"None that I've been able to notice."
"That is bad." Kelly paused. "As Ryan told you, we've had little
experience with training adults to use magic, and you are our only
experience teaching our system to a Terran. This makes it difficult
for me to give you an accurate evaluation; I have almost nothing to
base it on."
"I understand that."
"With that caution, then," Kelly said slowly, "I'm afraid our efforts
to teach you have caused permanent damage. Either your age or your
Terran physical characteristics--or possibly your extra-universe
origin--have made it impossible to clear what Ryan called your
magical-energy channels. Since my healing spells have no effect, I would
say the attempts to train you have been . . . the best analogy I can think
of is burning . . . them out."
Medart leaned back, sighing. "That's what I was afraid of. Is my
opponent going to be battleprepped?"
"Of course."
"Will I be allowed a similar form of preparation?"
"Of course, if you have it."
"I do. Not built in, the way yours is, but I had a special medikit set
up just in case; I have drugs that'll boost my strength and speed. And
to block the pain, now that the duel's close--unless you think the
painkiller'd interfere with what little control I do have."
"I can see no reason it should," Kelly said. "It should help, in fact,
by allowing you to concentrate better. Why didn't you mention it
before?"
"Because I don't have much, and wanted to save it for when I'd need it
most." Medart opened one of the pouches on his belt and took out a
small injector. "As you can see, my medikit's not that big, and I
damnsure didn't think I'd need enough quidine for two months plus.
I've got four doses, which is enough for about thirty hours." He felt
for his carotid, triggered the painkiller into the artery, and seconds
later sighed in relief. "Whew--that's a lot better."
"You look better, even so soon," Kelly agreed. "That quidine appears
to be extremely strong--is it dangerous?"
"No." Medart shook his head, smiling as much at the relief from pain
as at the question. "It is strong, but it's the safest analgesic ever
discovered. It doesn't affect your reflexes or thinking, and it's not
addictive--all it does is kill pain for about eight hours. The worst
it does is numb you if you take an overdose."
"Doing that tonight might be wise. You haven't slept properly in that
same two months plus, and you will need to be rested tomorrow."
"Recommendation accepted," Medart said promptly.
"Good." Kelly smiled. "I believe it would also help if you think of
something besides the duel, so may I take advantage of your respite to
ask you some things?"
"Be my guest."
"I found it revolting at first to think of being friends with a Terran,
but after being around you for a brief time, that became a more
attractive idea than otherwise. We seem to have more in common than I
would have believed possible--do you have any idea why?"
"I know exactly why, and I think you could figure it out for
yourselves--but you're like the ones at home. You don't want to think
about it."
Kelly frowned. "I must lack information, because I've been trying to
figure it out since you began training."
Medart grinned. "You have the necessary information. Want me to prove
it, or just tell you outright?"
"Prove it," Kelly challenged.
"Remember you asked for it, and try not to attack me. I trust you
both, but I also remember how strongly the ones at home reacted to the
same information."
"I will control myself. Haley?"
"The same."
"Okay. You remember I told Ryan I recognized the design of Clan
Vader's arms from seeing the Saga as a child?"
"I remember," Kelly said.
"And your Standard is almost the same as Imperial English, right?"
"Right."
"And you know the Shapers began creating the Sandeman race from their
own genetic material in 2130, according to the calendar you and the
Empire share."
"Every child knows that."
"Uh-huh. Given all that, tell me where the Shaqers originated."
Kelly thought about his statements, her expression going from intent to
disbelief to revulsion. "They came from Terra!"
"They sure did," Medart said. "Which makes you Terrans, too. An
improved version, so changed my Empire classes you as human variant
rather than standard human--but Terrans. And that makes you Imperial
citizens by right of birth."
"That's obscene!" Haley burst out.
"Matter of opinion," Medart said calmly. "Both personally and as a
Prince of the Empire, I think it's great--as long as you're not
fighting the Empire you're rightfully part of."
"Ryan has to know about this," Kelly said. "Haley, would you please
inform him and ask him to join us?"
"Yes, lady." Haley stood and bowed to her, then left.
"Is it really that bad?" Medart asked the w'woman as soon as the young
warrior was out of hearing. "It doesn't change what you are, how you
live, or have any other bad effects; what it does is give you new
opportunities." He grinned. "I'm biased, of course--have been since I
first met Sandemans. I've liked you even when I couldn't identify the
reasons, and that grew when I could. Your absolute integrity is one,
and it's also one of the most valuable things you've brought to our
Empire."
"Put that way," Kelly said slowly, "it sounds almost reasonable. But
you didn't grow up hating the Shapers and everything about them."
"You can't hate everything about them," Medart pointed out. "They did
manage to engineer your race, after all. I personally think they were
absolute, unmitigated idiots for thinking they could create and then
control a race of the most deadly warriors in the known universes--but
from my own experiences with Sandemans, I can't help but be grateful to
them at the same time."
"Grateful to whom?" Ryan asked as he entered the room. "The Shapers,
if I interpret what I heard correctly."
"You did," Medart told him. "They committed one of the worst crimes in
Imperial history, meddling with human genetics just for the fun of
it--but the results were so good I can't fault them totally for their
arrogance."
Ryan smiled, taking the seat Haley had vacated. "It's good to see you
feeling well again, Prince, and able to converse. So we are Terrans,
are we?"
Medart nodded, pleased by the clan-chief's calm reaction. "Yes." Then
he raised an eyebrow, grinning, and said, "You knew, didn't you? That
emphasis on the first 'are' was a giveaway."
"We--the clan-chiefs--have known for centuries." Ryan sobered. "Or
strongly suspected, at least; all the evidence pointed in that
direction."
"So why in Chaos haven't you done anything about it?" Medart demanded.
Ryan shrugged. "You know we aren't as powerful as your nobles, Prince.
We can only lead our people where they want to go--and that hasn't been
into the Empire."
"But you could have told them, at least!"
"Not and lived," Ryan retorted. "You, of all people, must know how
deeply unacceptable that particular truth is to most of us. Coming
from you it's bad enough; coming from us, it would trigger a reaction I
prefer not to think about."
Medart nodded, reluctantly. "I think I can understand that. What's
going to happen now that I've spilled the beans?"
"The warriors' hall was full when Haley gave me the news; I'd imagine
it's spreading as quickly as people can get to commsets or cast the
necessary spells." Ryan looked serious. "I should contact the
clan-chiefs as well. Prince James, would it upset you to speak to all
the chiefs through me?"
"Not a bit--I'd jump at the opportunity."
"A moment, then, while I cast the spell. And some will need a few more
moments to wake up."
"Go ahead." This wasn't anything he could have expected, Medart
thought, and he had no idea what effect it would have. A drastic one,
he was sure; Sandemans weren't known for moderation in their reactions,
especially to strong stimuli, and this was one of the strongest
possible. If he lost the duel, it could easily send them back into
combat with the determination to eliminate every trace of the Shapers
and their kin. If he won, their reaction was less predictable. They
wouldn't continue the war; honor wouldn't permit that. But that still
left two possibilities. They might pull back and refuse all further
contact, or--Medart's earnest hope--they might decide to give the
Empire the benefit of their improvements, and join it. Here, they'd be
a full Sector--probably the biggest one, Medart thought, and certainly
the strongest.
"Ready," Ryan said. "I'm linked to all the clan-chiefs and Warleaders
available, Prince James. They see and hear what I do, and can speak
through me if I permit. Would you summarize what you told the lady
Kelly and the student warrior Haley?"
"Gladly." Medart did so, thinking that he preferred something like the
Mjolnir Conference, where he could see that he was talking to a group.
This was like talking to a camera, he supposed--but it felt decidedly
peculiar, speaking to one person and knowing hundreds of others were
watching and listening through that person's eyes and ears.
"That's it," he said at last. "Now what?"
"Now what, indeed," Ryan said. "I think that determination will be
primarily up to you, Highness. Bryan of Alanna wishes to speak to
you." His eyes lost focus for a second; when they regained it, Medart
knew it was the Alanna addressing him.
"I am Bryan of Alanna," Ryan said, confirming that. "Are you aware
that we have been following your training, Highness, as one of the most
important events in this sphere?"
"I've been too preoccupied to give any consideration to my news value,"
Medart said. He didn't particularly enjoy being on public display,
even after a lifetime of it--especially when he was at his worst. But
he'd been there before, and if he survived he'd be there again; he
could handle it. "I suppose it does make sense, though. What about
it?"
"Your efforts have done you great honor, and earned you more regard
than I can recall being given any other Terran. We understand your
motive is to win our friendship or alliance as well as peace--but do
you really believe one person can achieve that after three years of
war?"
"I don't know," Medart admitted. "All I can do is try my best and
hope. I know you from my universe, remember, and I achieved it once,
even though the circumstances were drastically different."
"Dell, of Raynor," Ryan said, his voice changing as another chief
spoke. "Why did none of this universe's Terrans make such an effort?"
"You didn't give them a chance. They know you the way we knew the
Traiti--as ferocious, bloodthirsty killers. It took the Traiti asking
one of my colleagues to take their Ordeal of Honor for him--and later
the rest of us--to learn about them as they really are. I know that
about you from home, so naturally I'm willing to take the same sort of
chance to give you and this Empire the opportunity to become friends."
"Gareth, of Levva," was the next introduction. "I believe your
acceptance of such a risk, and your willingness to endure such painful
training, have earned that opportunity; win your duel, and Clan Levva
will send a delegation to investigate the desirability of acknowledging
the citizenship you say is ours by right."
Medart let his relief show. "That's all I ask, Clan-chief." Sandemans
thought a lot more alike than their standard-human cousins; if one was
willing to make such a concession, most others would too. And the few
that wouldn't immediately would probably change their minds as soon as
they saw the benefits of Imperial citizenship. Of course, that still
left him with the problem of winning the duel . . .
* * * * *
If he had to fight a duel, Medart thought, at least he had a good day
for it. The weather at Vader clanhome was clear and sunny, the
temperature a comfortable twenty degrees as he stood waiting for his
opponent in the outdoor practice arena. And he was in uniform; Ryan
had brought one from his courier ship--even had it tailored for his
weight loss--in case he needed it as his ceremonials.
He'd taken the drugs that would bring him as close as possible for a
standard human to the Sandeman battleprepped state. He was keyed up,
unnaturally alert, sensitive to every movement around him, and eager to
get on with the duel. It was mildly amusing to see that the Sandemans
gave him the same cautious respect he'd give a battleprepped warrior;
maybe the drugs brought him closer to that state than he'd thought.
It seemed like hours before he heard, then saw, the boxy transport
null-grav craft bringing his opponent. That, in his edgy condition,
was more of a relief than the threat he'd expected to feel. The
transport landed outside the arena, too far away for him to recognize
the clan-arms, and he briefly regretted not asking who he was going to
be fighting. Not that the information would have been much help, he
thought; he'd prepared as much as he could, whoever it was.
The group of warriors escorting his opponent entered the arena through
the gate at the far end from where Medart stood with a group from
Vader, and stopped. "Now," Medart heard Ryan say.
He stepped forward, accompanied by Ryan and Kelly, at the same time a
trio of the newcomers did the same. They were to meet in the center of
the arena for formal introductions, then separate to about three meters
for the duel itself--but Medart came to a shocked halt as soon as he
was close enough to recognize the central member of the other party.
The Sandeman's familiar tattoo of a black-barred violet flower was
missing from his cheek, but Medart knew him well enough to recognize
him easily without it. "Oh, shit," he said, involuntarily. "Nevan!"
"Keep going," Ryan urged. As the three began moving again, he asked
quietly, "What's wrong? You know him?"
"Too damn well," Medart said. "Nevan-Corina DarLeras and I have been
battle-companions for the last century, since we fought together
defending the Palace in the last battle of the White Order revolt. I
know intellectually that this isn't the same person, but dammit, it's
going to feel like I'm trying to hurt a friend." Thank all the gods,
Sandeman duels were to disablement or conclusive advantage; he didn't
think he'd be capable of killing--or trying to kill--a man he knew as
one of the Empire's best defenders.
"This one is Nevan only," Ryan agreed. "His face shows he has never
sworn personal fealty or won the right to use his thakur's name. While
it would be dishonorable for you to fight a battle-companion, he is not
truly such--though I agree the resemblance will make this duel more
difficult."
"Yeah. Don't say anything, though, okay? At least till it's over."
"As you wish, James."
The last few steps to introduction distance were silent. Medart used
them to study his opponent, apprehension growing. He knew precisely
how good Nevan was at both conventional and psionic combat; since he'd
been chosen as the Sandeman champion for this duel, there was every
reason to believe he was just as good at magical combat. And Medart
could remember thinking, the first time he saw Nevan battleprepped, how
much he'd hate to be on the receiving end of the younger man's skills.
Now that he was about to be, that opinion was even stronger.
But Medart had motivation of his own, and his pain and weakness were
masked by the medications he'd taken. He exchanged bows and
introductions with his opponent, then stepped back and began working
the spells he'd been taught.
He could feel immediately that this was one of his strong days. The
power flowed into and through him, part surrounding him in a silvery
glow, part erupting from his hands like emerald blaster bolts.
The bolts flared off Nevan's shield, blending in with his
counterattack. Medart's shield blazed scarlet, held--but he gasped as
all-too-familiar pain shot through him. The quidine couldn't withstand
active magic, it seemed; he could only hope the rest of his meds would.
So far they were, and he'd had two months' practice working in spite of
pain; he could keep going. He couldn't do it for long, though. He
felt all right thanks to the meds, but he knew his stamina was only a
fraction of what it should be; a few more exchanges, and he'd lose by
simple attrition.
He struck again, glad that Sandeman magic was simpler than in the books
and TreasureTunnel game; he'd never have been able to remember, much
less use, the complicated spells in those. Hit and defend was about
all he could manage through the growing agony. He lost awareness of
his surroundings, even of his opponent, in the effort to channel all
his power into defense and, more importantly, attack.
What broke his concentration was the insistent repetition of his name.
"James! James! It's over--stop! James, Jim--no more! You've won!"
"Huh?" It was Ryan's voice, Medart realized as the power ebbed from
him and he slumped to his knees with his head drooped, overwhelmed by
pain and exhaustion. "Won--I didn't kill him, did I?"
"No." The voice this time was unfamiliar; one of Nevan's seconds,
Medart thought. "He is injured and unconscious, but he will recover."
"With your permission, James?" That was Kelly, kneeling in front of
him and extending her hands.
"Yeah, whatever." She touched him, murmured briefly with no effect he
could notice. Moisture trickled down his face and he felt tightness in
his throat; he coughed, then vomited, seeing and tasting blood. Major
internal damage, obviously, and Sandeman medicine here not much better
than Imperial first aid . . . He fought to raise his head. "Any
chance?" he asked.
Kelly shook her head. "I'm sorry, James. The damage is too extensive.
I cannot even ease what few hours you may have left."
Medart coughed again, then sighed. "In that case . . . I ask Last
Gift."
"Granted," Ryan said. "And may the gods accept you as one of
themselves." Almost immediately Medart felt the tip of a blade at the
angle of his jaw behind his ear. There was an instant of pressure, and
the pain was over.
* * * * *
Ryan accepted a cloth from one of his warriors to wipe his blade, then
re-sheathed the knife and dropped the cloth without looking away from
the Prince's body. He'd thought it would be easy to kill any Terran,
but he'd been wrong; giving this one Last Gift had been as painful as
giving it to one of his own. At last he rose, still looking down.
"His body should be returned to his Empire, but we haven't the
facilities. Kelly, would you see to preparing him for burial?"
"Of course, Chief. In our memorial garden?"
"He deserves it, yes--with the warrior caste. But keep out his saber
and badge; I'm going to take them to this Empire and ask that the one
who brought him here return them, along with a copy of the tape of this
duel. His people should know how and why he died."
"Yes, they should."
Ryan turned at the unfamiliar voice, to see the warrior Nevan. He'd
been healed, though his clothing still showed the effects of battle.
"I'm pleased you agree, warrior. Now that the combat is over, I'm free
to tell you he knew your avatar in his home universe, and claimed him
as battle-companion of a century's standing."
Nevan smiled. "From what I learned of him during our duel, I would
willingly acknowledge such a bond. I ask permission to accompany you
on the mission to return his belongings to his people."
"Granted, warrior. Will you be Vader's guest until we leave?"
"I would be honored, Chief."
* * * * *
Ryan's battle cruiser entered Imperial space as Medart's little courier
had entered Sandeman: all lights on, and broadcasting its identity.
They were expected; after the second broadcast of the duel, Bryan of
Alanna had declared peace and announced both Clan Levva's investigation
of their Imperial heritage and Clan Vader's intention of returning
Medart's effects. The reply had been a cautious welcome, along with
the information that unless and until they did accept Imperial
citizenship they would be met and escorted. That seemed reasonable, so
the Sandemans had agreed; Ryan wasn't at all surprised that his ship
was met by the IBC Emperor Barton, or that Ranger Ariel invited him and
Nevan aboard.
The two went alone, without the escort that normally accompanied a
clan-chief anywhere outside his clan's territory. Ryan had decided to
use his cruiser because it seemed proper to return James' little
courier ship as well as his personal belongings; when they landed the
tiny Imperial vessel aboard its huge sister ship, they were met by an
honor guard of Marines in what Medart had described as their
"ceremonials," what they called dress blues. The Marines escorted them
directly from the lander bay to a room with a semi-circular table
facing a large viewscreen, where Ariel was waiting.
She rose to greet them. "Welcome to the Empire, gentles. I understand
you came to return Ranger Medart's effects in person; that was
considerate of you."
"We do so to honor Prince James," Ryan said. "And it would seem we
grant him greater honor than you do. He owed this universe nothing,
since he was pulled without consent from his own; he had every right to
refuse you any service. Yet he endured much pain and finally lost his
life in the effort to preserve you and give us new opportunities."
Ariel nodded, and Ryan was pleased to see she had the grace to look
regretful. "We didn't want to draft anyone, but you were pushing us so
hard we didn't see any alternative--you'd already cost us half our
Rangers and best magicians."
"That's no excuse," Nevan said. "What if his own universe needed him,
perhaps to fight the Ravagers he told us about? What if it needs him
in the future, after you brought him here to his death?"
"If you're trying to make me feel guilty," Ariel said, "you're too
late. As soon as I saw your broadcast of his duel and the mercy
Clan-chief Ryan gave him, I contacted His Majesty; I'll be delivering
Ranger Medart's belongings and your tape personally to his Emperor--and
I will remain in Alpha Prime to take his place. It will be difficult
functioning without magic, but most universes manage; I'll learn to
cope."
Nevan bowed, his expression chagrined. "In that case I spoke too
hastily, Highness. Will you accept my apology?"
"Of course, warrior." Ariel paused, then looked wistful. "Once I get
there, I doubt very much I'll be able to find out what's going on back
here--can you give me any idea whether or not the Sandemans here will
accept citizenship?"
Nevan glanced at Ryan, then turned back to the Ranger. "I can't speak
for anyone else, Highness, but James' actions in bringing peace, and
now your willingness to take his place, have made my own decision easy.
I wish to accept citizenship and apply for a position in whatever
segment of your military is most likely to see combat."
Ryan nodded agreement. "My responsibilities as clan-chief prevent me
from joining the military, but I concur with the warrior Nevan: I also
wish to accept citizenship, and I will recommend to my clan and the
other chiefs that they do so as well."
"Thank you both. That's a considerable relief." Ariel smiled at them.
"I'm looking forward, now, to working with your counterparts in my new
home. I have the transfer spells ready, and I'd prefer to get started
without delay, so if you'll give me James' effects, I'll be on my way."