Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella,

Kerensky Cluster

19^th April, 3042

 

“Hurry up, you little stravag dogs!” Secorra, their training officer, barked.

Aff, aff, I’m already moving as fast as I can. I am not little, nor am I a dog. Descartin grumbled in his mind, while lugging along the massive pack that he had just been issued with, containing all the necessities for barracks living.

It seemed very stupid that each and every member of the sibko was likewise grappling with an identical pack, which came to almost their height, and weighed as much as they did. How in name of the Kerenskys did the officers expect them to carry it with any speed?

The ground on which they walked was a flat piece of ground, the grass having been trampled flat long ago by the unforgiving boots of countless cadets and training officers. It served as a parade ground, drilling field, and general practice area. Des wondered why they never got to pave the area with concrete, which would have made movement over it a lot easier.

The line of a dozen cadets from the Burning Tooth snaked to a non-descript building two levels high, with the insignia of their clan on one side the only decoration and mark of affiliation. It would their residence for the rest of their training lives.

Secorra continued haranguing them as they marched, his harsh tone hurting their ears and his incessant spittle showering the nearest cadets with droplets of saliva on their once clean uniforms, now soiled and dirty from the constant dust rising from the ground.

The huge pack had been presented to them the very moment they had stepped off the hoverbus which had brought them to the training facility from their former home in the city suburbs. Next their assigned training officers had introduced themselves, in a fast and unflinching manner that almost made Des’ head spin with the speed of their short perfunctory speeches. It was a far cry from the comforting tones of Ulvor, their former sibparent, who had sent them away on the hoverbus.

Their immediate instructors’ names were Secorra, a large, grizzled and uncouth looking man in his forties, and Jazelyn, a graceful woman who did not look as if she belonged in the training facility, but rather still on the frontlines of battle.

The overall officer in charge of the facility was Varro Drummond, a former Star Colonel who had decided to retire from battle after sustaining too many internal injuries during his last battle.

The instructors had not wasted any time, immediately shouting at them to proceed to their new barracks to stow their new equipment in their bunks on the second floor, and assemble at the parade ground in twenty minutes time. The cadets were still a bit dazed at the sudden barrage of instructions and orders they had been saddled with after a long journey on the hovercraft, as they hesitantly got to grips with their tasks.

“Not easy at all, quiaff?” Deserk commented as he moved behind Des, also struggling with his pack. Des noted with some relief that Deserk was also having the same amount of trouble with his load.

“Aff. Let us stop complaining and get this as over as quickly as possible.” Descartin concentrated, tensing his body as he increased his speed, fighting the weight of the pack every step of the way. He knew he was tiring himself out unnecessarily this way, but he could hardly care less.

In short order, he had taken over at the lead of the line, moving almost at jogging speed as he reached the stairs. Without pausing for a breath, he continued up the stairs at the same speed, pushing himself as he thudded up the steps to the bunks.

He picked the bed nearest to the door as he entered the room, throwing the pack into the locker beside it. He slammed the door of the locker shut, then ran out of the room, feeling a lot lighter and faster now that he was no longer hobbled by the pack.

He burst down the staircase, bounding down the steps one whole flight at a time, and needing only two dangerous leaps to get to the ground level again. As he went down, he passed his sibkin trudging their way up, all their expressions with the same mixed look of jealousy and concern. Jealousy because he had dared to take the lead on their very first task, concern because they still had a whole day of training in front of them.

Des liked, no, wanted, to win, to be the first, no matter what they were doing. From being first into the showers to the first to finish eating, he was always among the first few, if not the first to finish a task. The same attitude carried over to their training, and everybody knew he was easily the best among them.

However, he had never sought to impose his own superiority on the others, and perhaps it was this reason, more than any other, that allowed him to remain on good terms with his sibkin. He was accepted as their nominal leader, their head mischief, and the benchmark everybody aspired to.

He slid to a halt on the parade ground in front of Jazelyn, and snapped to attention, allowing a blank look to settle over his face, forcing himself to show no fatigue even as his lungs heaved for air. He kept his posture straight, fighting the urge to slump from exhaustion due to his previous exertions.

She stared at him appraisingly for a few seconds, then looked at the stopwatch on her wrist. She looked relaxed, as though she was not worried at all about the success or failure of his sibko, unlike Secorra, who was getting more agitated and even louder by the second, which Des had not thought possible. Jazelyn possessed a serene calm that was in stark contrast to the permanently uptight Secorra.

About two minutes left, Des estimated to himself silently. The others had better hurry up if they did not want to get on the wrong side of their training officer on the very first day.

He heard the sounds of his fellow sibkin as they formed up on him, coming to attention in the exact same posture as he was.

He knew that anyone who looked at the long line of cadets that had formed up would think that he was looking at a group of clones. Strictly speaking, they were not, but the products of a gene matching from two warriors. Siblings did tend to look very similar, especially in such a controlled reproductive process as the scientists used.

Their geneparents were bloodnamed, of course. The clan’s eugenics program had a rigid set of rules and guidelines set down by Nicholas Kerensky himself that described in detail the process by which new generations of warriors are to be produced.

The scientists would first take the genetic material of two warriors, then in a reasonable facsimile of the reproductive process, split the chromosome pairs into their respective zygotes. The sperm and/or ova would then be combined in a tube to give the embryonic future possible warrior, who would then mature inside an iron womb.

The technique gives enough assurance of genetic similarity, but also ample randomness in the final genetic product due to the ‘jumping gene’ effect that nature had employed to ensure genetic diversity and co-opted by clan scientists.

The genefather of their sibko was Star Captain Jifandar Lenardon, an undistinguished warrior who served in many minor skirmishes for the clan, but who never really achieved great fame in battle.

Their genemother was the distinguished one, Star Colonel Hannah Winters. She died while defending one of their primary mech facilities in a Trial of Position with the hated Smoke Jaguars, her cluster destroying over twice their numbers in Jaguar mechs, while she alone accounted for at least five more. That act earned her genetic material immediate use in the breeding program. The Winters bloodname House was primarily known for its elemental lines, but there were still a few mechwarrior lines, all of them renowned and highly prized by the clan. Only the very best genetic material were used, to ensure the skill and abilities of the next generation.

And Descartin was determined to be the very best warrior the clans had ever seen.

Jazelyn looked at her watch just as the last cadet arrived, then looked up with a tight smile.

“Ten seconds of time left. Adequate.” She remarked to Secorra, as he strode up just behind the last cadet to fall into line.

“Adequate?” Secorra nearly choked on his saliva as he said this. Des hoped he would choke. “That is not adequate. That is pathetic! These little cubs are weak and slow! Not a single one of them will survive their training, much less become a warrior of the clan!” Descartin tried to watch impassively as Secorra slobbered all over the place.

“Shall we put your belief to the test, then?” Training Commander Varro Drummond asked as he walked to the front of the line of cadets standing rigidly at attention.

“Each of you will bid for the right to take on these cubs.” He turned to the cadets. “And you, in turn, shall strive to defeat your instructors. Or at the very least try to.” He grinned evilly, a devilish leer that combined with the metal parts all over his body, would have sent others of lesser fortitude to hiding under their beds.

Descartin and his sibko was made of sterner stuff, though, and the display did not frighten them in the least.

“The starting bid is six for each of you.” Varro intoned solemnly.

“I bid four cubs for my most esteemed colleague.” Secorra sneered at Jazelyn, confident that he could handle all eight of the cadets, leaving her with no glory at all with her easy victory. Nine, on the other hand, would be too much for either of them to handle.

She countered easily. “I bid three for my colleague, and the right to choose his opponents.” Her eyes flicked over to Varro Drummond for a while in a gesture that Des could not understand.

Secorra laughed cruelly. “Bargained well and done. I shall defeat any three of these cubs you choose easily, while you shall be pulled under by the weight of nine others. Choose my opponents now!” He swung his arms, loosening the muscles in anticipation of the fight.

Jazelyn did not hesitate. It seemed that she knew who to choose already even before the first bid was made. She pointed at him, Deserk, and Lintya, a girl who was the among the best hand to hand fighters in the sibko.

After himself, of course.

“Step aside from each other, and then we’ll begin.” Varro turned to the line of cadets. “All of you, do not hold back. They have not yet earned your respect, and to hold back is to hold them in contempt, to underestimate them. And we, the Nova Cats, do not underestimate anyone! Give it your all, and show me, show them, what you are capable of!”

As the line dissolved into two clumps of cadets facing their respective opponents, Varro shouted, “Begin!”

Jazelyn’s figure immediately blurred into action, smashing into the cadets with efficiency and effortless grace. Des found himself watching the fight for a while before his eyes were brought back to his own fight by an insult from Secorra.

“Come on, you spineless cowards! Fight me!” Secorra yelled as he started advancing on them menacingly, his huge hands balled into fists.

Turning his head slightly, Descartin exchanged glances with Deserk. Des jerked his head slightly towards Secorra, urging his sibkin to attack first. It was their usual plan for taking on any opponent. Des would let Deserk have the honor of trying to take down an opponent first, and only commit when Deserk was either defeated or severely overmatched.

It started off as a standard bidding ritual amongst themselves, but eventually evolved into its present form when Des seemed to win whenever he won a bid, and Deserk lost when he won the bid. They had come to this arrangement after Deserk had gotten sick of never having ‘any fun’, as he had put it.

Deserk’s eyes rolled upwards as he resigned himself to his fate, moving forward together with Lintya as they split up, forcing Secorra to divide his focus. Their plan was clear, to force him to try to defend from two sides at once.

Secorra laughed in response to their actions, and spotted Descartin standing aloof to one side. “No hiding, cub! Come and face me like a true warrior!”

Des refused to be taunted. He would let Deserk and Lintya have their chance at glory. If they won, he would not have to fight, while if they lost, he would have the advantage of having observed his opponent beforehand. A true warrior employs guile and cunning in combat. He stayed where he was, letting his stance irritate the instructor into making a rash move at his sibkin.

Secorra moved towards Lintya first, a massive paw smashing aside her arms as she tried to defend herself, winning through by sheer strength. He threw his other hand forward in a venomous punch, hitting her right in the stomach even as Deserk flung himself into the air on a jump kick.

Deserk smashed into Secorra’s back as the big man finished off Lintya with a vicious kick to her face. She sprawled backwards on her back, and laid very still. The only evidence that showed that she still lived was the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Des stared intently as Secorra easily brushed off Deserk’s attack, charging a shoulder into his sibkin as Deserk tried to get up from his kick, then used both palms to slam them against Deserk’s temples, as though trying to squash a melon with his hands. Deserk went out like a light, falling unconscious to the ground.

Secorra flicked a finger out disdainfully at Descartin. “I will make this especially painful for you.” He was not even winded.

Des cocked his head to one side while walking forward, as if considering the threat. Secorra stepped in swinging a punch around without warning, his body movement not betraying any indication of his attack.

Except Des was already spinning below the blow and to one side, flailing a leg around like a chain as he did so, the tip of his boot a hammer into Secorra’s knee joint. He spun away, a mocking smile on his face.

Secorra buckled for a while, before he recovered and tried to get in close to inflict his punishing blows on Descartin. He moved with deceptive speed for his size, getting within arms reach of Des.

As he punched again, Des dropped to the ground and rolled forward until he was to one side of the warrior, then clasped his hands to deal Secorra’s knee another damaging blow. He rolled away again as Secorra lashed out with a kick, barely missing the fast moving cadet.

As Des gained some safe distance from the furious instructor, he could see that his attacks had achieved the desired effect of reducing Secorra’s mobility. He was favoring his left leg, the one that Des had concentrated on. But Des also knew that he had yet to deal any real hurt on the man.

He closed the distance, this time intentionally telegraphing a swing of his right leg up towards Secorra’s face. The instructor predictably caught the foot, but before he could do anything with it, Des was already in the air, his left foot propelling his body from terra firma and then whipping up into Secorra’s right cheek. As the injured man howled with pain and released the hold on his right foot, Des moved forward.

It was a trick, as Secorra suddenly slugged him in the stomach just as he advanced, the blow driving all the air from his lungs. Des fell to the ground on his back, as Secorra went in for the kill.

To hell with it! Des shunted away the pain in his middle, but he continued lying on the ground. Just when he sensed Secorra within striking range, he twisted his body around, both legs angled as he spun on his back, using his last reserves of strength to gain momentum as his legs hit into Secorra’s legs again. The man stumbled, his hands flailing, and it was all the time Des needed.

Instead of retreating, Des leapt forward this time, Secorra’s out of position hands closing in behind him as he launched a hand at Secorra’s throat. Secorra’s thick arms closed in around Des even as his right hand managed to clutch the man’s windpipe. A red haze fell over his vision, as he begun to crush his opponent’s throat.

“Stop!” The red haze fled as quickly as it had appeared. “Cadet! You will release the instructor’s throat right now!”

Des looked around uncomprehendingly, his hand still on the neck of Secorra in a tight death grip. The words took a moment to register, and Des relaxed his hand slowly. It took him another few seconds before he realized Secorra was already unconscious.

He got to his feet shakily, and took a good look at the other group which had tangled with Jazelyn. They were littered all over the parade field, while Jazelyn looked none the worse for wear. He could swear that she gave a smirk as she looked over Secorra’s unconscious body, and a matching grin towards him.

Deserk was groggily getting to his feet as well, while Varro wore an inscrutable look as he observed the scene. Des realized belatedly that it was Training Commander Varro Drummond who had given the orders for him to stop. He felt the red haze threatening to cloud his sight again, as he grew angry at Commander Drummond for stopping the fight.

The Commander seemed to sense his rage, as he walked up to Des, who came to attention despite the pain in his guts. Drummond asked, “You seek satisfaction, quiaff?”

Never taking his eyes off the Commander, Des replied, “Aff.”

Varro grinned sardonically as he opened his arms wide. “Take your best shot, cub.” An invitation for attack.

Des did not care anymore, even though he knew he should not have spoke back to the Commander in such a manner. He went in, both hands held up, ready to block or absorb any attacks from the Commander.

Drummond did not bat an eyelid as Des punched forward cautiously, ready to pull back to defend. All of a sudden, the Commander shifted forward, his head meeting the punch before it had gained much speed, taking away its sting, and the next thing Des knew, he was hit in the head by a roundhouse that was harder than anything he had ever felt in his life.

He staggered backward, and then another blow that was equally as hard went into his stomach. Des felt something go snap inside him, and blood rising up to his mouth. He flew backwards several meters from the force of the attack, and rolled for several more before stopping.

Des could feel the blood trickling down his chin, as he looked up to Varro, who was standing over him.

“You will obey my instructions. And do not even think that your defeat of Officer Secorra impresses me in the least. There is only one way to earn respect from me, and that is when you are a true warrior of the clan. Jazelyn, get this litter of cubs out of my sight!” Varro started walking away, as Jazelyn started hauling cadets to their feet and shoving them into line. For the second time in the day, Des pushed away the pain his body was feeling, and got into the ranks.

If Varro Drummond had looked back, he would have noticed Descartin’s grim smile.

Finally, a real warrior to look up to. I will beat you one day.

“March! Double time! Left! Right! Left!” Jazelyn started yelling, as the cadets marched back to their bunks, leaving a dizzy Secorra only just coming to his senses.