Aidan nearly slid off the 'Mech's shoulder as the machine's rocking arc reached its limit and the boy pushed it back, the intensity of his effort forcing the sinews in his upper arms to bulge out. At the last second, Aidan grabbed the gun mount again. Holding on tightly, he rode on the shoulder to the end of its present rocking motion. At the point where the 'Mech again stopped, it seemed to teeter for a moment before halting, enough time to suggest it might crash before reaching its opposite point in the return arc, enough time for Aidan to see dew on a patch of grass just below him. Aidan realized that his presence on the 'Mech, clutching the mount, with his weight full against the weapon, might be just enough to precipitate the fall now. However, after leaning to its left for an astonishingly long time, the 'Mech began to rock back. Aidan let out the breath he had been holding for a long time. Had he even breathed at all since he had slipped out of the cockpit?

As the 'Mech slowly rocked back toward its right, Aidan was certain this would be the last arc. The machine would definitely crash to the ground. The freeborn had to realize this, too—or else be crushed in the fall. In spite of the boy's tainted birth, Aidan devoutly hoped his opponent would have the sense to get out of the way. Having him mangled under a training 'Mech would be a cheap, almost shameful way of winning. Aidan wanted a decisive win, one that Falconer Joanna could not question either publicly or in her bunk, where she often hurled insults these days while in the act of coupling.

Aidan planned his strategy quickly. During the brief moment when the 'Mech's shoulder was level, he released his grip on the mount and leaped over it. Now he exerted pressure, using the gun mount for leverage. He wanted to guarantee the 'Mech's fall. Over a loudspeaker mounted on a nearby tree, Falconer Joanna's voice screamed out. Fortunately, some static on the outdoor sound system, plus the loud sounds of the near-crashed 'Mech, drowned out her words. Aidan was sure he would hear them all later, anyway. He suspected that Joanna had never once in her life ever considered the possibility of verbal restraint.

He set his feet so that his body would be in balance at that moment the 'Mech wavered before it began its final descent. As the machine's right shoulder tilted once more and Aidan forced the motion further by leaning into the mounted gun, he scanned the terrain below, looking for the freeborn. There he was, backing away from the 'Mech, trying to get out of its way. As the other boy stared up at the 'Mech with wide fearful eyes, his feet suddenly slipped and slid across the wet grass. It was obvious that he had not yet seen Aidan.

Timing his move with the acceleration of the 'Mech's fall, Aidan leaped off the shoulder, sailing in what would have been a perfect dive during the excruciating swim-training that Joanna had supervised in her usual compassionate way. ("Drown, you repulsive slugs. You do the stroke my way or drown.") As Aidan zeroed in on the freeborn like an aerofighter in a suicide swoop, he had a sudden moment of doubt about the wisdom of his improvised strategy. The boy did not see him until the last moment, too late to put up any kind of defense. Aidan, just before impact, ducked his head and brought his arms down on the boy's shoulders. They collided with more impact than Aidan had expected, and even before they hit the ground, Aidan was momentarily dazed. Even with his head dazed, he managed to cushion his own fall with his enemy's body. The boy yelped in pain. Aidan was bounced off the boy's body as the 'Mech and the earth met with a tremendous thump. Light as the machine was, it still sent a minor earthquake of vibrations across the immediate landscape. The tremors sent Aidan sliding across damp ground like a child down an icy slope.

After he came to a stop, he maneuvered his body around to face the boy again. The freeborn, nearly as resilient, was struggling to his feet, too!. Standing, Aidan detected movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking in that direction, he saw a long tube sailing toward him. He caught it just before it hit the ground. Jagged at each end, it looked like it must have been a section of the laser weapon's barrel.

He did not hesitate to use it. Joanna had screamed at them often enough that a warrior must use any material available to him or her to win a combat. Even the droning Dermot had pointed out that no warrior ever won an engagement by brooding over whether or not to use a particular weapon. Emitting the kind of falcon yelp that the trainers had drilled into them as the beginning and end of any calisthenic or marching drill, Aidan ran at the freeborn, the metal tube held over his head like a primitive club.

The freeborn, staring with surprise at Aidan's newfound weapon, had his own weapon ready, a short stub of a knife obviously carved out of some piece of scrap from the pile kept at the edge of the training ground. (Cadets were encouraged to scavenge from the scrap-pile for any need. Many made cups and utensils, tools, small artworks to decorate the single table allowed beside each bunk, and, although specifically forbidden, small weapons like the one the freeborn now held in his hand.)

In one part of his mind, Aidan almost admired the craftiness of his enemy in concealing a lethal weapon, getting it by the officers in charge, waiting for the right opportunity to use it. And that moment was now, with a trueborn rushing at him and ready to crush his skull with his own somewhat-less-lethal weapon.

But that was the only part of Aidan's mind that considered the situation coolly. The rest became instantly filled with rage. What right had this stupid freebirth to attempt to kill a natural warrior, a trueborn, in an ordinary training exercise? The bastard must die himself!

Aidan tried to be quicker than the boy. Switching the metal tube from his right to left hand, he brought it down toward the freeborn's forearm, hoping to dislodge the knife and hear the satisfying crack of a bone in the process.

But the boy anticipated Aidan's defense. He dodged to his right, and the tube just grazed his sleeve. Adjusting to Aidan's attack, he then quickly brought the knife up and forward, slashing the sleeveless cadet's forearm. Aidan's defensive move had not been as quick as the boy's because the momentum of his own thrust had set him off balance, with his feet stumbling on the wet soil beneath. Nevertheless, the blow was not as telling as the freeborn had intended and the knife blade just grazed Aidan's skin, barely drawing blood.

Now they were both off balance, their footing so insecure they looked like bad dancers in a village celebration. But Aidan still had one advantage—his rage. The boy, with the lack of involvement so characteristic of freeborns, merely wanted to win. Aidan wanted to kill.

Ignoring the pain from the knife slash, he stepped in toward the boy, and raising the metal tube fiercely, he caught him on the side of his forehead, enough to daze him. The boy stumbled backward, trying to return his weapon to the action but unable, it seemed, to coordinate the action. His arm flopped around like that of a rag doll. He looked foolish.

Aidan grabbed the boy's knife arm, and raising it to his mouth, bit fiercely, drawing blood and tearing some skin away. The tactic worked. The boy dropped the knife. For a brief moment, Aidan considered picking it up and stabbing the freeborn, but he did not favor knives, especially ones fashioned by the enemy. He also threw the tube away. He wanted to tear this freeborn apart with his bare hands, without weaponry. In his mind were visions of skeletons and gore.

He only got to the point of bashing the freeborn's head against the ground, over and over until no consciousness remained in the boy's open eyes. Training officers suddenly appeared from odd hiding places, from inside fake fortified trees and out of manmade hillocks. The analysts for the exercise descended to a clear patch of ground in a small helicopter. It took four of the officers to lift Aidan off the freeborn and another three to talk him out of his rage. By that time the boy was fully conscious again and staring at him with hatred in his eyes. Before they yanked him away, he had enough time to mutter, "You did not impress me one bit, trashborn." The savage insult was enough to revive Aidan's anger, but the officers restrained him again, as others dragged the freeborn away.