II

Corina woke with a splitting headache, the characteristic aftereffect

of being hit with a neural stunner. Groaning, she opened her eyes and

found herself in what, except for the straps holding her in place, was

a fairly comfortable, if too large, armchair. A Terran in Marine black

service dress uniform sat behind a large metal desk, holding a blaster

aimed casually in her direction. Her soul-blade lay beside his left

hand.

She suppressed the rage she dared not show at that sight. It had been

bad enough earlier, when the Sanctioner had taken her blade, but at

least he had been an Irschchan and understood its significance. To a

Terran, it was nothing but a simple dagger, with no more personal

meaning than a kitchen knife.

Not that they could understand, she thought, forcing herself to calm.

They had no Talent, no way to sense the owner's mind-pattern, impressed

on the blade at an Irschchan's coming-of-age ceremony.

She could retrieve it telekinetically--that part of her Talent was

weak, but the blade was hers--then decided quickly against that idea.

The man holding the blaster did not look like the type to tolerate any

misbehavior from his prisoner, and she had no desire to test her

estimate of his character.

He gave her a few seconds to evaluate the situation before he spoke.

"Okay, you're awake. Now tell me what the hell that was all about."

"He was trying to kill me," Corina replied.

"We guessed that much," the Terran said. "I want to know why."

"May I know who you are?"

"Yeah, you people like formality, don't you?" The man shrugged. "Why

not? I'm Major Patrick Dawson, Security Division of the Imperial

Marines, on temporary duty from the Emperor Chang. You?"

Corina managed as much of a polite bow as she could. "Greetings, Major

Dawson. I am Corina Losinj, until today a student of High Adept Thark.

Entos was trying to kill me before I could report treason against the

Empire, in the form of a rebellion by the White Order. Thark is

leading it himself."

Dawson's expression looked to Corina like a combination of astonishment

and disbelief. "Rebellion? The White Order against the whole Empire?

That's impossible."

"I assure you, Major, it is quite possible. Or Thark believes it is,

which is effectively the same thing."

"Um." Dawson was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Well, it sounds

crazy to me, but it isn't something we can risk not checking out." He

holstered the blaster. "The other one, Entos--is he in the Order?"

When Corina nodded, he punched a number on the desk intercom.

"Interrogation, Captain Daley." Corina couldn't see the screen, but it

sounded like a human female. "Oh, hi, Pat. What can I do for you?"

"You could run a mindprobe on the other Irschchan who was brought in.

The one I'm interviewing claims the reason he was trying to kill her

was that he's involved in a treason plot."

"You got it," the woman said grimly. "Do you want yours probed too?"

Dawson thought for a moment, then shook his head. "By the time you're

done, Ranger Medart should be here, and he can make that decision--she

was the one being attacked, so the odds are she's innocent. If that's

wrong, or if the Ranger wants her probed for more information, it can

be done once he's here."

"I copy. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Appreciate it." Dawson broke that connection, immediately punched in

another number.

"Communications, Commspec First Carlson, sir," came the reply.

"This is Major Dawson. Can you get me Ranger Medart, Security

priority?"

"It'll take a couple of minutes, sir. I'll have to patch through the

Chang to his lander."

"That's fine--just do your best."

* * * * *

Ranger James Medart was stretched out on a lawn lounger, basking in the

warmth of Irschcha's sun only meters from the lander that was now

serving him as a vacation cabin. Convalescent leave had its good

points, he thought drowsily. He hadn't been this relaxed since before

the war--and not often then. Laying here in swim trunks, it was hard

to believe he'd been damn near torn in half not much more than two

months ago.

But he had been, trying to help one of the then-enemy, a gray-skinned

Traiti. Oh, well. The war was over, thanks to Steve Tarlac, and the

Traiti were Imperial citizens, while he was supposed to be

concentrating on recovering his strength. He stood, called to the

lander. "I'm going for a swim."

A blond head looked around the edge of the lander's open hatch.

"Right, sir. I just got my suit on; I'll play lifeguard."

"Whatever you say, Nevan." Medart sketched a salute, grinning at the

young Sandeman warrior who was one of his bodyguard. Then he turned,

taking a running dive into the Colvis Reserve's main attraction for

humans, Clear Lake.

He swam straight out, with a leisurely sidestroke that took him in the

direction of the resort across the lake. He had no intention of going

that far, or of seeing anyone except his bodyguards; a week in a tank

of rapid-heal, followed by over a month of therapy and constant

attention, left him with a strong desire for some privacy.

He'd been swimming for perhaps half an hour, enjoying himself

thoroughly, when he heard Nevan calling him. The warrior wouldn't

interrupt his swim without good reason; he waved acknowledgement and

headed for shore, wondering what was up.

Nevan didn't look too happy, the Ranger thought as he waded out of the

lake, and that was a bad sign. "What is it?"

"A call from the Planetary Palace, sir, security priority. Major

Dawson is on the screen."

"Damn. All right." Security priority was never good news; Medart

wondered just how bad it was this time. He accepted the towel Nevan

was holding out, began drying himself as he went to the lander and

climbed in. Then he dropped the towel, grabbed his uniform shirt from a

hanger by the door, and put it on before going to the lander's

comscreen. "What's up, Major?"

Dawson repeated what Corina had told him, adding, "Sergeant Orloff said

she was definitely the one being attacked, sir. I asked for a

mindprobe to be run on the attacker."

Well, Medart thought with brief regret, there went his leave. Couldn't

be helped, though. "Good work. Hold off on Losinj; I'd rather not

probe someone trying to help us unless there's no other choice." He

grinned, wolflike. "If somebody thinks she's worth killing to keep her

from us, she's got to be valuable--I'll be there in about two hours,

and I'll stop by Interrogation before I join you. Medart out."

* * * * *

Dawson switched off, looked at Corina. "I'm curious about one thing.

Why didn't you call instead of coming in? If you're right, we'd have

gotten the information sooner, and you'd have been safer; I could have

sent a squad of Marines to escort you here for protection. You'd have

been in no danger."

"I am afraid that is not the case, Major. In the first place, there

was no place I could call from. In the second, if the Order wishes me

dead, there is no safety for me anywhere on Irschcha."

"I don't know," Dawson said skeptically. "All I've really heard about

the White Order is that they rule this planet with some sort of strange

power they refuse to talk about. I think you're underestimating the

Marines."

"Talent is not discussed outside the Order, except with potential

initiates," Corina said. "At least it has not been until now; I must

inform you of what they can do. It is you who underestimate them."

Dawson shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I don't have the

authority to deal with a major rebellion; you might as well wait till

Ranger Medart gets here, and tell him."

Corina nodded, and Dawson went back to the report he'd evidently been

studying when she was brought in. She tried a probe of him, finding a

weak, almost-nonexistent mind-screen. It was not a real barrier, and

her reasons were compelling, so she probed deeper. Human mind patterns

were too murky to make this sort of thing a pleasure, but she scanned

anyway, for information about this Ranger Medart. She knew, as did

everyone, about Rangers in general--that they were the Sovereign's

representatives, wielding Imperial authority at need--but she had to

know about this specific one.

Dawson, unfortunately, knew little. Although he did serve aboard

Medart's cruiser, he was not very familiar with the Command Crew or

Ranger. All she could get was his feeling of respect, bordering on

awe--much, she thought, the way she had felt about Thark until this

morning.

Dawson did not expect any trouble from the Order here inside the

Palace, she noted, and found herself agreeing. Thark was not likely to

risk compromising the Crusade by a frontal attack now. There would

probably be an attempt, though, to have her returned as a criminal, as

the Sanctioner had threatened.

Perhaps an hour passed before the intercom chimed. Dawson answered,

and Corina overheard Captain Daley's report.

"Just finished that mind-probe you asked for, Pat. He was trying to

kill Losinj, all right. His orders came from Senior Valla; she told

him Losinj was betraying the Order. He also knows about the existence

of a Crusade, which is what they call this rebellion. I couldn't get

any details, though. And when he woke up, he somehow managed to knock

out a couple of my technicians without even touching them. I had to

hit him with another stunner, and I'm going to keep him under until I

get orders to the contrary."

"Uh-huh, that confirms what she told me. He probably doesn't have

enough rank to know any details. Was he the only one?"

There was a grim laugh from the intercom. "Hardly! From what I got,

every Order member on Irschcha is either out to kill her themselves or

report her whereabouts to the Sanctioners so one of them can do it."

"Thanks, Joanie, that's a big help." Dawson switched off the intercom

and turned to Corina. "That exonerates you, Ms. Losinj. There's no

more need to confine you." He touched a switch on the desk, and the

restraining straps retracted into the armchair.

"Since I am proven innocent, may I have my blade back?" Corina

couldn't keep a note of pleading out of her voice.

Dawson looked at her sharply. "It means that much to you? Well, I

don't see why not; take it."

"I thank you." Corina retrieved the blade, ran her fingers gently

along it before returning it to its sheath, and resumed her seat. She

sensed the Marine's puzzlement, and decided she should try to explain.

"It is a part of me, in a way. Having it in someone else's possession

makes me quite uncomfortable."

Dawson shook his head. "I don't understand. I know it means you're an

adult, but it's just a knife."

"It is more," Corina said, her ears twitching. "My mind pattern--" She

broke off at Dawson's blank look. "It is an Irschchan thing," she said

apologetically. "I fear I cannot explain it well."

"Or I don't have the background to understand." Dawson gave her a

lopsided smile. "Ranger Medart will; whether or not I do isn't really

important." He turned his attention back to his report.

Corina took that opportunity to think. She was, she had to admit to

herself, still more than a little frightened. It was less fear for her

life now, as it had been when the Sanctioners captured her; it was more

nervous apprehension about her future. She could not remain on

Irschcha, she knew. If she did, as she had told Dawson, she would be

killed.

But then where could she go? What could she do? Her peaceful life had

not prepared her for this kind of situation, suddenly caught in the

midst of a rebellion. Things were happening too fast, overwhelming

her. She wasn't sure what to expect from the Ranger, either. He'd

said she had to be valuable; what had he meant?

Urr . . . there was nothing she could do now but wait, as patiently as

she could, until he arrived.

* * * * *

The next hour went slowly. Corina's patience, not one of her strongest

points at best, was almost exhausted when the door behind her slid

open. Dawson stood, coming to attention; Corina turned, to see if she

should stand as well. She hadn't quite made it around when a calm

voice said, "As you were."

She sat back as Dawson resumed his seat. The newcomer was Ranger

Medart; he propped himself on one corner of the desk, crossing his

arms, and the two studied each other. Medart was good-looking for a

human, Corina thought, though not really outstanding in any way but

one: he moved with almost Irschchan grace, something unusual in a human

male, especially considering this one's 180-cm height.

She'd seen pictures of him, of course; one Ranger or another was

usually in the news. So his appearance was familiar: medium build,

youthful-looking thanks to anti-agathics despite graying hair at the

temples and an age--about 75, if she remembered correctly--when an

Irschchan would be preparing for death. The plain forest-green uniform

was familiar too, with pants bloused over black boots and the wide

pouched gun-and-equipment belt, its only decoration the platinum

star-in-circle badge of his rank.

He was more impressive in person than on the holos, Corina decided.

His cool blue eyes seemed almost able to see into her, and even without

trying, she could sense him; he seemed to radiate an aura of quiet

competence like nothing she'd felt before. It surprised her

momentarily, then she twitched an ear, amused at herself. He was a

Ranger, after all, not an ordinary human. Her curiosity aroused, she

tried a quick probe--to be stopped by a mind-shield that was clearly

both unconscious and well above novice level. An unusual human indeed,

she thought, intrigued.

Medart allowed her scrutiny, studying her at the same time. Despite

their upright stance and lack of tails, Irschchans invariably reminded

him of the Siamese cats he'd raised when he was a youngster in Texas.

This one was no exception. Tawny fur, thick and soft, covered

everything except her palms and the soles of her feet, though it was

marred now by slight scorching on her right arm and a bloodstained area

just below her throat. Her alert, pointed ears only increased her

resemblance to the remembered Siamese, but he knew the brain which lay

between those ears was fully equal to a human one. While it was hard

to read Irschchan expressions, Medart liked the steady look in this

one's jade-green eyes.

He did think they looked faintly ridiculous in kilt and sporran, but

that had become the Irschchan mode of dress almost as soon as MacLeod,

a man aggressively proud of his Scots heritage, appeared in one at the

official welcoming ceremony. Too bad; it not only detracted from their

graceful appearance, in his opinion, but it made telling male and

female apart almost impossible. For humans, at least, he thought with

a silent laugh. The Irschchans themselves seemed to have no

difficulty.

Well, time for business, he decided. But he'd take it as easy on her

as he could; she'd had a rough time. "How about some more information

on this rebellion?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

"I have already told Major Dawson what I am certain about," Corina said

quietly.

"And the mind-probe of Entos confirmed all of it. But can you tell me

why it's happening?"

"Thark is convinced that the White Order can rule the Empire much more

effectively than you unTalented humans have been doing. They have,

after all, ruled Irschcha for over five millennia, and according to

Thark, brought about peace and order for most of it. He feels

honor-bound to do the same for the rest of the galaxy."

"Looks to me more like stagnation," Medart commented. "You've had

space travel for more than--what, two of those millennia?--but when

MacLeod found you, you were still system-bound. Sorry for the

interruption; go on."

"I could not agree with him, and came here," Corina said. "I have no

physical proof, however, of anything I have said. I learned what I

have reported when I broke through Thark's mind-shield this morning."

"Physical proof isn't necessary," Medart told her. "Your report,

backed up by the probe of Entos, is enough. Learn anything else?"

"Not really. The whole Order is not taking part, of course, but those

who are not active in the Crusade will also not actively oppose it."

"Oh? Why not?"

"They cannot honorably do so," Corina replied, surprised. "The oath of

the Order forbids such opposition to its leaders, though of course it

cannot compel any to follow orders which would lead them to death, as

the Crusade will."

"You're not actually a member of the Order, then?"

"No. I was to be initiated soon; however, for now I am bound by no

oaths. I am still free to follow my own paths."

"Uh-huh," Medart agreed. "Good thing for the Empire." Not as free as

she believed, he thought but didn't say. She had chosen sides, and it

was up to him to make use of that choice. Then he went on. "I still

need your help. As secretive as the Order is, we don't know much of

anything about this Talent you say they have, much less how to combat

it."

The intercom chimed before he could go further. Dawson answered, and

Medart joined him, looking into the screen.

"Lieutenant Edmonds, Duty Officer of the Watch," the caller identified

herself. "The head of the district Sanctioners is here. He has

extradition papers for Ms. Losinj, who is accused of assaulting a

Sanctioner officer. He also demands we release Entos."

"Send him in," Medart said, the casualness he'd assumed for Corina's

benefit vanishing. "I'll handle this myself."

"Yes, sir." The viewscreen went blank.