The Journal of Michael Bekker

by Ulquiorra9000

Entry 2: May 18th, 3044

Good evening, journal. Is that how I should address you? I have few precedents for this; many of the merchant and laborer castes, and their families, keep journals; I have heard of such things before. Some deride me for this, but remarkably, Candace has not said a thing of it, nor tried to steal or damage it. This is fortunate. She would no doubt challenge me to a Circle of Equals over its contents, and I do not relish the idea of facing her any more often than Star Commander Vlendir demands.

My scar is healing, but it leaves a distinct white line along my forearm, about six centimeters long. To think that my first scar was inflicted by a fingernail! During sibko training! Perhaps, if I join the warrior caste, this is one scar I will not share tales of. I would rather that I collect no more if possible, but if I do, I pray that they are born or proper battle. Not an overzealous sibkin.

It still baffles me how Candace was not born into the Smoke Jaguars or Jade Falcons.

A thunderstorm is moving in, journal. All morning, I heard the rumble of thunder as anvil-shaped clouds gathered (the tradtional shape of thunderheads) in the west, moving toward my training center with frightening speed. A damp, strong breeze picked up by 1100 hours and stubbornly kept blowing, and the trees' leaves rattled and hissed. The whole forest on my camp's edge seemed agitated, but Star Commander Vlendir was not.

I joined the line of cadets once Star Commander Vlendir barked at us for his attention. Behind him, the Ghost Bear flag snapped and whipped around in the wind, an early warning of the storm. Meanwhile, Star Commander Vlendir outlined today's exercise: a retrieval mission. No ordinary retrieval mission; a race. "Two dogs and one bone," as he put it. Someone chuckled at the metaphor; the Star Commander's eyes shut him up.

Vlendir did not explain any further, but instead ordered us to the 'Mech bays. Now, this is a sight that I do not tire of! Many training 'mechs, typically lights and a few low-end mediums, stand with their backs to the bay walls in two rows that face each other. I am always impressed by the tall scaffolding that the technicians use to repair and modify our mounts. We all changed into the proper cooling vests and boots and shorts. I felt goosebumps form, but the heat of battle would change that soon enough.

Candace gave me a shove as I reached my assigned 'Mech. "Try not to get your ass shot out from under you, surat," she told me. Once again, her grating voice imprints itself clearly in my memory! I told her to make sure that the same does not happen to her, and she only declined to challenge me to a Circle of Equals because she was looking forward to this even more than I was.

As Candace climbed the ladder to her 'Mech, I found another sibkin I failed to mention: Quentin. He is not like Candace, who a berserker, but instead he has a quiet intensity that, I think, will propel him further along a MechWarrior career than any animal fury would. He said little during our years of training together and seemed to resent anything spoken to him that did not relate to his betterment as a warrior. He is a laser beam, shooting straight to the target and not diverting from its path by a single micrometer. Candace is a hastily-fired SRM volley.

I still do not know what possessed me to speak to Quentin then; maybe I felt the pressure to retaliate against Candace for the ridiculous scar she gave me last week, and I needed a sounding board. "She will regret making me her rival today," I told him.

Quentin gave me a sharp look over his shoulder but said nothing. I already saw the resentment that he always showed when he was diverted from whatever thoughts raced through his head. I get the impression that he makes up for his silences with constantly berating himself mentally to improve. He does not need Star Commander Vlendir to push him; he pushes himself, and who knows you better than you?

I am not certain that this is the case, though. Perhaps he merely detests social business because he does not like people. Equally likely.

"You are wasting your time, talking to that toad," one of the girls in my sibko teased me. Her friends laughed.

A lot of people tease Quentin, too. Not once has he ever risen to the bait, whether by words or a mock Trial of Grievance.

Disciplined to the last.

My 'Mech is a Kit Fox prime, and I savored the feeling of its relatively large engine under me as I activated all systems. ER large laser, small pulse laser, Streak SRM 4, LBX-5 autocannon. I have used this configuration before, and I feel like the spirit of the Ghost Bear is watching over me every time. I have also piloted the Firemoth, Adder, and Jenner IIC 'Mechs over the past year, but they feel like a bucking, unwilling animal under me. But the Kit Fox... it may be the Jade Falcons' pride among light 'Mechs, but do not call me unfaithful to the Bears when I say that I share the birds' affinity for this machine.

And its affinity for me.

Oh, and I should note that this training exercise was meant not only to test our capacity to complete an objective, but to test future leadership material. Suffice to say that I was merely a Point for this excursion. Our entire Sibko neatly formed two rival Binaries, and Star Commander Vlendir prompty named Quentin as my Binary's Star Captan. No surprise there; as much as I envy Quentin, his methods produce results again and again. A few, such as Candace, think that he will "burn out" like a blue giant star. Whether or not that ends up true, he is near the top of our sibko, if not at the very zenith.

Candace, meanwhile, is a Point in the opposing Binary. Good; I would not want to cooperate with someone like her. And this way, I have a chance to strike her down, even if all our 'Mechs are using underpowered weapons. Long have we moved on from mere simulators; nothing replaces the hot metal that surrounds us in a proper 'Mech! On occasion, someone will die in this sibko or any other sibko across the Clans training like this. So be it. I will take those risks. What else is there?

There was not much worth telling of the exercise's first twenty minutes, except that the thunderstorm crept into our area of operations. It is raining hard as I write this, but earlier today, I merely experienced scattered raindrops tickling my 'Mech. Visibility was still close to 90%, even with the thunderheads blocking the sun. I remember seeing forked lightning in the distance, but there was no chance of it hitting anyone's 'Mech. Yet.

Quentin spread his two Stars wide across a series of hills dotted with spruces, radars on passive mode. Eyes only for now; Quentin was often a conservative warrior. But I have seen him unleash all his conserved energies for one last strike, whether in the Circle of Equals, simulators, or live-fire exercises. I looked foward to seeing when and how that moment would manifest.

The rain came down a bit harder, but that did not slow down our Binary. I moved with a steady hand and mind, and I knew that if I operated well under Quentin's command like this, perhaps Star Commander Vlendir would retain me as Quentin's subordinate. I could only flourish under Quentin's command, until the day comes when I am fit for such a thing.

Some, like the Jade Falcons or Smoke Jaguars or Ice Hellions, would sooner die than acknowledge the need for partnership. They are fools, all of them!

Strength is not born in a vacuum.

I finally discovered what my objective was: to allow a 'Mech from my Binary to reach a small, abandoned bunker and pick up a red flag and return it to the barracks and drop it in a square that had been drawn into the dirt there earlier. I had not known the square's purpose then, but now I did.

That flag was mine.

Quentin moved our Binary toward the bunker with his usual patience and precision. Not one 'Mech's foot moved where he did not will it, and I can only imagine the hot stress in Quentin's mind as his Binary neared the objective... and the rival Binary.

Sometimes I am glad to not be him. Yet.

The resulting battle was far too chaotic to recall blow-by-blow; suffice it to tell you, journal, that the gloomy, rainy afternoon glowed with depowered lasers, the muzzle flashes of autocannons, and the orange fireballs of missiles. I felt myself slipping a little bit from Quentin's desired precision, but my shots found their marks. Take, for example, an Adder that challenged me. Whoever was piloting it was clearly flustered, and his or her shots tended to set the trees around me on fire rather than strip away my armor.

Let me say that when my lasers and LBX-5 relieved that Adder of its right arm, the pilot retreated into the forest. Similarly, the rest of Quentin's Binary asserted dominance over the battlefield, and we made a move for the flag. However, the Viper that he sent was felled by my enemies, and I cannot describe my eagerness for when Quentin ordered me to complete the objective.

Candace was there, too.

Her Arctic Cheetah-C was barely scratched from battle, and let me tell you, I could see why: she moved like a dervish, and having four ER medium lasers and two medium pulses suited her aggressive ways. My Kit Fox's armor felt the same way as she opened fire, weaving back and forth between trees.

I have to say, though, that serving under Quentin gives you an odd clarity of mind. I, too, maneuvered through the forest to match Candace, and my Streak SRMs blew away most of her torso armor. I clearly recall all the smoke and sparks coming from her damaged internal systems, and the thrill that I felt as I pushed her further than ever before.

I also remember firing my lasers and missing. Badly.

At that point, Candace's Arctic Cheetah blew off my arm with its medium pulse lasers, and by the Founders, her medium lasers were coring my 'Mech faster than I thought possible. My ears are still ringing as I write this from all the alarms in my cockpit.

I hit her with my LBX-5, but that made little difference; another laser volley toasted my gyro, and I went down. Freebirth! I felt this sick thrill of vertigo as I fell, and it is all I can do now not to throw back my head and roar in anger. But I cannot; not only am I not an animal like Candace, but it is late now, and some of my sibkin are settling in for the night or reviewing training manuals. I will not disturb them like that.

Candace's Binary claimed the flag after a protracted battle that I was forced to watch from the cockpit of my fallen Kit Fox. A retrieval team would collect me, and other fallen warriors, later, but the battle is what is important here. Candace felled another of my Starmates until her 'Mech was finally taken down in flames. Candace was unhurt aside from a few bruises, like me, but she has less reason to complain than I do.

Quentin, on the outside, took it in stride when he lost. He believes that he merely has to re-analyze his tactics and better adjust for terrain and weather in the next battle tomorrow. At least, I presume that he is thinking these things, for he has not said a word out loud since coming back to the barracks. That is typical Quentin, and I will not complain.

Star Commander Vlendir, meanwhile, is going to review our Battle ROMs soon and evaluate us, and reorganize our Binaries for next time. I pray that I remain in Quentin's Binary and oppose Candace once again. I need that. I need it dearly, and perhaps I will roar in the barracks if I do not have it that way.

I am not an animal, like Candace is.

I am determined.

But now, it is late, and I feel the fatigue in my muscles and mind alike. Over to my right, Quentin is already snoring; he sleeps a lot, probably to recharge that strained mind of his. His back is to me; I cannot tell if he rests easy or not.

I will not neglect you, journal. Every week, at minimum, I shall write. How many entries will there be? Let us find out together.