"Why?"

"You never used to indicate your emotions, at least within the sibko. Perhaps to Marthe alone, but certainly never to me or the others."

"As you say, we are no longer in the sibko."

The conversation so disturbed him that Aidan wondered if he should leave the science settlement, but then the feeling passed. He was becoming used to being with Peri. Feeling the warmth of her now, he could not really understand why it seemed to leave him with a vague sense of guilt.

If the next few days were pleasant, Aidan found that Peri's embraces had taken on a strange hint of desperation. Each time they coupled, she behaved as though he might be gone within hours. It was not long before she was proved right. When they heard the first sound of a heavy VTOL skimming along the top of the nearby forest, they were in each other's arms for the last time.

31

Aidan is apparently going to be uncooperative, wrote Falconer Commander Ter Roshak. Falconer Joanna's report—spoken to me, as I had ordered, so as to leave no written record—indicated that she had caused a bit of an uproar on Tokasha, bullying her way around as she did. I destroyed all her dispatches as soon as I heard she was bringing Aidan back. I have a complaint from a scientist, self-styled Watson (one of those filthy and useless lab-names), which charges that Joanna injured him severely when she confronted him in his office.

I can see her knocking the scientist about, at least until (as she told me) he cried out that it was he who had sent her the communique revealing Aidan's presence at the science station. He is still angry about the way Joanna treated him, and he has sent me a message asking me to reprimand her. I will not, of course. She was acting properly. So, like any communication from a lower caste, even one as important and, by some, exalted as the scientists, I will ignore it. Watson should have known better than to send it anyway. These scientists tend to have stupid ideas regarding ethics. If they lived even a day in a warrior's body, they would think differently.

It was shrewd of Tech Nomad to suggest checking computer records for members of Aidan's sibko. I understand from Joanna that this Peri was quite surprised when her former training officer strode into the lab, demanding that Aidan reveal himself. She told Joanna that Aidan was no longer there, speaking rather smugly, I am told. Sibkin, even those who have progressed out of the sibko, may still retain old ties, I am also told. That may be true. As for me, I never think of anyone from my old sibko.

I would like to have seen Aidan's face as he rushed into the nearby forest, only to encounter Tech Nomad holding a submachine gun on him. They tell me Aidan did not even blink at the sight of the weapon (a part of the story I was, ironically, glad to hear) and that he rushed at Nomad, who had the presence of mind to whack Aidan on the side of his head with the gun instead of pulling the trigger. Nomad said he had to hit the young man two or three times, and that even as Aidan was passing out, he made a grab at the Tech's ankles, knocking him off his feet. He is still limping along, a graphic reminder that Aidan never gives up. That is something I intend to exploit.

Aidan is now being held in an underground weapons vault near here. I did not want to take the chance that someone might recognize him. My plan requires that no one know who he is, or was, especially those with whom he will serve.

Nor must anyone know the complete plan, not even Falconer Joanna, and certainly not Aidan. To Joanna, the annihilation of the freeborn training unit will seem a fortuitous accident. Even if she suspects something, she will never know for sure. As far as Aidan is concerned, his new identity will be a godsend. I know the young man still hungers to be a warrior. I could see it in his eyes on my one visit to the vault.

The freebirths will die in an active minefield. I will claim that Falconer Erica was informed about the mines, but that she obviously did not deign to inform the cadets. Once in the field, it will seem that the freebirths panicked, with only one survivor.

In my interviews with Aidan, at first I gave him the standard disciplinary lecture about deserting his post and all the other standard-manual rigmarole, but even he knew I was going through the motions.

"You do not chase a deserter all over the globular cluster and bring him back without some other reason," he commented drily.

I put my false hand onto his shoulders. He flinched a bit beneath it, but had enough respect to sit still.

"I am returning you to cadet training with another unit," I said.

"Why?"

I admired his unhesitant reply. Everything about him had the makings of a good MechWarrior, even his stubborn inquisitiveness.

"It is my decision. That is all you need to know. Do you not wish to be a warrior?"

"More than anything else in my life," he said fiercely, showing emotion for the only time during our interview. Had any question remained about whether I was going to all this trouble for the right person, the doubts fled now.

"Then you should not complain."

"How can I go into a sibko? They would never accept an outsider."

"That may be true, but it is not for you to worry about. You must trust me. Your new group will accept you. All I need to know at this moment is whether you agree to follow my orders in this regard. When I call you to me next, you will be prepared to reenter training—at a late stage, incidentally—no matter what the circumstances."

"You know I will, do you not?"

"Yes, I do."

"You must have known that even before coming here. Yes, I agree. Is there anything more I need say?"

"Nothing."

He nodded. Satisfied, I left.

Tomorrow I will send the freeborn unit to the obstacle course. I have already laid the charges that will destroy it. I must set them off myself. I can trust no one else.

32

There were still seven survivors, besides himself, in Jorge's unit. Freeborns all, they had the audacity common to freeborn cadets, the conviction that they had just as much right to be warriors as the more arrogant trues. Perhaps even more, for the so-called truebirths were merely the products of concoctions placed in vats rather than the fruit of passion and subsequent womb-nurturing. Jorge knew that, like him, his fellow cadets believed that they could prove themselves as good as any warrior. They looked forward to their Trials with as much eagerness, if a shade less expectation, than truebirth cadets. The only drawback was the knowledge that, even if they succeeded, they were destined for assignment to garrison units on the most backwater posts, with no hope of ever engaging in honorable combat against another Mech-Warrior.

No matter, Jorge thought, as his unit marched to its next test. Stepping desultorily at their head was Falconer Erica, their tall, muscular training officer who had made no secret of her distaste for the assignment. The freeborns felt that they had to work doubly hard to learn necessary information because Erica so often neglected to instruct them properly. She frequently disappeared, and the gossip went that she had a good taste for bad wine. Whatever they smelled on her breath in the rare times they were in proximity to Erica, it was foul and suggestive of ephemeral fermentation.

They arrived at their destination, an obstacle course where they had already qualified. Erica explained that they had been ordered to perform a re-test, to verify that their skills had not degenerated in the three months since originally passing through this rather simple set of challenges. There were some mutterings among the free-borns, most of it complaint that they were only being retested because they were freeborns and that no sibko would ever have to endure this. Erica had to quiet them down, bellowing in that distracted way of hers that the sooner they performed the task, the sooner they could leave. She pointed out that neither was she particularly pleased with the situation, which required that she accompany them all over again. Perhaps, thought Jorge, the real test was intended for her. Perhaps her superiors had discovered her drinking habit and wanted to see if she was still qualified to train cadets. He relished the thought that Erica might slip off an overhead ladder into mud, or wind up with her nose twisted in some netting.