Black Earth Spaceport
Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth
7th April 3050
Margaidh never got the
chance to thank Captain Harrison for breaking orders, and diverting his
Jumpship to Barcelona to evacuate the Rangers. Harrison had already picked up the remnants of the First Grave Walkers'
mercenary regiment from Bone Norman, which had also been captured by the Clan
Jade Falcon. He'd heard news from other planets too; from Steelton, Here and
Winfield, and he knew that this was no ordinary pirate incursion. As a native of Summer himself, Harrison was
not about to ignore the cries for help from the regiment he considered his own,
even though he never was fortunate enough to serve with them.
Harrison was the shy type,
and for the whole seven day trip to Black Earth (seven days recharging the
Kearney-Fuchida drives, and seven seconds gut-wrenching hyperspace jump)
Harrison stayed out of sight.
The first thing that crossed
Margaidh's mind when she disembarked from the Dropship onto the tarmac at the
Black Earth spaceport was that the place lived up to it's name. It's climate
seemed as grey and miserable as that on Summer, and in the distance dark hills
loomed, forboding and grim-looking. The spaceport itself sprawled across the
land like a steel and concrete fungus clinging for sustenance to the black
hillside. Margaidh pulled the collar of
her jacket up around her neck as a barrier against the chill, damp air, and
longed for the sunny warmth of Barcelona.
"Pretty place, isn't it?"
said Steve McKernon with a wry smile.
"Just right for sunbathing,"
Margaidh replied, looking up at the pale red M-class sun in it's hazy grey sky.
"No chance of sunburn."
The mercenaries, who had
kept themselves to themselves during the journey, moved what was left of their
regiment to the capital city of New Houston, some four hundred kilometers away.
Maybe they had contacts there, maybe someone told them to go there, Margaidh
didn't know. All she knew was that the
Rangers had been ordered to stay garrisoned in the Spaceport itself, to defend
it in the event of possible attack. She
hoped fervently that their support would not be needed, and steeled herself for
a dull tour, however short it might be before the remaining Rangers were
shipped back to Summer. The sooner the
better, she thought as she looked around. This place looks about as exciting as the back of beyond.
********************
After settling the Mechs and
other vehicles in the repair bay, which was surprisingly well supplied for such
an out-of-the-way place, Margaidh sought out Steve and together they explored
what was to become their home, for a while at least. To their surprise and
relief, it seemed as though it was not going to be as dull as Margaidh had
feared. Because the spaceport was so
isolated, it had evolved into a city of it's own, with everything it's
inhabitants might need. Shops, restaurants, even casinos and venues for such
sports as boxing and Babaeski Hockey, both of which were too violent for
Margaidh's taste.
They found a bar called Stevie's Place and Steve McKernon
insisted on trying it out. Margaidh was in no mood to object; a good stiff
drink was exactly what she needed. She
followed the Sergeant into the bar, and immediately wondered if they had made
the right choice.
Stevie's Place was dark and smoky, with loud dance-music piped through a cheap PA
system. Pink and blue neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy, pounding
beat. There was a dance floor but
no-one was dancing; it was too crowded with heavy-set, heavy-drinking
dockworkers and techs. Steve pushed his way to a table in a corner and they sat
down. Margaidh frowned at him. "Are you sure about this?" she mouthed above the
loud music. Steve shrugged.
Just as Margaidh was about
to change her mind and go somewhere else, a waitress in a short leather skirt
came up to the table. "What d'ya want to drink?" she said brusquely, and blew a
bubble in a wad of gum.
Steve hesitated, not wanting
to seem unmannerly in front of his superior officer. Margaidh sensed his
unease, and ordered for them. "Two PPCs," she said, or rather shouted.
"What's a PPC?" Steve
hissed.
"Rocket fuel, mixed with the
spirit of your choice," Margaidh replied. "Named after the successor houses."
"What's in a Steiner?"
"Peppermint schnapps." She
paused, trying to remember what the others were. "Ouzo for Marik, Bourbon for
Davion, Peach brandy for Liao. And the Kuritans mix it with Sake, which is a
bit like dousing fire with kerosene."
"Steiner sounds good to me."
Margaidh turned to the
waitress. "One Steiner style, and one Skye."
The waitress frowned, and
chewed hard on her gum. "Never heard of that one," she drawled.
"Not surprised. I made it
up," Margaidh replied with a wolfish grin. "Cut it with a double Scotch."
"Gotcha." The waitress
turned and walked back towards the bar, waggling her backside.
When the drinks arrived at
the table, Steve just held his glass, watching the clear liquid vibrating
slightly with the pulsing beat of the music. Margaidh watched him cautiously
sniff it, then take a hesitant sip and pull a face, and she smiled.
An ability to stomach strong
drink was a Celtic trait Margaidh had inherited from her far-away ancestors in
the Scottish islands. She swirled her drink once around the glass then threw
her head back and downed it in one go. Steve stared in surprise then, not
wanting to be out-done, attempted to do the same.
Margaidh watched his face
pass from curiosity, briefly through pleasure, and into sudden shock. When he'd
finished coughing, he paused and stared at Margaidh, then at her empty glass,
with wide eyes. "Don't ever ask me to get into a drinking contest with you," he
said, as soon as his throat had recovered from the burning sensation
sufficiently for him to speak. He looked down at the remnants of his drink, and
drained the rest of it. Margaidh ordered another PPC for herself, Steve backed
out and asked for a beer.
Later, they sat outside
under the starlight where the air was cool and the noise faint enough to allow
conversation. "Where the hell did you learn to drink like that?" Steve asked,
seeing Leftenant Lewis in a new light.
Margaidh shrugged. "My
mother, I guess." She smiled to hide the sudden sharp stab of pain she felt
when she remembered how heavily her mother had taken to the bottle in an
attempt to drown the depression after her accident. "She always seemed so
strong to me. A real warrior. And then suddenly the fire inside her was gone.
She hit the bottle hard after her accident." She paused. It was not often she
spoke about her mother the way she was after the accident. Maybe the strong drink
had loosened her tongue.
Steve sensed Margaidh's pain
and held her hand. Margaidh squeezed it in return. She looked at him with an
expression that bordered on desperation. "If anything happens to you, don't
give up fighting. Never give up."
"What do you…" Steve began,
confused.
"Promise me."
Steve shook his head then
shrugged. "Okay, I promise," he said.
Margaidh smiled and stood
up, looking at the moonless sky and suddenly realising how cold it had become.
"Let's go home," she said, trying to suppress the images of Summer she saw in
her mind. They put their arms around one another and walked back to their
quarters in mutual support.
Black Earth Spaceport
Charna Province, Federated Commonwealth
11th May 3050
In the space of a mere five
weeks, the Seventeenth Skye Rangers settled in to their new home and their new
routine. There was little to do except eat and drink and gamble, and those
whose Mechs still functioned could maintain some attempt at training. All
attempts at military discipline were abandoned in favour of a boost to morale.
But behind the thin veneer of relaxation, every warrior was haunted by the
memory of Barcelona, and the anticipation of a return to Summer. No-one, not
even the most cynical, dared contemplate that it might all happen again. But it did.
The first indication
Margaidh had that something was amiss was when the aerospace fighters, boosted
by local support, suddenly scrambled just after dawn. The shrieks of their
engines as they launched, combined with the wailing of klaxons, aroused Margaidh
from a disturbed sleep and she had pulled on her cooling vest and shorts even
before she was fully awake. When she arrived in the Mech bays, the rest of the
Rangers' mechwarriors were prepping their mechs, their faces showing noticeable
fear tempered with a warrior's determination. Margaidh knew that each of them
was prepared to die in the defense of this anonymous world.
She powered up the Blue Skye's engine and marched it out of
the Mech bay, catching a glimpse of Steve McKernon's Jenner a couple of hundred metres ahead. Around her, a hotch-potch
of patched-up Mechs that made up the First Company of what was barely a
battallion of Mechs and tanks. Margaidh hadn't wanted to take command of a
company again, but as one of only three surviving officers of her rank, she
figured she didn't have much choice.
The Rangers didn't even have
time to take up defensive positions. The Clan Mechs, with their falcon emblem
painted white instead of green, were already swarming in through the
Spaceport's perimeter. Margaidh ordered
her company to scatter into cover in the hope that the wider-spread they were,
the greater the chance that a few might survive.
She touched a panel and made
sure the computer in the cockpit was recording the battle. Everything the Mech
did and all communication in or out, would be recorded on the Blue Skye's Battleroms. Margaidh
wondered briefly if anyone would get the chance to read them. She spoke aloud into her neurohelmet.
"…Yet I will try the last,
before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him
that first cries 'Hold, enough!'" She
knew that if her mother ever got to hear the recording, she would recognise the
snatch of the old Shakesperean play. Margaidh paused, then spoke again. "For you, Mam. And for Summer." Then she turned the Blue Skye to face it's foe.
An hour later, the
Seventeenth Skye Rangers were overpowered. The Blue Skye lay toppled, stripped of armour, both legs blown away and
not a single weapon remaining. In the cockpit, Leftenant Margaidh Lewis
gradually stirred and moaned as consciousness returned. Slowly becoming aware
that the Mech was lying on it's side, she felt a sudden surge of panic. Inside
the body of a Mech beat a nuclear heart, and if it breached, the results were
terminal.
She hurriedly unbuckled the
safety harness and fell out of the seat, crying aloud as a sharp pain in her
chest informed her that she'd broken at least one rib in the fall. She wiped at
sweat that was running down her face, but her hand came away red with blood,
not sweat. Cautiously, Margaidh tested her legs and struggled to release the
canopy. When it opened she half-
clambered, half-fell out of the cockpit, landing in a heap on the dark,
clay-like earth. Her eyes screwed tight with pain.
"You will come with me,"
said a stern voice above her. Margaidh's eyes snapped open and she found
herself looking up the barrel of a hand laser. The gun was held by a warrior in
a khaki-coloured tunic with a green falcon badge on one lapel. His face was stern-looking,
and framed by short, mousey hair.
"Who the hell are you?"
Margaidh said, making no attempt to stand.
"I am Star Commander Uvin
Buhallin of the First Gyrfalcon Jaeger Cluster. You are Isorla. You will come with me."
Star Commander Uvin Buhallin
kept his pistol levelled at Margaidh's forehead, and it was clear he was not
going to move it until she did as she was told. Margaidh narrowed her eyes.
"You'll have to kill me first, you bastard," she hissed.
Buhallin did not kill
Margaidh. Instead, he grabbed her roughly by the arm and hauled her to her feet
with a strength that belied his wiry frame. Stars flashed before her eyes as
pain from her broken ribs ripped through her.
"You are Isorla," Buhallin repeated. "You belong
to me."
For a brief moment, Margaidh
considered making a run for freedom, and she glanced around for somewhere to
run to. But there was nowhere. Her gaze fell at last on the broken hulk of the Blue Skye, damaged now beyond repair,
and tears sprung to her eyes. For
generations, the Mech had faithfully served the Lewis family warriors. Now it
was nothing more than a pile of junk, and Margaidh was now disposessed. The
thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she realised that she had disposessed
not just herself, but the whole Lewis family, and any generation that may come
after her.
"You will come with me now,"
said Buhallin, beginning to get impatient.
"Wait," Margaidh said
quietly, and reached out with her free hand to touch the Shadowhawk's shoulder. With a single deft movement, she pulled free
a piece of shattered armour panelling, no more than half the size of her palm.
On one side it still bore a trace of blue paint, now charred and peeling. She
held the fragment for a moment in her fist, then slipped it into a pocket and
looked squarely at Buhallin.
"I will go with you now."
In-system, Black Earth
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone.
Aboard the Cruiser 'Frost-Falcon'
12th May 3050.
Margaidh did not know how
many prisoners had been taken, or how many Rangers had lost their lives on
Black Earth. She spent many hours sitting on the bunk in her cell, wondering
what had happened to Steve McKernon, absently turning the fragment of armour
from the Blue Skye in her fingers.
Isorla.
That's what Buhallin had called her. Since then she had gathered that it's
meaning was not so much 'prisoner' as 'spoils of war.' Margaidh was considered
property, and Buhallin was adamant that she belonged to him.
He came into the cell,
dressed this time in a full dress uniform complete with green cape that flowed
around him almost like wings. Margaidh scowled at him.
"What is your name,
Freebirth?" Buhallin asked, or rather demanded.
"I am Leftenant Margaidh
Lewis, of the Seventeenth Skye Rangers," Margaidh replied.
"You are NOT Margaidh Lewis!"
Buhallin exclaimed. He stressed the word 'not' by hitting her hard across the
jaw, so hard she felt her teeth rattle in her head. "You are Margaidh of Clan
Jade Falcon," Buhallin said. "You are my bondsman. The Seventeenth Skye Rangers
no longer exist."
Margaidh's fingers gingerly
touched her cheek. "I don't give a damn who you think I am. I am a Lewis, and I
will always be a Lewis, and a Ranger." Her voice was full of anger and hatred.
Buhallin hit Margaidh again.
"You are Margaidh of Clan Jade Falcon," he repeated. He grabbed hold of her
right wrist and held it vice-tight. With his other hand he deftly tied
something round it, and let it go. Margaidh frowned at the narrow bracelet of
woven cord in colours of jade-green, blue and white. "You are an Inner Sphere Freebirther, and that makes you nothing.
You are my bondsman, and that is the bondcord which binds you to me."
"I am no-one's slave!"
Margaidh hissed. "I'd rather die than be slave to you."
"You are mistaken,
freebirther," Buhallin said with a scowl. "You should feel honoured to be bondsman to a Jade Falcon, strongest of
the descendants of Kerensky. To the true Star League army."
Margaidh stared at the Clan
warrior, her eyes wide. Three hundred years ago, the area of inhabited space
known as the Inner Sphere was thrown into turmoil and conflict by the sudden
exodus of eighty percent of the Star League Defense Force, under the leadership
of Aleksandr Kerensky. A thousand warships carrying the best military
technology, and eight hundred thousand of the Inner Sphere's best warriors,
disappeared across the Periphery and were never heard from again. The Star
League collapsed and the Successor Houses emerged, along with three hundred
years of almost constant war as the Houses struggled against the others to
re-form the Star League, each under it's own banner. Out of history, a legend
was born, and it was often said that one day Kerensky would return, and re-form
the Star League, uniting the Inner Sphere once more in peace.
The trouble with a legend is
that no-one really expects it to come true.
In-System,
Alkalurops
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
Aboard the Cruiser 'Frost Falcon'
15th May 3050
Buhallin led Margaidh down
an endless labyrinth of corridors inside the Cruiser, with steel floors that
echoed their footsteps. He stopped her outside a plain, unmarked metal door,
knocked once, then opened it and indicated
that she went inside. She did so, and found herself in a room that was small
and equally plain. It could have been another cell like the one in which
Margaidh had been imprisoned, only this one was furnished in a way that made
her blood run cold.
There were no furnishings in
the room save a single chair, on which Margaidh could clearly see manacles for
holding wrists and ankles. Behind it
stood man, fair hair and blue eyes, aged maybe forty. Margaidh thought he could
have been quite handsome, if it hadn't been for the scar across his left cheek;
a broad thread of red on a pale skin. Buhallin bowed a little to the man, and
called him Ovkhan. Margaidh couldn't
be sure if that was his name or his title. The quotation from Macbeth sprang
back to her mind, and she decided to call him, secretly at least, Macduff.
Holding Margaidh firmly by
the shoulders, Buhallin shoved her towards the chair, and she tried to twist
away, but was abruptly stopped by pain from her still tender ribs. She was
forced to sit, and Buhallin closed the manacles around her wrists and ankles
while she struggled and squirmed in vain. So she used the only remaining demonstration
of resistance, and spat in his face. Her reward for that was a cruel punch from
Buhallin, just exactly where her broken ribs hurt most.
Macduff pushed past Buhallin, who stepped a side for
his superior. The first thing he did was ask her the same question Buhallin had
asked. "What is your name, freebirther?" His accent, like Buhallin's was oddly
old-fashioned.
Margaidh said nothing. She
had no intention of telling her captors anything they wanted to know. Besides,
she wasn't sure she could still speak at all. Her chest felt as though it was
on fire, even breathing was an ordeal. Macduff repeated the question, his voice
remaining calm. Margaidh squinted at him. "Lady Macbeth," she panted. "Go fuck
yourself."
Macduff nodded at Buhallin,
who slapped her hard across the face with enough force to knock her head
against the side of the chair's headrest. She felt a trickle of blood running
where his fist had hit her, just below her right eye.
"Where is your Codex?"
Buhallin demanded, his voice full of contempt
Margaidh frowned. "I don't
know what one is, so I assume I have nae got one," she replied. She noticed
Macduff flash a look of surprise at her.
"There is no need for this
resistance, Margaidh." Macduff said, his calm voice a contrast to the rage in
Buhallin's. "Just tell us what we wish to know, and you will not be hurt."
You can't fool me, Macduff. I recognise the
good-guy-bad-guy routine. I'd rather die than betray my people.
"What is your bloodline?"
Macduff demanded.
Margaidh narrowed her eyes
at him. "I'm a Lewis," she said, with a trace of agressive pride.
"Who are your
blood-parents?"
"None of your goddamned
business." That earned another slap from Buhallin, but by now Margaidh was
beyond caring. She already hurt so much a few more thumps wouldn't make a lot
of difference.
Macduff tried another tack.
"Did your regiment provide you with your battlemech?" he demanded.
"No. It belongs to me. Or it
did, before your pirates wrecked it."
Buhallin lifted his arm to
swing at her again but Macduff put up a
hand to stay his blow, and he simply asked another question. "Where did it come
from?"
Margaidh closed her eyes and
clamped her mouth shut. This was all getting too serious now, and she resolved
she was going to say nothing more.
Buhallin, evidently getting
fed up with Macduff's ineffective questioning, decided to ask a few of his own.
He started with a demand to know the size and locations of the Federated
Commonwealth's armed forces. Margaidh spat at him again, but said nothing.
Buhallin's fist made a ball and cannoned into her solar plexus, making her gasp
with pain.
"Tell us what we wish to
know!" he demanded.
Margaidh lifted her head and
looked at him. "I'd rather die than talk to scum like you."
She never knew how long
Buhallin laid into her after that. All she knew was the pain that washed over
her in waves, and when he finally finished, she had to be carried back to her
cell.
In-System, Alkalurops
Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
Aboard the Cruiser 'Frost Falcon'
24th May 3050
Margaidh did not know how
long she was left alone in her cell. She slept most of the time, mostly because
being awake meant she was moving about and that hurt too much. Every so often,
someone would bring her a tray of food and she used that as some measure of the
passage of time. Since Buhallin had beaten her up, she had been fed eighteen
times.
The nineteenth meal was
exactly the same as all the previous ones. A sort of milky soup, with some sort
of fibrous substance in it that might have been meat, or a synthetic
substitute. It was tasteless but surprisingly satisfying. Either that, or
Margaidh had no appetite.
As she ate, she caught a
glimpse of her own reflection in the back of the metal spoon. Even allowing for
the distortion, she loked a mess. The right side of her face was one mass of
bruises, and both eyes were blackened, the right one swelled half-shut.
"You look as rough as you
feel," she said aloud to herself.
The first sign that
something was amiss was when, instead of a guard returning to take her empty
tray, the cell door opened and Buhallin came in, his face bearing a
contemptuous sneer.
"Come with me, Freebirther,"
he said.
Margaidh stood, slowly and
painfully. She had no energy to resist this time.
She was taken to the same
room and put in the same chair, but this time, Buhallin rolled up her sleeve
and placed a square of blue plastic on her arm. It felt cold and sticky, and
then a strange tingling sensation started to grow in her arm, and spread up
towards her shoulder.
"Just a little something to
ensure your co-operation," he said with a smile that was more a snarl. "I am
sure you do not want another beating, quineg?"
Margaidh glanced at Macduff,
who was this time seated in a chair across the room, with a large file rested
on his knee. It looks serious this time.
Mother of Gods! What drugs are they putting into me? She felt a warm glow all over now, that was
actually quite pleasant. Rather like the way she felt when she'd had a couple
of double scotches.
As before, Macduff started
the questioning, and he began by repeating the ones he'd asked before. "What is
your bloodline."
"I told you last time,"
Margaidh snapped back with sudden irritation. "I'm a Lewis."
"Who provided your paternal
genes?"
Margaidh frowned. "You mean
my father?" She saw Macduff wince slightly, and shrugged. "I don't know. My
mother never told me anything about him. She only knew him a few weeks." She
bit her lip, alarmed at how much she'd said already. Get a grip, Margaidh! Concentrate! Fight it!
"Who provided your maternal
genes?"
"My mother is Eleanor
Lewis," Margaidh said, lifting her chin.
"Is she a mechwarrior?"
"No. She's a teacher in a
university on Summer. That's my home planet, in the Isle of Skye." Don't tell him any more! But already her head felt light and woozy.
"She used to be a Mechwarrior, years ago. But she got injured, and gave me her
Mech."
"Your Mech…" Macdiff
interrupted. "Tell me where it came from."
Margaidh shrugged. "It's
been in my family since… well, since Starleague days I guess," she replied. She
gave an involuntary giggle.
"The Shadowhawk has modifications," Macduff said, again making a
statement rather than asking a question. However, from the quizzical expression
on his face it was clear he expected Margaidh to tell more.
"You mean the laser instead
of the autocannon? That's been there as long as I remember. It's part of what
makes the Blue Skye unique. I've been
having problems with it though," she added, trying to shake the lightness from
her head.
"What sort of problems?"
"The control circuits were
playing up." Margaidh noticed Macduff's quizzical expression. It was clear he
did not understand her colloquial manner of speech. "Playing up? Not working."
Macduff nodded. "What about
heat sinks?"
"One extra one added, where
the autocannon ammo would normally be," Margaidh replied.
"Single or double heat
sinks?" Macduff asked. Margaidh frowned, and shook her head. Macduff asked
another question. "The control computer," he said. "Tell me where that came
from."
Margaidh's frown did not
lessen. She knew the computer in the Blue
Skye was not a Shadowhawk standard,
but it had always been there and she didn't know where it came from, and she
told him so.
"One more thing," Macduff
said, consulting his file and reading from it. "'…Yet I will try the last,
before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damned be him
that first cries 'Hold, enough!'" He read the quotation awkwardly, the timing
all wrong, and to Margaidh it sounded strange. Macduff stared hard at Margaidh
with his penetrating blue eyes. "What does that mean?" he said.
Margaidh shrugged, wondering
that the data from the Blue Skye's
Battleroms had actually been readable, despite the damage. "It's a quotation
from 'Macbeth,'" she replied, vaguely wondering whether saying the name of the
play aloud would bring her bad luck, then deciding that her luck probably
couldn't get any worse.
Macduff looked puzzled.
"Explain," he snapped. "What significance does it have?"
"Macbeth says that just
before he faces Macduff, his enemy, in battle," Margaidh said. "He knows he is
going to die."
"You said that because you
thought you were going to die, quiaff?"
Macduff said. "You identify yourself with this character Macbeth?" He stared at
Margaidh, who only nodded. "Why?"
"Because he was a Scot, and
so am I," Margaidh replied. "You're right. I did think I was going to die.
Better warriors than I have died a the hands of your people."
"You are not a warrior,
freebirther," Macduff said, his anger rising to match Margaidh's own. The scar
on his cheek reddened. "You are a bondsman."
"I will never be a slave to
your people," Margaidh hissed. Anger coursed through her, but again she
giggled, and that only served to make her angrier. "I am a Mechwarrior, I am a
Scot and I am a Lewis. You can't take that from me without draining the blood
from my veins." Her fists clenched so hard she felt her fingernails biting into
her palms.
Buhallin tore the blue patch
from her arm and replaced it with a fresh one. "You are a strong-willed little
vixen, quiaff? Let us see how strong you are when we raise the pressure."
Margaidh fought against a
wave of dizziness, and she got the sensation that the chair was moving, as if
it were a rock slowly turning in space. The sensation made her feel nauseous.
"Do you know the size of the
armed forces of the Clan Kurita?"
Margaidh giggled at the
thought of the Draconis Combine being referred to as a Clan. What does he want to know that for? We're
nowhere near the Combine. "I
dunno," she replied. "Officially, they say about a hundred regiments, but they
always lie."
"What about Miraborg?"
Margaidh frowned, trying to
work out what Clan Miraborg might be, then remembering Miraborg was the name of
the Rasalhagian leader. She shrugged. "I dunno. Not many. Eighteen, at a
guess."
"How many does Steiner
have?"
No! The Federated Commonwealth is my home!
"I can't remember," Margaidh
hissed through clenched teeth.
"How many regiments in Clan
Steiner?"
"It's not Steiner, you
cretin. It's Steiner-Davion now. The richest house married the strongest and
their armed forces merged."
"How many regiments?"
I won't give in! I won't tell you! But the
words were on the tip of her tongue even before she'd realised she knew the
answer. "One hundred and fifty-three."
Margaidh's heart sank when
she saw the smile on Buhallin's lips. "Thankyou," he said. "You have been most
helpful."
Mother of Gods! What have I done? But she knew the answer to that one, and even
through her drugged haze she knew exactly what she had done. She had just
betrayed the Commonwealth. No matter that, like her mother, Margaidh did not
approve of the Steiner-Davion alliance, the Commonwealth was still her home,
and would remain so until such time as the Isle of Skye won it's independence.
The fact that the drugs had loosened her tongue did not lessen her feeling of
self-loathing.
Benden City, Alkalurops
Clan Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
2nd June 3050
Star Colonel Rard Hoyt, the
man whom Margaidh had nicknamed Macduff, paced anxiously up and down the
corridor outside the office belonging to Galaxy Commander Samantha Clees. Hoyt
was afraid of Samantha Clees. Her temper was notoriously short and Hoyt had
heard of many a warrior who had all but broken down under her harsh criticism.
Only male warriors received the wrath of Samantha Clees.
The door opened and Uvin
Buhallin looked out. "She will see you now, Colonel," he replied, and Hoyt
followed the younger man inside.
The office had once been the
communication center of the Alkalurops
Militia, a defense force that had offered little resistance to the mighty
talons of the Gyrfalcon Galaxy. Now it was occupied by the Galaxy Commander,
and a large wallhanging depicting the white falcon that was the Galaxy's emblem
hung on one wall.
In the centre of the room
was a large oak table, at which Galaxy Commander Clees was seated, with two men
wearing Wolf Clan uniforms. So that explained the presence of the Lion's Pride Jumpship in the system,
Hoyt thought to himself. He forced a smile to mask his loathing of the men in
the Wolf Clan uniforms.
Nevertheless, they all stood
and Clees introduced them to Hoyt with a politeness as forced as Hoyt's own
smile.
"This is Star Colonel Athen,
of the 328th Assault Cluster, Alpha Galaxy, Clan Wolf," said Clees, giving the
man's full title. Hoyt gave a brief nod, and took Athen's hand in a brief
handshake. Athen's stocky build towered above Hoyt and with his longish grey
hair and beard, Hoyt likened him to a bear.
Athen smiled, his own
expression genuine, and he turned to introduce the slender, dark-haired man
beside him. "This is Star Commander Domask Lewis," he said. Hoyt raised an
eyebrow but said nothing, and shook Lewis' hand also.
Hoyt took a seat opposite
Athen, Buhallin beside him. Clees remained standing and stalked cat-like to the
window.
"I will come straight to the
point, StarColonel Hoyt," said Athen, his voice gruff. "You have a freebirther
called Margaidh in your custody, quiaff?"
"Aff," Hoyt replied. "She
was captured on Black Earth, and is bondsman to Uvin Buhallin." Hoyt glanced
briefly at Buhallin, and he noticed the expression of veiled anger on the
younger man's face.
"We wish to take posession
of this bondsman, and whatever is left of her Mech."
Hoyt's eyes widened, and the
scar on his cheek pulsed bright red. He turned to Clees who merely smiled.
Evidently she had already been told what this meeting was about. Hoyt shook his
head. "That is absolutely out of the question," he said, fighting against a
stammer. "She was captured fairly and with honour. She is the rightful property
of Clan Jade Falcon."
Athen gave a short, barking
laugh. "I suppose you have noticed, Rard Hoyt, that your bondsman bears the
name of Lewis, quiaff?"
"Neg," Hoyt snapped. "She is
Isorla. She is the property of Clan
Jade Falcon and no longer bears that name."
"And I trust you are aware
that Lewis is a bloodname of Clan Wolf."
Hoyt returned Athen's smile
with a snarl. "That bloodname is not exclusive to your Clan. As I recall, the
Wolves stole it from Clan Coyote. Your clan has only four bloodlines in the
Lewis House."
"While the Falcons have
none," Athen replied quickly. "I trust you will co-operate with us in this. I
am certain you would wish to avoid a formal challenge."
Hoyt looked incredulously at
Athen. "Would you really go to a Trial of Possession over the genes of a
freebirther, just because of her name?"
"A Trial of Possession?"
Athen raised an eyebrow, though his surprise at Hoyt's suggestion was merely
pretended. "That is what it will take, quiaff?"
Hoyt paused, and looked
again at Clees. Clees looked back at him with a smile and an expression that
said I do not care what you do. Hoyt glanced at Athen's companion. "So you
are a Lewis also, quiaff?" he said.
"I assume the challenge is yours?" He allowed the faintest sneer to pass
briefly across his face, to let the Wolf know he considered House Lewis to be
an inferior Bloodname.
Domask Lewis nodded, his
dark eyes fixed on Hoyt's blue ones. "Margaidh will be my bondsman," he
replied. "Assuming my challenge is successful, of course," he added with a
smile that veiled quiet confidence.
"We shall see, Star
Commander Domask Lewis," said Hoyt quietly. "We shall see."
********************
The first thing Margaidh
noticed when she was introduced to Star Commander Domask Lewis were the badges
he wore on his jacket. Most prominent on his left lapel was the wolf's head
badge of his clan, and beside it was the badge of the 328th Assault Cluster, a
golden lion's head holding a red heart in it's teeth. But the badge he wore on
his arm made Margaidh stare.
It depicted a series of
vertical stripes in subdued spectral colours, over which was imposed an ellipse
through which the colours appeared washed out, almost pastel. Margaidh
recognised it instantly. It was the badge of her home planet, Summer.
"You're a Lewis?" Margaidh
asked quietly. The last thing she had expected to encounter as a prisoner of
the Clans was another Lewis. "Where did you get the badge?" she added, pointing
at the Summer emblem.
Domask looked curiously at
her. "It is a tradition among warriors of my bloodname," he said. "We wear it
in honour of the Lewis who stayed behind." He sat down beside Margaidh and
looked at her, studying her face. "Are you familiar with the name Donald
Lewis?" Margaidh shook her head. "At
the time of the Exodus there were two brothers on Summer. Their names were
Donald and Duncan Lewis. Duncan, the
older brother, left with Aleksandr Kerensky and became the founder of my
bloodname. My ancestor. Donald could not bear to leave his father, who was old
and too sick to travel far. So he stayed on Summer, even though he too wanted
to go with them. We wear the badge of Summer in honour of Donald Lewis and his
sacrifice. Donald Lewis is your
ancestor."
Margaidh stared back at
Lewis. "Then… I suppose we're cousins, of a sort. A dozen times removed."
Domask nodded. "Have you heard of the term Trial of
Possession?" he asked. Margaidh shook her head. "When there is a dispute among
the Clans, we hold a trial of combat. In this particular case, Clan Wolf wishes to claim you, because you are
descended of the Lewis bloodname which belongs to our clan. Jade Falcon does
not wish to let you go, so a Trial of Possession is held."
"And I am the prize that
goes to the winner?" Margaidh said.
"Aff," Domask replied, using
the Clan term for 'yes'.
Margaidh laughed. "I can't
believe you guys are actually fighting over me. The Falcons treat me like scum,
why don't they just hand me over to you?"
"Because you are too
valuable. A bargaining chip against the clan the Jade Falcons hate."
Margaidh looked at Domask,
searching for any feature that would mark him as a Lewis. He had no trace of a
Scottish accent, and his colouring was uncharacteristically dark. But there was
something in his brown eyes that Margaidh thought she recognised; the same fire
and passion that once burned in her mother. She estimated his age at
thirty-five or so, but he had a haunted look about him, as if he were older
than that. "Will you be fighting for Clan Wolf?" she asked quietly.
"Aff," said Domask. "And
Uvin Buhallin will fight for the Falcons."
"Who should I cheer for?"
Margaidh asked with a smile.
Domask touched Margaidh's
cheek where a partly-healed scar showed a faint line of red. "Do you enjoy
being bonded to Clan Jade Falcon?"
Margaidh shook her head.
"Then cheer for me." Domask
stood, and left Margaidh's cell. Margaidh watched him go, and somehow she knew
she would see him again.
Benden City, Alkalurops
Clan Jade Falcon Occupation Zone
18th June 3050
On the day of the Trial,
Margaidh was awoken early from sleep and taken to the arena, a region just
outside Benden City set aside for trials such as this. The arena was a vast
stretch of rough ground interspersed
with the occasional patch of scrubby, leafless trees. The ground was covered
with a light dusting of frost that glistened in the sunlight. In the time she
had lived with the Falcon clan, Margaidh had become accustomed to the strange
honour system the warriors favoured, and she had a good idea of what was going
on.
The warriors had bid down to
one Mech each, and Uvin Buhallin had elected to choose the site of the battle.
He had wisely chosen the Benden City arena, while Domask Lewis, on unfamiliar
soil, had chosen the Mechs in which they would fight. The chosen Mech was a
strange bird-like thing the Clan warriors called a Mad Dog; about sixty tons and not especially fast, but loaded with
a barrage of powerful arm-mounted pulse lasers and with two twenty-pack
long-range missile systems on it's shoulders. For it's size, it was formidably
armed, but judging from the expression on Buhallin's face, he was unaccustomed
to piloting a Mad Dog.
Margaidh knew from her own
encounters with Clan Mechs that a Clan LRM had no mimimum range and was as
deadly at short range as it was at a distance. This battle would be a short and
bloody one.
The arena was bathed in
sunlight but it was winter in Alkalurops and the air was chill; Margaidh
huddled for warmth in her plain Clan-issue jacket, the uniform of the labourer
caste. Around her were a knot of warriors; colleagues of Uvin Buhallin, and
Margaidh suspected their presence was not so much to support their commander
but to ensure she did not try to escape.
Domask Lewis began the
proceedings with a formalised ritual in which he announced his identity and his
challenge, and requesting the defender identify himself also. Uvin Buhallin
responded in kind, and when the batchall
was done, both warriors powered up their Mechs and took their chosen positions.
Margaidh waited for what
seemed an age before either Mech made any action at all. It was Uvin Buhallin
that broke the deadlock, suddenly running for a closer position and firing two
flights of missiles at once. Some flew wide but the rest peppered the surface
of Domask Lewis' Mad Dog. Lewis responded with both his large pulse
lasers, but Buhallin was running fast, and Lewis missed. Margaidh screwed her
eyes tight shut, not daring to watch.
When she opened her eyes
again, Buhallin's Mech had taken cover behind a low hill and only it's upper
torso and head was showing. Lewis closed the distance and fired his lasers
again. This time he got a hit, and armour sizzled from the left shoulder of
Buhallin's Mech.
Way to go, Domask! Margaidh thought to herself. Get
him in the head next time!
But Domask had put himself
in an exposed position and Buhallin responded by firing both his large lasers
and a single flight of LRMs. Again the missiles peppered at Lewis' mech's
armour but the lasers all homed in on the Mad
Dog's left arm, stripping armour away and eating into internal circuitry.
Sparks flew and Margaidh could smell burning alloy.
Undeterred, Domask Lewis ran
his Mech round the hill to meet Buhallin head to head, and then both combatants
were partially hidden from Margaidh's view. She saw flashes of laser fire, and fragments of armour flying, but with
both Mechs moving so quickly around one another, she could no longer tell who
was winning, or even which Mech was which.
When the two Mad Dogs emerged into view again,
Margaidh could see that one Mech had lost it's left arm entirely, and was now
down to just one each of large and medium pulse lasers. That had to be Lewis,
she thought, her heart pounding hard.
Buhallin's mech seemed to
have suffered only armour damage but that was extensive, particularly over the
vulnerable centre torso area. One thing Margaidh had noticed was that the Mad Dog was not particularly well
armoured. Which was to say, it was as
well armoured as an Inner Sphere Mech of the same size, but light by Clan
standards.
It seemed to Margaidh that
Uvin Buhallin had the upper hand, and was pounding Lewis relentlessly with his
four lasers. Lewis responded with his two remaining lasers and both missile
packs, but again Margaidh could not see any significant structural damage to
Buhallin's Mech. She bit her bottom lip, and silently prayed for the Wolf.
Abruptly, both Mechs seemed
to come to a stop, and for a moment Margaidh was afraid that Lewis' Mad Dog was about to topple over. Then
she saw telltale signs of smoke curling from breaches in the armour of
Buhallin's Mech. Now, Domask!
Margaidh hissed under her breath. He's
overheated!
But Domask Lewis did not
fire. His Mech's one remaining arm twitched alarmingly as it's actuators
shorted out, and Buhallin took the opportunity to fire everything he had at
Domask's Mech. Two large lasers, two medium lasers and forty missiles streaked
towards the Wolf Clan warrior.
Margaidh shut her eyes again
and waited for the explosion. She did not see Domask, with lightning reactions,
drop his Mech to it's knees, allowing the lasers to pass harmlessly over it's
head. She did not see the missiles
impacting with the frozen ground. She did not see Uvin Buhallin hurriedly
ejecting from his Mech when he realised his barrage of weapons fire had
dangerously overheated it. She opened her eyes just in time to see Buhallin's
mech ripped apart from the inside as the remaining missile ammunition
spontaneously exploded as the heat became unbearable.
As the smoke and flame
cleared, Buhallin emerged from his escape capsue and kicked angrily at the
ground. Domask ignored him, and marched his Mech across the expanse of the
arena, straight to where Margaidh was watching. He popped the canopy and
climbed out, his face covered with sweat, and stood proudly before Margaidh.
"I am Star Commander Domask
Lewis, and I claim victory in this Trial of Possession," he announced, his
voice powerful and authoritative, albeit a little shaky as he recovered from
the exertion of battle. "You are now Margaidh of Clan Wolf, and you are bonded
to me."
Domask Lewis slipped a knife
from his belt and used it to cut through the bondcord around Margaidh's wrist.
Margaidh caught a glimpse of the hilt that was of silver, and ornately shaped
in the form of a wolf, with red gemstones for eyes. Domask replaced the cord
with one of his own; it's warm colours of red, gold and russet brown in
contrast to the cold greens and blues in the cord of the Jade Falcons. This
cord he picked up and he strode up to Uvin Buhallin with it. With a smirk on
his face, he dropped the bondcord at Buhallin's feet and trod it into the
ground.
