Mechwarrior Dark Age - Hunters Of The Deep Part 4

aYour silence is very edifying, oh great and powerful ovKhan. If he did not come running in response to the same source of information as you, then, considering your own personal fascination with the leader of Beta Aimag, perhaps he has a similar fascination?a Petr halted mere steps from the bridge and turned to find Jesup practically on his heels. aAnd when I say afascination,a what I mean to say is aobsession.aa Petr hardened his gaze and Jesup immediately brought his hands up in a mock-defensive measure.

aI meant no disrespect, ovKhan, but the mind simply boggles at the possibility that he would come directly to the same backwater world. Yes, the meat garnered here will allow us to make inroads into other worlds, but this deal will hardly be profitable in itself. So the information that sent us skipping across the length of Prefecture VII obviously had little to do with commerce. If Sha doesnat have that information, then he comes for you.a Once more Petr ignored his aideas fishing for information. aJesup, I do not need your banter at this moment. You know I must confront Sha and open up the official trials between our Aimags. I do not look forward to it.a aBut why? You could confront him, ask about the information that led him here.a The crooked smile only served to further darken Petras mood. Asking such a question outright would only prove his own ignorance. Sometimes Petr did not know if Jesupas sarcasm was real or feigned to cover ignorance. He hoped the former, but thought the latter on numerous occasions.

Turning his back on Jesup, he stepped onto the bridge. Jotok was not there. Surprise actually stopped Petr in his tracks for several long seconds as he looked again. He saw only four crewmen on the bridge, two of whom were in the process of putting the holographic display through its annual servicing.

aWhere is Star Captain Jotok?a he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the din. He moved toward the communications bank and its crewman without waiting for an answer.

aStar Commander Alisa on watch, ovKhan. We have called repeatedly for Star Captain Jotok, but he has yet to respond to our hails. He actually took sh.o.r.e leave, sir.a aReally?a Did wonders never cease?

aComs, you have the incoming DropShips?a The technician looked as though he had just graduated from a shiv to active duty; he couldnat be more than eighteen, possibly nineteen years old. He moved with grace and confidence, however, that spoke well of his bloodline. aYes, ovKhan. The flotilla of DropShips will interface with the atmosphere in three hours and twenty-two minutes at its current velocity. Their trajectories will place them directly into Halifax.a No surprise there. Petr shook his head and felt the weight of his hair swing against his shoulders. He could continue to wait, to delay, but to what end? It would reflect poorly on him among his subordinatesa"and an hour or two longer would not change his discomfort at the conversation.

aComs, patch me through to the lead DropShip. OvKhan Clarke is aboard that vessel and I wish to speak with him.a aYes, sir,a the boy responded, and immediately began transmitting the appropriate codes for opening communication.

A few seconds pa.s.sed and the front viewscreen materialized into the bridge on the command vessel of the incoming flotilla. A short-haired, scarecrowlike man stared coldly across several thousand kilometers. Those dead eyes almost sent a shiver up Petras spine, caused his anger to pile up in a flash.

Sha Clarke.

A thorn in his side for years, and now he intended to be one again. This time, however, it would be different. There would be no going back. No stopping.

aAh, Petr, I see you have begun to develop what I will take.a He gritted his teeth. Having a complete unknown like Snow clip his fins and rattle him might be tolerated, but he would not allow Sha the same enjoyment. Too much of that before.

aIs that a challenge?a aWhy, no.a That surprised him. He expected Sha immediately to challenge for a Trial of Possession. aWe have more important issues.a aFighting a Trial of Possession for the right to negotiate this planet would not stop our traditional trials.a Even digitally reproduced, the knowing look in Shaas eyes felt like a slap in the face. Those too-cool eyes in a face that never seemed to show more than a spark of animation. aOh, I am well aware of that. My news is that Star Captain Tal Sennet has died. As a quorum of those warriors who will be nominated to fight for his name is within our two Aimags, Khan Hawker has given permission for the initiation of a Trial of Bloodright.a That abruptly stopped the activity on the bridge and even brought Petras chin up. A Trial of Bloodright had not been fought within the jurisdiction of his Aimag in more than five years, and the thrill of the honor to come sang in his veins. Even so, a dark note tempered his excitement.

aWhen shall we initiate the trial?a he said, infusing an enthusiasm and respect into his voice that he never felt in dealing with Sha.

aNo time like the present, quiaff?a aAff, Sha.a aI have already transferred the appropriate personnel for the ritual; my Breaker of Waves has adjusted her trajectory to enter a standard orbit; the rest will make planetfall. Gather your personnel and boost to intercept. Out.a The screen went blank. Petr felt almost let down by the encounter. None of the normal stabs and jabs, beyond the obligatory opening parry. It was as though Sha simply had too much to deal with to indulge in their old rivalry.

Though the Trial of Bloodright would indeed require great resources, it would not completely occupy either of them, and certainly offered no barrier to fighting a Trial of Possession for negotiation rights with the planetas merchants.

The other DropShips. He became aware of Jesup standing almost at his shoulder, understanding written on his face. He actually might have picked up on it before me.

aWhy would he use the distraction of the Trial of Bloodright to allow his merchant castemen to try to gain an edge on our efforts here?a asked Jesup. aWhy not simply declare the Trial of Possession and be done with it?a aI cannot say, Jesup, but it worries me. It worries me a great deal.a He considered the too-knowing look in those blank eyes, the way Sha simply dismissed him. As though he moved in deeper waters, currents Petr simply could not compete in.

A shiver ran down his spine.

11.

Overlord-Ca"cla.s.s DropShip Breaker of Waves Near Orbit, Adhafera Prefecture VII, The Republic 8 July 3134

Petr floated gracefully into the Trial Chamber.

Shaped like a perfect sphere sliced in halfa"flat side the decka"the chamber spanned twenty meters across, half that high. Though not the largest Ritual Chamber in Petras experience, it was a respectable sizea"larger than his own and likely the reason Sha arranged for the Trial of Bloodright ceremony to occur here.

A slow, steady stream of warriors flowed in with him, each grabbing the bar that ran waist high around the circ.u.mference of the room. Thirty-two individuals in all, they s.p.a.ced themselves equidistant from one another, stopping in front of an equal number of Clan Sea Fox symbols on the chamber bulkhead; each warrior tucked his or her feet under a small bar on the deck in order to remain stationary. Each wore the ritual garb of Clan Sea Fox.

Though many Clansa ritual clothing included extravagances from headdresses to long flowing capes of fur, twisting ropes of beads and diaphanous robes, the current Sea Fox ceremonial clothing was Spartan. A one-piece suita"fitted neck to ankle to wrista"of a rubbery gray material turned every warrior into an aquatic predator: a shark, ready to seize destiny by the teeth. To complete its effortless elegance, an embroidered fox-head pattern adorned the front.

The simplicitya"a sharp contrast to the Diamond Shark ritual attire, which matched any Clan for finery and lushnessa"followed a dual mind-set: the merchant mentality, always strong with the Clan but grown to paramount importance, spoke of the waste of such finerya"more practically, because all rituals occurred in microgravity, such extraneous clothing was problematic, even dangerous.

After a pause to review the chamber, Petr pushed off from the ground at an oblique angle to the entry hatch, sailed with ease toward the domed ceiling, grabbed the bar and settled his feet onto his a.s.signed pedestal mounted six meters off the floor. With casual grace he turned, felt the stretch and flow of his suit, could almost taste the energy and power in the room. The elite of the elite stepping forward to risk all and obtain a sacred Bloodnamea"the highest honor a Clan warrior could receive.

Surveying the chamber, Petr watched the final partic.i.p.ants arrive and move to their a.s.signed positions. Several small platforms dotted the dome as it rose above the deck; metal mushrooms festooned the bulkhead. In addition to himself, two others were present on the dome: ovKhan Sha a quarter way round the dome and positioned slightly higher as the host, and Jet Sennet, leader of Blood House Sennet, whose platform rested directly across from and above Petr. Because his age eclipsed any present, Jet Sennet would officiate as Oathmaster, traditionally the oldest member of a Blood House, for this Trial of Bloodright.

The older mana"he looked to be in his mid-fortiesa"raised both his arms and spoke. aTrothkin.a His voice held a note of firm command. aWe have gathered within the black waters of the void. For all present the currents have been strong and treacherous. Yet you have never lost the scent of blood in the water. None can gainsay the honor you have earned by your presence this day. Still, a deal is not done, a victory not achieved, until it is sealed. The honor currently bestowed is a pale imitation of what will come with a Bloodname. Warriors, swim the void, seize your name and carry your glory to the Clan!a aSeyla,a echoed from thirty-four voices; all eyes turned to gaze at the deck.

A star map of the Inner Sphere filled most of the deck of the Ritual Chamber, leaving very little room around the circ.u.mference. The map did not lie flat in a mural, nor balloon on the silent electrons of a holo. Instead, the star map consisted of solid, three-dimensional objects: 2,141, to be precise. Each handmade sphere a world in miniature, reflecting the correct size, color, standard atmospheric conditions and axis tilt as of January first Terran Standard; a map of every inhabited world within the Inner Sphere and near Periphery. The worlds recessed into holes in the deck, where small pneumatic clamps held them stationary during transit and grounding. At the ritual statement of acceptance from the gathered throng, the clamps loosened and several thousand magnetsa"one above and below each worlda"slowly lifted them in perfect synchronicity, positioning them horizontally and vertically to represent their spatial X, Y and Z coordinates.

Though head been present for several such rituals, Petr held his breath, enthralled by the simple majesty. Each time he saw it, especially when viewed from the height of the dome, he experienced momentary delusions of G.o.dhood, as though he watched an accelerated (if abbreviated) holovid unraveling a view from the Big Bang until the present.

It never ceased to awe him. To excite him.

The possibilities in the universe were endless, the currents to hunt unending. He automatically began to draw on the jump paths, trade routes and jump pointsa"a skein of undeveloped deals and glory, honor and combat to be unraveled and traveled. The universe held in the palm of his hand, waiting for his ambitions to unfurl and engulf it like a giantas hands.

A G.o.das hands.

aFirst warriors, advance.a Jetas voice filled the room with a new tone and power. Perhaps he too felt the grandeur of the vision before hima"likely the reason for such extravagance, to impart to those present the universe of possibilities for a Bloodnamed warrior and the honor it ultimately would bring to Clan Sea Fox.

Though Petr did not see the movement, he knew Jet had a small remote control attached to his belt, which he thumbed. An algorithm ran for a microsecond, then fired a microburst transmission, causing the Sea Fox insignia behind two randomly chosen warriors to light and chime. As with any combat, whether on the battlefield or across the negotiation table, fate and the luck of the draw held sway every step of the way.

The gathered warriors looked to the top center of the dome, where a clear polymer platform descended three meters. On the platform rested an opaque block of polymer; out of its flat top a length of clear tubing rose a meter and half before bending sharply and descending back into the block.

The two chosen warriors let go of their toe bars and thrust toward the ceiling. Though there existed the possibility of a warrior striking a planet, knocking it out of alignment, head never heard of such a thing occurring; the dishonor that would accrue to such clumsiness ensured that it never happened.

As the warriors drew close to the podium, Jet kicked off from his position and arrived just after they did, each grabbing one of three rods that held the podium to the overhead, pulling themselves to their positions on the podium, tucking feet under three identical bars.

aTrothkin,a Jet began once more, hands raised to encompa.s.s the a.s.sembly, athese warriors present themselves as worthy of obtaining a Bloodname. Should we not know of their deeds?a aSeyla.a The individuals coalesced into a mob of one.

Jet pointed his right arm at one warrior. aBy what right do you present yourself before this skate?a aI am Heb, warrior of Blood House Sennet,a the tall, muscular warrior spoke boisterously; unusual for Beta Aimag, he had shoulder-length hair, which floated around his head like a frond of seaweed in a slow ocean current. aMany are my exploits, great my victories. However, for one thing alone am I sponsored for this Bloodright: I defeated a Knight of the Sphere in single combat.a Even the warrior facing Heb was visibly impressed at this p.r.o.nouncement. Though Petr could not care one way or another about The Republic, their Knights were warriors to be respected; for a non-Blood to defeat such an opponent in ritual combat spoke volumes about his battle ac.u.men.

Petr shifted slightly, stretched his neck. Would be very interesting to hear the full tale; he is one to watch.

With his right arm still elevated, Jet raised his left arm, pointed to the other warrior. aBy what right do you present yourself before this skate?a The smaller female warrior drew herself up and projected a quiet, but firm voicea"no hint of reservations over her foe. aI am Sanda of Blood House Sennet. I am sponsored for my Staras victory against a far superior number of Oriente Protectorate raiders. Also, for the concessions into the markets of three new worlds I seized across the table following the combat.a Petr almost laughed out loud. Head been mistaken. Though she might lose this battlea"Hebas battlefield prowess would be formidablea"he would be watching Sanda for the glory she would eventually reap. If she failed at this Trial of Bloodright, no doubt another opportunity would present itself. Someone who could fight equally well across the battlefield and negotiation table, worth a Star of aMechs. Though the Clan tried hard to instill such abilities within its warriors, few truly rose to the occasion; few held the versatility and mental agility to excel in both fields.

aYou have both been found worthy before this skate. Present your tokens,a Jet said, opening up his hands, palms up. Both warriors reached to their waists to an unseen pouch, withdrew polymer coins the size of their palms, pa.s.sed them to the Oathmaster.

Jet raised his hands, presented the tokens to the a.s.sembly and spoke. aAs with the random selection of your opponents, any battlefield, any negotiation table can turn to savage you with the sharpest teeth. Who will be your opponent cannot be known. Where your conflicts will occur cannot be foreseen. Any warrior worthy of a Clan Sea Fox Bloodname must overcome any odds, any situation, any circ.u.mstance.a He raised one coin. Though at too much of a distance to see clearly, Petr knew it showed the image of a sea fox with bared teeth, as though ready for the kill; the warrioras name was engraved across the bottom. aThe hunter lands on top and chooses the form of combat: unaugmented or augmented.a He raised the other coin, which Petr knew displayed a sea fox with bowed head, protecting itself, ready to turn a setback into victory. aThe hunted lands on bottom and chooses the venue for the combat. In this way, each warrior fights in a form not of his choosing.a aSeyla,a filled the chamber, as though spoken by a single voice. A G.o.das voice, proclaiming the nature of blood and whose genetic material would be used to create another generation of warriors. Almost the definition of deity.

Jet moved to the mechanism on the podium. Used almost universally by the Clans, the funnel in standard gravity couldnat be simpler. The coins were inserted; then gravity dragged them spinning down, chasing each other until one fell on top of the other.

In microgravity, this system could not work. In its place (and appropriate for the Sea Fox and their aquatic namesake) a water-fed tube system served. A continuous tube ran in a squished donut shape: two straight pieces approximately a meter and a half long, joined with two elbow pieces. The bottom third of the pipes sank into the funnel-shaped opaque base that gave a nod to the funnel used for centuries and hid the pneumatic pump tied into the system. The upper portions of the pipe were a clear polymer, which revealed a dizzying array of rods connected to the walls of the pipe, creating a maze through which the coins would fight.

Within this closed system ran freshwater taken from the oceans of Itabiana (one of the few worlds wholly owned by Clan Sea Fox), where the sea fox, transplanted on the brink of extinction in the last decades of the previous century, now thrived.

Jet moved to the base of one of the tube sections and inserted both coins through rubber seals, tapped a b.u.t.ton. The surge of water as the pump created circulation sent the coins on their desperate bid to be the hunter. Almost hypnotic in their motion, the coins bounced, jittered and skated over and under the obstacle rods, inexorably dragged forward by the current. Up a meter, flattening along the top and pushed back down to brave another terrifying jumble.

A coin sank into the first suction trap, cutting off flow there and sending the other coin to the second suction trap; the pump cut off immediately and both coins cycled out through double-walled seals, dried on the way: the hunter on top, the hunted on bottom.

Jet reached forward, grasped both coins firmly and raised them for all to see: hunter in right hand, hunted in left.

aHeb, you are the hunter. How say you?a Drawing himself up to his full 2.2 meters, he practically shouted, aI shall fight augmented.a That surprised Petr. Heb towered over the diminutive Sanda; an unaugmented fight would be difficult for Sanda to overcome. Perhaps he knew something about her zero-g fighting skills Petr did not.

Jet held up the other coin and turned toward Sanda. aSanda, you are the hunted. How say you?a Without a momentas hesitation, she spoke with a demure confidence Petr instantly took a liking to. aThe moon of Coma.a Jet nodded firmly, raised coins until he joined both in clasped hands directly above his head. aAnd so it begins.a aSeyla.a Petr watched as both warriors launched themselves back to their a.s.signed positions; all would traverse this cycle of the ritual before any departed for their coming battles. Jet thumbed the remote at his belt and the sequence began again.

Though he fiercely loved the traditions of his Clan, at times they warred with the merchant within. Was this all worth it?

The extravagance of Trials of Bloodright were legendary. A DropShip would spend precious time and fuel reserves to burn to the moon of Coma, simply for the purpose of the fight, simply because Sanda requested it. Other such requirements would unfold this day as well. The battles would repeat themselves, as would this ceremony: the sixteen victors returning to be paired once more, the eight subsequent and so on until only one victor emerged. Until only one stepped forwarda"one warrior proving worthy to hold a sacred Bloodname.

Petr slowly shook his head. There were times to be a merchant (plenty of times), but today held room only for warriors, and traditions stretching back almost three centuries to the Founder himself. There could only be one answer to such a question.

Aff.

12.

Tumbled Heights, Near Halifax Vanderfox, Adhafera Prefecture VII, The Republic 14 July 3134 The bivouac bustled with energy.

Technician castemen scrambled across mud-slicked ground, uncomplaining of the same conditions that elicited moans of protest only yesterday. Laborer castemen worked hard to clean up the mess the monstrous, gale-strength storm (whose claws tried to drag even the mult.i.ton aMechs across the ground) wreaked across a half week. Hauling away logs, righting tents, cleaning off vehicles, making small repairs where needed: a veritable labor of Hercules.

They bounced with antic.i.p.ation.

An ancient J-27 ammo truck procured from the locals churned through the mud in a vain attempt to bring its metal food to the hungry bins of a waiting Thor. Spinning, slipping tracks kicked up a roosteras tail of goop and slop that shot four meters into the air and a good ten meters back, splattering vehicles, aMech legs and personnel alike.

Nothing could dampen the mood.

Though the Trial of Bloodright began several days ago (an honor for all, whether one partic.i.p.ated or not), today would be differenta"a different honor altogether. An honora"unlike the Trial of Bloodrighta"that allowed nearly every Sea Fox warrior, along with a significant percentage of the laborer and technician castemen, to directly partic.i.p.ate.

Today began the Rituals of Combat, live-fire training exercises pitting everything from battle armor to aMechs to aeros.p.a.ce fighters against one another. Because they were so often in the depths of s.p.a.ce for long months, if not years, Aimags took any opportunity to test their warriorsa edge, ensuring they did not become dull from lack of use. The Rituals of Combat were so much more than mere exercisesa"imbued with mysticism and invested in tradition; points won and lost in the Rituals impacted an Aimagas honor and glory within a Khanate and even the rest of the Clan Petr walked gingerly, trying not to splatter mud onto his calf-high aMech boots. Though the temperature had dipped precipitously during the storm, it now sat at a balmy 35 degrees and almost 100 percent humidity. Petr breathed deeply.

He stepped around a particularly large puddle and into shadow, recognized the dark embrace of his own aMech. Petr walked another half dozen paces toward the metal trunks towering before him and stopped. Slowly ran his eyes over the metal giant he called his own.

The Tiburon stood nine meters tall, the sun baking away the last of the moisture; Petr smiled at the idea of the aMech stepping from a fresh bath, air drying and priming for the coming show. A show far too long in coming.

aShe looks ready. Strong.a Jesup stomped up through the muck. Petr watched him approach the last few meters to his side, obviously unconcerned about the droplets of mud flung onto his legs or caked on his boots.

aYou are going to drag that into your ride?a aUh?a he responded, looked down, back up. Smiled.

aUnlike your prissy aMech, oh fastidious one, my Thor does not mind a little mud on the floor mat.a Petr shook his head and felt the still-wet strands of his hair slap his bare shoulders, almost stick in the webbing of his coolant vest.

aIt is not about prissy, my slob of a friend. It is about respect. I respect her and she respects me.a aMy Thor respects me because I control it.a aYou think you control it, but as in combat or negotiations, such control is fluid at best. In such situations you work within the confines of the circ.u.mstances to achieve victory. Never truly controlling them, only planting your strengths of will and knowledge in such a way as to create an outcome to your liking, quiaff?a aAff.a aThere is no difference with a aMech. You work with it to achieve victory. Quiaff?a aNeg. I do not see it.a aPerhaps that is why you have yet to defeat me, though your ride outweighs mine two to one.a Petr spoke without even turning toward his aide, and so missed the bitter look that transformed Jesupas features at his words.

aAre you prepared for today? I would hate for Beta Aimag to defeat my aide. It would look bad,a Petr continued, turning his head and smiling.

aMe, defeated! Never! Only you, great ovKhan, can defeat me. A defeat I bask in.a aI am serious.a aAnd so am I. You have no need of fear from this quarter. Do you fear defeat in yours, oh omnipotent one?a Petr waited for the normal irritation, but found none; nothing could bother him this day. aWhy should I fear a loss?a Of course, he knew why.

Jesup returned the look, no emotion on his face.

Petr attempted to hold that gaze, but for once pulled away first, felt his breakfast sitting heavy for a moment, tasted the tang of bile before swallowing it away. aIt will not happen again.a aOf course it will not, oh mighty one.a Petras anger sparked momentarily and he brought his jade eyes back online with Jesup, no evidence of sarcasm in voice or face. But always the hint of it, despite the apparent innocence. Always the stab into his sore spot. aDo you doubt your ovKhan?a aI never doubt my ovKhanas abilities.a aThat is not the same thing,a Petr ground out, trying to hold on to his good mood.

aIs it not?a Jesup responded, raising a quizzical eyebrow, though something danced in his eyes.

Petr drew in a harsh breath to respond, then bit it off; he would not let his aideas propensity for pestering ruin this day. Of course Jesup did not doubt his abilitiesa or him.

aThen let us be about shaming Beta Aimag.a Jesup hesitated for a moment, then nodded and moved away toward his Thor. Petr turned back to his own magnificent ride, the cooling balm of the moment washing away any vestiges of ire.

As ovKhan, he could choose to pilot literally any aMech within his Aimag. Yet he fell in love with the Tiburon in his first Trial of Position, and only death would separate the two of them.

Approaching the back of the aMech, he grasped the aluminum chain-link ladder dangling from above and began the ascent; the cool metal caused goose b.u.mps to sprout along his bare arms and legs. Reaching the top of the ladder, he stepped onto the back of the shoulder, right where the head met the neck. Spinning open the dogged hatch, Petr swung it out with practiced ease; the sunlight splashed playfully into the dark interior, partially illuminating the metal cave where Petr lived more often than not (not enough now!).

Stepping through the hatch, he swung it back, sealing out the sunlight and fresh air, dogged it closed. Sidling around the command couch, he eased himself over the side of the chair, careful of the throttle mounted there. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

Stale odor of his own dried sweat; acerbic tang of spilled chemicals from a torn coolant vest; slight musk from the synthetic material in the seat; slick whiff of lubricants; dull, flat aroma of metal and polymers; something (there!), barest hint of his own blood, spilt and forever wedded to her: home.

Opening his eyes, he reached up behind and pulled down the neurohelmet from where it rested, placing the light helmet upon his head, adjusting the fit until the neural receptors found their accustomed positions. Leaning to the right, he grasped a large yellow lever and pulled it firmly down, locked it into position; the growl of an awakening beast echoed up beneath his feet, as the first sequences of the fusion reactor initiated in preparation for startup. The aluminum ladder slapped the Tiburonas rear armor plating as it automatically reeled in; it sounded like gnashing metal teeth.

A hunger needed to be satiated: the aMechas, hisa the same.

Opening a small hatch in the right arm of the command couch, he pulled out several wires and a small bag. The first cord he plugged into the bottom of his coolant vest. Next, he took several medical monitors out of the bag, stowed it, then stripped off their covering and adhered them to the insides of his upper arms and thighs, smoothly attached alligator clips, then ran them through a pinch loop on his vest to keep them from tearing out during combat, ran the ends to a central plug. Finally, he jacked in the neurohelmet.

Stretching, he felt the weight of the helmet and the slickness of the seat under him, sensations that increased his regret for being gone too long. One of the great joys of his life sacrificed for the glory and honor of his Aimag.

Within the aMechas bowels, the initiation sequence terminated and the reactor spun online; power surged in abundance, yet still lay trapped for the moment. Leaning slightly forward, he keyed the identification sequence. Her warm voice filled the c.o.c.kpit with its embrace.

aVoice Identification, initiated.a aPetr Kalasa, ovKhan of Delta Aimag, Spina Khanate, Clan Sea Fox.a aVoice authorization confirmed.a Petr knew most warriors did not even notice the mechanical voice as they went through the motions of unlocking their aMechs. For Petr, however, the voice was part and parcel of his Tiburon. The first sign of the power about to be given into his hands: power to destroy, to killa yet the power to create and build.

He bathed in the sound, luxuriated in it.

aCode Identification, initiated.a aThere is always a price to be paid.a Despite the constant prodding by his aide, Petr knew well the price to be paid for any action. Any warrior held such knowledge, or he did not live long; any merchant courted the knowledge, or he failed. As both, and leader of an Aimag, he was doubly aware of it. Confusion swirled within for a moment at the doubt that surfaced in his mind; he wrenched it about with the force of his will. Of course, I do.

aCode authorization confirmed. Command is yours.a The voice went silent and power poured into the c.o.c.kpit, igniting a rainbow of colors across the control panel. Leaning slightly forward once more, he brought the various aMech systems online. A quick glance through several screens showed weapons fully loaded and charged, while the armor schematic portrayed a pristine picture, ready to protect against the h.e.l.lish energies about to be unleashed.

Almost squirming with glee, Petr settled back into the command couch, grasped the throttle in his left hand and moved it partially forward while using the foot pedals to direct the movement. The vibrations welling up from the first footfall spread a savage grin across his face.

Too long since he sat in this seat. Too long since his own Aimag encountered another, thus initiating the Rituals of Combat. Too long had this warrior been gone from his home port.

Petr returned to his true calling.

Petr waited impatiently for his turn. Staring out the forward viewscreen at the one-on-one duel unfolding a half kilometer distant, he could almost taste the tang in the air from discharged particle projector cannons and the cordite from exploded missiles and spent autocannon sh.e.l.l casings.