Way Of The Clans

Two days later, the freeborns were in the midst of a marching drill, with Falconer Othy futilely, and in an erratic rhythm all his own, sending them back and forth on a parade ground, just to fill in time because the obstacle course, which had absorbed too much rain overnight, was presently impassable.

An orderly ran up to Othy, waving a paper in his hand. Because the paper was a light blue, Aidan knew it was a command-level communique. Othy scowled when he read the message, then he assembled the freeborns in front of him.

"The message concerns Falconer Abeth," Othy said in his flat voice. "She is dead. An accident in a hovercraft. It exploded."

"Somebody killed her," Aidan muttered, and as soon as he said it, he knew the murder had something to do with Ter Roshak. He looked up and saw the others, including Othy, staring at him. He had not realized he had vocalized his thought.

"What did you say, Jorge?"

"Nothing, Falconer."

"No, you said somebody killed her. Why did you say that?"

"Just an active imagination, sir. It was an accident then, a systems failure or some spilled coolant or something?"

"That is what the report says. But you know something, I can tell. Tell us."

"Really, I know nothing. I am ignorant."

"Come with me."

He took Aidan a few paces away from the others and spoke to him quietly. "Everything has been thrown out of kilter since you arrived here, Jorge. Even your arrival was strange. I ca

"Sir, there is nothing strange. Things happen. Things—"

"Things happen wherever you are, Jorge. Now I am in danger, too, quiaff?"

"Sir, you are imagining—"

"I am imagining nothing. I am not an imaginative sort. If Abeth had said nothing to me and you had not whispered that somebody killed her, I would have accepted her death as a mere accident. But now—"

Aidan became frightened. He felt bad enough about Abeth. She had seemed efficient, a worthwhile warrior.

But Ter Roshak was up to something, and it had to do with Aidan. That day when the Falconer Commander had come to see him, he had merely told Aidan that he had obtained a second chance for him that required assuming a new identity. The identity came from a freeborn cadet who had had an unfortunate accident. Aidan had believed that Jorge's death and those of his fellow trainees were the result of some kind of bungling on the part of those who set the minefield. But of course Ter Roshak had been responsible, just as—to protect the master plan he had hinted at—he would be responsible for the deaths of anyone else who got in the way. Like Abeth.

But he could not tell Othy any of this, even though the slovenly falconer was in danger. He could not even talk him out of pursuing his present thoughts. If he told him to stop, then Othy would know there was substance to his suspicions.

"Sir, I know nothing of this. Permission requested to return to my unit."

Othy stared at him incredulously, then he nodded and murmured, "Permission granted." Aidan could sense, without looking back, that the falconer was still staring at him. Othy was a dead man, Aidan thought, unless he came to his senses and said nothing to no one. He wished he could tell him to keep his mouth shut.

The mood in the barracks that evening was sullen and sad. Anyone who spoke got barked at by someone else. No one said anything about Abeth's death, no one expressed regret. But an aura of mourning hung over the barracks just as much as if a gray cloud had seeped in through all the cracks in the building.

The only mention of Falconer Abeth came after they were all in their bunks and Horse yelled out suddenly, "She was all right, Abeth!" The others muttered agreement.

Lying in bed, unable to sleep, Aidan decided he hadto do something. He wanted that second chance at a Trial more than anything he had ever wanted in his life, but it was not worth getting there Ter Roshak's way.

37

I was right when I decided to mastermind this second chance for Aidan, wrote Falconer Commander Ter Roshak. He has the grit, the tenacity, the bravery to become a good officer. He even has the guts to stand up to me!

He came to me tonight. I do not know how he was able to steal away from his barracks, how he made it past the i

I was asleep, dreaming of, well, a young woman I knew when I was a young man. She has been dead for sixteen years, reduced to a charred mass in a 'Mech coolant accident, yet how vividly alive she is in my dreams. At any rate, I am sure I was tossing and turning with the disorientation of the dream when I woke up suddenly, knowing that someone was in my room.

Aidan was just standing there. He seemed to be staring at my prosthesis, which was lying on a table beside the bunk, where I had put it before retiring. I had an impulse to fit it on, but I do not like to display that particular weakness in front of others. With my good hand, I settled my pillow into a position against the wall and sat up.

"I could court-martial you just for being here," I said calmly. "How did you get in?"

He shrugged. "If you must do something, you find a way to do it. What happened to the real Jorge?"

Being careful not to remove my deformed arm from beneath its cover, I shrugged, too, if it is possible to shrug with only one shoulder. "He died," I said.

"I know that. You told me it was an accident."

"Yes, I did. I told you that."

"But it was not the truth."

I stayed silent. He was going too fast. I was not sure what he could know, what he should know. The look in his eyes was strange, unreadable. It is hard enough to read their expression when he is in a normal mood, but in an odd mood, they are impossible.

"You do not have to say, Ter Roshak. I know Jorge must have been killed on purpose, to make room for my identity. But why the others? Why the rest of his unit? Why his officer? Why Falconer Abeth?"

He caught me off guard with the last, and I am afraid I reacted guiltily to the mention of her name. She had unearthed most of the plot and brought the discovery to me, not knowing that the piece of information she was missing was my participation in it. I regretted having to kill her, but she was obviously the kind of officer to whom loyalty to the Clan was all-important. She would never have understood my motives. Killing her was expedient, and I admit that her death was the only one I wish had been avoidable. But, of course, I could not reason with Aidan about her disposal. I suspected he would not understand the necessity of it. He is too young to appreciate tactics.

"Why?" he asked again.

"There is no answer to that, Aidan. What is done, is done."

"But that whole unit—"

"Jorge's?"

"Yes. They were wasted just so I—"