"At this stage, it is up to you to tell me. Further training will be
directed to any area in which you feel deficient."
Her mind-shield was down, so he could sense, as well as hear, her
surprise. "I do not understand."
"The only thing you truly require now is more confidence in yourself.
Otherwise you are fully ready for initiation, and I would like to see
that take place as soon as possible."
Corina shook her head slowly. "I do not feel ready to take on such
responsibilities, Master. I have not had the psychological preparation
of those who have attended Order schools."
"Your feelings are understandable," Thark said sympathetically. "You
know, however, that you already have as much power and control as any
Senior in the Prime Chapter."
"Urrr . . ." She hesitated. "You may be correct. I did stalemate
Senior Valla in our last practice session."
"Yes, she told me about it. She was quite pleased. She and Kainor
agree with me that you are ready, and if you are willing, they have
asked to stand as your sponsors."
"I would be most honored to have them as sponsors," Corina said,
inclining her head. "What do you plan for me after initiation?"
"I want to bring you into the Prime Chapter, where one with your amount
of Talent belongs. As for a specific job, we think such Talent, in
conjunction with your other abilities, can best be utilized as a roving
supervisor in Valla's Intelligence Division."
Corina considered that. It would be a most interesting job, she had no
doubt. The Intelligence Division got the most difficult cases the
Sanctioners had to cope with, and since they were Irschcha's military,
as well as its police, the variety of such cases was truly remarkable.
It was tempting, though she questioned whether she would be able to do
well at it. "I have not yet finished school," she objected.
"I have not forgotten. Until you graduate, you will work as Valla's
assistant after class. She will train you for the job."
"Yes, Master, I believe I would like that. But the Prime Chapter . . ."
"You will not be expected to participate fully until you do graduate,
Corina. By that time you should be sure enough of yourself to function
properly as a Senior."
"Under those conditions, I can honorably agree."
"Excellent!" Thark let his pleasure show. "As part of your further
development, I would like you to do some teaching. Through teaching
others, you will learn more yourself--and more of yourself."
"That I will do gladly. I do not feel as fully qualified as I should
be."
"Perhaps not, but your Talent is truly remarkable." Thark purred. By
the time he was ready to step down, she should be capable of taking
over leadership of the Order. By then, if his Crusade were successful,
it would have taken over rule of the Empire from the unTalented humans.
The end of the Traiti War made that a probability in the near future.
Humans weren't stupid, he thought. In fact, some were quite
intelligent. And the Empire was, as far as it went, a fairly good
basis for government. It was simply that those with Talent had
superior abilities, thus were better qualified to rule. And to rule,
the Order must rebel.
He had not been fully shielded, he realized when he saw the look on
Corina's face. "What Crusade?" she asked curiously.
Thark felt her probing for more information, and reinforced his shield.
"Do not concern yourself with that," he advised. "You should know
nothing about it until after your initiation."
"Why not?"
"Because it is Order business, and you are not yet sworn to the Order."
"Oh." She seemed to accept that, but Thark was familiar with her
curiosity, and it would be no surprise to him if she kept trying to
find out. He would have to be careful to keep his shield up.
"All I can tell you now," he said, hoping to ease that curiosity, "is
that it will bring proper symmetry to the Cosmos."
That statement served only to make Corina even more curious. Thark had
seemed preoccupied for the last half year, and so had the other Seniors
she knew. It was clear that something was going on; she had sensed it
for some time. She had asked nothing about what she felt, knowing that
Thark was reluctant to discuss it. Now, though, it appeared that
whatever this "Crusade" was, it concerned her own future. That fact,
she felt, gave her the right to know about it.
She probed at Thark's shield again, but he was too strong for her to
penetrate it. All she knew was what she had overheard, and even then
she had gotten little information. Only the term "Crusade," the fact
that she was somehow involved, and a mixed feeling of obligation and
impending triumph. But what kind of triumph, and over what? Or . . .
who?
"Is it something that will affect the Empire?" she asked.
"Something that will improve it," Thark replied. "You must admit it is
not perfect--"
He was interrupted by a mindcall from Valla, head of the Sanctioners
and his chief lieutenant. *What is it, Thark? I felt your
disturbance--*
*Not now, Valla!*
Her thought cut off, but too late; the momentary distraction had
enabled Corina to break through his lowered shield. He could see, as
well as feel, her reaction, and it was what he had feared.
Corina was both shocked and angry. Shocked that Thark would even plan
such a rebellion, and angry that he had expected her to participate.
Thark had not been raised as an Imperial citizen; she had, and could
not understand his desire for change. Yet she liked him as a friend as
well as respecting him as a teacher--she did not want to believe he
would actually go through with such a thing.
Her thoughts were a turmoil of conflicting loyalties. The Empire, she
had been taught and firmly believed, was what kept the peace between
planets and systems, while allowing maximum freedom on-planet through
the ruling nobility. Thark retained his title of High Adept, though he
could have claimed the title of Planetary Baron, and was virtually as
powerful as he would have been before the Empire.
Why, then, did he want change? Perhaps that should not concern her as
much as the mere fact that he did. She was due for initiation; in
honor, could she oppose him? Or was it her duty as an Imperial citizen
to do so? She was bound by no oaths, and so free to choose. Blades!
she thought angrily. Why did Thark put her in such a position?
Perhaps if she got more information she would know what to do. Keeping
her voice steady, she asked, "Is such a rebellion not simple treason,
Master Thark? Will it not destroy the Empire, rather than improve it?"
Thark looked closely at his student. It was natural for her to be
concerned; he himself was not particularly fond of the idea of the
bloodshed that now appeared necessary. At the very minimum, the
Emperor, Rangers, and nobility would have to be eliminated, and he knew
full well that there would be others.
"It might be so construed, but it is something that cannot be helped,"
he said calmly. "You should be able to understand that for yourself.
Look at the peace and balance that rule by the Order has brought
Irschcha since it was founded, then look at the constant unrest and
controversy elsewhere in the Empire. Which is better?"
Corina shifted uncomfortably. "Peace, of course." She hesitated, then
said, "But rebellion is no way to bring true peace. And there is a
great difference between ruling one race on one planet and ruling an
Empire of thousands of worlds."
"Less than you might think," Thark replied, pleased at her composure.
A difference of opinion need not be disorderly, and her temper at times
like this was uncertain. "We need only replace key people with our own
most strongly Talented initiates. The bureaucracy and computers will,
as they do now, handle day-to-day operations."
"And because you possess the strongest Talent, naturally you will
become Emperor?" There was a distinct trace of sarcasm in that
question.
"Of course," Thark said, mildly surprised and ignoring the tone of her
voice. "It is not something I particularly want to do--" He broke
off, looked at her sharply. "It is indeed unfortunate that you did not
attend an Order school."
He probed gently. She was angry, of course; he could tell that even
through her shield, but she seemed to be keeping her emotions under
tight control. Good. She might still be amenable to reason.
"I have told you many times," he said patiently, "that possession of
Talent carries with it a certain responsibility. We of the Order are
able to use our Talent to govern better than do those who lack it.
Honor demands that we do so. We cannot avoid our duty."
He could feel her rejection of that argument even before she spoke.
"That may apply to Irschcha, but it is obviously not true of humans.
They did quite well before MacLeod found us, despite their lack of
Talent. You must agree that things have improved for Irschcha since we
joined the Empire."
"Some things, yes," Thark admitted. "We have hyperships now, like my
Prowler; we are benefitting from trade with other systems; we are
starting out-system colonies ourselves; we have people in the Imperial
Services--"
"And in the Emperor's own Palace Guard!" Corina interrupted.
"But that is not enough!"
"Is that not considerable progress since they found us only forty-three
Standard years ago? Can you truly expect more so soon? We are only a
small part of the Empire."
"I cannot accept that," Thark growled. "We are being humiliated! We
must even use human units of measurement. Standard years? Terran
years is what you mean!"
"Still--"
"We have no one in the nobility except for myself," Thark continued,
ignoring her attempted protest. "No Irschchan is a Ranger, none
command major military ships or bases. Does that seem equitable to
you?"
"It does not seem inequitable, simply on the basis of numbers," Corina
pointed out. "Humans occupy thousands of worlds, the Traiti hundreds,
while we occupy only this one completely. And it is possible they have
talents or abilities we lack."
Thark groaned inwardly. This was not going well, but she was too
valuable to lose; he would have to keep trying.
"They do not," he told her. "I have scanned a large number of humans,
tourists and administrative officials alike. They have no indication
of Talent or anything else unusual, except perhaps an occasional trace
of screen. They are exactly what they seem. All they have is a very
sophisticated technology."
"Perhaps that is their talent," Corina said. "It was they who found
us; we did not find them. Or perhaps their special ability is even
rarer with them than Talent is with us."
"If that is the case," Thark replied, "it would seem they either cannot
use it to govern properly, or refuse to do so. In either case, our
duty is clear."
He was silent then, perceiving her need to think.
Corina was deeply disturbed. Thark's arguments were plausible, at
least on the surface, but she found them unsatisfying. Tourists and
administrative officials were not the Empire's best examples,
especially the tourists. Thark claimed his motive was
unselfish--duty--and she knew him well enough to believe he truly
thought so. But what if he was wrong?
Chaos take it! Peace was important, and she could see it as a
result--perhaps--of Thark's rebellion. But first there would be much
death and destruction. With the Traiti War barely over, what Thark
planned might as easily trigger a disaster as lead to the peace he
expected.
It was a difficult decision; no matter what she did, people would be
killed. Yet Thark himself had taught her that her responsibility to
Irschcha ought to be paramount, and that meant she had no choice but to
support the Empire that had done so much for it. In honor, that was
the only way she could decide. Irschcha had made more progress in its
forty-three years since joining the Empire than in any span ten times
that long under the Order.
Once her decision was made, she did not hesitate. She stood, then said
with a return to strict formality, "I can regard your Crusade as
nothing but treason, Thark. I can no longer call you Master."
Thark also rose, nodding his acceptance. At least, he thought, she was
acting as he had taught her, with honor and decorum. "Then we are
enemies. I truly regret that, necessary as it is. Will you at least
give me your word that you will not go to the Imperial authorities?"
He knew the answer even as he asked the question, but it was a
propriety he had to observe.
"I cannot do that," Corina said. "You have taught me too well.
Failing to act now, on what I am positive is right, would be as
dishonorable as treason itself."
"It would indeed," Thark replied with regret. "You leave me no choice.
I cannot kill a guest in my home; to do that would bring only shame.
However, I cannot let you live to reach the Imperials with this
information, either. And I most certainly will not allow you to aid
their cause."
Fear almost weakened Corina's resolve. She did not want to die, but
death seemed unavoidable. If she thought about it too much, though,
she might give in, and that would be worse. "I must try," she said
steadily. "What of my family?"
"The decision was yours, not theirs," Thark replied. "It will not be
held against them. If you wish, I will give them your soul-blade."
"I am not yet dead," Corina said, caressing the dagger's hilt. She
turned and left.
"No," Thark said softly, watching her leave. "Not yet." As soon as
she was out of sight, he mindcalled his lieutenant. *Valla? I have a
job for you.*
*Yes?* came the calm reply.
*Corina Losinj must be eliminated. She broke through my shield when
your call distracted me, and discovered the Crusade. She has just
left, and is going to report to the Imperials.*
*Corina!* Valla's thought was surprised. *But I thought--* She
hesitated. *Are you sure, Master? Why would she--*
*Apparently her lack of Order schooling. I cannot fault her; it is
simply that her loyalties lie with the Empire rather than with us.
Still, she is a danger which must be eliminated.*
*Understood, Master. She was a good friend, and most Talented.* Valla
had felt the regret in Thark's mental touch, and shared it, but there
was no time for emotion now. *This is an unfortunate happening. I
will take care of it.*
*With your usual efficiency, of course. But not personally. Arrange
it. Tell the Sanctioners she is wearing that red-and-gold kilt. Then
bring Kainor and meet me at my ship. She is forcing me to speed up the
timetable; the Prime Chapter and other Crusade leaders are to gather as
soon as possible on Rendavi. Inform your people.*
*How do you wish her to die?*
*She has betrayed her Talent; let her be destroyed by Talent. Tell
your executioner to use darlas.* Thark regretted that, in a way; death
by telepathic attack was exquisitely painful. But it was just, and it
was honorable.
*What of her family?* Valla asked.
*They are oathbound. Disregard them.*
*Yes, Master Thark. Are there further instructions?*
*No.*
Thark broke the contact, then made three more briefer ones before his
general broadcast to the off-planet Crusade leaders. Once they had
been informed of the accelerated schedule, he was free to leave for his
private spacefield and the Prowler.
* * * * *
Thark's attention focused again on his immediate surroundings, the
Prowler's control room. In retrospect, he was as sure of Corina's
thoughts as if he had read them. He laid his ears back in a frown.
No, he could see no way he might have changed the morning's events. It
was most regrettable, both the loss of such a Talent and Corina's
death. He was still quite fond of her.
But enough of these useless memories, Thark told himself sternly. What
had happened could not be changed. He should join his passengers. He
rose, giving his instrument panel an automatic scan as he rose. Urrr--
the proximity alarm! He'd forgotten to turn it on, a mistake he'd not
have made but for Corina's defection. He sat back down and corrected
his error, wondering if there were any others he'd made in his chagrin
over Corina's betrayal.
* * * * *
Corina was thinking in rapid, frightened bursts as she left Thark's
home. She was certain he would lose no time in sending the
executioners after her, probably Sanctioners. She was not particularly
optimistic about making it safely to the Planetary Palace and the
Imperial authorities.
Thark's home was ten kilometers north of the capital city, MacLeod's
Landing. It would be a long, time-consuming walk, but what choice did
she have? With Sanctioners on her trail, using her identification to
call for public transportation at one of the hailing posts would be a
fatal mistake.
The occasional clumps of bushes bordering the street's short-cropped
grass gave her an idea. She was fairly conspicuous; there were few
pedestrians this far from the city, and as Thark had told her often
enough, she did dress rather gaudily. She made her way into one of the
clumps, took off her kilt, turned it inside-out, and put it back on.
It was a youngling's trick, but . . . She surveyed the results. Not
good, she decided. Still, it might help; at least the solid maroon
lining was a little less gaudy than red and gold plaid.
She returned to the street, glad for the soft grass that had replaced
pavement when null-grav craft came into common use, and resumed her
walk toward the city. As small as MacLeod's Landing was by human
standards, it was already large by Irschchan, and still growing. If
she made it that far, there was at least a chance she could avoid the
Sanctioners in the crowds, and reach the Palace.
She had been walking for perhaps five minutes when a Sanctioner patrol
cruiser sped past her, toward Thark's home. The wind of its passage
ruffled her fur as well as her kilt, but they seemed to pay no
attention to her, for which she was grateful.
Still, it was what she had hoped. If she were obvious enough, the
Sanctioners should think she had nothing to hide. Between that and her
kilt-flipping, unless she ran into a Sanctioner who knew her well
enough to identify her by the pattern of her mind-shield, she might
make it.
Bare minutes later, though, her hopes fell as she heard the patrol
cruiser approaching again. It stopped in front of her and three
gray-kilted Sanctioners got out.
Besides the usual sporran and soul-blade everyone carried, the
Sanctioners wore their collars of office, gleaming gold bands snug at
their throats. And their blasters, normally worn on belt clips, were
all pointed in her direction. Pitting around the muzzles showed
Corina, as if she had needed the confirmation, that the weapons had all
seen use.
She made her body relax. These Sanctioners were big, and they were
treating her as cautiously as they would a dangerous criminal. From
the Order's point of view, though, that was now an accurate
description.
"All right, Losinj," the oldest one said. "Hands on your head, and do
not move."
Corina obeyed, moving slowly to give herself time to think. These
three would have tight mind-shields, and anyway, the most she had been
able to handle in practice was two--which Thark, of course knew. She
was in no position to fight. Her only chance was to get them to relax,
drop their shields voluntarily. Unless they were simply going to kill
her here . . .
Which they were apparently not going to do. Two stood back, perhaps
three meters from her and an equal distance from each other, their
blasters steady on target. The leader, staying carefully out of their
lines of fire, approached her. He unclipped the soul-blade, sheath and
all, from her belt and attached it to his own.
"It will be returned intact to your family for their Hall of Memories
after your execution, as Senior Valla has ordered," he told her.
"My thanks to Senior Valla," Corina said, her voice shaky. So Thark
had turned her case over to Valla. That wasn't good news at all. She
knew Valla well, had in fact gotten much training from her, and they
were friends, though not close ones. But Valla didn't let friendship
interfere with her work, and she had a well-earned reputation for
thoroughness and efficiency. At least, Corina thought, Valla did not
dishonor her by ordering her blade broken.
The Sanctioner moved behind her. "Put your hands down, behind your
back."
She obeyed, felt cool metallic bands close around her wrists. The
Sanctioner took hold of her arm just above the elbow.
"Into the cruiser, youngling."
She got in, was seated between him and another Sanctioner, both with
blasters aimed at her. The third took his place at the controls,
heading them toward MacLeod's Landing and Sanctioner headquarters. She
put her sort-of-a-plan into action; as uncertain as it was, she had
been unable to think of anything else.
Huddling up, she let her mind-shield relax slightly. As the cruiser
picked up speed, she felt one of the Sanctioners try a probe. Don't
fight it, she told herself, use it. Sanctioners were Talented, of
course, but they didn't have the training or control she had gotten
from Thark. They shouldn't be able to detect her attempt at deception.
She shivered, letting the shield drop even further and allowing her
fear, only partially falsified, to seep through. If she could convince
them she was terrified, too paralyzed with panic to be a danger, she
might have a chance.
The Sanctioner leader looked at her for a moment, then said, with some
sympathy, "You seem harmless enough, hardly a dangerous criminal. Why
does Senior Valla want you dead, youngling?"
"I do not know," Corina lied, projecting more fright. "I mean . . . I
have done nothing . . ." She let her voice trail off.
"Urrr, there is no need to worry," the officer said, apparently trying
to reassure her. "The executioner here is good. He will give you a
swift death, and it will be one with honor; she has ordered you killed
with darlas."
It didn't reassure Corina, and she let that show in her expression.
She looked up at the Sanctioner leader, shivering again. "But . . . I
don't want to die! I have done nothing to die for!"
"Youngling, it is not for me to question Senior Valla's orders, but I
admit I do no like this assignment. My own girl-child is about your
age."
"Then--" Sudden hope dawned.
"No, youngling." The Sanctioner's voice was full of pity, but remained
firm. "My honor lies in my duty, and that duty requires me to take you
in."
Corina slumped, fear and a sense of hopelessness seeming worse after
that surge of false hope. Her shield was almost all the way down. She
dared not probe at the Sanctioners to see if they believed her; somehow
that did not seem to be the sort of thing a frightened prisoner would
do. She could only hope her plan was working, but the closer they got
to the city and Sanctioner headquarters, the less confidence she had in
it.
The trip ended in deep silence. By the time they pulled up in front of
the large stone building that housed the capital's Sanctioners, Corina
was on the ragged edge of desperation. It must have appeared more like
sheer terror to the officer beside her, because he dismissed the other
two. "Go on in. She will give me no trouble; she is too afraid."
They obeyed. As they entered the building, the leader climbed out of
the cruiser, clipped his blaster to his belt, and extended a hand to
help his trembling prisoner.
That was when Corina struck. He had relaxed his shield slightly,
thinking her powerless, and she had no trouble stunning him with
darlas. Awkwardly, hampered by the way her hands were fastened and by
her need for haste, she dug through his sporran for the handcuff key
and fumbled it into the lock. The cuffs opened after what seemed
hours, but could have been only seconds. Then she retrieved her
soul-blade from his belt, half tempted to use it on him. She refrained;
he had pitied her, and the killing would not be justified. Self-defense
was commendable, but she could not kill one who was unable to defend
himself. She did, however, increase the mental pressure on him enough
to insure he would remain unconscious for at least an hour. Then she
sensed one of the other Sanctioners returning, wondering idly what was
keeping Garal and the prisoner.
She straightened and left at a fast walk, was around the corner and out
of sight before he spotted Garal's unconscious form. She tightened her
shield, feeling probes as the Sanctioner alerted the others. Although
she knew it would make her conspicuous, she broke into a run. She had
to reach the park that encircled the Planetary Palace before the
Sanctioners caught her again. That was Imperial territory; Irschchan
jurisdiction ended at the park's edge. She just hoped that legality
would stop the Sanctioner.
The park was in sight, less than a hundred meters away, but the
Sanctioner who had found Garal was fast closing the distance between
them. Corina risked a quick glance back, saw him stop, crouch, and draw
his blaster. She increased her speed somehow and started dodging. It
might take her a few seconds longer to reach the park, but she would be
harder to hit.
She heard the frying noise of the blaster, felt heat as the bolt singed
fur on her right arm. A second shot missed completely as she dove into
the park and rolled into a stand of purple-leafed bushes. A third bolt
went overhead, then the Sanctioner returned the blaster to his belt and
called to her.
"You have made it to Imperial territory, Losinj, but you are not safe
yet! Even if you manage to get past Entos and into the Palace, we can
have you extradited as a common criminal, for assaulting a Sanctioner.
Think about that!"
"Thank you for the information," Corina called back, shaken but not,
she hoped, letting it show in her voice. Entos! Valla must have
anticipated her escape from the Sanctioners, Corina thought, if she had
sent her best killer to attempt an intercept in the park itself.
Then she realized that wasn't necessarily the case; more likely it was
only Valla's thoroughness, her reluctance to leave anything she thought
important to only one group. Still, using Entos against a student
showed her how seriously Valla regarded this; it was rather like using
a blaster to eliminate an annoying insect.
There was no point in being particularly cautious, she knew, so she
hurried directly toward the Palace. She had met Entos several times,
often enough that he knew her both by sight and by mind pattern, even
when she was shielded.
She was almost at her objective--in sight of the main entrance, in
fact--when the anticipated attack came. It started with a savage
mental thrust, powerful enough to penetrate her shield and drive her to
her knees. It didn't last; only Thark or another member of the Prime
Chapter, which Entos wasn't, could maintain that level of intensity for
long. But by the time she had recovered enough to stand, shaking her
head to clear it, Entos was behind her. She sensed a physical threat,
lunged to her left just in time to feel his dagger brush her fur rather
than bury itself in her back.
She scrambled to her feet, drawing her own blade and attempting a
mental counterattack. It slowed Entos' next slash, but had no other
effect. She stabbed at his upper arm, trying to cripple him, but he
parried skillfully.
"You fight well, youngling, even now," he said, then tried another
intense mental thrust. It was less powerful than the first had been,
and Corina managed to block it, though she was less successful parrying
his simultaneous dagger thrust at her throat. She did avoid most, but
it was enough to draw blood; she felt warmth seeping into the fur at
the base of her neck.
Corina didn't reply, saving her breath for the fight. They were
circling now, both looking for openings, when she saw a flicker of
motion from the direction of the Palace entrance. She risked a quick
glance, saw it was the Imperial Marine guards running toward them and
drawing sidearms.
Entos obviously saw them as well, because he snarled and struck for her
again. She was starting to parry when the Marines fired, and both
Irschchans fell.
* * * * *
Thark finally came to the conclusion that if he had made any other
errors in his chagrin, he couldn't remember them. And Prowler didn't
need him, while it would probably be wise to brief his chief aides
fully on Corina's defection, even though it was a strong probability
she was dead by this time. He made his way to the ship's lounge,
thinking about the mistakes he had made with her--mistakes that would
have to be avoided in the future with others who had been taught in
Imperial schools.
The lounge was small--Kanchatka-class vessels had originally been
intended as couriers, not yachts--but it was quite comfortable, with
deep-pile carpeting, and a large viewscreen now displaying a sunset
landscape Valla was fond of. She and Kainor started to rise as Thark
entered, but settled back at his gesture.
He paused at the service panel to dial three glasses of koril, the
fermented milk Irschchans drank as humans drank wine. Carrying them,
he joined his aides, seating himself on the third pile of cushions at
the lounge's low table.
After the first silent, companionable sips, Thark began filling the
other two in. It wasn't easy for any of them, though an outsider would
have thought them discussing abstractions. Only Thark himself had been
truly close to Corina, but Kainor and Valla had known and liked her for
the four years since her Talent was discovered; her betrayal hurt.
When Thark was finished, Valla detailed the steps she'd taken to insure
the traitor's death, for Kainor's benefit. That brought a trace of
amusement to his voice. "Three Sanctioners, Valla? And Entos? I
should think either more than adequate to deal with her."
"Either should be," Valla agreed, "but you know I like to take
precautions, especially when it is so little trouble. Should she by
some stroke of luck escape the Sanctioners, she will not escape Entos."
"True," Thark said. It was unfortunate, he thought, that it had seemed
desirable to impose a communications blackout, including telepathy,
except in a major emergency or by messenger, but at present security
was more important than convenience--however good it would be to be
able to make definite, rather than tentative, plans. Facts must be
accepted, though; they had insufficient data, so they simply had to
make do with what they did have. "Even so, we do not yet have
confirmation. I think we must plan for the possibility, remote as it
is, that she did escape both and make it to the Palace. If the
Imperials are informed of even as little as she got from me, it could
hinder us."
"If you plan for that," Kainor said, "you will also have to assume a
Ranger will be involved within minutes, or at most hours."
"What--" "A Ranger!" Valla and Thark exclaimed as one.
"Yes. Ranger James Medart arrived yesterday aboard the battle cruiser
Emperor Chang, and took a lander down to the Colvis Reserve."
"Why was I not informed?" Thark asked, forcing his voice to remain
steady. A Ranger's interference, especially this early, could be
disastrous!
"Ranger Medart's orders, Master. He is on convalescent leave,
recuperating from the injuries he sustained just prior to the end of
the war. He did not wish to be bothered by official functions."
"If he is injured," Thark said thoughtfully, "he should be no problem
to eliminate."
"I said he is recuperating," Kainor corrected. "I understand he is
still weak, but otherwise he is healthy enough. It is unlikely to
affect him except to slow him in personal combat."
"And Rangers do not fight unless it cannot be avoided," Valla said.
"Does he have anyone with him?"
"I was not told, but most probably he does. Since this is a peaceful
world and the Reserve is a resort area, I would assume him to be
accompanied by a token bodyguard--perhaps two to four Marines, not
enough to stop a determined killer."
"True," Valla agreed. "Entos again, then, with four Sanctioners. The
Sanctioners have enough Talent to take out two Marines each, so even if
our estimate is low, they should have no difficulty. And whether
Medart fights or not, Entos will be able to give him a swift death."
Kainor nodded. "After all, it is not their combat abilities that make
them so valuable to the Empire, even though Menshikov is the Empire's
greatest strategist. It is their personalities and the way they
think."
"Yes," Thark said. "That much everyone knows. But exactly what is it
about their personalities and thinking? What is so unusual about them
that there are only ten Rangers, and none of those Irschchans?"
"Nine, since Tarlac's assassination," Kainor reminded him. His ears
went back in a slight frown. "Despite my investigations since the
Crusade was decided on, I have not been able to discover the actual
selection criteria. All I can tell you is what I have been able to
deduce from studying them and their accomplishments, and that certainly
cannot be taken as conclusive."
"Go ahead," Thark told him. "I know you dislike making incomplete
evaluations, but there is no more time to complete that project. An
incomplete evaluation is better than none at all, you must agree."
"I do--but keep in mind that it is incomplete." Kainor shifted on his
cushions, then continued.
"First, their selection is based on a combination of factors, not a
single isolated characteristic. Genius-level intelligence is of course
part of it, along with a generalist's wide range of interests and
abilities, and greater adaptability than normally appears even in
spacers. They are also able to analyze situations, develop a solution
that seems improbable or impossible, and make it work--usually if not
always to the Empire's benefit."
"I have had little opportunity to study them," Valla said. "Could you
be more specific?"
"Easily," Kainor replied. "And Medart is a classic example, so I will
use him. Among his other accomplishments, he was responsible for both
the successful human-Irschchan settlement of Ondrian and the end of the
Sandeman Incursion in Sector Five, which resulted in Subsector
Sandeman's joining the Empire."
"Which in turn led to a high percentage of their warriors in the
Imperial military or serving as contract police forces on various
worlds," Thark said. "Extremely loyal military or police--but they are
Elnar's problem. Continue."
"Yes, Master. Valla, do you remember anything about either incident?"
"Almost nothing," Valla admitted. "Until recently, I had very little
interest in Imperial news."
"And I would appreciate hearing about both with the information you
have that Imperial newscasts probably left out because humans would
take it as a given," Thark said.
Kainor sighed, something a number of Irschchans had picked up since
meeting humans. "Very well. The Ondrian situation, then. During the
second year of the joint colony's existence, an Irschchan youngling was
exploring in the mountains alone, contrary to all colony rules. He
vanished, and search parties found no trace of him. He was presumed
dead after a standard week, due to the bitterly cold weather.
"It surprised everyone, to put it mildly, when he showed up in
excellent health a month after the search was abandoned. That was not
all. He had one of the mountain cloudcats with him, and thanks to his
Talent--so minimal the Order had not accepted him, but there--he had
managed to establish communications with her. Very rudimentary ones,
to be sure, but quite adequate to establish their intelligence.
"That was a severe blow to the colony. With the cloudcats proven to be
intelligent, Imperial law required that the colony be abandoned.
However, it is the only place that so-called 'miracle weed' can be
grown successfully. It could not be obtained by trading, because the
cloudcats have no hands and no interest in farming. Since miracle-weed
is the only source of several valuable pharmaceuticals including
rapid-heal, the Emperor sent Medart in to see if anything could be
salvaged.
"He somehow got the idea that the cloudcats originated in a warmer
climate than Ondrian's. Nobody believed it, of course; geological
studies done when it was first discovered showed Ondrian's climate had
never varied enough to produce such an evolutionary difference. And
with their lack of hands, they could not possibly have built spaceships
to bring them from another planet.
"It turned out, of course, that Medart was absolutely correct. The
cloudcats--or perhaps I should say our young explorer's friend
Starflower--had learned to understand English, and could indicate a yes
or no answer to questions. Medart talked to Starflower for several
days, and found out that they were in fact not only from a different
planet, but from a different system entirely.
"They had been transported to Ondrian more than ten thousand years ago
by beings they called simply the Others, who had discovered the
cloudcats' sun was about to go nova. The cats elected to stay in the
same stellar neighborhood, but according to them the Others were
preparing to embark on a racial expedition of their own, one of
considerable magnitude. From what Starflower told Medart, it seems
they left this galaxy entirely.
"Medart went back into the mountains with Starflower, remaining there
for two weeks. When he returned, he had somehow gotten the cloudcats
to agree to let the colonists have free run of the equatorial zone,
though they must stay out of the mountains unless they are invited. In
return, he gave the cats the right to travel on Imperial Navy ships at
any time. So the Empire got its pharmaceuticals, and the cloudcats
seem more than pleased with the opportunity to indulge their curiosity.
A most economical solution, though I regret he did not see fit to
release the details of his negotiations."
Kainor rose and went to the service panel, returning with more koril
for each of them. He handed out the glasses, sat back down, and took a
deep swallow before continuing. "It is possible someone else could
have accomplished the same thing, as it is possible someone else could
have accomplished most things Rangers have. They are mortals, after
all. With one of them, however, if a problem is soluble, it will be
solved."
"And solved, as you say, to the Empire's benefit," Thark said. "But
you give Medart credit for ending the Sandeman Incursion; I understood
it took five Rangers."
Kainor's ears twitched in amusement. "Five were there, yes--but the
other four were part of Medart's solution, to give the Sandemans an
honorable reason to stop fighting rather than be annihilated. Much of
this episode is either public record or not difficult to discover,
though parts are still obscure.
"Medart was not sent in until the Duke of Sector Five admitted her
inability to stop the Sandemans and requested Imperial assistance.
Medart took a fleet to the one world the Sandemans had made a
protectorate rather than conquering, stopping long enough en route to
capture several for study." Kainor paused briefly. "You do know about
the genetic engineering that was done to create the Sandemans,
particularly their warriors?"
Both his listeners nodded.
"Good--but at the time, no one except the Sandemans themselves knew,
and they had no intention of divulging that information, especially the
weakness the engineers had intended as a control mechanism. They
refused to cooperate, preferring to die of that weakness rather than
reveal to the enemy the ways they needed to use to live with it.
"One did in fact die, and others were succumbing when Medart was able
to deduce--a point I cannot make too strongly--that they were
engineered to fight, both physically and psychologically, and that less
than a week without some form of combat or lovemaking was enough to
make them ill, then kill them. He took steps to prevent further
deterioration in those who could still be helped, then granted a swift
death to two who could not be.
"When he arrived at the protectorate--an obscure world called Mjolnir--
he mindprobed a warrior who had sworn fealty to the Baron there, then
defeated in single combat the Warleader who wanted to take the world,
obliging him to protect it instead. That probe verified Medart's
deductions and gave him enough more information on the Sandeman culture
that he persuaded the Baron to declare Mjolnir a neutral zone, invited
the Sandeman leaders to a conference--and called in the other four
Rangers, also with battle fleets, to provide a show of force.
"He made no threats, simply had the leaders given tours of the fleets,
and let them realize the alternatives: they could continue fighting, in
which case the Empire would have no choice but to destroy them, or they
could accept Imperial citizenship, in which case they would have to pay
for the damage they had caused, but there would be no other penalty
since they were doing what Terran engineers had created them to do.
Instead, they would be offered a chance for combat for the Empire,
using the ships and weapons they would otherwise have to fight. Being
as intelligent as they are combat-loving, the Sandemans chose the
second alternative.
"Again, you see, an economical solution of considerable benefit to the
Empire. The brief use of four other Rangers and a total of five battle
fleets saved months if not years of fighting, along with millions of
lives."
"And gained them the willing service of the most dangerous fighters in
the known universe," Thark added. "All right, those examples
demonstrate the intelligence, adaptability, and problem-solving--but
surely such qualities are not as rare as the low number of Rangers
indicates!"
"In themselves, no," Kainor admitted. "But those are only the most
obvious of the qualifications. Another is that they must have no close
personal ties, including family; that eliminates many possible
candidates. All have applied for and been accepted by the main Imperial
Military Academy at the Palace Complex, though none has remained there
much beyond Test Week. And all, needless to say, are intensely loyal."
His ears twitched, this time in irritation. "I am positive there are
other qualifications; as I said, I have been unable to discover the
actual criteria, which are known perhaps only to the Sovereign and
Rangers themselves."
Thark held back a growl. "I understand that--still, can you deduce
from what data you do have why there are no Irschchan Rangers?"
Kainor shook his head slowly. "Not with any degree of confidence," he
said. "The only possibility I find marginally sound is that Irschchans
who have the requisite abilities also have Talent, meaning they join
the Order rather than entering Imperial service."
"I suppose that is possible," Thark said thoughtfully. "If you are
correct, the lack of Irschchan Rangers will soon be rectified. You
will have to find out all the requirements as soon as possible,
however. Important as Talent is to one in such a position, they will
need the other, lesser, talents as well."