Some cadets felt that expelling him would have been kinder.
“I’m training to be a MechWarrior,” Alek said.
The other cadet shook his head. “You’re up to something, but I don’t believe that is it.”
Alek knew himself well enough to accept that Patrick was not so wrong. Elias Luvon had been hurt, and hurt badly, when Alek had struck out in fear and anger. Joining the military, Alek had assured himself, then, that he would simply be retaking control of himself. But did anyone ever have that kind of control, even over their own lives?
The illusion which exalts us…
He shrugged. “I’m not doing this out of guilt over Elias, if that is what you are thinking. Though, yes, I believe I have something to prove here.”
“To whom?” Patrick pressed. He had an intense manner, as if he could focus his entire being on one specific problem, and thereby defeat it.
“To the only person it makes sense to prove anything to,” Alek said with a slight touch of exasperation. “To myself.”
Patrick considered that for a moment. “Fair enough,” he finally said, though he didn’t sound persuaded. “I think that’s an honest answer. Though I’m still not convinced that it’s the truth.”
Neither was Alek, and that bothered him more than he was likely to admit.
“‘Deep in my song, safe from the worm, my spirit will survive,’” he recited from Pushkin’s works..
Patrick frowned. “He said you had a thing for dead Russians. That one of them?”
“Who said?”
Another frown. “Doesn’t matter.”
Which meant Elias, most likely. The specter hanging over them both from the Archon’s Spring Reception bound the two together. It also created a wall which would not be easily breached. Certainly Alek had no desire to delve into the morass with Patrick Ward, one of his former tormentors, but he also sensed an opportunity. One which he could not back away from easily.
“It is one of my so-called ‘dead Russians,’ yes,” he admitted. “Now let me ask you. What are you doing here?” He stepped forward. “What are you really doing here?”
Patrick didn’t answer for a long moment. He stood there, staring down Alek. Possibly he was crafting some kind of careful answer. Possibly he’d just walk away. Then he glanced off to one side, at the nearest of the eighty ton Strikers racked back into its bay.
“Growing up,” he said softly, slowly, “I could not imagine anything more magnificent than piloting a BattleMech.”
“And that brought you to the Nagelring?” Alek suddenly wanted to know. Needed to know.
The other cadet shook his head. “Can you think of one childhood fascination that ever measured up to its expectations?”
Without thinking, Alek stepped over to join him, looking up at the titanic machine which dominated all around it. The tick of cooling metal could still be heard. Shovel-blade feet. Bulging midsection. Hatchet-edged cockpit. Massive arms swinging down almost to the knees. Settled into their bow-legged stance, partially cloaked by the shadows, the Mechs looked like childhood monsters biding time inside massive closets.
“No,” he offered. Shivered. “But maybe these could come close.”
Patrick grunted a non-committal response, and an awkward silence descended between the two cadets. The kind, Alek knew, that often stretched out into refreshed hostility. He wasn’t certain that he wanted to let this bridge into the enemy camp fall so easily, though.
“You said earlier that you were not convinced that I was telling the truth.” Alek swallowed hard, his throat tight. “What made you say that?”
Patrick paused, as if considering his words, then, “If you are really trying to prove something to yourself, why are you holding back?” he asked.
“Who says that I am?”
“I do. As could anyone who’s seen you pilot a ‘Mech or work the simulators. Or seen your neurological response curve—that test they ran on you back when you were in the hospital? You’re green, but you should still be better than you’re showing. You’re either coasting, or you just don’t care. Either one could get somebody killed someday.”
“And you followed me here just to tell me that?” Alek bit off the question with something close to anger. Anger at himself for kicking open this door. Inviting the rebuke, which had more teeth to it than he would have thought.
“I followed you here,” Patrick said, “for the same reason I cut you off on the training run today. I wanted to learn something about you.”
Alek remembered that. Breaking through the trees to have one of the other Strikers cut him off. Having to veer out wider than he’d planned.
“So what did you learn?” he asked.
Patrick clasped his hands behind his back. For a moment, Alek thought the other cadet would simply turn and leave without answering. Then he shrugged. “Your not stupid, Kerensky. I’ll give you that. And you aren’t weak either. Maybe you’ll even make a decent MechWarrior. Someday.”
“And?”
“And maybe you aren’t a complete waste of my time. As it has been pointed out to me, my options at the Nagelring this year have been slightly curtailed. It’s been suggested that I get to know you. I’m considering it.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“The truth?” Patrick looked form the nearby ‘Mech to Alek. Then back again. “I’m not sure yet if I want to be your friend.”
And with that, he did turn away. Toward the side entrance which led back
