Now Lyonor’s lovely eyes were wide in fright. Joanna’s outburst, over her drawing back from killing one of the freeborns that were part of the refresher exercise that Jade Falcon warriors went through routinely, had unnerved Lyonor.
“Your autocannon was so close to his cockpit, almost touching it. You could have split that filthy freebirth apart and saved his ’Mech for later exercises. Instead, what do you do, eyas? You walk your Summoner back a step, slice off his ’Mech’s legs and allow him to eject while you blasted his ’Mech into too many puzzle pieces to put back together. The stravag freebirth walks away and you get points off, and the unit loses the practice trial because of it, along with wasting a ’Mech. That was damn stupid, Lyonor. I was ready to pick you off myself.”
Lyonor’s dejection almost touched Joanna’s sympathy. “I know,” she said. “But I knew that freeborn. We drank together on another exercise just a week ago.”
“I do not care if you took him into your arms and gave the wretched piece of trash the only good time of his life. I do not care if you admired his humor or thought he was the most admirable example of a freeborn you have ever met or he revealed himself to be to be a trueborn in disguise. You had to kill the surat. That is the point. You had to draw blood.”
“Joanna, it was only an exercise, a—”
Joanna became enraged.
“Only an exercise? We learn by doing! And we acquire victories through skill. Or perhaps you do not think victories important? By the Founder, how do you expect to ever win a Bloodname with thinking like that?”
“I will win a Bloodname in my own time, Joanna. Or I will fail gloriously in the attempt. I do not have to breathe for it every minute of every day as you do. What is important—”
“Do not tell me what is important, eyas. I know what is important, quiaff? I tell you what is important. Got it?”
“Neg, I do not get it. I want a Bloodname, yes, but a bloodname is an honor, not a battle medal. You do not just earn it for what you do, you earn it for what you are. You—”
“What? What kind of kestrel droppings is that? You’re saying there is some sort of ethics in Bloodnaming? You’re saying—”
Lyonor put her hands to her ears. “Please do not throw contractions at me, Joanna. You know I cannot stand that.”
“Yes? Well, maybe you’re—you are cutting things too fine. If an occasional contraction makes you hold your ears, maybe you are not meant to be a Bloodnamed warrior.
“Shut up, Joanna. I will get my Bloodname. You can bet on it. And I will get it soon, not when I am as old as you and ready to pack it in.”
Joanna hit her with a backhanded fist across her cheek. Blood began to flow from the slash she had created along Lyonor’s cheek. Lyonor reeled backward, then rushed at Joanna, screaming like a falcon descending on its prey. Although Joanna was able to reduce the impact of Lyonor’s charge by dodging sideways, Lyonor slammed into her shoulder and spun her around. She stumbled. As she fell, she cursed herself for what it looked like. She did not like being seen as clumsy, although she knew that sometimes she was.
Bending down and placing her hand on the ground to steady herself, she regained her footing, did a purposeful spin, and came up with her head against Lyonor’s chin. The blow was so hard that it seemed to rattle the teeth inside Lyonor’s head. Arms flailing, and growling with the characteristic rumbling explosion of the Jade Falcon attack cry, the two sprung at each other, each showing a readiness to kill in their eyes.
Their fight went on for a long while and both combatants were bruised and scarred for some time afterwards. When each could not lift her arms any longer and their legs were too unsteady, they still flung weak blows at each other. One thing could always be said about Lyonor: she could not be intimidated. She would fight to the last, and this time was no exception.
After they were no longer able to fight, there was no immediate reconciliation. Instead, they went back to attacking each other with words. The argument between the two of them went on for hours, and only total exhaustion ended it.
For the next few days, they stayed in the kind of pain inside that recognized that their relationship would never be quite the same again. Still, they remained close and performed their duties well and often in tandem. A scar from their fight remained as a faint line on Lyonor’s cheek. Scars were good, virtual badges of honor for a warrior.
Right before the photo had been taken, Joanna and Lyonor had been laughing hysterically, which might explain, in the photo, the joy in Lyonor’s radiant eyes. The scar on her cheek was so fresh, it showed up darkly on Lyonor’s fair skin.
Strange, Joanna thought, I did laugh that day. How often do I ever laugh? I cannot remember what we were laughing about.
• • •
Walking back to the cot, Joanna smoothed out the edges of the photo and put it back in the lock box, underneath some transfer documents. Running her hand through the box’s objects, her finger fell on a comb. She maneuvered it out of the pile and stared at it.
Although Jade Falcons were not known for skills in crafts, this comb approached beauty more than most of their objects. Made of a shell Joanna had found on a beach on the world of Strana Mechty, it had already had a comb shape, with a scalloped top tapering down to a flat thin
