Chapter Two

January 18, 3056
Central Dragoons Administrative Center
Harlech, Outreach
Chaos March

“If you will wait here, Star Captain Scott,” the petite young brunette said with a smile as she waved her hand towards several comfortable looking leather seats lining the wall. “Colonel Wolf is running behind this morning, and I apologize for the delay. Would you care for something to drink while you wait?”

Jason gave the woman a half-bow, reached out and took her hand, and then softly kissed the back of it. “Thank you, but no, Madame. That is the proper term, quiaff?”

“Aff,” she said with a grin. “If you change your mind, my name is Danielle and my office is across the hall.”

Sitting down in the very comfortable seat, Jason watched as the young woman—Danielle—sashayed from the waiting area outside of Colonel Wolf’s office. He let out a small sigh as she turned the corner and vanished from sight. Business before pleasure, he sternly told himself. Besides, as saKhan Ward of Clan Wolf had told him months earlier, just prior to when the Scorpion entered the Inner Sphere, their customs and mores are slightly different than our own.

Four days ago he had landed here in Harlech, and found himself virtually under arrest. Despite saKhan Ward’s writ of safe conduct—countersigned by Khan Kerensky, the IlKhan, and the Precentor Martial—the Dragoon’s security arm had firmly, but politely, escorted him to a rather heavily guarded facility in the city. Jason had expected no less. Any prudent people would determine if the Scorpion in their midst was a danger to them, after all. He had been intensely questioned about his purpose here, on Outreach, in the Inner Sphere. But the interrogations had not progressed beyond the level of a harsh interview. That was surprising. He had expected full mechanical and chemical interrogation—standard procedure from someone unexpected and unknown.

Yet, he had not been questioned in such a manner. His answers he thought would have caused such, especially if his hosts had been Jaguars. For three days, he had firmly—but politely!—insisted that his business was with Colonel Wolf alone; and that if Jamie Wolf carried to share the information with them afterwards, then he was free to do so. Some of his questioners had been more than ready to take the low road, but late yesterday afternoon, they had ceased trying to question him.

His zulkari were still in the possession of the security team, as was the slug-thrower he routinely wore in a cross-draw holster on his right side. His belongings were intact, but he was certain they had been searched for additional weapons—not that he had carried any others. From a certain point of view, it was pitiful; these people were led by the survivors of a Clan expeditionary force, and yet they seemingly failed to acknowledge the truth of the matter—there are no deadly weapons, only deadly warriors. If his intent had been mayhem, then he could still accomplish much, for he was a Scorpion warrior bred and trained, bearing a Bloodname earned in battle, no less. Stop it, Jason thought to himself. You are acting as if they have insulted you by not harshly interrogating you. What? You like pain?

He snorted, and drew a single deep breathe into his lungs, holding it until he counted to sixty, and then slowly released it over fifteen seconds. Repeating the calming exercise, he began to relax, taking as his guide the Scorpion his Clan revered. Patience is a virtue to the Scorpion, he recited to himself. The Scorpion waits until the time is right; the Scorpion never acts with haste, but with deliberation instead. He wastes no energy on that which cannot be altered. And he continued to breathe deeply and slowly.

The young woman—Danielle—stepped into the room once again. Jason slowly turned his head to face her, as smoothly as a turret tracking on a target. “Colonel Wolf will see you now, Star Captain.”

Jason stood, releasing the last breathe he had taken. Glancing at the clock, he saw that twenty-four minutes had passed. He smiled, as he felt the slow, steady pulse of his heart. Petty tricks, Wolf, he mused. It would have worked against a Jaguar or a Falcon or a Viper—but not against a Scorpion.

“Thank you, Danielle. Are you free this evening?” he asked as he stretched, feeling the blood rush back into his limbs, feeling the joy of having defeated even this minor of enemies.

“Free? For what?” she asked.

“For coupling, perhaps after dinner,” Jason replied in an off-hand manner.

“Excuse me?” she said, her jaw dropping.

“Have I insulted you, Danielle? If so, I do apologize. We of the Clans do not believe in wasting time with frivolities—I desire you, and I believe you me. That is our way.”

“That is NOT our way,” she huffed and quickly left the room. Differing customs, indeed Khan Ward, Jason mused.

The door on the far wall had opened, and a Dragoon’s officer—a Major by his rank tabs—waved him over. Jason crossed the room with steady measured steps and was ushered into a large office. An old man, black hair long since gone gray, sat at the desk. He wore the black and red of the Dragoon’s, though, and he retained the sharpness of eye of any warrior. Two more men—and a woman—stood behind his chair, flanking him to the left and the right. The Major held out a chair for Jason across the desk, and then walked around to assume his own position behind Jamie Wolf.

Jason sat; his back straight and narrow as he surveyed the office. Two doors, besides the one he entered, but no windows. Furnished in a rather spartan manner, but each piece of furniture was clearly of high value. Nothing adorned the walls, and the surface of the desk was clean and polished and empty, save for a green and brown leather blotter directly before the old man.

“I understand you have a message for me, Star Captain Scott,” Jamie Wolf said, his voice a low rumble that hinted he still retained all the deadliness of a warrior of the Clans. Jason nodded. The Wolf may have turned gray, but it was not yet infirm nor had his teeth been loosened.

“Aff, Colonel Wolf. I bear a message to you from my Khan, Ariel Surorov, of Clan Goliath Scorpion. My Khan sends you greetings, Son of Clan Wolf, the Clan of Kerensky, to whom we owe our surkairede for the redemption and adoption of Ethan Moreau long ago.”

“Your path may have parted from the Clans of the Homeworlds, Jamie Wolf; yet, you remain a Warrior of the Clans. You know honor and you know of our ways. In the spirit of both, my Khan instructs that I ask you for the codex of each of the Warriors of the Scorpion who many years ago accompanied your reconnaissance force into the Inner Sphere. We ask that these be given so that we of Goliath Scorpion may honor our fallen trothkin and insure that their progeny know of their heritage.”

“Codex? You traveled the best part of a year for their codex?” One of the men standing behind Wolf blurted out—another Major.

Jamie Wolf raised his hand, and the officer quit sputtering. “The Scorpions sent not just a Warrior of the Clan, Erik, but a true-born who has earned his Bloodname on this errand. That alone shows the seriousness with which they place on this. Why now?”

“The Invasion has been halted, Colonel Wolf. And it is unlikely when it resumes that my Clan will be allowed to return to this our ancient home. Unlikely that either you or I will remain alive by that time. But our legacy—genetic and otherwise—will continue long past either of us. We seek to know what our brother and sister Scorpions accomplished, what honor they earned, and how they fell. And unlike some Clans of late, we remember that you are of us as well—trained by the hands and tradition of the Scorpion. The feats that your Dragoon’s have accomplished, Colonel Wolf, they bring glory and honor upon all of us whom claim status as a Warrior of Kerensky. Seyla.”

“Seyla,” Jamie Wolf intoned softly. He stared deep into Jason’s eyes, a gaze that the Scorpion warrior returned without flinching. “It will be done, Star Captain Scott. The men and women of your Clan who volunteered to accompany our expedition—and who died by doing so—will be honored on the Homeworlds once more.” He stood, and Jason did so as well. “It will take some days to assemble the information and sensor logs of the engagements in which they fought. Until then, Star Captain, you will be our honored guest here in Harlech.”

“My Khan thanks you, Colonel Wolf. I thank you and my Clan thanks you for the honor you show our trothkin. A query, if I may, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“Have you retained the giftake of these Warriors?”

Colonel Wolf nodded slowly. “For some, yes, Star Captain. The sample was digitized and preserved in their codex. But for others it did not prove possible to obtain at the time of their death. And as the years passed, fewer and fewer of our original number remained to recover the tissue sample—so that practice fell aside. Nonetheless, young Warrior, if we retain any giftakes they will be included for your Scientists.”

“Once again, I thank you, Colonel Wolf.” Jason paused for but a moment, but Jamie Wolf remained as perceptive as a young Wolf pup fresh from his sibko.

“Is there another matter, Star Captain?”

“Onboard the DropShip, I met a Falcon Bondsman named Lucien. Who holds his bond?”

Wolf frowned, and turned to one of the others standing with him. The woman drew out a hand computer and consulted the data. “Major Devries, Sir.”

“Why do you ask me this?” he inquired, raising one eyebrow.

“With your permission, Colonel Wolf, I would ask for the right to challenge Major Devries in a Trial of Possession for the Bondsman Lucien,” Jason answered with a wry grin. “This errand is not my only reason for being here—I Seek. And my vision showed that a Falcon would guide the way.”

Chapter Three

January 21, 3056
Open Proving Grounds
Harlech, Outreach
Chaos March

On the shores of Lake Kearny, a crowd of people had gathered in a natural bowl of land the Dragoons had shaped and sculpted into an amphitheatre. Already, the rows of seats above Jason were filling with off-duty Dragoons coming to watch this Trial. And others besides them—mercenaries of all types, their colorful and distinctive uniforms standing out amidst the sea of red and black, white-robed acolytes of ComStar, observers in civilian dress from some of the Great Houses—all these and more had come to watch the bout between himself and Major Devries.

Strange, he thought to himself that so many have come over what amounts to a trifling Trial between the two of us. Among the crowds, he could see the holo-vid cameras—apparently the Dragoons were even recording the event, perhaps for local viewing pleasure. He had known of the popularity of the Solaris events; perhaps that was why. Regardless, the recording will serve as an excellent record of the event for his codex; he made a mental note to ask Colonel Wolf for a copy before his departure next week.

Two days before, he had met Samantha Devries and announced his intention to seek a Trial against her for the possession of Bondsman Lucien. She had accepted his challenge without hesitation—but with conditions.

“Star Captain,” she had said, “I am no MechWarrior. I am an infantry trooper in this mercenary command. I will fight your trial, but you must fight me hand-to-hand.”

“Agreed, Major,” Jason answered. “Armed or unarmed?”

“Armed with melee weapons only—unpowered melee weapons at that, Star Captain. And further, since you have earned a Bloodname, and as is my right in a Trial of this nature, I bid myself and two Warriors that I shall select—you must defeat all three of us to win.”

Jason had smiled a grin that any Strana Mechty Dire Wolf would have envied. “Bargained well and done, Major.”

Now, two days later, he sat upon a seat prepared for him outside the circle the Dragoon’s had drawn in the dirt of the shore. None sat with him, for he had traveled here to Outreach alone. And so he sat and he watched the crowd as he waited for his opponents. Movement in the darkness of a tunnel descending into the hill the stadium had been carved from caught his eye. And from the tunnel, he saw Colonel Wolf and a half-dozen of his officers emerge, striding across the sands towards him. Behind them, came Devries and her two selected Warriors, along with her bondsman, though the four of them stopped on the opposite side of the Circle of Equals.

Jason stood as Colonel Wolf walked up to him. “Are you prepared for this Trial, Warrior?” the old man asked.

“Aff,” Jason said as he bowed his head in respect. “A question before we begin, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

“These warriors are of your Dragoons. Would you prefer for them to suffer lethal or non-lethal injury in the Circle today?”

One of the officers behind Wolf sucked in a sudden gasp of air, and several tensed—but one man, older even than Jamie Wolf by his appearance laughed out loud. “By Kerensky’s seed, Colonel, he is indeed a Warrior of the Clans!”

Colonel Wolf smiled, but his eyes were cold. “Yes he is, Elliot. And to answer your question, Star Captain Scott, I would prefer them to remain alive.”

“And so they shall remain, Colonel,” Jason said as he bowed his head again. “No killing blows shall the Scorpion strike this day.”

A dark haired woman frowned. “You are so confident, then? Three of them against you, in succession one after the other?”

“I am a Warrior of the Scorpion,” Jason answered, lifting his head up so that the sun above filled his face with warmth. “I do not fear odds of merely three-to-one against.”

“Those are no mere infantry—Warrior of the Scorpion. Major Devries serves the Dragoon’s in the 7th Kommando, and there are few enough able to match her in battle. And she has chosen two of her finest to fight alongside.”

“I had presumed that she was not a typical infantry trooper, Captain. After all, did she not capture a Falcon Elemental alive, quiaff?”

“Aff.”

The woman shook her head and took a step backwards, and Colonel Wolf beckoned to two of his men standing over against the base of the amphitheatre wall. The two marched steadily over towards Jason and the officers, and then stopped, one saluting. The other was carrying a polished wooden box. Colonel Wolf returned his salute, and waved the second man forward.

“You weapons, Star Captain Scott, your zulkari. They are now returned to you. Fight well, Scorpion, and fight with honor—and may victory show the truth—and yield the prize.”

“Seyla,” Jason replied as he the second man opened the box and he reached within and took the zulkari from the satin lined interior.

Colonel Wolf and his officers walked away and seated themselves in a small box just outside the Circle.

Yet another Dragoons officer walked out into the center of the twenty-meter diameter circle upon the ground. Pointing first at Jason, and then Devries and her people, he motioned them to him.

“I am Captain Danton,” he said, “and I shall serve as referee for the Trial fought today. Star Captain Scott, when I signal you may enter the Circle. The Trial will begin the instant your opponent enters after that point. You will face one opponent at a time—but the moment I declare one is down, another may enter. Leaving the Circle for any reason—including being thrown from it—will result in immediate elimination for the individual in question. You have chosen your weapons, and each party has given their approval. If at any time, either party wishes to yield, I will issue a command to cease—that command will be immediately obeyed. Medics are standing by—but they will not enter the Circle until the Trial is complete. Do you all understand the rules?”

Jason—and his opponents—nodded their answer. “Excellent. Warriors, please leave the Circle.”

Jason walked back to his seat, and then turned to face across the Circle once more. The referee nodded and pointed at him, and the Scorpion drew in a deep breath and then stepped within the Circle.

*****************************************************

From his box, Colonel Wolf watched as the Scorpion Warrior stepped into the Circle of Equals. He was calm and steady, relaxed, holding his weapons low and loose at his side. In the center, Danton signaled at the Devries, and then he stepped back. A tall, powerfully built man stepped forward into the sand, twirling an iron-shod quarterstaff in his hands as he came.

Beside Jamie Wolf on his right sat the woman he had adopted as his own daughter and intended successor—Maeve, wearing the uniform of a Captain that she had earned. On the left, there was one of the few surviving officers that had originally accompanied the Dragoon’s—J. Elliot Jamison, of Zeta Battalion.

“I know Cantonelli,” Maeve whispered amid the roars of the crowd, “he is vicious with that staff.”

“Perhaps,” mused Jamie Wolf.

The Dragoon advanced across the sand, spinning the long wooden weapon slowly in front of him as he advanced. Jason just stood there—mere inches from the edge of the circle. Cantonelli kept advancing, getting closer and closer, but still the Scorpion warrior did not move—did not react.

Finally, as the crowd began to boo and hiss, Cantonelli advanced to within range to strike. Spinning the staff faster and faster, he began to sway his body from left to right and back again, and then suddenly thrust one iron ferrule directly at Jason. And Jason MOVED. Like a bolt of lightning unleashed, he spun away from the iron-shod tip and rolled up the length of the staff, grasping it with his hands as Cantonelli pulled it back and tried to spin it defensively once more. Jason’s knives—his zulkari—lay on the ground where he had stood.

But with Jason having a death-grip on the weapon, Cantonelli could not use it. The Scorpion twisted his body, and fell to the side—his head just a fraction of an inch within the circle—and he still held onto the weapon. Cantonelli was pulled forward, off-balance, towards Jason, on top of Jason. But Jason had already cocked his feet tight against his stomach, and as Cantonelli landed, he thrust both his boots up into the Dragoon’s diaphragm—propelling him up and towards the edge of the circle. He kept his hands on the staff, pulling Cantonelli over his head in an arc—but when the Dragoon hit the apex, he released the weapon, and spun to his feet, just as he heard his foe hit the ground and roll up against the stone wall—outside the circle.

“He was so focused on what he was trying to do, Maeve, that he forgot that Scorpion down there might have other ideas,” Jamie Wolf spoke loudly against the roar of the crowd.

Spinning around, Jason began to dance along the inner rim of the Circle, grabbing his zulkari as he went. And the second Dragoon entered, wielding two fighting sticks—one in each hand.

The two began to dance and probe against each other—razor’s edge against rib-crushing impact—but neither seriously attempted to land a blow. Both warriors were probing their opponent to discover his weaknesses.

“What is the way of the warrior, Maeve?” Jamie Wolf asked as he watched the fight spellbound, the two combatants lunging and parrying as they danced like a pair of butterflies around and around the center of the circle.

“To defeat your enemies?”

“Not quite. The WAY of the warrior is to understand your enemies—so that they defeat themselves. The Scorpions have always understood that—watch him closely, Maeve. See what he sees.”

The young woman frowned and watched as Jason and the second Dragoon kept circling and probing. And then the Scorpion lashed out with one knife. The Dragoon swept the blow aside and thrust forward with his own free stick, but the strike had been naught but a feint. Jason dropped to the ground beneath the stick and spun, the heel of his boot striking the Dragoon in the side of the knee-cap. A sickening CRACK sounded across the amphitheatre, and the Dragoon dropped to the sand as Jason rolled back and stood once more, holding both zulkari before him as he gauged his wounded opponent just outside of his reach.

“Roberts thought he was sparring in a traditional match—and the Scorpion let him think that. He was not expecting him to use something other than his weapons—and because of that he failed. Scott saw that—and used it.”

“But that move is illegal,” she protested.

J. Elliot Jamison made a rude sound from the other side of Jamie Wolf. “And so what? It was not listed in the rules given in THIS TRIAL as illegal—and it just gave him the victory over Roberts, quiaff? Best that you understand this now BEFORE you face the Clans, Maeve Wolf—against a real Clan warrior you face death incarnate. That Scorpion was not joking when he asked the Colonel if he wanted those men dead or alive at the end of the match—and that was a courtesy few Clanners would have given.”

On the sands below, Roberts dropped one of his sticks, and tore a strip from his shirt as Jason gave him time to recover. Holding his damaged leg out straight, he quickly bound the stick to it, and then stood, with but a single weapon. But his injured leg meant he could barely move, and Jason circled, keeping out of the area where Roberts could strike him. The zulkari flashed out and a slashing flow of crimson erupted from the back of the hand in which Roberts held his last stick. Before it hit the sand, Jason spun, and kicked it across the circle.

He spoke to his foe—but Maeve and the others in the crowd were too far to hear. Roberts shook his head, and the Scorpion inclined his own in reply. And then he asked a question again.

“What is he doing?” she asked.

“Offering hegira, probably,” Jamison answered gruffly. “Of course, if Roberts accepts, it means that Devries will forfeit.”

Jason nodded at the second answer, and he dropped the two knives. Rushing in, he struck Roberts in the solar plexus, the stomach, and the groin in three rapid punches, and then he drew back and slammed an elbow into the reeling man’s temple. The Dragoon hit the sand, losing consciousness, and Danton motioned Devries into the circle.

Jason stepped back, knelt and retrieved his weapons from the sand as Devries came forward, holding a pair of long knives of her own before her. The woman began to circle, but then charged in with blinding speed, using both knives to cut a path. Jason spun aside, parrying the blows with his own steel, but one of the Dragoons blades sliced against his right side, spilling blood.

The crowd roared as the Dragoons watching the contest cheered for their own—but then something changed in the arena below. Jason began to dance, weaving his blades around him as he moved—not striking, but using them to parry only. Devries drove in, her own blades flashing as she struck, and three more times she cut him, leaving blood on the sand below.

“Watch closely, Maeve,” Jamie Wolf shouted above the crowd. “Few outsiders ever gain the honor of watching the Dance of the Scars. He is giving her great honor, by Scorpion lights.”

As Devries pressed in, Jason spun and lashed out with a single blade, scoring a hit on her right shoulder. His free hand parried two blows that should have opened his belly. Spinning around, he lightly slashed her left shoulder, and then he dove backwards—out of her reach as she struck back. Landing on his feet, he bounced up and forward—and he ignored her blades reaching out for him. Struck in the right shoulder and his stomach, he slid both of his own knives against the back of her forearms—first the left, and then the right—and then he spun away again, dripping blood profusely from a half-dozen wounds.

Dancing across the sand, splattering it with his blood, he circled her as Devries assessed her own damage. She snarled at him as she judged the blood loss to be in her favor, and knew that he could not continue for long. She charged forward, slicing and slashing, a veritable dervish as her arms whirled. And yet, none of her strikes connected with his flesh.

Jason parried every strike and sparks from the conflicting blades flashed in the arena. He bobbed and weaved around her—and then one leg hooked out and caught her behind the knee, and he straightened. She stabbed downward, and her knife drove deep into his thigh, but the two of them fell—Jason’s body pinning her other arm, her other knife. Dropping one of his own blades, he clamped a hand on her knife buried in his thigh and held it there, while the other plunged down directly over her heart—and stopped just as it pierced the flesh enough to draw blood.

The stadium went quiet as Devries struggled, but the Scorpion warrior held her pinned, and the knife was poised against her sternum. At last she relaxed her grip, and Danton called out DOWN, in a thunderous roar.

Jason pulled the knife away from her body, and staggered to his feet as medics rushed into the circle of equals. Ignoring them, he turned to Colonel Wolf, and saluted, holding the bloody blade high as the Dragoons and their guests howled their wonder at his victory.

Chapter Four

January 27, 3056
Wolf Dragoon’s DropShip Artemis
Outbound to Zenith Jump Point
Outreach, Chaos March

“Star Captain, you requested my presence?” Lucien asked as he stood outside the hatch to the small cabin that had been assigned to the Scorpion who now held his bond.

“Aff, Bondsman. Please come in,” Jason answered without looking up from the screen of the small—yet powerful—portable computer that bore an embossed scorpion upon its case. Nodding as he continued to scroll through tiny lines of data, Jason finally sighed and sat back as he lowered the screen into the closed position, and then he rubbed his eyes and face.

“I could never have been a Scientist, I fear; the mere thought of spending the majority of my life, nose buried into an illuminated screen deciphering arcane symbology causes me to shudder. And yet, we do as we must to serve our Clan, quiaff?”

“Aff, Star Captain.”

Jason pivoted the chair around to face Lucien in the cramped cabin, and then he cocked his head to one side—in either humor or frustration. Lowering it, shaking it from side-to-side, he pointed at the single bunk. “Please sit, Bondsman Lucien. I have but the one chair, and I shall not ask you to squat on the floor simply to speak with you at eye level.”

The giant elemental warrior sat on the edge of the bunk, his weight under the pseudo-gravity of the DropShips acceleration causing the foam mattress to compress radically.

“That is better. What do you know of your new Clan, Bondsman Lucien?”

Frowning, the former Falcon slowly shook his head. “Little enough, Star Captain, other than the teachings of our instructors in the sibko and what my fellow warriors told me of your Clan. I had never even considered being captured on the field of battle; which meant that I never sought out any additional information beyond what I needed to perform my assigned duties.”

Jason nodded. “I imagine that you were told we Scorpions are nothing but hedonistic drug-addled nar-do-wells who waste our lives and resources digging up relics of the past, quiaff?”

Lucien’s face flushed crimson as he whispered back in reply, “Aff.”

“The cords that you wear about your wrist, Bondsman, in all of the Clans of Kerensky they are symbols of your new status. Three cords; each of the finest silk strands; each of a different shade; each symbolizing a different trait which you must demonstrate to me in order to be declared abtakha and adopted into our ranks.”

“Among the Scorpions, the golden cord represents integrity. We of the Scorpion value this trait—as do all true children of Kerensky—because it is beneath a Warrior to lie. But here is where we differ from the other Clans, your former Clan included. It is not enough to speak the truth, Bondsman; it is not enough to avoid deceit and treachery; it is your responsibility—it is your Duty—to avoid lying to yourself. Do you understand?”

“Neg.”

“It is easy to live your life, Bondsman Lucien being truthful to others in a society that values such, as ours does. It is a mark of honor to conduct oneself with integrity towards ones foes; which is why we are taught from the cradle to respect all Warriors—of all Clans—that prove themselves worthy of that title. These are the easy steps of integrity. The truly difficult task lies in acknowledging absolute truth within your own, well,” the Star Captain grinned as he shrugged, “let us call it your own soul.”

“To the Scorpion, a Warrior must acknowledge his own faults, his own doubts, his own failings. He must steadfastly refuse to deceive himself, especially when to do so would be quicker, would be easier, would be simpler. What is your purpose in life, Bondsman Lucien?”

“I do not understand the question, Star Captain.”

“Your reason for being, the purpose for which you are now here in the place that life has taken you and formed you into the man that you are. You must have some idea.”

Lucien frowned as he concentrated on the Star Captain’s question. Never—not once—in his twenty-two years of life had any of his instructors asked him such a question. He did not know the answer. He swallowed and wet his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “I am a Warrior of Kerensky—born and bred as a Falcon, Star Captain. I live to serve my Clan.”

“That is a lie.”

The elementals eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to protest, but Jason interrupted him.

“It is not a lie of your conscious self, Bondsman, and you are not a liar because of it. Such an idea, such a concept; this was never asked you before was it?”

“Neg.”

“And with good reason. The other Clans believe that to serve the Clan is the complete and total sum of existence. The Falcons—of which stock you are from—fear the dissent that such inner knowledge—such self-awareness—might stir in their ranks. You still have the memories of the Culling embedded deep in your psyche; so much so that Falcons conform to the point where those who say things not sanctioned are officially shunned by their fellows.”

“They are not alone in that, for there are few Clans that would welcome such introspection among their ranks. But we do. We of the Scorpion expect our Warriors to examine themselves in minute detail, questioning why and for what cause we live and give our lives. We expect our Warriors to know themselves, and to thine own self be true—to paraphrase an ancient poet.”

Jason leaned forward, his hands clasped together and his elbows on his knees. “We want our Warriors to question themselves, to ask the difficult questions—the terrifying questions—about what lies beneath their surface. It is our belief that by doing so, we are made stronger. That through knowing oneself absolutely, we are freed to act without hesitation and remorse when we are called upon to do so.”

“The answer, Bondsman, is that you, and I, and every Warrior of Kerensky who has ever lived—be they free-birth or true-born—do have a specific purpose. Would you like to know what that purpose is?”

“Aff,” Lucien whispered, mesmerized by intensity of the Scorpion Warrior seated across from him.

“The truth is that we are killers.”

Jason sat back and crossed his arms. “Our purpose—our only purpose—as defined by the Great Father and the Founders is to kill those who would oppose the Clans. Other castes grow our food and produce our weapons and heal our wounds. They build our cities and generate power, but we—the WARRIORS—we do nothing but kill.”

“That is not true! We protect, we defend, we . . .”

“Lies, all lies, that we tell ourselves to protect us from the truth of our own being. Accept this, Bondsman Lucien, we are born and bred and genetically engineered to kill. Oh, we kill for a higher purpose by defending those who cannot fight. But we are killers at heart, in the core of our being. That is our purpose. It is a burden that Nicolas Kerensky laid upon our caste, so that the lower castes never have to face the horrors that we are expected to bear without question daily. And only by acknowledging what we are, what our purpose is, can we move forward and become more than a mere Warrior.”

“We do not kill indiscriminately, Bondsman Lucien. We follow rules and we live by honor, but kill we do with a precision and an efficiency that few others in history have achieved. Because of that, the Scorpion feels that we must understand why we kill. Killing in anger, over some dispute or disagreement—that is wrong. So we teach ourselves not to simply accept, but to overcome. When the Scorpion must kill, he does so—without regret, without remorse, and without anger. He does so dispassionately knowing full well that he is taking a life. But when we are not required to kill, then we do not. The Scorpion never kills for pleasure, never for personal gain, but a killer he remains nonetheless.”

“It is a sad truth, but truth it is, my brother. Many who would become Scorpion abtakha cannot accept this, but it is so. And when you learn to no longer lie to yourself, when you learn to accept without reservation who and what you are truly are, then shall the golden cord be cut.”

“The red cord is representative of your fighting prowess. Are you accomplished in that area, Bondsman Lucien?”

Lucien opened his mouth to answer, but then he stopped. Don’t lie to yourself, a quiet voice inside whispered. “I must not have been, Star Captain, for I was defeated and taken in battle.”

The corner of Jason’s mouth twitched as he forced himself not to smile at the disheartened warrior sitting across from him. “Believe it or not, Bondsman Lucien, we learn from our failures. That is something else the Scorpion teaches. Answer this, in your sibko, if you failed in a test were you immediately taken outside and terminated?”

“Neg.”

“That is because without failure we cannot comprehend the reality of success. As a child we learn in that manner, each successive time avoiding the mistakes of the past and adapting to the present. And yet, having passed your Trial of Position, suddenly now you no longer need to learn, to grow, to expand? The Scorpion does not demand that you always succeed; it demands of its Warriors that we always strive to our fullest possible ability—and that we learn from our mistakes what not to repeat in the future.”

“Tomorrow, and every day thereafter, we shall work together on this, Bondsman Lucien. Do you know tai chi?”

“Only the basics we were taught in sibko, Star Captain. There are other—more effective—fighting styles.”

“Then you do not know tai chi. The Scorpion uses this form of moving meditation to allow a Warrior to learn about himself and to hone his body. We are not like our brother Clans, Bondsman Lucien. We do not accept randomness in the actions we choose. Some say that our obsession with precision is a negative trait, but among the Warriors of the Scorpion, we see it as a strength, as a positive influence. The Scorpion has but one true weapon—the stinger. And while we may feint with the claws, to deliver our venom we must be precise in the application of that weapon. So we teach, so we live, and so shall we die.”

“The kata which I shall teach you will give you time to learn about yourself, and to hone your body into a weapon—the stinger—directed by your thought, your spirit, your will. On the field of battle, chaos reigns—but we stand aloof without neither passion nor empathy. We are aware, Bondsman Lucien, of all that happens around us. We place our blows with pin-point accuracy on the precise locations where our opponents are the most vulnerable. Once you have mastered the basics, we will advance to armed and unarmed combat, and then—when you are ready and the red cord cut—you will once again wear a suit of Elemental armor as one of the deadliest creatures in all of creation—a Scorpion Warrior.”

“The final cord—the black cord—is fidelity. Nicolas Kerensky selected the Goliath Scorpion for the manner in which it defended its nest, as well as the lethality of its venom. All Scorpions—regardless of caste or rank—are now your brothers and sisters, Bondsman Lucien. We kill to protect them; we kill to retain what we possess. We give our very lives in payment to ensure the survival of our Clan and those who are unable to defend themselves.”

“Our commitment to fidelity, however, concerns far more than our fellow Scorpions. We must show faith to what the Great Father and the Founders intended. We of the Scorpion are Wardens—by and large. And yet, seeing for myself what the jackals who rule this Inner Sphere have made of the worlds that were once jewels of the Star League, I question that we have followed the right path.”

“The Crusaders are wrong in their belief that we must conquer and rule the people of the Inner Sphere as chattel. But we have been wrong in standing aside and permitting the vermin that call themselves Lords and Ladies to remain in power. The Great Father called upon us—the Clans, though we were not such at the time—to return one day to protect the people of the Inner Sphere. We have failed to live up to his command.”

Jason wryly smile and looked up at the elemental warrior before him. “It is up to you and to I and to every Scorpion living that we learn from this and correct it. We must be faithful to who we as a people are, and to what the Great Father and his son expected of us to accomplish.”

“When you demonstrate to me your absolute commitment to sharing that faith, then shall the third cord be severed and you will be declared as abtakha. You will be inducted into the embrace of the Scorpion and you will become one with us all.”

“Go, and retire to your cabin for the remainder of the day, Bondsman Lucien. Consider carefully all that I have spoken of; mull over these words in your heart of hearts. For tomorrow,” Jason said with a smile, “tomorrow, you will begin to learn what being a Scorpion truly means.”