"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 Hellbringerwas 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 Hellbringerupright, 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 all 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 Remembrancewas 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."
"Well, they do. Are there any more repairs to be done?"
"Plenty. But with these tools, we have done about as much as we can."
"Then it is time to get into the cockpit and get old Ter going." Ter was Joanna's name for her 'Mech. Few Clan warriors bothered to name their 'Mechs, although it was said to be a fairly common practice among Inner Sphere warriors. Nomad understood that she had named the 'Mech Ter after their former commanding officer, Falconer Commander Ter Roshak, but he had no idea why she would have wanted any reminder of that grumpy, excessively mean warrior. Nomad sensed that Joanna found some kind of vengeance or perversity in the use of the name, but he did not know what it was.
"I would advise getting some sleep before setting off anywhere," he said. "We do not know where we are, and it is fast getting dark. I have never seen darkness as deep as the black of this jungle, so any way we go could easily be the wrong way. Perhaps someone will contact us. There is at least one frequency open in—"
"You are suggesting we need help, quiaff?"
"Well, aff. This is unknown—"
"There is a challenge underway here for the Pershaw gene heritage, and we were bid into it, you may recall. We are doing Kael Pershaw no good sleeping in the middle of one of Glory's little jungles."
"And would we be doing him, as you say, any good, clomping around aimlessly in this, as you say, little jungle?"
Joanna stared at Nomad angrily for a long while, then put her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. "I suppose you are right, Nomad. I would rather fight. But perhaps a little rest . . ."
She sat down, leaned her head against her 'Mech's right foot, made an elaborate ritual of arranging her legs, then abruptly went to sleep. Nomad wished he had the use of his arms, so he could have climbed to the 'Mech cockpit and fetched a blanket to cover Joanna's body. Night was coming on, bringing with it intense cold.
With a frown at the soggy ground around the 'Mech, Nomad moved toward a cluster of trees some twenty meters off. He settled himself into a niche formed between two tree roots, each movement causing sharp stabbing pains in the wrist he was forced to use for leverage. As the pain gradually subsided, Nomad too fell asleep, dreaming that he was tumbling over and over as the 'Mech cocoon fell through space.
* * *
He was awakened by the sounds of the real giants about which he had been dreaming. To a trained tech, the noise was unmistakable. Only 'Mechs could sound that way, like primeval creatures crushing whatever came beneath their feet. A thin shaft of moonlight shone down through the jungle canopy, but that was all the available light. Joanna had evidently doused their portable lantern.