Corina glanced at him, then decided she liked both the nickname and his
use of it. "Thank you, Jim. Empire Net, this is Ranger Corina Losinj,
ident code RCJ-1643-2048."
"Thank you, Rangers. Is there anything else?"
"No," Medart said, then looked at Corina, smiling. "Welcome to
Imperial service, Ranger Losinj. Now that the formalities are over,
you might want to get into uniform; we should call His Majesty with the
good news, then have breakfast."
"That would seem proper," Corina agreed, "though I would prefer
something other than your style. A kilt is nice, with a cloak for bad
weather, and the sporran is useful--but I do not think I would be
comfortable with fitted garments all over, such as yours."
"Good point," Medart said. "Since uniforms are supposed to be both
convenient and a form of easy identification, there's no reason you
shouldn't use a kilt the right shade of green; along with the badge, it
should serve the purpose. And once we have time, you might want to
recommend similar uniform changes for the Irschchan members of other
Imperial services."
"Should we survive, I will do so." Corina went into her sleeping area
and ordered a complete uniform, though with kilt instead of shirt and
trousers, from the fabricator.
"Thark? There's him, of course," Medart called. "But there's no point
in worrying about him right now. Make your preparations, get
everything as ready as you can--then worry; it might let you find
something you've overlooked."
"I will try." Corina shook her head, but Jim was right; she did tend
to concern herself with problems that never arose, and that did waste
time.
Medart heard the fabricator's delivery bell ping, then sounds of
rustling cloth as Corina changed. The pattern rapport had made a big
difference in her manner, he thought, and for the better. She was much
more relaxed around him, even a little less formal. And she seemed
more sure of herself, which would help.
Corina felt strange, changing out of her accustomed bright garb into
the functional, if in her opinion unnecessarily drab, forest green.
The fabricator had included an ankle-length cloak with heavy silver
embroidery and the Imperial Seal; she considered that for a moment,
settled it over her shoulders long enough to admire it in the mirror,
and removed it. That was for formal ceremonies in which she used her
military rank and title, not for every day. There was a visored hat,
as well, but she didn't try it on; such headgear did not take Irschchan
ear structure into account, so she planned to avoid wearing it. And
possibly suggest another uniform change.
She stood holding the badge for a moment, still hesitating to take the
final step and pin it on. It was only a small piece of platinum, a
star in a circle, but it meant almost total independence and authority,
subject only to the Sovereign, anywhere in Imperial space. It was odd,
she thought, but this particular symbol affected her more than it
should. Either Irschchans were more symbol-conscious than she had been
taught, or this was a side effect of pattern rapport with a human.
She told herself to get on with it. She had accepted the job, why not
its symbol? But it did not seem appropriate, after Jim's memories, to
pin it on herself--not the first time. She returned to the living
area, held it out to Medart. "Would you mind?"
"Not at all. I'd be honored." Medart took the badge and pinned it to
the holder the fabricator had provided on her equipment belt.
To Corina's surprise--and Medart's satisfaction--her emotions when he
did so were a duplicate of his fifty-seven years earlier. Pride,
determination--and the confidence that others' belief in you could
create.
*Yes,* Corina sent. *I have heard of such boosts, but had never quite
believed in them. It is strange . . . I had always thought myself
unaffected by others' opinions, but it is clear I was wrong.*
*Sometimes it depends on who the others are,* Medart replied. *Someone
you don't care about can't have more than a surface impact, pro or con;
someone you do care about can have a disproportionate one. This is the
wrong time for philosophy, though. Is that knife the only weapon you
plan to carry? You might want to think about something with a little
more range.*
"I think not," Corina said aloud. "I am not familiar with distance
weapons, since I am not a Sanctioner; my darlas should be adequate for
anyone I cannot reach physically--after this mission, at least." She
indicated the weapon at his belt. "Nor, I would say, am I the only one
to prefer unconventional weapons; that does not appear to be a
blaster."
"It isn't," Medart said, drawing the weapon with a chuckle. "It's just
as effective, though, maybe more so. It's a replica of a Browning
Hi-Power 9mm automatic--a slugthrower. I had it made not long after I
was tapped, and I have a standing order for fresh ammunition; it goes bad
after a few years, even under shipboard conditions. It holds thirteen
rounds in the clip--" which slid out as he pressed the release button,
"and one in the chamber when I expect trouble. I can always carry more
clips if I expect a lot of trouble." He worked the action, then handed
her the empty weapon.
Corina examined it carefully. It was too large for her hand, which she
expected because it seemed to fit Jim's perfectly. She was impressed
by the precise workmanship, too; it made the gun, deadly as it was, a
thing of great beauty.
"Why a slugthrower instead of a blaster?" she asked curiously.
"Personal preference," Medart replied. "For one thing, I happen to
like slugthrowers--and computers with keyboards, and paper books. For
another, more practical reason, it has stopping power a blaster can't
match, and it's noisy. A snap shot, if I'm surprised, will give me
time enough to get in a second, well-aimed round. That's saved my life
a couple of times."
Corina handed it back, watched him reload and holster it. "It seems to
be an excellent weapon, but I prefer to rely on my blade and darlas."
Medart shrugged. "No arguing preference. And it's about time we get
to work, so--" He called the Comm Center, told them to set up a
scrambler call to the Emperor either at the Palace or aboard the
Empress Lindner. "And have it put through to my quarters," he added.
Then he turned to Corina. "We'll have to have your quarters rigged for
priority communications, but until the techs can get to it, you'll have
to use mine or go to Briefing Room One. And my quarters are right next
door. I'd also recommend a comm implant, but that can wait if you
don't want to spend a couple of hours in sick bay; a wrist-com will do
everything you need for now."
"A wrist-com, then, until we complete this mission."
* * * * *
The screen was flickering blue even as they entered the human Ranger's
cabin, then it cleared to show a sleepy-looking Davis. "Morning, Jim.
What's up?"
"Sorry to wake you, sir, but for a change it's good news. We have
another Ranger."
Davis smiled. "Losinj? That's the kind of news I don't mind getting
out of bed for. How did you manage to convince her?"
"I didn't, sir, at least not in any conventional way. We had a
training accident." Medart briefly described the pattern rapport and
memory exchange, then went on, "I'm putting her in charge of this
mission and going on backup."
"Right," the Emperor said. "That's what I'd do; Thark's her problem
anyway. I'll pass on the good news to Rick and the others." He turned
his attention to the young Irschchan. "I'm glad to have you with us
all the way, Ranger Losinj."
"Thank you, sir." Corina hadn't expected to be put in complete charge,
but she wasn't totally surprised; it was logical, given the
circumstances, and Jim's memories did indicate that Ranger training--
what there was of it--had a tendency to be rather abrupt.
"Before we get to serious planning," the Emperor said, "have you given
any thought to the arms you want?"
"Arms? No, sir." It was traditional, Corina knew, for a new Ranger to
use the arms of one who had died--but that tradition had not even
occurred to her.
"May I make a suggestion, then?"
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"I think Steve Tarlac's would be appropriate. Hovan told me Clan
Ch'kara's Speaker for the Lords said our next Ranger would be his
spiritual heir--and now that we've found you, that seems reasonable."
Corina bowed. "I would be honored to bear the Peacelord's arms, sir,
though I do not know if I can live up to his example."
"It won't be easy, but then neither are any of our jobs." Davis grew
sober. "Back to our present situation. So you can plan, Rick and I
are in space now, as you suggested, outside Sol System. Only the
ship's captain and navigator know our location. I've ordered the
defense satellites not to fire on any Irschchan ships. Since you're
sure Thark will be leading the attack, we'll be using Jim's plan: I
want Thark to land and take action against the Palace itself, and to
prevent unnecessary damage, I'm making it as easy for him as I can. As
a ruling noble, he'll have no trouble getting through the Complex's
weather dome, and he'll find the Palace's security screen has somehow
been left off. The Guards have orders not to fire until he takes
hostile action."
"I understand, sir. I may not be able to take him alive for a
Tribunal, though. I may not be able to take him at all."
"It's not necessary to take him alive," Davis replied after a moment's
thought. "A Tribunal isn't essential, it's the evidence that is. If
you can't take him at all--" He was silent for a moment, then said,
"All right. How long will it take if you can handle him?"
"Less than half an hour, certainly; probably no more than fifteen
minutes."
"Considering the size of the Palace," Davis pointed out, "it could take
you longer than that just to find him." He thought for a moment.
"Signal Defsat Five when you land. They'll have their orders, and if
they don't receive a second signal from you within an hour, they'll
blast the Palace and everything for ten kilometers around it. I don't
want that to happen--it'd mean losing four Rangers, as well as a couple
of hundred thousand people, and probably destroy the Complex--but even
that is better than a rebellion that would cost millions or billions of
lives throughout the Empire."
"I will do my best to avoid that, Your Majesty."
"I know you will," Davis said. "Still, for the first time, I'm
grateful that politics forced Chang to have the Palace built in
Antarctica. A strike like that almost anywhere else would kill a hell
of a lot more people."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't hesitate to call me if you have to. But unless there's anything
else, I'll sign off now and let you get back to work."
"I have nothing more, sir," Corina answered, and the screen went blue
momentarily before it shut off.
She was unfamiliar with Terran geography, but everyone knew about the
fabulous Imperial Palace. Isolated in the heart of a frozen continent,
it was the center of the Palace Complex, a hundred-kilometer-diameter
circle of parklike city. She didn't understand the physics of the
modified defense screen that allowed it to exist in spite of
Antarctica's climate, but the politics Davis had mentioned were clear
enough.
The Solar Federation's capital had been in Ceres, but when Nannstein's
discovery of hyperdrive had triggered the necessary change from
Federation to Empire, that had been abandoned. The Empire needed a
center on Terra itself as a symbol of unity, yet squabbling about its
location among the planetary powers had made that unity a mockery until
Emperor Chang stepped in.
It was his decision that, since the Empire was not concerned with local
politics--it couldn't be and still govern the Empire as a whole
properly--the Palace would not be located on any individual nation's
territory. That made Antarctica the only possible place. Covered by
multinational treaties and with no permanent inhabitants, it had no
national identity.
And she would be going there, going to the Palace itself . . . as a
Ranger. What would her parents think? Corina hoped they would be
proud--
Medart interrupted her musing. "How about breakfast? I don't know
about you, but I'm hungry."
"So am I," Corina agreed. "And we have plans to make."
"Correction," Medart said. "You have plans to make. All I'm going to
do is listen and critique."
They took an intraship shuttle to Mess One, intended for senior
officers and at this hour quite empty, unlike the always-busy Mess
Three. They got their meals and ate silently while Corina decided on
her plans.
"The first thing, I think," she finally said, "is to find anyone else
aboard with mind shields, to make a combat group. I have met
surprisingly many--four out of perhaps three hundred--yet five of us
will accomplish little against Thark and the Seniors of the Prime
Chapter."
"Right," Medart agreed, "since unshielded ones wouldn't last long. Who
else have you found?"
"Besides yourself, there is Colonel Greggson, as you know from the
conference. Also Captain Hobison, and the small Marine from the
demonstration, Lieutenant DarLeras."
"That one somehow doesn't surprise me," Medart commented.
Corina purred briefly. "He is the first Sandeman warrior I have met,
but from my reading and your memories of the warrior Gaelan, I am also
not surprised. An enthusiastic fighter, of course, and even shielded,
I sense great potential in him."
"He's got that, all right," Medart agreed. "First in last summer's
graduating class at the Academy in the Complex, and if he'd fit the
psych profile better, he would've been approached about the Rangers.
But he can't help thinking of combat as a preferred option rather than
a last resort." Medart paused. "It might interest you, and supports
your theory, that Captain Hobison was asked. He refused, but that
doesn't change his abilities."
"Four out of the first five either Rangers or Ranger-level," Corina
said thoughtfully. "Colonel Greggson is not?"
"What do you think? No--too inflexible, not enough regard for others,
too narrow an orientation. He's at the top of his field or he wouldn't
be on an IBC, but he's definitely not Ranger material. Go on."
"Once we have found any shielded people, we must develop your Talent,
in particular your shield and darlas. You do have the ability, but it
will be of little use without better control than you have yet
achieved. And greater power, as well. Admittedly, you did knock me
out yesterday; that, however, was in part because I had partially
lowered my own shield, trying to feel any trace of your darlas. That
is one mistake I do not plan to repeat."
"I should hope not!" Medart said emphatically. "You gave me quite a
scare, and I'd rather not `be' any more people than I have to."
"It is imperative that we find out about the aspect of your Talent I
have, for lack of a better term, called reverse darlas. A thing not
understood may be a help or a hindrance. We must discover which this
is, and if it is a help, how best to use it."
"Yeah, and if it's a hindrance, how not to use it. What about timing?"
"I am concerned about that," Corina admitted. "I hope to have the week
to ten days you need for even minimal training, but I must plan on
less. I am almost positive of another four days, though, which will
help."
"So what are you going to do with the ship in the meantime? Our Terra
ETA is 0330 tomorrow. Chang's too big to land, and we'd be pretty
conspicuous in orbit."
"Urrr." Corina hadn't thought about that. "Does that system not have
a band of debris? Between the fourth and fifth planets, I believe."