"What if I were a trueborn?"
When Pershaw let out a loud laugh of true mirth, fear seemed to prod at Aidan's spine. "Do not blaspheme," the commander said softly. "Some free-births make competent warriors, and you are one of them, I must reluctantly admit. But a freeborn can never be a trueborn and you befoul the eugenics ideal by even suggesting an equality between frees and trues. Saying such is just another black mark on your already well-blotted record, Star Commander Jorge."
"Sir, am I to assume that you hold me to blame for the death of Bast?"
Kael Pershaw's grin got wider, more mysterious. "Hold you to blame? How do you even ask the question? Of course I hold you to blame! You killed a fine warrior, one already injured from a previous brawl with your worthless freebirth self. We do not waste our personnel in inconsequential spats. We have a duty here, and that duty means conserving warriors, just as we conserve our weapons and supplies. That is the way of the Clan. Bast's death was wasteful, especially as it merely satisfied the petty feelings of a worthless freebirth warrior."
With each insult, Aidan bristled inwardly. He wanted to challenge his commander to a battle in the Circle of Equals, the one place where a warrior could legitimately fight a superior officer, but Kael Pershaw had banished the Circle. It had become debased, he claimed, by its use for trivial quarrels.
Kael Pershaw no doubt sensed Aidan's uneasiness, but Aidan had vowed to show no emotion before him. That oath was becoming more difficult to honor, with the Star Colonel's broad smile indicating clear and present danger.
"It is economy, Star Commander Jorge, that saves you from the punishment you deserve. If I could, I would deny you the rite of surkaiand have you shot on the spot, but there is no one in your Star to take your place. I trust you will not be insulted when I say that your unit is the most motley, unskilled, and worthless group of warriors it has ever been my misfortune to have in my command. You are undoubtedly the right commander for them, and unfortunately, the only one I can spare for the job. So, let us initiate the rite of forgiveness, then return to duty."
Pershaw came around the desk, ready to accept Aidan's surkai,and was startled when Aidan said, "No. I refuse to initiate surkaithis time. I was justified in killing Bast, and I need no forgiveness for it."
Pershaw was clearly enraged. If not, why did his voice drop almost to a whisper?
"I demand that you perform surkai,Star Commander Jorge."
"No. I will not."
"I order you."
"No officer may order surkai.Shall I quote you from The Remembranceon this subject, sir?"
"No, you will not." He walked away from Aidan, toward the only window in the room. It was so blackened from the gritty mists that came from Blood Swamp that only a few small areas still offered any possibility of a view. He stood for a moment, hands clasped behind his back, then abruptly turned.
"All right, then, we can only resort to symbology. Lanja!"
Lanja appeared immediately. Aidan knew she had been standing by the doorway, awaiting her commander's order. With Pershaw, all contingencies were anticipated. From the first moment he awoke after he had ordered himself to sleep, his day was firmly scheduled. He no doubt always had a plan ready for the rare occasion when a warrior might refuse surkai.
Lanja carried a slim case, holding it as if it were part of a ritual.
"Lanja, set the case on my desk."
"Yes, sir."
"Now open it."
Lanja slowly opened the case, with the same public precision she always used in response to an order from her commander. Aidan knew what was coming. If Clan loyalty had not restrained him, he could have strangled both Lanja and Pershaw at that moment.
Lanja held the black ribbon delicately in both hands. She extended it toward Kael Pershaw, who took it from her carefully, as if the ribbon were precious.
"Star Commander Jorge, you have brought discredit to your Star. There is nothing more shameful than an unnecessary death. For the period of the next month, you must wear the Memorial Ribbon and this picture across your chest. Lanja?"
Lanja displayed a holographic photograph of Bast, balancing it on the tips of her fingers to keep from damaging it in any way. The photo depicted Bast in a surly mood, the kind of tough-looking portrait of which warriors were so fond. One might find hundreds of nearly identical ones in any Clan file.
"Before I place the dark band on you, you are allowed by law to make a defense of your dishonorable action. Go ahead, Jorge. Respond."
"Would there be any point?"
"Yes. I am not unfair. Respond."
"Bast insulted me."
"If you were a trueborn warrior, that might be a legitimate defense. But you are a freebirth. Bast was allowed to insult you. Anything more?"
"No."
"Good. Fit him with the dark band, Lanja."
Lanja, her eyes peculiarly somber, placed the ribbon across Aidan's chest and waist, then spent moments smoothing out the band's wrinkles, fussing over the placement of Bast's photograph. Then she stepped back, still looking quite critical of her accomplishment.
The smile faded from Pershaw's face as he gave the proper orders in the proper voice. He told Aidan that during the time he would wear the Memorial Ribbon all would shun him and he could speak to no one unless given express permission. Further, Aidan must not venture out in public without wearing the dark band, that should anyone speak to him about the band, Aidan must respond with neither word nor deed, that he must always remember that the Memorial Ribbon was to remind him—as it reminded others—of the unnecessary death he had caused.
When Kael Pershaw was done, Aidan saluted him, then passed by the somber Lanja, realizing he could kill them both. But especially Pershaw. Just as he had with Bast, Aidan would take great pleasure in standing over the corpse of his commanding officer.
* * *
Lanja watched Jorge walk out the door, then turned to Pershaw and said, "He is a proud young man. And clever. He may turn the wearing of the dark band into a virtue."
Pershaw sighed. Uncharacteristic of him to sigh, Lanja thought. "We are Clan. We can only follow the rituals as prescribed. I would rather hang him by his thumbs from a yardarm or stick his head through stocks or even burn him at the stake."
Lanja laughed suddenly. "Just what are you talking about?"
"Those were old forms of punishment, of humiliating the chastised. You do not think Jorge deserves this punishment?"
"I did not say that. I merely said he was proud."
"But was that not admiration in your voice?"
"Was it? Perhaps so. There is something admirable in being able to wear the dark band proudly."
"Then the punishment has failed, has it not?"
"I did not say that. You are merely expressing your own worries, quiaff?"
"Aff. I think the man possesses some strange core that is unpunishable, that cannot be humiliated."
"And you do not admire that?"
"No, I do not. I do not."
They might have continued this conversation, and perhaps found themselves wading in dangerous waters, if a messenger had not delivered the communique from the Wolf Clan invaders.
* * *
Aidan's walk back to the barracks where his Star was housed was agonizing. One after another, as if the call had gone out to form a gauntlet for Aidan, trues stared at the dark band when he passed. Sneers, anger, taunts, crude joking remarks rained down on him. Aidan shut off his mind as best he could and strode with his eyes fixed straight ahead. He knew that if he looked even once into the eyes of any of the trues who were insulting him, the anguish of his shame would drive him once more into the kind of fight that Pershaw and the law of the dark band expressly forbade. Rebellious as he was, even he must accept any ritual that symbolized the way of the Clans.