were putting the finishing touches on to a coat of paint that obscured the DropShip's name arid numbers. "So, you're going out covert, Captain?" Showing polite interest in response to Carlyle's hospitality, Murcheson's voice was carefully neutral but friendly. The officials on Galatea cared nothing about where a ship bearing supplies enough to start a small war was bound—or why.

Still, Grayson answered carefully.

"Just afresh coat of paint, Lieutenant. No sense in having Phobosshow her years to our new employer, eh?"

"Well, if you say so." The man's tone suggested that he did not believe the young mercenary commander, but also that it did not concern him one way or the other. "Request clearance for final boost on the port control frequency when you're ready, Captain Carlyle. And good mission to you – whatever it is."

Grayson watched the PA men walk toward the skimmer that had brought them out from the Galaport Control Tower, then glanced back up at the men on their way down in the cherrypicker basket. The weathered letters that had identified the ship as Phobos,Number Two

DropShip of the free trader Invidious,had been painted out. A new name and ID would not be added until the ship was safely out in space, far from any prying eyes. The PA man had been right. This wouldbe a covert flight, and the fewer who knew the ship's new identity, the happier Grayson would be.

He dropped his eyes to the men and women hard at work in the harsh sun, and his hands knotted at his sides. Grayson was not certain that all the security measures in the book would be enough to see them through this mission. The problem was not security, but what awaited them at their destination.

Damn,he thought. Just what have I gotten us into?Devic Erudin had better be right about enemy positions on his home world, or the Gray Death's career would likely end abruptly and bloodily with its second campaign.

"Captain?"

Grayson turned to see Sergeant Ramage. The small, wiry, and dark native of Trellwan was one of the men who had joined him when the Gray Death finally left that world. Senior to all of the unit's support infantry in both age and experience, Ramage was Grayson's head NCO in command of the Legion's ground troops.

"Yes, Ram." The sergeant's one Trell name had been even further abbreviated to the inevitable nickname. "How's the boarding going?"

"On schedule, Captain. But some of the boys are a little...well...worried. There's a lot of scuttlebutt making the rounds."

"If there's anything to tell, I'll pass it on. You might remind them that they're free to stay here if our arrangements don't suit them."

Ramage grinned. "That's one thing we don't have to worry about, Captain! Hell, the thought of being left herewould be enough to make 'em volunteer to assault Fortress Luthien itself!"

The sound of a ground vehicle brought Grayson’s attention back to the field. A tall, attractive young woman in a worn and faded military tunic climbed out, paid the driver, and strode toward Grayson. Grayson's second in command, Lori Kalmar had proven her considerable aptitude for ‘Mech combat during her stubborn defense at Thunder Rift on Trellwan. At the moment, however, trouble clouded her face.

"Problems?" he asked.

Lori shook her head sharply. "No. He had the money. Everything is arranged through ComStar. All we need now is final port clearance, and we're set."

So. They were committed. Grayson had never doubted Erudin's word. He'd seen the samples of the tight, malleable, gray-white metal, heard Erudin’s explanation that vanadium was fairly common on some worlds, but nonexistent on Galatea. A ComStar proctor had already assayed the shipment Erudin and his people had smuggled out of Verthandi, and quoted them an open market valuation of almost a million C-bills. Part of that had gone to buy weapons and military equipment desperately needed by the revolution on Verthandi, equipment that Tor would ship to that world along with the Gray Death Legion. Grayson assured the owl-eyed man that what was left was enough to hire the Legion and Tor's ship. With the final contract signed and deposited with the money at the ComStar offices on Galatea, they had cleared the last hurdle and the mission was go.

Lori was clearly not happy about it, though. For that matter, neither was Grayson. What tormented him still were doubts about the Legion's chances once they grounded on Verthandi. The Invidiouswould have to drop them from the Norn system's jump point, then high-tail for another system, leaving the Legion utterly on its own. If the revolution succeeded, well and good. But if it failed....

Grayson lifted his eyes again toward the brassy, hot sky of Galatea. House Kurita was not known for its leniency toward mercenaries captured while backing an opponent, especially ah opponent that dared to rebel against the Lord of the Draconis Combine. The Verthandi contract was, in every sense of the phrase, a win-all, lose-all proposition.

It was a chance, Grayson knew, but that was about all it was. What would the others think when he told them? Then again, what was he leading them into? Would they even follow? Though no military unit can afford the luxury of democratic organization, mercenary groups usually allowed its members a bit more discussion of assignments than did regular forces. Many a contract had been voided and wars lost because a mercenary army refused the job, even after its leader had arranged the deal. The reason Grayson worried now was that Devic Erudin's proposal sounded less like a joke and more like a suicide pact.

Lori seemed to read his mind. "I don't see that we have much choice. Captain."

He smiled, though the expression required effort. Almost...he almost reached out to touch her, but the cool distance in her voice restrained him. After Trellwan, he had promised to give her time. Lori, what's come between us? We were close...once....

He cut off that thought immediately. There were problems enough without agonizing over that.He managed to keep his voice light. "You’re right. Either we starve on Galatea or we're stranded on Verthandi. But that doesn't make it any easier, does it? Not with our people counting on us."

* * * *

If it's true that the ideal spy would have trouble attracting a waiter's attention in a restaurant, the nondescript, middle-aged man in a Galatean Port Authority NCO uniform was just such a one. He'd been at Lieutenant Murcheson's side during the talk about port clearance with Captain Carlyle and had said nary a word. Syneson Lon had been alert enough, though, hoping to pick up something that Carlyle might have carelessly let slip about his plans or his destination. He'd been the one to point out to Murcheson that the Phoboswas very likely headed out on some covert mission, hoping the Lieutenant would mention it and elicit just such a slip from the young Captain-There were people, powerful people, who were keenly interested in the young merc leader and where he might now be headed with his men. Lon leaned now against an angle in the blast pit wall near Bay Twelve, studying the DropShip Phobosthrough compact, but powerful, electronic binoculars.

The spy had already amassed considerable information on Carlyle and his unit. He knew about the aged freighter Invidiouskeeping station at the Galatean system's zenith jump point and about its captain ... Renfred Tor. He knew about each of the MechWarriors who had signed on with the Gray Death Legion during recent weeks, and was aware of Carlyle's meetings with this fellow Devic Erudin at the Starspan Hotel. Lon still had not learned from where Erudin came, and that worried him. Erudin's homeworld was no doubt where the Gray Death Legion was headed next. So far, the spy's only clue was that the Legion's BattleMechs were being painted in camouflage suitable to a world of jungles or heavy forests.

When the groundcar carrying Lori Kalmar pulled up near to where the Legion's commander was standing, Lon focused the binoculars on her. Kalmar's dossier reported that she was a native of Sigurd, a world in some Bandit Kingdom beyond the Periphery, until she'd met Carlyle on Trellwan. Lon smiled, thinking she was well worth studying with his binoculars.

When he touched a control, the 'nocs focused in on the faces of the man and woman as they talked. He could see that Kalmar looked worried. Though these binoculars were equipped to record the movements of their lips for later study, the spy had become a lip reader himself through long practice. From this angle, he couldn't quite make out Lori's words, but Carlyle was easily visible.

"You're right," he was saying. "Either we starve on Galatea or we’re stranded on Verthandi." The words were as clear as if Syneson Lon was hearing them spoken aloud. Smiling broadly, he lowered the binoculars.

So, now he knew exactly where the Gray Death Legion was bound.

4

 

Even in his father's unit, Grayson had considered staff briefings to be interminable as the various department heads invariably wrangled over points that the young Grayson had found mindlessly tedious. So much of that wrangling had been over money, which had been of little concern to him then. Now that he understood how important a decent cash flow was to a mercenary outfit, he was sorry for not paying attention to those sessions in the briefing room of Carlyle's Commandos. Be that as it may, Grayson still hated staffings.

He'd arranged to be the first one in the Photos'slounge, which served as his command briefing room. Along with staff meetings in general, he also disliked the formality that many military commanders adopted in such situations. As the nine men and women filed in and took their seats, Grayson remained seated, forcing himself to adopt a casual, relaxed pose. He was aware that much of his unease was due to how little he knew of most of the people now in the Gray Death's leadership core. Except for Lori Kalmar, Sergeant Ramage, and Renfred Tor, the others were comparative strangers. While they studied the contract, Grayson studied them.

Davis McCall was a big, friendly Caledonian with an engaging grin, fierce pride in his Terran-Scots ancestry, and a frequently unintelligible Scots burr. He had brought his own BattleMech to the unit, a 60-ton Riflemanaffectionately known as the Bannockburn .

Next to him was Delmar Clay, lean, dark-haired, and stubbornly untalkative about his past—save that he'd been a member of Hansen's Rough Riders. He still wore the Rough Riders' distinctive green combat jacket, sanspatches. More important, though. Clay also had his own ‘Mech, a 55-ton Wolverine.

Hassan Ali Khaled was darker, quieter, and even more reticent about his past than Clay. Once, though, Khaled admitted privately that he had spent most of his life as an ikhwan,or brother, of the dreaded Saurimat Commandos of his homeworld Shaul Khala. Grayson had heard of the Saurimat. What MechWarrior of the Inner Sphere had not? The name meant "Quick Death", and the group had a reputation like that of ancient Terran martial brotherhoods such as the Ninja and the Hashshashin. Khaled piloted the Gray Death's lone Stinger.

The two youngest team members were Piter Debrowski and Jaleg Yorulis, an odd pair. Debrowski was a tall, lanky Slav with pale hair and skin, while Yorulis was short, stocky, and black-haired. Though not combat-experienced, they knew ‘Mechs, which was why Grayson had decided to give them a chance. He'd assigned them to the Legion's two captured 20-ton Wasps.

Seated together at the far end of the table were the most recent additions to the Legion, Jeffrie Sherman and Sue Ellen Klein. Only the day before. Tor had found them in a Galaport bar, sole survivors of an AeroSpace Fighter wing that had gone alone into action at the Steiner world of Sevren against overwhelming odds. When their destroyed unit was dropped from the Commonwealth's rolls, they'd come to Galatea looking for work with a mercenary unit that needed fighter support. The best of it was that they'd brought their battle-scarred but fully-operational Chippewafighters with them. One of Invidious's DropShips could carry a pair of AeroSpace Fighters, and so both had promptly been mounted in the port forward cargo bay of the Phobos.Erudin insisted that running the Draconis Combine blockade around Verthandi would not prove difficult, but Grayson was glad those fighters would be along for the ride.

Finally, seated between Captain Tor and Ramage was Use Martinez, an attractive, black-maned woman who was Tor's First Officer and senior DropShip pilot. Though she'd been with Tor for the past five years, Grayson had still not gotten to know her well, for she had remained aboard the Invidiousthroughout his campaign on Trellwan. Though she was loud, even brassy, Grayson was willing to trust Tor's assessment that Martinez was superbly competent when it came to handling a DropShip. She had volunteered—if that was the word for her loud insistence—to ferry the Gray Death down to Verthandi past the Kurita blockade.

Grayson watched each of them as they read the contract, feeling a growing sense of inadequacy. He'd been raised in a close-knit mercenary regiment that had been a kind of extended family for him, with his father at the head. Though it always took a while for newcomers to be accepted, they eventually became part of the family, too. Now, Grayson was head of a family of his own. He wasn't comfortable with so many newcomers at once. Nor did they seem much more comfortable with him. That was going to have to change, and change fast, if they were to trust his leadership in combat and if he were to trust them to carry out his orders. This group of strangers would have to be molded into a functioning unit whose members could rely totally on one another. Where to begin?

Papers rustled again as each of the nine set the contract copies aside and looked to Grayson. He searched their faces for some emotion, but found little he could read. McCall was grinning, which was usual for him. Yorulis exchanged some private joke with Debrowski.

Well,Grayson thought, the speech-making can't be put off any longer.

"I've told you what I know about our ticket," he began. "It's not a hell of a lot. You can see on your copies of the contracts the terms of our agreement with Citizen Erudin."

"Aye," said McCall. "tha wee laddie's aye neckit deep in fertilizer, frae tha look a' things."

Grayson arched an eyebrow. Not for the first time, he wondered if they would ever be able to understand the big Caledonian over the combat circuit in battle.

"As you say, McCall—I think." There were several chuckles from around the table, and Grayson relaxed a bit. "This looks like a rough one, people. We're supposed to train and organize a rebel army that has spent the last ten years getting kicked back into the jungles of this place called Verthandi. The contract calls for a minimum of 900 hours in-system, with extensions to be negotiated with the Revolutionary Council as the situation dictates. It specifies that we are to avoid contact with the enemy 'if possible', but we all know that's something of an empty promise. If we run into Kurita ‘Mechs, we'll have ourselves a fight, contract or no.

"The terms are generous enough. We're being hired to transport Citizen Erudin and the gear he's purchased here on Galatea to Verthandi, then remain there to train his people in ‘Mech and anti– ‘Mech warfare for 900 hours. As payment, Citizen Erudin has posted 150,000 C-bills as advance bond with the ComStar agency in Galaport. We're are authorized to draw on that for preliminary expenses, plus another 600,000 CBs, which will be released to us upon completion of our contract period."

"Generous?" A sour look passed over Delmar Clay's face, as he sliced the air with his hand. "Seven-hundred-fifty thousand to be divided among more than 180 people is generous? That’s about 4,000 apiece.. ifwe get back to spend it."

"Ha! We don't even get that,Del," Use Martinez said. She made a slashing motion with her finger across her throat. "Our expenses come off the top first, remember?"

Piter Debrowski leaned forward, his hands clasped before him as though trying to contain his eagerness. "Hey, it's still more than we'd get sitting in a Galaport bar!"

The youthful earnestness in Debrowski's voice pained Grayson, though the boy was only three years his junior. Debrowski and Yorulis represented a special problem in pulling the unit together. The two of them had signed on together. Both had trained with Lyran Commonwealth line BattleMech regiments, though neither had been good enough to secure one of the rare ‘Mech pilot vacancies in their training regiment. After months of repeated tries, each had made his way to Galatea, Yorulis from Morningside, Debrowski from the Commonwealth's capital world of Tharkad. They'd met on Galatea and teamed up in the hope of doubling their chances of finding a pair of open billets.

Grayson noted the barely restrained eagerness in their faces. This was their chance, possibly their only chance, and he could see they were determined to prove themselves. The biggest question, of course, was how they would react the first time into combat. That, after all, was the finaltest for any Warrior.

Grayson leaned back from the table and spread his hands. "I never promised any of you a fortune. If we stay on with these people for more than 900 hours...if we actually have a chance of beating the Combine forces cold – maybe we can negotiate more. For now, this seems to be the best we could do."

Clay snorted. "Three quarters of a million was all Erudin had with him, and he was out shopping for mercs?"

"He had other expenses, Mr. Clay. His supplies are being loaded aboard the Phobosnow." Grayson looked around at the others, his gaze resting for an extra beat on Lori who seemed still to be studying the contract printout. "People, this is your chance to back out...any of you. If you don't like the terms, if you don't like the assignment, tell me now."

Yorulis laughed. "Sounds great to us, Captain! Count usin!"

Grayson swiveled his seat to face the other newcomers to the Legion. "How about you? Khaled?"

So far, Hassan Ali Khaled had made the close-mouthed Delmar Clay appear talkative. His heavily lidded eyes looked almost reptilian. "It is not my place, Kolarasi,to advise you. You have my bond. I go where you lead."

The answer was less than satisfactory, but Grayson knew he was not likely to get more from the man. Khaled was decidedly an unknown factor in the unit's ranks.

Let it go,he told himself. He looked toward the far end of the table at Sherman and Klein. "How about you two?"

"We're with you. Captain" Sherman said. Grayson noticed that the young man's hand now covered Sue Ellen's on the table before them. Grayson felt a small, sharp pang inside and stole a quick glance again at Lori, but her eyes still did not meet his.

Romances and BattleMechs don't mix,he thought humorlessly. The relationship between those two would be something he'd have to watch. Or was he still feeling hurt because Lori had backed off from him? He still didn't understand her reasons, except that she'd asked for time. It’s none of my business,he told himself. Unless it starts affecting the operation of the unit. Then I'll damn wellmake it my business!

"Lieutenant Martinez, how long until you're ready to boost?"

The DropShip skipper grinned. "Any time, Captain...once our new employer gets his precious junk stowed aboard. The ‘Mechs are all slung and webbed in, and we've topped off our reaction mass tanks. Ten hours, I'd say."

"That's it men, people. Ten hours, if you want to back out. Sergeant Ramage, Captain Tor...you've been over this with your people? Good. I'll want a final report for each department no later than T-minus two hours. Now, let's take a look at the Verthandi map...."

* * *

In the end, none of the 186 members of the Gray Death Legion chose to remain on Galatea. The prospects of another billet were too lean. Almost exactly ten hours later, the DropShip Phobosarced heavenward on a pillar of fire, her course shaped toward the Jump-Ship balanced on softly thrusting ion jets at the zenith jump point of Galatea's star. Passage took nine days.

At the Galatean jump point, the Phoboswas secured to her docking ring along the rapier-thin length of the Invidious'sdrive spine. Her crew and passengers remained aboard, though they had access to the slightly less cramped facilities of the aging freighter.

Grayson found Lori in the observation lounge. The slight but constant nudge of the ship's ion thrusters had ceased and the Invidiouswas in free fall toward the Galatean sun, a fiercely brilliant, barely discernible disk 10 AU distant. The sun was visible now that the ship's solar collector had been furled and stowed for jump. Around them, vast powers surged and thrummed, building toward a computer-ordained climax. Somewhere, an electronic voice gave warning of transit in one minute.

Grayson drifted into the small room, catching hold of a stanchion to arrest his movement. Lori hung motionless beside him, clinging to a handhold on the bulkhead. Weightless, there was no down or up. They looked out upon Galatea's sun, whose arc-glare banished the stars even across a billion and a half kilometers.

White light touched her blonde hair with silver. Grayson thought she looked tired. "Hello, Captain," Lori said, but she did not look up at him.

"I hoped I'd find you here." She sighed. "It's...beautiful."

"Lori, what's wrong? You're looking worn to a frazzle."

She did look at him then, twisting her body around the anchor of her handhold. There were circles under her eyes. "Oh, nothing, Captain. Trouble sleeping, I guess."

'Too much work?"

She didn't answer at first. "Captain..." She almost reached out.

"Gray...I don't know if I can face it again."

"You'll do fine, Lori." He hated the platitude even as it passed his lips. He didn't know that she would... and neither did she.

Grayson wasn't sure what had happened to Lori on Trellwan, except that it had been a deep, perhaps horrifying shock. He did suspect that it had to do with a critical moment during the battle when her Locusthad been sprayed with liquid fire. She'd called out to him over their combat frequency and he had heard her, kilometers away. He'd turned from his own battle, hurrying across rugged terrain to where Lori's small band of ‘Mechs and troops was holding out against the Red Duke's legions. His arrival had scattered the attackers and ended the battle. The fire on the Locustwas out, and Lori was safe.

But she had changed. Before that battle, they'd been so close. Afterward, she had become...had remained...distant. He'd approached her before their boost-off from Trellwan, and she'd asked him for time to sort things out, to heal.

The warning voice gave a ten-second alert. The power feed to the Invidious'sjump drive built around them. She released her grip on the handhold, the slight motion setting her adrift into Grayson's arms.

"Gray, I'm..."

Jump! Vision blurred, an inner twisting assaulted their senses. Time became timelessness, an endless suspension of now, as space opened around them, a funneling black maw...

"...afraid."

He moved apart from her, his hands still grasping her shoulders. Outside, the sky had changed, the diamond brilliance of Galatea's sun wiped away and replaced by the closer, dimmer glare of a sullen red dwarf. That would be Gallwen, first stop in a long chain of jumps that would take them to Norn.

Grayson swallowed hard, forced himself to draw a deep, even breath as his head cleared itself of the transit effects. Jump affected some more than others, but it was never pleasant.

"We all are," he said, when he could finally speak.

She looked away from him, her shoulder-length hair a swirl of gold in zero-G. Damn!he thought. I'm talking in platitudes again! But what is it she's afraid of?

He decided to risk confronting her. "Lori, was it the fire? You told me once your parents died in a fire on your homeworld...on Sigurd."

"I don't know." Red light illumined tears in her eyes, tears unable to fall in the absence of gravity. "I don't know. I have...dreams. I wake up and can't get back to sleep. Captain, I'm afraid I'm going to fold the...the next time. I'm just no good...."

His fingers closed tighter on her shoulders as he held her at arm's length. "That sort of thinking isn't going to get you anywhere, young woman! It's only natural that you get the wobbles after the close call you had. But you'll be fine, once you have your ‘Mech around you, once you're doing what you've been trained to do. Do you think the rest of us aren'tafraid?"

Gently, she broke free, drifting back until her hand found the bulkhead grip. "I'll...be all right, Captain. I just need...time."

Was she upset because he'd gotten too close? Perhaps she thought his coming here had been a romantic advance, a hope that they would get to talking, that she would come into his arms. Well? Hadn't that been why he'd come? He couldn't deny it. And she hadcome into his arms. But what had gone wrong between them?

Perhaps the best thing for now was to keep up this strictly professional wall. She needed time, and he needed an efficient second-in-command. The new MechWarriors, that's where their minds should be focused. How was he going to handle them, weld them together into an effective unit? Yorulis and Debrowski, young and inexperienced. Clay and Khaled, silent and secretive. McCall, a stark individualist unafraid of speaking his mind... unintelligibly. As the Legion's Exec, it would fall to Lori to help him bring those people together as a combat team.

"You need sleep," he said, all business. 'Talk to Tor's medic. He might have something that'll help you sleep." She started to protest and he sharpened his voice. "That's an order! I can't have my Executive Officer wandering around with circles under her eyes!" She shrugged and turned away. "Yes, sir. As you say." He watched her move from the observation lounge, pained by the dullness of her response, concerned that nothing was resolved.

Lovely as she was, as much as he would have liked to resume the pleasant closeness their relationship had held before Thunder Rift, the fact remained that he didneed her first as his Exec. Her depression worried him.

* * *

Lori returned to her cramped quarters aboard the Phoboswithout visiting Invidious'ssickbay. She had already tried various sleeping drugs, and now detested the dullness they imparted to mind and body, the false sense of well-being, the empty leadenness of the sleep they brought.

Besides, drugs could not change the growing ache she carried within her. She'd admitted to Grayson that she was afraid, but she had not admitted all. Let him think she was afraid of combat. She didfear death or injury, as any sane person feared the hell of BattleMech combat. Like the others, she had learned to submerge such fears; you acted, and you let your training and your mental preparation carry you past the numbing paralysis of fear.