"I thought that would intrigue you, if you hadn't already heard about
them. Ask me about the Ravagers while you have me under--they're
something nobody would believe on simple hearsay. If you're lucky,
you'll never run into them--but if you're not, and they show up here,
you'll be glad of any allies you can get."
* * * * *
Clan-chief Ryan watched as his people fastened Prince James into the
interrogation chair. He'd had a primarily-Vader fleet in the area
because of an information-gathering spell that had told him his clan
would benefit by an intercept here, with a "side note" that it would be
best if he seem to be less than his true rank. Deception was difficult
for Sandemans, but introducing himself as Warleader rather than
clan-chief was failure to reveal he was both rather than an active lie,
so he'd been able to manage it. Lying was for Shapers and their kin.
This Prince James was obviously related to the Shapers, from his size
and coloring, but Ryan found himself wanting to believe what James had
told him. Not that he'd given Last Gift to a Vader warrior, or that
Sandemans were actually part of the Empire he came from--even though
that was something chiefs couldn't either deny fully or reveal--but
that he had gotten the saber honestly, and his motives for claiming
what he did were equally honest. It was impossible to believe that one
who risked himself as James was could do so without some overwhelming
motivation beyond the self-advancement of Shaperkin!
When the restraints were all in place, Ryan moved to stand directly in
front of the chair. "I regret the necessity of binding you, Highness,
but it is for your protection; as I told you, this spell can be
extremely painful to one with your automatic magical defenses, possibly
causing convulsions and self-injury."
"I appreciate the consideration, especially toward one you must regard
as little if any better than the Shapers." Medart shifted in the
chair, then made himself as comfortable as possible. "Okay, I'm as
ready as I can be; go ahead."
Ryan nodded. "As you wish, Highness." He began the words and gestures
of the truth-compulsion spell, watching its effect on the human.
Medart tensed and started to sweat, his expression becoming strained.
The spell was working, but Ryan was impressed by the resistance it was
encountering. Not conscious resistance; if anything, the Prince was
trying to cooperate, which was less of a surprise than Ryan would have
expected before meeting him.
But the resistance did make it necessary to strengthen his spell. As
he did so, the Prince's discomfort turned into pain, his muscles
spasming and his breath coming in gasps.
It wasn't enough, and Ryan frowned. The next level of this spell was
likely to send the Prince into convulsions, and though he'd mentioned
the possibility, he hadn't really expected the man's defenses to be
that strong. Such extreme measures were normally used only to extract
the most critical information; he was reluctant to use them for less.
"Why the hesitation, Ryan?" a woman's voice asked, curiously. "You've
questioned Terrans before."
Ryan looked around. "I'm glad you're here, Kelly. He doesn't have any
information, he just wants us to believe he's from a universe where
we're part of the Empire--and where he was bequeathed a saber for
giving one of our warriors Last Gift. He waived immunity from
compulsion to obtain that belief, and he's trying to cooperate, but his
auto-defenses are stronger than I'd have credited to a Terran; if I
keep going I'll send him into convulsions, maybe kill him if his
defenses collapse too quickly for me to pull back."
"And simple verification is nothing to die for, even verification of
such revolting statements." The warriors'-woman nodded once, sharply.
"Still, if he wants it, he is entitled to prove his honesty. I'll
support his defenses if necessary, and have a healing spell ready if
his condition gets critical."
"Good. As soon as you're ready, then, I'll boost the power."
Kelly took position behind the man, resting her hands on his shoulders.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them. "All right,
I'm ready."
Ryan nodded, then concentrated on Medart again, increasing his spell's
pressure against those defenses. As he'd predicted, the Prince
convulsed almost immediately, the restraints the only things that kept
him from breaking bones. At last, though, his defenses collapsed and
Ryan released the pressure, maintaining only the truth-compulsion. A
few questions verified his identity and universe of origin, then Ryan
got to the key points. "You say you gave Last Gift to warriors of
Clans Vader and Lewies. Describe the circumstances."
"They were prisoners aboard my ship, in sickbay because they were dying
of something we didn't understand and couldn't cure. I was able to
work it out and save most of the rest, but those two were beyond help,
and I wasn't about to make them suffer if I could help it. I guessed
you had some form of euthanasia or aided suicide the other Sandemans
couldn't provide in enemy hands, so I told them I'd handle it if that
was what they wanted. It was, so I did. They died quickly, and as
painlessly as I could manage. Then we gave them star-burial, the best
we could do in space."
"And how did you get the saber?"
"That was later, on Mjolnir, for the conference that brought the
Sandeman worlds into the Empire. I got into a TreasureTunnels game
that included Clan-chief Wylie of Vader, along with a few others,
Sandeman and Imperial. But I didn't have an appropriate character, so
Wylie loaned me one of his, the Black Jedi Kynan Ardais. He explained
the game saber, then handed me a real one and let me try it out. When
I went to return it, he told me it was mine, a thanks-gift from the
warrior Leigh."
Ryan wanted to continue that line, but he'd promised to restrict his
questioning to what was required to prove James' claims--and the
subject James had told him he should ask about. "Tell me of the
Ravagers."
"They're inter-universal raiders. They aren't life as we usually
understand the term; some scientists believe they aren't really life at
all. From time to time, at unpredictable intervals, they erupt into a
random universe and--if that universe doesn't have a technological and
population level near the Empire's--devastate it and proceed to
another. But no Empire-level civilization is attacked more than once,
because a civilization at that stage can defeat them, and so far always
has. After such a defeat, the Ravagers retreat, and it's several years
before they attack again anywhere. That's why Empires in various
alternate universes cooperate to develop Empires or the equivalent in
still other alternates."
"And you do not think we could defeat these Ravagers, though we are
defeating this Empire?"
"You probably could. In fact, I'm sure you could. But it's never an
easy fight; there are times we have to go in and rebuild, even after
they're thrown out. The stronger a universe is, the better for
everyone--and this one would be strongest with you and the Empire as
allies. United would be best, but that wasn't easy at home; it may be
impossible, here."
"And just how was such a union managed in your universe?"
Medart managed a grin. "Sweet reason, backed by five battle fleets.
The fleets turned out to be a temptation rather than the threat I'd
expected, but either way they worked."
"To your pleasure." Ryan scowled, then shook his head. "I have asked
what I agreed to restrict myself to; I will not go beyond that. Is
there anything else you would like to tell me while under the spell?"
"Just that I won't lie to you. Rangers don't, unless it's essential to
the Empire's survival--and the survival of this one depends on me
gaining your trust, which means I don't dare lie. I may not tell you
everything, but what I do tell you will be the truth."
"Said under truth-compulsion, I must believe you--though I find it
almost impossible to credit the idea of a Terran who does not lie.
Still, this interrogation is over." Ryan released the spell, and
Medart collapsed, unconscious. Looking at Kelly, Ryan said, "Will you
care for him, lady? I named him clan-guest when he waived immunity to
convince us of his honesty."
"Yes, Chief." Kelly looked down at her patient with a bemused
expression. "His ideas are revolting . . . but there's a certain
fascination to them at the same time, and the man himself is
intriguing."
"Yes, he is. I think I'm going to leave Trevor in charge of the fleet
and take Prince James back to Sandeman--you can come along, if you'd
like."
"Thank you--I would."
* * * * *
Medart knew as soon as he woke that he was on a smaller ship. There
was no single specific item, but a lifetime aboard numerous classes of
ship had given him a feel for the differences between them; this was
about courier size. Wondering what was going on, he got dressed--someone
had cleaned his clothes and hung them up, with his boots and weapon belt
nearby, his saber clipped to the belt.
That was a good sign, he thought as he fastened the belt. Weapons were
customary for the warrior caste, but a warrior or equivalent being
unarmed around others wasn't considered an insult, the way it was in
the Traiti Sector; they could have disarmed him without dishonoring
him.
Something to eat seemed like a good idea, so he left his cabin and
started exploring. Almost immediately, he ran into the w'woman who'd
taken part in the interrogation. He'd been aware of what was going on,
though he hadn't been able to react without prompting, so he knew she'd
been ready to help him--and he was willing to bet it was she who'd
cared for him when he'd passed out once he was free to.
He bowed to her. "I thank you for your aid, lady. Without it I would
probably be in considerable discomfort today."
She returned the bow. "I was pleased to be able to help, Prince.
Fortunately, your pulled muscles responded well to a simple healing
spell, which also insured a good rest. Would you care to join me and
Warleader Ryan for breakfast?"
"I would be delighted. That's what I was looking for, as a matter of
fact." Medart grinned at her as they started walking. "We've changed
ships; are we bound for Sandeman?"
"Yes. Have you been there?"
"To Alpha Prime's, yes--but that's a different world, in a different
part of the galaxy. I'm looking forward to seeing yours."
"It is a beautiful one, particularly near the Vader clanhome," Kelly
said. "As the first clan formed after Overthrow, we took the Shapers'
area--and they, of course, had chosen one of the best and most
attractive parts of the planet."
"The same was true at home," Medart said. "I visited there a couple of
years after Annexation, not long after they were granted the patent I
suggested they try for, on the saber's controlled-length blade."
"What is a patent?"
"The exclusive right to market something you've invented. On something
as useful as a controlled-length laser beam, that's quite an
advantage--last I heard, Clan Vader was one of the richest groups in the
Empire. And probably the only one that amount of money didn't change
much."
"Why should it change?"
Medart laughed. "No reason, really, but most people who suddenly get a
lot of money do change."
"In here--most people aren't Sandemans."
Medart followed her into the dining area and to Ryan's table; when the
Warleader gestured them to sit, they did so. "I took the liberty of
ordering breakfast for both of you," he told them. "It should be here
very shortly."
"Thanks," Medart said. "And thanks for letting me keep my saber and
gun, too. The gun I could replace if I ever get back; the saber's
special." He paused, grinned. "Not that I'm any physical threat to a
Sandeman, whether I'm armed or not. If I went for my gun, I'd be dead
before I could get it halfway out of the holster."
"True," Ryan agreed. "That sounds like you've seen it tried."
"Close; I've demonstrated it. But I made sure the Sandeman was using a
stun setting on his needler."
Ryan chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd care to let myself be used as a
target that way. You must have trusted that warrior implicitly."
"No more or less than I trust any Sandeman," Medart said. "I've only
known one who was capable of deliberate deception, and that was because
his Intelligence field work for the Empire required it. Naturally, he
was the best field agent we've had, though his successor as top agent
came close."
"Naturally," Kelly said. Whatever she was going to say next, though,
was interrupted by the arrival of their breakfast; all three
concentrated on eating.
When they were done, they moved to a small lounge, and Ryan addressed
Medart with an expression the Ranger couldn't quite identify. "I did
not reveal my full rank yesterday, Highness; a foretelling spell said
it would be in the clan's interest to use only my lesser one. Besides
Warleader, I am the chief of Clan Vader."
Medart nodded, grinning. "I know. I can read clan arms, and you
either forgot or didn't bother to change yours. But if you wanted to
claim a lesser rank, I couldn't see any harm in playing along."
"My arms?" Ryan looked chagrined. "I never even thought of them--I
did a lot at first, when I added the chief, but I've gotten so used to
them since that I no longer really notice the difference."
"And you're not used to deception, so it's easy to understand how you'd
miss that." Medart sobered. "But since you are clan-chief, I need to
know whether the life-debt your clan owes me at home is valid here."
It couldn't be, was Ryan's automatic reaction. The debt had been
incurred in a distant alternate, involving an enemy and a warrior who
had, in this one, lived a long and adventurous life.
On the other hand, a life-debt was sacrosanct, and the one owed it was
entitled to repayment whenever and wherever that repayment was asked.
The crucial question, then, was whether a change in universes by the
one owed it voided that obligation.
Ryan studied the Prince's carefully-impassive expression. The
personalities involved should have no bearing on his judgement as the
Vader in a matter of honor, but the human's courage and integrity had
earned his respect; it would be difficult to ignore those, though he
would have to try.
Restrict himself to the basic facts, then. James had done a warrior of
Clan Vader the ultimate service, sparing him the horrors of death in
need. That meant the clan owed him a comparable service. James was the
person owed, no question about that. Was this universe's Clan Vader
close enough to his universe's to be considered obligated, then?
The warrior Leigh had lived at the proper time, and Wylie had been
clan-chief then. Those were indicators that it was, but he'd like
more. "May I see your saber?" he asked, using High War Speech.
"Yes," Medart said in the same language, handing it over. "I've added
the improved power pack, but otherwise it's the same one I was given."
So he did know the warrior caste's language, another point of
similarity in his favor. Ryan examined the saber, checking for the
small traces of workmanship that distinguished Vader-made lightsabers
from those of other clans. They were there, including Leigh's engraved
signature inside the powerpack cover. That made four points--five, if
he counted the signature as extra verification of the saber's
provenance.
Since the Prince had no other physical evidence, and couldn't be
expected to know the clan as well as one of its members--wait, there
was one more detail. "Did you recognize the complete arms, or just the
chief?"
"The complete arms. They were a main clue to me, at home, of that part
of your culture. The clan name, combined with arms of a scarlet-bladed
light-saber, led me to study the Black Lord's part of the Saga. I'd
seen it as a child, of course, but as entertainment, not cultural
study."
"That's enough, then," Ryan decided. "As clan-chief of Vader, I judge
the similarity between the Clans Vader in the two universes to be
sufficient that we are liable for the life-debt. What repayment do you
require, James?"
Medart sighed, letting his relief show. "I want you or someone you
choose to teach me Sandeman magic, clan-chief. The only way I can see
for an outsider like myself to end this war is to challenge whoever the
clans designate to single combat, and I'd have no chance in a
conventional battle. I was told shortly after I arrived that I have
strong magical powers, though, and that you were the only ones who
could train me to use them at their maximum. I have had no training
whatsoever, so I have no bad habits to unlearn."
Ryan frowned. "I can testify to your power, Prince; that was obvious
in the strength of your automatic defense against my compulsion spell.
But magic training is started young, as soon as the . . . I suppose you
could call them magical-energy channels . . . begin to develop. With
respect, you are no longer young; such training would be both painful
and dangerous. And fighting a magical duel would be even more so. I
would prefer not to pay our debt in such a negative way."
"I was under the impression the choice was mine," Medart said quietly.
"It is, Highness, and if you insist I will begin your training myself
as soon as proper preparations can be made. But honor also requires
that I point out the drawbacks and possibility of injury."
Medart frowned. "The Imperials didn't want to teach me because their
training would limit my powers, not because the training itself was
dangerous."
"They also told you, I'm sure, that there are great differences in
methodology. Terran magic operates primarily through symbols, tools,
and ceremony; ours operates through personal mana. There's very little
danger in their method, but as they admit, it costs them power. We
accept the risks in return for that extra edge."
Medart chuckled. "Exactly the reaction I'd expect. Since I need that
edge too, I have to accept the dangers as well. How long will it take
for me to learn enough to fight a duel?"
Ryan shrugged. "We have very little information on training adults,
none on training Terrans, so I have no way to give you an estimate.
Why?"
"I want to end this war, and end it as soon as possible. It's as
simple as that."
"In that case, I'd suggest you issue challenge right away. That will
bring an immediate truce, which will last until after the duel. And
the duel cannot be fought until Clan Vader has finished discharging its
life-debt, now that we've begun."
"How do I do that?"
"Since you're leaving the choice of opponent to us, you inform a
Warleader or clan-chief. You've already told me, and I'm willing to
pass it along as a formal challenge if you want me to."
"I'd appreciate that. You do realize the Empire'll use the truce to
regroup and rebuild?"
"I certainly hope so; they haven't been doing too well the last several
weeks."
* * * * *
As he had for the last month, Medart woke feeling like he hadn't slept
for a year. If anything, Ryan had understated what he'd be going
through, starting Sandeman-style magical training so late. He hurt all
the time, and was usually on the edge of nausea, making it difficult to
eat. That, in turn, meant he'd lost weight he could ill afford.
On the whole, he knew, he was in lousy shape--probably his worst since
the early part of his recuperation from that Traiti almost tearing him
in half. He'd been having doubts, the last couple of days, whether or
not he'd be able to make it through the training, much less be able to
fight and win a duel with someone who'd been using magic all his life.
He couldn't quit now, though; at the very worst, he was buying the
Empire some time. And there was always a chance he'd win the duel;
pure dumb luck had been known to come to the rescue before.
He sighed, then forced himself to get out of bed, bathe, and dress.
He'd been supplied with warrior-drab coveralls, complete with his arms
on the breast--not too different from his uniform, and more practical
than the civvies he'd worn at first.
And after the first couple of days, Ryan had ordered him exempted from
the chores the entire warrior caste shared--cooking, clean-up, laundry
and the like--because of the toll his training exacted even that early.
Medart was grateful, though he'd felt guilty about it at first; by now,
guilt had been swallowed by the chronic pain.
It amused him that he'd been more or less adopted by the lady Kelly and
her son Haley, one of the young warriors in training. Like the rest of
the clan, Haley had been aloofly superior at first--the typical
Sandeman reaction Medart expected from those who hadn't been around
Imperials much--but his stubborn determination to learn in spite of
what the lessons did to him had broken down that reserve. The clan
accepted him, and those two had practically become mother hens. As
usual one--Kelly, this time--met him at the dining hall door, then
brought him a tray and joined him.
"Thanks, Kelly." Medart picked up his fork and stared at the food for
several seconds, trying to ignore his stomach. That didn't work any
better than usual; at last he gave up the effort and started eating in
spite of the queasiness.
"No improvement?" Kelly asked, after a few minutes' silence.
"No. I've given up expecting any, but I can't help hoping." Medart
took a few more bites, then shook his head and put the fork down.
"Who'm I going up against today?" He'd learned the necessary spells
for a duel the first week, both offensive and defensive; he'd been
practicing them ever since, trying to learn control, but that was
frustratingly elusive. One day he'd barely be able to make his
opponent feel his efforts or protect himself, the next it would take
the monitors to erect fast barriers to keep him from injuring the
other, while his own defenses were at peak.
"The warrior Loren of Clan Raynor," Kelly told him. "I think Chief
Ryan is trying to force a breakthrough, finding you strong opponents
who won't pull their punches the way we've started doing because we
don't want to add to your problems."
"Um." Medart frowned at that. "I hadn't noticed--but then my
control's so erratic I probably couldn't. Whoever I fight the duel
with damnsure won't pull his punches, though, so I have to go along
with Ryan--best I train with someone who's going all-out, too."
"That part no one can argue," Kelly said. "But . . . James, can you
tolerate the added stress? Watching you is like watching a warrior in
constant need, with no hope of being able to give you release."
Medart winced, aware of how much that would distress any warriors'-woman.
"I'm not in that bad a shape--I've seen some who were, remember? What
I'm going through is no fun, but I think I can hold out long enough."
"I pray to all the gods you're right."
* * * * *
By the end of the next week, Medart was praying too, to all the gods he
could recall from his childhood. He'd been brought up Omnist, so there
were quite a number of them, and he added a pair the Sandemans in Alpha
Prime said should be favorably inclined to him: the two warriors he'd
given Last Gift to, Leigh DarVader and Keith DarLewies.
It didn't seem to help. Despite Ryan's instructions, his opponents'
best efforts, and his own increasingly urgent attempts over the next
month, his control remained erratic. Unfortunately his physical
condition didn't remain as stable; it worsened steadily. By the end of
that time, Medart had lost close to twenty kilos, and the constant pain
allowed him only the sleep his body absolutely had to have.
He'd given up even trying to eat breakfast, beyond the hot chocolate
that contained the caffeine he needed as a stimulant; he ate only after
his afternoon practice sessions, when he was too tired to gag.
And he'd wondered how long Ryan would keep supporting him, so he wasn't
surprised when the clan-chief joined him, Kelly, and Haley--both of
whom had taken to remaining close except when Haley was at his own
training sessions--at the evening meal.
Medart endured the clan-chief's scrutiny, certain he knew what was
coming, so he wasn't surprised when Ryan spoke. "Prince James, will
you admit I have done my best to teach you as you asked?"
"You have, Clan-chief," Medart replied. "My inability to benefit by
more than the most basic instruction cannot be laid to your lack of
effort." He took a deep breath, rubbed his aching eyes. "You've done
your best; I can't hold you to a repayment I'm incapable of absorbing.
As far as I'm concerned, that part of Clan Vader's life-debt has been
discharged."
"I thank you for your generosity, James. I will have you returned to
the Empire; perhaps they can heal you where we cannot."
"No. My job's not done, and you still owe me one thing--I have a duel
to fight, as soon as you can arrange a meeting."
"In your condition, I cannot permit that."
"You don't have any choice, Clan-chief." Medart pulled himself
together as well as he could, reminding himself that these peoples'
origin made them Imperial citizens whether they knew--or liked--it or
not. He didn't have any enforceable authority over them, true, but
sometimes that wasn't essential. "You issued the challenge on my
behalf and implicitly agreed to arrange the duel, without specifying my
physical condition. The only criterion was that I be trained to use
Sandeman magic as well as I could, which has been done."
"It has, and I did issue challenge for you--but I did not agree to send
you to certain death."
"It isn't--I'm running about fifty-fifty minimum power and maximum.
That gives me a reasonable chance, better than the Empire'd have if I
don't even try." Medart felt himself weakening, summoned his remaining
resources. "You'd do the same if it were the Sandeman race at risk; I
know that from personal experience. Even if you knew it'd cost you
your life."
"That is true," Ryan replied slowly. "Very well, Highness, I will make
the arrangements. But you should rest until then, doing no magic--and
you must try to eat. In your present condition, even winning a duel
would be fatal; to have a chance of surviving, you need to build
yourself back up."
"I will," Medart promised. "I don't want to die; I've got too many
interesting things to do first. And--" he looked from Kelly to her
son--"I have a couple of guardians who wouldn't let me overdo even if I
wanted to."
* * * * *
Medart kept his promise. It took Ryan six days to finalize
arrangements for the duel, including what Clan Miklos needed to
broadcast it to Sandemans and Empire alike; Medart spent the time
resting as well as he could, nibbling on the food either Kelly or Haley
kept him supplied with, and talking to the two of them.
He regained some strength, but the pain didn't ease in spite of Kelly's
healing spells, so finally, the evening before the duel, he decided to
ask her for a prognosis.