Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella,

Kerensky Cluster,

18^th January 3047

 

It was a high cliff out in the middle of almost nowhere, a barren, rocky landscape pocked by scattered tufts of brown shrub struggling to draw what moisture they could out of the unforgiving soil.

A group of battlemechs marched through the area in pairs, led by an old and battered Highlander. Most of the battlemechs did not move as smoothly as the Highlander, occasionally kicking up stones and dust as they walked over the rough terrain.

“Listen up, you cubs!” Training Officer Iachi, Secorra’s replacement, stopped his Highlander at the edge of the cliff.

Since Secorra’s departure, Iachi, a solahma warrior who had actually volunteered for training duty became their instructor. He was far better than Secorra had ever been, and was not above a few dirty tricks of his own to show his greater experience. Of course, he had always passed on small tips and insights to his charges, the product of years on the battlefield. This had endeared him to them, as much for his knowledge as his willingness to help them succeed.

“This is your jump jet test area! Here we shall find out if any of you has an actual fear of heights, as well as your ability to maximize the use of your jump jets!”

The cadets all peered warily over the cliff edge, where a huge canyon three hundred meters wide beckoned below. Descartin was careful not to lean his Panther too far forward, lest the pull of gravity dragged his mech into the deep abyss.

There was another cliff on the other side of the canyon, about two hundred meters lower than their present vantage point. On the ground of the cliff was marked a small circle, ringed by several short poles.

Iachi spoke again. “I am sure all of you have seen the platform on the other side. The objective of today’s test, is for all of you to jump to the other side! Fail, and you will be dashed to pieces on the ground.” Iachi pushed Lintya’s Valkyrie to the edge of the cliff.

“Make sure you know how to feather your jets, Cadet Lintya,” Iachi said easily as he shoved the Valkyrie off the cliff almost offhandedly with the left arm of the Highlander.

Lintya’s scream of sheer terror as her mech fell through the air did not seem to deter Iachi any, as he shouted, “Everybody off in three seconds! Two, one…”

Descartin was already working the legs of the Panther, sprinting to the edge of the cliff and then leaping off. He stepped on his pedals for a few moments, frantically trying to get them to work as the mech dropped down, before he remembered the most basic command action for jumping a mech.

Des stomped on the pedals. Hard. With both feet.

The blasts vents of the Panther erupted with flame, pushing out massive forces sufficient to lift thirty five tons of battlemech against gravity’s grasp. All around him, his sibkin did the same, lighting up the sky with their drive plumes.

It was an impressive sight from Iachi’s Highlander, as the cadets overcame their fear of the canyon below and concentrated their skills on reaching the landing spot on the opposite cliff. The mechs dipped and rose in the air as they tried to extract as much lift and distance from the limited charges on their jump jets, taking care not to lift too high and waste their jump juice. They could not afford to drop too far either, for the built up momentum from gravity’s pull would become too much even for the fusion powered jets to overcome.

As every physicist and engineer knew, jump jets were brute force devices to propel multi-ton machines through the air, because most mechs were built with all the aerodynamic stability of a brick.

“Woohoo!” More than one cadet shouted as they flew through the air on plasma jets.

“All of you, shut up!” Iachi ordered stridently. The frequency quickly cleared of their cheers.

Deserk’s Javelin reached the other side first, flexing its legs as it slammed down on the hard ground of the cliff.

“Clear off, clear off!” Descartin yelled as he noted the limited space for landing. It was going to be a tight fit if all the cadets were going to land on that small circle. His own Panther was out of jump charge, so he was looking to land as close to the edge as possible. It was yet another handicap placed on him, as the Panther had the least jumping distance than any of the other mechs.

“Aff. Moving out.” Deserk sounded off. The Javelin sprinted off just as Des’s Panther finally landed right behind it, the leg actuators whining from the tremendous stress placed on them, exacerbated by the fact that Des had been unable to push his jets for a softer landing.

Des bounced around inside his cockpit as the mech landed heavily, keeping a light touch on his pedals and his HOTAS all the time, fearing that any sudden movement on his controls due to the violent landing of the mech might affect his control.

A red light on his actuator status panel came on, indicating damage to the lower actuator on the right leg. The instructors were not going to be happy with this.

Des started the Panther limping out of the landing circle, clearing the space for the other cadets as they streamed in, even Lintya, who had managed to recover from her shock.

“Excellent!” Jazelyn declared from her Crockett, wading towards the cadets as they milled around waiting for further instructions. “You have all passed the test. Easy, was it not?”

All the cadets knew better than to reply. The last time somebody had said a test was easy, he had ended up taking it again under more difficult conditions.

It was a verbal trap, pure and simple.

“Cadet Descartin, your Panther has taken serious damage to its leg. As punishment, you will have to assist the technicians in repairing it. Let this also be a lesson to all of you!” Her Crockett walked up to each cadet’s mech, the large cockpit of the assault mech pausing for the barest second in front of each cadet before moving on, as though she was trying to eye them personally through the plexiglass screen.

“Foul up, and you will to repair any unacceptable damage to your mechs! This will teach you to take greater care of your mechs, as we will be moving on to heavy mechs and high powered weapons soon!” The Crockett backed off.

Descartin did not like that, since she did not state exactly what could be construed as ‘unacceptable damage’, which could be anything from a scratch to wholesale destruction of a mech. Not likely, but still, he shuddered to think of the time a cadet would have to put in at the repair stall in the case of a destroyed mech.

“Now proceed back to base!” She ordered.

 

Later that evening in their barracks, after two hours of finding out more about leg myomer patterns, actuator stress tolerances, and monkey wrench sizes than he had ever wanted to know, Des waited nervously for his ‘turn’.

That was what they had all started calling it since it started several evenings ago. Each evening, one cadet would be called up from the bunk before dinner by Training Officer Jazelyn, and then return only late after midnight, exhausted and drained, not to mention hungry.

All of them had refused to speak of what they did the night they were ‘taken’, and Des was beginning to have a real fright at what it entailed.

Sex? Perhaps, but he was strangely determined not to indulge in wasteful sexual activity of any kind, since he felt that such activity distracts the mind and body from achieving the pinnacle of warrior ability. True, Jazelyn might be really fine-looking, but it was also common knowledge that she coupled frequently and often with Varro Drummond, and Des really did not want to invite any more difficulty than necessary into his training.

Torture? Des knew for certain that he was not a sadomasochist, and as brave as he thought he was, there were limits to anybody’s courage. Visions of stretching racks, water wheels, and branding devices, all gleaned from his stash of holovids, raced through his mind.

Something else? Try as he might, Des could not think of anything else.

And it was all the worse because he was the last cadet, the only one who had not been called up yet. The others simply held their lips tightly, refusing to even give him a hint of what they went through. Not even Deserk, despite Descartin’s most dire threats or most persuasive bribes, offered a word about it.

“Cadet Descartin! Come out now!” Jazelyn stood in the doorway of their bunk, her slight figure casting a rather sinister shadow on the ground.

Trying to ignore the pitying stares of the rest of his sibkin, Descartin trooped out obediently, his head held high in a show of bravado. He jutted out his jaw in he hoped was a suitable show of defiance.

“Why are you holding your head that way, Cadet? You look like a Jade Falcon with his feathers plucked.” Jazelyn scolded as she saw him.

A chastened Des immediately lowered his head back down.

“Now follow me.” Jazelyn commanded, walking away with long strides.

A few minutes later, Des found himself outside a tent. Jazelyn herself ducked in with only a “Stay right here” instruction for him.

Des immediately started to sweat, thinking of all the things that could happen to him. He did not have long to wait, as Varro Drummond shouted for him to enter the tent.

He had time for only a quick prayer to the same god that so many protagonists in the holovids seem to invoke whenever they were in trouble before he went into Varro’s room. He did not know if such a being actually existed, but it did make him feel better.

He was surprised to see Varro and Jazelyn both sitting solemnly on the ground, with a small fire in the middle of the circle, the smoke from the flames rising up through a hole in the tent into the night sky above.

“Come and sit down, cadet.” Varro ordered, indicating a position opposite him.

Des sat down slowly, still wary of what might be inflicted on him.

“Do not be stupid, cadet.” Jazelyn smiled carefully. “We are not going to eat you. This is a rite of passage for all members of the clan, regardless of caste. It is also one of our most honored traditions, but also one that we do not draw attention to until the time is right.” She stopped speaking, giving Descartin time to digest her words.

Varro soon took up where Jazelyn left off. “At about the age of sixteen, every member of the clan will undergo this shortened vision rite, guided by his or her elders. After this rite, the clansman is considered an adult, entitled to the privileges and responsibilities of such. For warriors in training, it further serves as a threshold for their progress, as it denotes the final stages of their preparation for their first Trial of Position.”

Jazelyn spoke again, “Almost all who undergo this first ritual fail to see anything, but all gain a deeper understanding of the clan and the path of visions.” She sprinkled some dust onto the fire, a fine white powder that caused the fire to sizzle with colors of blue and green, even as the resulting strong aroma rose up into Des’s nostrils, a heady perfume that engulfed his senses.

“Sandra Rosse, our beloved Khan, showed us that in order to shape our present, we must both revere the past and embrace the future. But the means to do so is limited, and only by visions are we able to catch the barest glimpses of what might be, can be, or must not be.”

Varro spoke. “Now open your mind to all that lies around and about you. Discard your thoughts and fears, your hopes and dreams. If you can, shut out even the sound of my voice. Look for yourself within the fire, and listen within your soul. Do not think of time, for the very essence of a vision is the movement of your mind across time.”

The instructions seemed contradictory, but Des stared at the fire as he was told. Trying to ignore everything else though, was proving to be extremely difficult, because Des simply could not comprehend how he could ignore things if he had to pay attention to them in order to even ignore them.

His mind wandered around in this logic trap for two long hours before he was able to simply shut them out, by concentrating only on the flame before him. Meanwhile, Varro and Jazelyn seemed to have left the circle. Des kicked himself mentally. He was not supposed to notice such things!

He settled down again, forcing himself to concentrate on the flame set in front and the void within himself. The growling sounds from his stomach and the messages of exhaustion that his body insisted on sending to his brain did not help matters any, so Des did his best to shut them out.

His eyelids also threatened to misbehave, creeping down ever so deviously until he jerked himself back to full awareness. The cycle carried on for several hours.

Until Des felt himself slipping into darkness. He thought he had finally fallen asleep, but he could not wake up no matter how hard he tried.

Then it happened. He saw a nova cat cub, sitting by another fully grown nova cat in the darkness. The cub groomed itself, licking at its paws. Then it got up, and started walking.

Des found himself following the cub for several moments before he realized belatedly that he was having a vision.

A vision!

The cub wandered around in the darkness only for a moment, quickly coming to stop by another large animal that had faded in. It was a massive bear with pale, ghostly white coloration. Des recognized the magnificent beast for what it was, a ghost bear. The bear prowled warily around the cub, sniffing it with its pale nose, even giving it a shove or two. In the end, it seemed to accept the cub, allowing the cub to accompany it.

After a while, the cub separated from the bear to join up with a horse with razor sharp teeth, stamping angrily on the ground with clawed hooves, seemingly breathing fire out from its nose. The horse stared at the cub disdainfully through blood red eyes, tossing its wild mane from side to side, before it continued on its journey with the nova cat, which seemed to be slowly growing larger.

The same process of events repeated themselves, with different animals each time, but they all had one feature in common. They were all totem beasts of the Clans.

Des watched with amazement as the cub eventually became an adult, but the last animal it approached did not register as a clan at all. It was a purple eagle, balefully eyeing the cat. The eagle shrieked once, a loud piercing cry that shook Des to his soul.

The darkness disappeared, the eagle gradually fading into the fire that burned in front of him, as an awed Varro said, “You saw a vision, quiaff?”

“Aff. But I do not understand what I saw. What does it all mean?”

“What did you see?” Asked an intrigued Varro.

It took a few seconds for an exhausted Des to gather his scattered thoughts. “I saw a nova cat cub. It traveled with many animals, most of which were clan totems, one at a time, and it grew to adulthood. It ended with the nova cat at the feet of a strange bird, an eagle. Then it ended. So strange.”

Des did not notice Varro or Jazelyn’s shock at his account, because he was barely cognizant of his own surroundings. All he knew was the fatigue throughout his body, as he slumped in his position.

Jazelyn managed to break out of her shock first, “That shall be all, cadet. You have done well, and receiving your first vision at your age is a truly exceptional feat. The meaning of the vision will be revealed in time, so do not worry over it too much. You may return to your bunk for rest now.” She gestured to outside the tent.

Des gathered his last few reserves of strength, and managed to stagger back to his bed, where he immediately fell into a deep and troubled sleep.

 

“It must be him. There could be no other.” Varro declared emphatically. “His vision was identical to ours, save that his stopped at the eagle.”

“It could mean anything.” Jazelyn countered, acting as devil’s advocate. “He could be like us, simply tools in the way.”

“No. If he was just a tool, as you suggest, why would his vision stop at the exact point that ours differ? It could only because the path of the future would take depends on his choices.” Varro started dousing the fire, using a bucket of soil.

“And if so, why did you not tell him?”

“Because it might have affected him, made him overconfident. He might become too confident in his fate, and not work hard enough to earn that vision.”

“And our role in this would be…”

“To push him to his limits, and then beyond them. He will need to be strong, in order to fulfill his destiny.”

“Should we tell the Oathmaster?”

“Certainly. She deserves to know, and maybe she might be able to help us interpret the vision through some new insight.”

Jazelyn’s face turned hopeful. “Who knows, we might even be able to return to active warrior duty earlier than expected.”

Varro shook his head. “You will be able to return, but I do not think I will.”

“Why not?” She asked in a worried voice. “Despite your injuries and your age, you are still one of the clan’s best warriors.”

“It is not a matter of being able to, but rather a matter of wanting to. I have gained my bloodname, ensured the immortality of my genes. I have achieved all that a warrior aspires to, and I can contribute more by honing the skills of future generations of warriors.”

“But I have not taken my bloodname yet, and I want my chance.” Jazelyn insisted. “We were an unstoppable team in the past, and together we can achieve even greater glory.”

“Aff, but there is one more reason why I will stay here. Despite my belief that young Descartin is the cub in the vision, you are right to be cautious. He might not be the one, and that means we still have to stay here until he proves it beyond all doubt.”

Jazelyn was stricken. “Then my chances of glory are gone. I shall be thirty five years old in a month’s time, and another five years would leave me as solahma, with no commander willing to take me into a front line unit.” She leaned her face against the tent, overcome by the implications.

Varro nodded apologetically. “Aff. I am sorry. But there are ways to pass on your genetic heritage without being accepted into the program…”

She caught on quickly, and the vehemence on her face was no surprise. “No! I will rather die than submit to that fate!”

“Then there seems to be no other alternative for you. I wish I could change the rules, turn back time, give you the chance you deserve so many years ago, but all that is impossible now.” He reached for her shoulder, squeezing it gently in a show of support, half afraid she would knock it away.

Jazelyn did not, and she spoke in a husky voice, “The clan, and you, owe me a ransom for what I have sacrificed. And maybe that ransom can take away my pain.” She reached for Varro’s hand on her, and pulled it to her face, slowly dragging an unresisting Varro to his quarters.

Well, Varro thought wryly to himself later, there are far worse ransoms to think of.