"Metal? Part of the DropShip, do you think?"
"Possibly."
"We crashed. But where are the others? Where is the ship? Should it not be nearby? Should we not hear something?"
"I am afraid I do not know, Joanna."
"Please ..."
"Star Captain."
"That is better. I will excuse last night as the offshoot of pain."
"If you wish. To consider your questions, I think we may have been thrown clear. And that is a larger piece of the ship that is holding you down,' I believe. I cannot see well from this angle, but it looks metallic. And charred."
"Can you get it off me?"
"Well, not with my left arm. But maybe. I feel better. Let me see if I can do something about my legs. At least I can look back and see that it is only a couple of rocks obstructing them. It is hard, but I think I can . . . yes, that's it. Excuse me. That is it."
"What have you done?"
"Do not ask. My leg is more maneuverable now. If I can just lift it up here. Yes. Good. Now, this is going to take an effort. Do not say anything humorous for a moment."
"I never speak in a humorous fashion."
"I have noticed that. Okay, now. Here goes." Then came much grunting, along with a couple of screams of pain and a movement Joanna could not see well. Finally, after what seemed like an agonizingly long time, Nomad seemed to rise above her.
"All right. You may speak now, Star Captain. I am, for your information, on my knees. My right arm is better, but it looks like my wrist was smashed. Otherwise, it is quite movable."
"Does it hurt when you move it? The wrist, I mean."
"Well, yes, it does. Severely. But I am to serve, quiaff?"
"Was that sarcasm, Nomad?"
"In this situation, I cannot be sure. Here, let me see what I can do. It will take some time regardless."
There was a shuffling sound as Nomad came forward in a kneeling position. It took him a long while to close the very short distance between them. The act was punctuated by almost-whispered groans. Joanna could tell he was in great pain, but trying not to reveal it in his voice.
"What do you see, Nomad?"
"Well, I have found another part of the DropShip. It is across your torso and upper legs. It is not large, but it is pressing down on you at an angle and that is why you cannot move. I know what I will do."
"What?"
"If I lean in from your left side, I can get my shoulder under part of the piece. I am going to try to lift it. If I can, you can scramble out. Maybe. That is, if you are not hurt too much, and no body part is severely damaged."
"Do not try to cheer me up, Nomad."
Nomad made an odd sound in his throat, but said little during his laborious shuffling moves to her left side. Unable to turn her head that way, all she could do was listen to his labors.
"All right now," he said finally. "I am in position. When you hear a scream that will put your own jade falcon yelp to shame, you begin to crawl uphill as well as you can. Your other arm should be freed first. Get both arms pulling you up the hillside if that is the only way. You are ready, quiaff?"
"Aff. Do it."
He was right about the scream. It was loud, piercing, frightening. It was completely filled with pain.
She began to squirm forward as soon as he began. Her free arm, as he had suggested, was the key. She grabbed a rock and pulled herself a long way along the ground. Then she put both hands underneath her torso, raised her body, and brought her legs up beneath her. Scrambling forward like some sea animal along the edge of shore, she got completely free and yelled back to Nomad to stop lifting.
"I have," he said. "Long ago. You extricated yourself with the first couple of moves. Thank you. I could not have stood much more pain than I did."
"You thanked me. I suppose I have to thank you in a formal way, too."
"Do not bother. Your gratitude might be too disturbing. I might have a seizure or something like it. Are you all right?"
His left arm dangled like a branch that had been hit by lightning. His face was white with illness and pain. Sweat poured off his forehead. He seemed to waver on his knees, looking as if he would pitch forward any minute.
"Here, Nomad. Let me help you."
"It is a shock, but one I will have to accept from you."
"Abandon the sarcasm, Nomad. It is undesirable for a tech, as I have told you often enough."
"Yes, you have."
His eyes were closing. He was obviously going to fall. Joanna, on her knees herself, sprang forward and caught him in her arms. The act started her shoulder and wrist pains going again. But, she realized, what she felt was nothing compared with the pain of Nomad's injuries.
She eased him to the ground, turning his body so that he could lie on his back. He lay prone, his eyes closed.
"I remember now," she said, talking out loud to herself. "Nomad fell on top of me. He must have been protecting me. I wonder why."
"So do I," Nomad said, without opening his eyes.
"Do not talk." After a moment, she said to him, "I will have to give you some credit. Since sometime last night, you have managed to speak without contractions."
"Yes," he said, then seemed to wait for the proper time before saying, "Didn't I? Wasn't that something?"
8
There was a legend peculiar to the planet Glory. It described the origin of the odors at the heart of Blood Swamp. The story told of a demigod or demon named Cadix who had traveled through the universe collecting bad smells, stuffing them into hermetically sealed sacks and taking them to Blood Swamp. Hovering over the swamp, Cadix released each odor from each sack. Settling to the ground, the smells intermixed, mingling with one another and with the mist that clung to the swamp's surface. A traveler in the swamp could choke on a different smell with each intake of breath. Criminals who fled to the swamp later came out of their own accord to give themselves up. Lovers who slipped into the swamp darkness for illicit liaisons claimed to detect peculiar odors on each other's bodies for weeks afterward. Cadix himself, after releasing the reeking fragrances, dove into the swamp. In one version, he was never heard from again; in another, he was transformed into an unpleasant aroma.
In spite of his Summoner's hermetic seals, necessary when a 'Mech might suddenly be submerged in water, and the supposedly efficient circulation system, Aidan was certain that the spoiled egg and chemical burning smells were not just figments of his imagination.
On the good side, it looked as though Operations had done well in mapping out the route. Aidan had been instructed that at no point would any of the 'Mechs of his Star be under water and that, in fact, when they emerged from Blood Swamp the water would be no more than knee level. Still, as he carefully used the inertial guidance system to move his 'Mech through the misty dark, Aidan could not shake the anticipation that the next step would be into deeper water or, worse, into the mysterious swirling quicksand that legend said lurked in parts of Blood Swamp. Experts said such a quicksand was a fantasy, but the warriors were not sure. So far no record existed of anyone being lost in the swamp, but then warriors only went into it under orders, never voluntarily.
On his monitor screen, Aidan saw something fairly large moving toward his 'Mech. It was too small to be a vehicle but too large to be a human being, unless it was an Elemental. Also, its outline suggested it was moving on all fours. It came close, but none of Aidan's equipment could identify it as a Gloryan animal, so it had to be one of the mysterious creatures that inhabited the swamp. Whatever it was, the thing made a desultory snap at the Summoner's leg, then slunk away.
The fog was now so thick that, if not for their instrumentation, the 'Mechs would probably have wound up walking circles around each other. As it was, they were proceeding apace, almost as if on normal terrain with good sightlines. Every once in a while, a 'Mech teetered slightly as its heavy foot came down on some thick vegetation or encountered a rocky patch, but all in all, the Star was making good time. They were already halfway into Blood Swamp.
"What is it, Horse?"
"Well, I hate to tell you this, but I am picking up some kind of anomaly ahead. And it is very large, too large to be one of those mythical swamp animals, or else we are about to encounter a monster. From its outline on my radar, I would say it is a BattleMech. If it were not staggering about so much, I would also say I was sure it was a 'Mech. See for yourself."
Horse gave him the coordinates and Aidan keyed in on the intruder. At first look, he saw what Horse meant. The object was most certainly a BattleMech, a Mad Dog, by its thin legs and LRM 20 shoulder launchers. But it was not proceeding with the sureness of a Mad Dog. Apparently its right leg had taken some damage, for it stuck out from its upper-leg mainframe at an odd angle. The angle made it walk sideways in what looked like drunken lurches. Each step sent it a bit off its course, and there was a sense of its pilot trying to correct it.
"Do you think it is friend or foe, Horse?"
"Well, it looks like one of us after a few fusionnaires. I have never heard of the Wolves indulging, so perhaps it is a Jade Falcon pilot and his 'Mech out for a midnight jaunt through Glory's most colorful terrain."
Aiden smiled, not only at Horse's comments, but at the careful way Horse avoided the easy contractions of the freeborn when speaking on the commline. There were times when Horse was all-duty in action and speech, and Aidan appreciated the effort.
"Well, we should be careful, in case it is enemy. With the odds already against us, we must be wary of walking into one of Clan Wolf's well-known traps. Shall you approach them or shall I?"
"You speak so eloquently, we cannot risk you at this time. I win this bid, Star Commander, quiaff?"
"Aff. You fight better in muck than I do, anyway."
"Oh? We must discuss that when there is time."
"When there is time."
Aidan tracked Horse's path as he took his Summoner out ahead of the rest of the Star. Both Horse and Aidan had piloted Summoners ever since winning their Trial of Position in the 'Mech. The machines did not have the maneuverability and firepower of any of the OmniMechs Kael Pershaw had co-opted for his Trinary Strikers, but there was a solid, old-fashioned efficiency about them.
When he came close to the staggering Mad Dog, Horse addressed its pilot formally over the open radio channel. "I am MechWarrior Horse of Bravo Star, Trinary First Garrison, Glory Station Cluster. Do I address an honorable warrior from Clan Wolf or Clan Jade Falcon?"
The voice that responded sounded bleary, or perhaps there had been damage to its 'Mech's communication system. "MechWarrior Enrique, from Charlie Star, Hades Surats, Clan Jade Falcon. We, uh, I come with Trinary. Trinary rotating to Glory Station. On DropShip. It crashed. I, uh, I do not know where I am. Is this Glory? Where is Glory Station? I have been wandering ever since my cocoon hit . . . crashed . . . whatever it did."
Horse responded to the wandering pilot softly, told him where he was. Aidan brought his Summoner forward and addressed Enrique. "Warrior, you will never get out of this swamp by yourself in the condition you are in. And your BattleMech is badly in need of repair. We must get you to Glory Station as soon as possible, since we will need both you and your 'Mech very soon. MechWarrior Nis!"
"Yes, Star Commander?" Nis's soft voice belied her fierceness as a warrior.
"You will lead MechWarrior Enrique out of the swamp. He is too disabled to make his way alone."
Nis sounded disappointed as she affirmed the order. Like Aidan or Horse—for that matter, like all Clan warriors—Nis did not want to be left out of a fight or a mission. But she was a loyal freeborn warrior, able to take orders as well as stand up against the insults of a trueborn. She would guide Enrique patiently back to Glory Station. Not only that, she had some tech abilities, and once the two 'Mechs were clear of this part of the swamp, she could find some high ground and work out field repairs for Enrique's Mad Dog. She would save both pilot and 'Mech, but in return would probably get only surliness from Enrique once he discovered she was a freeborn.
Enrique's short-ranged TBS system was the only part of his communications system still in operation. Nis was able to verbally transmit a general route that they would follow, but could not directly download into Enrique's navigation system.
"Did you come across any others from your Trinary after you crashed?" Aidan asked Enrique.
"One. 'Mech smashed, pilot with crushed chest. Still alive, but not for long. She could not talk."
"She? It was not your leader, was it?"
"Star Captain Joanna? No. With a crushed chest, she would be up and walking."
"Farewell, Enrique. May the spirit of Nicholas Kerensky guide you both."
The two 'Mechs quickly disappeared into the thick mist. Although Aidan had left open the channels between his 'Mech and theirs, the radio was soon filled with earsplitting static. He switched it off and signaled to Horse.
"What was that spirit of Kerensky stuff?" Horse asked.
"Simple good wishes, Horse. Simple good wishes."
"I knew the dead warrior would not be Joanna. She is much too evil to die so easily."
"You hardly know her."
"I have seen her often enough. And there are your stories ..."
"Treat them as stories. They are meaningless."
"You shared her bed."
"And that was the extent of it. There was no intimacy, no sharing. It was sex with a dragon, no more, no less. Was that laughter I heard?"
"You amuse me, Star Commander Jorge. Sex with a dragon. What a picture!"
"Let us leave it as a picture. We have a mission and we are one-fifth diminished."
"I wonder if any of the others from the incoming Trinary have survived?"
"If the swamp does not claim us, we will find out soon enough. Star!"
Horse and the others responded to the command summoning, and the four 'Mechs continued to lumber through the swamp, walking blind, using their sensors to find their way through the maze. Aidan thought how strange they would look, had anyone been able to actually see them. Four powerful, dangerous Battle-Mechs slogging along like oversized children playing in puddles. But no puddle had ever presented the overwhelming dangers of Blood Swamp.
9
Joanna's Hellbringer was standing now, its head just below an overhanging branch. The branch was thick with leaves that sometimes bent down in the stiff breeze to brush the 'Mech's head.
It had been hard getting the Hellbringer upright, but Joanna, with Nomad's sideline help, had been able to manage it. The machine was not battle-ready, however, nor was it certain that Joanna could get it moving very far without further repair.
It was bad enough working on the 'Mech, doing the jobs Nomad normally would have done if not injured. Using his tools, she had spent hours getting an electrohydraulic servo-motor functioning, more time finding the right bypass for the hip actuator, and making sure all weapons were functional. She was lucky the damage to the machine was so slight, but that was no surprise. Clan 'Mechs were the best-manufactured BattleMechs in the known universe. Or at least Clan warriors thought so.
Now she stood outside her 'Mech and looked up at it. She recognized many of its battle scars. Though the techs removed most damaged parts during post-battle repairs, a few charred areas always remained— perhaps a groove in the metal, even some chips in armor that had been glancingly hit. Ordinarily it was not practical to replace a whole armor plate, for example, when only a fragment was missing or to replace parts that could be rebuilt and reconditioned. The warrior society of the Clans dictated that a
ll its 'Mechs should be in top condition, but, as always, economy was the watchword, particularly when it came to technical repairs. According to the manual, any parts that could be restored to full function must remain on the 'Mech in a restored state.
Nor would warriors give their 'Mechs glamorous re-furbishings designed to produce a breathtaking and radiant BattleMech whose purpose was more to impress than to fight with efficiency. Though 'Mech pilots of the warrior caste were expected to be arrogant and difficult, excess pride was discouraged because it did not encourage combat harmony. Somewhere in The Remembrance was a passage about a prideful warrior doomed to defeat, while the shrewd, realistic warrior won. All life was a contest and a bidding to win it, the poem stated, and of all the forces most expendable was pride, which the true warrior must learn to bid away. What remained at the end of the bid, the lowest reasonable bid, were intelligence, skill, and devotion. If one of these were sacrificed, defeat inevitably followed.
"There's a bad sound in the upper body rotating ring," Nomad said from his perch on a rather large tree root.
"How can you tell so much from a sound anyway?"
"Sounds are the key to the flaws."
"And you say there is a flaw in the rotating ring?"
"Might be, might not. I just hear a sound I don't normally hear."
Because their medkit had not survived the fall, Joanna had devised a makeshift sling for his bad arm. Tearing up an old uniform she had stored in the 'Mech cockpit, she had also tightly bound Nomad's injured wrist. He said he felt better and frequently offered to do the work himself. It was obvious he did not enjoy someone else doing his job anymore than Joanna liked doing it. But worse than the work itself was taking orders from Nomad. It was a humiliation as bad as being advanced in years without having acquired a Bloodname.
"Well, what should I do with the rotating ring?"
"Nothing. You have no access to it. We need to get to a proper maintenance area."
"Then why do you tell me about such things?"
"I had hoped they would worry you."
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