Vlad and the Demo's center met at the midpoint and bent down for a face-off. They pressed the backs of their nets together, and a referee placed the ball between the two sticks. At his whistle, both men struggled for possession of the ball. Vlad lunged forward, then spun off to the left. The ball popped loose on that side, and he scooped it up.

Phelan shot forward and arrowed in toward the goal. He threw a little head fake at Carter, then breezed by him. He raised his stick to catch Vlad's attention, and they made eye contact, but Vlad dumped the ball off to the attacker in the corner. As Phelan pulled himself back out to a more proper position, a pass came to the center forward, but the goalie stuffed him and Carter picked up the ball.

"Stupid ape." Phelan watched as Carter carried the ball like an egg in a basket. Most players, by working the head of the stick back and forth in a semi-circular motion known as "cradling" the ball, used centripetal force to keep the ball in the net. Carter made no attempt to stabilize the ball. Rather, he slowed his pace to let the nearest Ward attacker close with him, then he snaked the butt-end of his stick out to spear the man in his red circle.

The attacker went down clutching his chest, and foul or no foul, Phelan saw red. Instead of backing to cover his counterpart on the Demos team, he sprinted toward Carter. Phelan held his stick by the butt-end in his right hand and pulled it straight back in obvious preparation for a slashing stick-on-stick check. Given ample warning, Carter cradled the ball briefly, then pulled it back and away from Phelan.

This better work!Phelan purposely cut wide to the left, as though Carter's infantile move had somehow faked him into error. Still holding it in one hand, he let his stick rise up over Carter's head, then whipped it down hard. Phelan caught Carter's stick just beneath the head and bounced the ball loose. Dodging back right, Phelan scooped the ball into his net. Two steps further in, he planted his right foot, cut to the left and shifted his hands around for a left-handed shot.

He snapped the stick down and directed the shot at the ground less than a meter in front of the net. The ball hit the grass and skidded about four centimeters before it bounced up. The goalie's sweeping save sliced through the air a hair's-breadth behind the ball. The vulcanized rubber sphere slipped inside the goal just beyond the post.

Phelan raised his stick triumphantly in the air. Other players cheered, but as he turned around, Carter and Vlad seemed to be competing to see who could glare at him the hardest. Feeling buoyant, Phelan trotted over to Vlad. "I could have done that five seconds earlier if you had passed me the ball when I was open."

"Carter had you covered."

"Yeah, on your wish-list and in his dreams."

"You got lucky, Phelan."

"Luck's what others call talent when they have none, Vlad."

Vlad's brown eyes smouldered. "Well, we will just have to see if you are as good as you think. Get back where you belong."

Phelan took up his position for the face-off. Now if I were Vlad and I hated me as much as he does, what would I do?Phelan smiled. Yeah, buddy-pass.

Blue won the face-off and brought the ball down into the Wards' defensive zone. A couple of quick passes resulted in a shot on goal, but the goalie made the save. He passed off to a defenseman, who worked the ball up to the left wing.

As their line swept past midfield, the left wing passed to Vlad. Vlad cradled the ball for a couple of seconds, then looped it over to Phelan.

The high pass came slow, leaving Phelan no choice but to wait for it. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Carter bearing down on him. Thanks loads, Vlad.Phelan clamped down on the mouth guard and prepared himself for impact.

He caught the ball with his back to Carter. Phelan knew that nothing short of a brick wall would stop Carter from blasting through him, and he had no time to dodge. Determined to make the best of a very bad situation, the Mech Warrior ran his hands up to the head of the stick and tucked the shaft beneath his right arm. As Carter's huge form eclipsed the sun, Phelan shoved back and up as hard as possible.

Carter impaled himself on the butt-end of Phelan's stick. Cartilage cracked in his sternum and his gloves flew from his hands as his arms shot out. He hung suspended in air for a second or two, then dropped directly onto his tailbone. Croaking as he tried to suck in a breath, the big man lay on the ground with hands clutched to the blue spot on his chest.

The impact knocked Phelan forward. Cradling the ball close to his own chest, he rolled and came up with it still in his net. Vlad streaked toward the middle and Phelan shot the ball at his head. The other Mech Warrior deftly plucked it from the air and whipped his stick down and around in an underhand shot. It rocketed up and over the goalie's right shoulder to catch the corner of the goal.

"Hey, Vlad," Phelan called out. "Nice goal. We do good things when we work together."

Vlad spun and poked at Phelan's chest with his stick. "Drop dead."

Phelan parried the blow sharply down. "You know, our fighting makes about as much sense as the citizens of Free Rasalhague hating mercenaries. We don't have to like each other, but we can work together for the common good."

"The common good?" Vlad laughed contemptuously. "That you are here at all is because of your good luck. That you are a warrior is my bad luck, but in no way should you dream you have the right to consider yourself a member of our group. You are here only until the testing process proves what I have known all along: you are the dregs of a degraded society. When you fail your testing, you will be discarded."

"And when I pass?"

"You will not. Six weeks or six hundred weeks from now, you will not pass." Vlad's grin, twisted by the scar on his face, showed no mirth. "I guarantee it because I will be one of the pilots fighting against you. And believe me, I shall end your charade then and there."

Phelan snorted, then pointed at Carter. "Just be sure you get it right the first time around, Vlad. You will never have a better chance. If you blow it, it will be my turn, and I assure you, I will not miss."

16

Winddancer Plains, Outreach

Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth

2 June 3051

Victor Davion pulled his night-vision goggles a centimeter off his face and let cool air bathe his flesh. Settling the goggles back in place, he glanced at his chronometer for the twentieth time since taking up his position. Fifteen more seconds. I hope the others are in place.

Ahead of him, at the camp's northern perimeter, stood four BattleMechs. Each had the cylindrical body and back-bending legs that made it look so much like a Marauder,but the underslung arms ended in a configuration that Victor found unique. The 'Mech type also looked to mass less than a Marauderbecause of the overall downscaling of the design. He knew Wolf's Dragoons had begun to produce some of their own 'Mech designs with the facilities on Outreach, but this was his first look at any of them.

Two guards wearily trudged their way through picket duty. It was already toward the end in their watch, and the rosy hint of dawn on the horizon seemed to have sapped the last of their strength and caution. The two seemed more interested in chatting together and stamping their feet to keep warm than in surveying the surrounding brush.

Victor picked up his laser rifle and sighted in on the two guards. Like everyone in the commando team, they wore harnesses and helmets fitted with infrared sensors. If shot by one of the downpowered lasers, a signal would go off, telling the target he had been hit and killed. Victor did not think the gear was as effective as the exoskeletons used for training at the Nagelring, but they were lighter and thus preferable for this long expedition.