But Aidan had never been content with surkai.Even as a cadet, he had known hatred. He had hated his training officer, Falconer Joanna. Should she appear in front of him right this moment, he would have more the urge to strangle her than welcome her. But he would have been most content with his hands around the neck of another officer from his cadet days. That person was Falconer Commander Ter Roshak, the man whom, ironically, he could thank for the fact he was a warrior at all. Roshak had given Aidan a second chance to test as a warrior after the cadet had failed his first Trial of Decision. Unfortunately, Ter Roshak had also arranged the murder of a unit of freeborn cadets to accomplish this extraordinary act. Then he had forced Aidan to assume the identity of one of the unit's cadets in order to qualify as a warrior. The cadet, a freeborn named Jorge, had apparently been a superior trainee, one who might, no doubt, have done well in the Trial. So, Aidan had Roshak's treachery to thank for his present tainted warrior status. The murders, the taint, the fact that he had let it happen—all this made Aidan hate Roshak more than he could ever hate Pershaw or Joanna, more even than he could hate an enemy on a battlefield, a serious flaw for a committed Clan warrior.

To admit his true identity would doubtless ruin him as a warrior, but would also bring Roshak down with him. However, Aidan did not think seeing Roshak shamed and executed was enough to risk his own execution. The least punishment he could expect was a demotion in caste. He had been a tech temporarily after failing his original trial and before assuming his new identity, and he knew he could never return to that level of Clan society. That, too, was not warriorlike. The way of the Clan was for each member to take satisfaction from whatever duty he or she performed for the good of all. There was no room for dissatisfaction. And, in truth, very few Clanspeople were unhappy with their lot. Aidan thought he must have been cursed by some mysterious fate, yet even that was not of the Clan. He had learned the concept only from his clandestine readings. That fate had made him reflective, congenitally restless, and—its last probable irony—a counterfeit freeborn. A freebirth,as Pershaw constantly reiterated.

Sometimes Aidan wondered if his private fate, ever guiding his life down fruitless paths, had performed one of those mythological miracles he had read about. In one story a sculptor had created a statue of a woman, and it had come to life. For Aidan, it was as though the skilled hands of his private fate had sculpted him into a freeborn. Perhaps he wasa freeborn now and could never be a trueborn again, as if he had come to life in the wrong caste and would become a statue if he tried to return to the other.

The trouble was that he now thought more and more like a freeborn. He had been with frees for so long that he had come to admire them, particularly their ability to fight well despite the contempt the trueborns always rained on them after the battle. Their attention to their own skills, their own efficiencies in guiding a BattleMech, could at times be phenomenal. But the only credit they ever got for doing well, even better than some trueborns, was some carelessly written words in a worthless commendation. For consolation, they had the camaraderie among themselves, which Aidan had come to enjoy. Freeborns were not as stiff and distant as the truebirth warriors. The Clans also turned a blinder eye on the drinking habits of freeborns and on their having their way with village women more frequently than the role-obsessed trueborns ever could.

* * *

Kael Pershaw had been staring at him for some time, his face placid, his body relaxed. Everyone in his command knew that such apparent contentment was something to fear, although Aidan refused to fear the base commander.

"Believe me, Jorge," he said finally. "I would like nothing more than to kill you in the Circle of Equals if we were not so undermanned at Glory Station that any warrior's death is shockingly wasteful. I suspect Clan Wolf had good intelligence about our situation even before the batchall.But I will not allow them to have my genetic legacy. And that is why your mission is essential. If I could entrust the task to a trueborn unit, I would, but we are already stretched too thin. Your Star must do it."

Of course, Aidan thought. If it was the worst task available, give it to the freeborns. This mission, which his Star mustdo, was undoubtedly the equivalent of cleaning the Cave, the warrior name for lavatory.

"As you know," Pershaw continued, "a DropShip containing the Trinary to be rotated here was attacked and shot down by Clan Wolf aerofighters. What I did not mention in the briefing is that we know approximately where it fell. Air surveillance has indicated at least some survivors and the possibility of some intact BattleMechs, but there has been no communication from the DropShip. The surveillance report may be in error and perhaps no survivors exist, or it may just be that all communications equipment was knocked out in the crash. You and your Star will travel to the crash site in your 'Mechs, investigate, and give help where needed. But the most important facet of the entire mission is to bring out any warriors and any functioning 'Mechs, taking them to Glory Station for integration into combat. It is a simple mission, one even freebirthscan perform. I am sure you would agree, quiaff?You may respond, Star Commander Jorge. Here alone, between us, with battle conditions imminent, you may speak without awaiting my authorization."

"There is not anything to say. Simple as we are, my Star can fulfill mission orders."

Was it Aidan's mistaken perception, or did Pershaw's eyebrows rise just slightly? They may have, for he said, "Your skill at nearly imperceptible sarcasm occasionally impresses me, Star Commander Jorge. I take it then that you have no questions about your orders?"

"I wish to know only the necessary details. There is no difficulty with that, quineg ?"

"Neg. Anything else?"

"May I stand?"

"Of course."

Pershaw managed to stand before Aidan did. He also went around to the rear of his desk, another tactic. Because Aidan was the taller of the two men, it might have made Pershaw severely uncomfortable to stand close and look up at his subordinate, his very inferior officer. Before this meeting, Aidan had known that Pershaw despised freeborns. However, it was not until now that he knew how deep went the antipathy. In an odd way, he almost admired Pershaw more. The man was capable of hatred, just like Aidan. They shared, in spite of their differences, a human trait.

Pershaw laid out a map of Glory Station and surrounding territory on his desktop, then leaned over it. "The crash occurred just about here." He put his stubby forefinger on a point just to the other side of Blood Swamp. Between the swamp and the crash site was some pretty rough terrain, Aidan knew.

"It will take a long time going around the swamp," Aidan observed.

"Yes. If you were to go around the swamp. We do not have time for that. Operations has mapped out a route throughthe swamp."

Pershaw looked up at him. Aidan knew the man wanted him to protest, but he would not give Pershaw that satisfaction. He merely nodded.

"After the swamp, there will be some tough going in the jungle, but we will install hand units in place of arm-mounted weapons on some of your 'Mechs. This should allow you to break through any heavy jungle growth. The hand activators should also be of service if any of the Guard 'Mechs must be cut loose. That is satisfactory, quiaff?"