The Sandeman disappeared, his place taken by a view of space. A
ship-image was growing, and Medart's sensors told him it was a big
one--not quite as large as an IBC, but close. Shortly afterward, he felt
the surge of tractor beam lock-on and the ship grew more quickly--fast
enough he would have worried, if anyone but a Sandeman had been at the
controls. With their reflex speed double that of the human standard
norm, though, the speed of his approach was perfectly safe; as his ship
was brought into the docking bay and landed, he double-checked his
appearance.
He wasn't used to seeing himself in anything but uniform, since he
spent so much time aboard Imperial Navy ships. But he'd worn similar
clothing during the Mjolnir Conference, with the Sandemans there
thinking it appropriate for his rank: silvery shirt, emerald-green
pants, black uniform boots and equipment/weapons belt, topped by his
green, silver-fringed arms baldric with his arms pin on the left
shoulder. He'd worn his coronet as well, there, but that had been to
distinguish him from the other Rangers he'd called in; he saw no reason
to go to that extreme here.
Satisfied, he went to the airlock. As soon as the pressure equalized,
he opened it and left the little ship, leaning against its hull with
his arms crossed to wait for his hosts--or his captors.
Moments later the bay's inner lock cycled open and a small group of
warriors approached him, the central one wearing honor-black. Medart
straightened, then bowed and addressed that one. "I am Prince James
Medart of the Empire in Alternate Alpha Prime. You do me honor,
Warleader, wearing ceremonials. Am I prisoner, or guest?"
The Sandeman returned the bow. "I am Ryan, a warrior of Clan Vader and
Warleader of this fleet. You place me in a difficult position, bearing
a lightsaber you claim was a death-gift, and claiming further that Clan
Vader still owes you life-debt. If either is true, I cannot honorably
hold you prisoner--but I have only your word and a lightsaber that
could have been taken from a dead or captured warrior in this
universe."
"I'd be skeptical too, in your position," Medart said. "Even the fact
I came here alone, deliberately, could be a trick. It isn't, but it
could be. There's a way to convince you, though; I'm sure you have some
way of questioning people and being certain you get truthful answers."
The Warleader frowned. "We do, Prince. I could question you under a
compulsion spell, but your magical defenses are strong enough that
doing so would be the equivalent of torture--which I may not honorably
have you subjected to if you did indeed give one of my clansmen Last
Gift."
Medart winced at that. Sandeman customs allowed enemy warriors to be
tortured for information, and having warriors as battle-companions made
him the closest possible non-Sandeman equivalent of a warrior. As Ryan
said, giving Last Gift had made him immune from that particular
unpleasantness, at least as far as Clan Vader was concerned--but it
also looked like telling his story under that compulsion spell was the
only way he'd be believed. And for his already-uncertain plan to have
any chance of success, he'd have to have more than belief; he'd need
active cooperation from at least one of the two clan-chiefs who owed
him life-debt. Which in turn depended, of course, on whether they'd
consider that debt binding in a universe other than the one where it
was incurred.
"Since you're not certain I did," Medart said at last, "and since
that's the only way I can prove I'm telling the truth, does the
prohibition have to apply?"
"That question has never come up." The Warleader frowned again. "Your
claims cannot be disproven if they took place in another universe, so
you must be given the protection they grant you, though not payment of
a debt that may not exist. But I would also judge it dishonorable to
deny you the opportunity to prove those claims, if you choose to waive
that protection."
"Consider it waived." Medart managed a partial grin. "But don't
bother asking any tactical or strategic questions; once I realized I'd
have to put myself in your hands, I was careful to avoid any such
information."
The Warleader stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. "Were our
circumstances reversed, Prince, I would have done the same. I will ask
only what is necessary to establish the truth of your claims. And you
may consider yourself a guest of Clan Vader."
Medart bowed. "Thank you for your courtesy, Warleader. How soon can
we take care of the interrogation?"
"As soon as you wish, Highness. That particular chamber is always kept
ready."
"Let's get it over with, then. Putting it off isn't going to make it
any easier, and I'd like to end this war as soon as I can--if that's
possible at all."
"It will end, unfortunately," the Warleader said. "Not for some time,
I hope--the Empire is the most competent enemy we have yet
encountered--but it will end."
"With the Empire destroyed, the way you're going," Medart said.
"That's not exactly what I had in mind. At home, you're a vital part
of the Empire--a crucial part of our military, and contract police on
any world that really values law and order. To me, that's the ideal--but
I'll settle for having you as friends to this one, allies against
the worst enemy any civilization in any universe has ever faced."