"What time is it? What is happening?" The announcement left no doubt,
but she wanted details.
"It is 0230, sir. The Prowler requested clearance for Sydney
Spaceport, but is on course for the Palace Complex instead. Defsat
Five estimates their arrival there in fifteen minutes."
"Blades!" Corina ignored the ship's "I beg your pardon, Ranger?", and
sent a hurried thought. *Jim?*
*On my way. We'll land about an hour and a quarter behind them.
Another hour to orbit, then fifteen minutes to the Palace. Seems he
was closer to ready than you guessed.*
*Let us hope not disastrously so.*
*Right. Anything you can do from this distance?*
*I do not think so, at least nothing useful. Once we are aboard the
lander, however, I will attempt to read Thark; his shield will have to
be down for him to work, and he may be distracted enough not to notice
so light a touch.*
*If it's down, can't you hit him with darlas? You don't need to be in
sight of him, from what you said.*
*I do not need to be in sight of someone without a shield,* she
returned. *That is all I am sure of. Should I attempt such an attack
on Thark, it may have some effect, or it may simply alert him to our
approach. I think it would be wiser to do no more than observe, if
that is possible, and maintain the element of surprise. You have far
more experience than I in such situations, however; I will defer to
your judgement.*
*I've got more experience in combat, less in Talent. We go with your
judgement on this one. See you in a second.*
It was a little longer than that, but less than a minute later the two
were in a shuttle going to the lander bay. "No armor?" Medart asked.
"I do not know how to use it," Corina said. "But you are not wearing
it either, and you must be familiar with its use. Why not?"
"From your demonstration, there'd be no point. Armor can protect
against blasters, but not against Talent--and it has a lot of places
where a touch of TK would be fatal. If anyone wants to wear it I won't
argue, for the psychological help it can give, but I'm not going to
burden myself with it."
They were the last to arrive; since their quarters were closest to the
center of the ship, they had the furthest to come. When they got to
the bay, most of the team was standing near the lander talking in low
tones, about half in armor, but Nevan was off to one side, kneeling
with upraised arms, chanting softly in a language she didn't recognize.
Her Gaelan-memories let her recognize what he was doing, however; he
was preparing for battle, inducing the psycho-physical conditioning
that made Sandeman warriors the most dangerous fighters in the Empire.
"If I am going to provide information about Thark," she said, "we had
best go aboard; it is almost time for him to land. It should be safe
for you to link with me, if you wish to relay what is happening to the
rest."
"That might not be a bad idea," Medart said.
They entered the lander and Corina strapped herself into a seat--
tightly, remembering Medart's caution about Nevan's battleprepped
piloting--then she made herself relax, closing her eyes, and reached
tentatively for Thark's mind-pattern, ready to pull back at the first
hint that he detected her touch.
* * * * *
They were nearing the Sentinel Mountains before Thark began slowing the
Prowler. Yes, there it was: the circle of greenery and buildings
surrounding the single huge structure that was his goal. The Imperial
Palace.
The sight awed him, and he felt an instant of uncertainty. Could those
responsible for such a tremendous feat of architecture be as
incompetent to rule as he thought? It was too late for such doubts,
though. They were through the weather screen, past the main Palace
spaceport, and there was no barrier to a closer approach; there was no
need to disable the Palace's defense screen. As he had planned, Thark
set the Prowler down on the Emperor's private landing pad. Everything
had gone smoothly so far, but now there was bound to be opposition.
And that lost no time showing up. The Prowler's touchdown was the
signal Palace Guards had been waiting for; humans, Irschchans, and a
Traiti, all in Imperial Marine dress blues, ran toward the ship,
drawing and firing their sidearms. They were no real threat; handguns
couldn't penetrate even a courier's shielding. The heavy disruptor
cannon swinging to take aim at the little ship's main hatch was an
entirely different matter, though. A small cannon of that type could
do serious damage, and one this size would simply separate ship and
contents into their component atoms.
But that was something Thark could handle. He made a quick scan to
locate the weapon's operator and any backup, finding to his relief that
there was none. A swift thrust of darlas, and the cannon was no longer
a threat, its operator dead. It was the first death at Thark's own
hands . . . but it was not the only one for long. The defending Palace
Guards began to drop as the Seniors used viewscreen images to pick and
focus on their targets. Thark took the ones they couldn't see, the
ones hidden by Prowler's hull.
With the first wave of opposition dead, Thark opened the hatch,
extended the ramp, and led the Seniors and Sanctioners toward the pad's
entrance to the Palace. They were almost there when more opposition
arrived, perhaps a dozen Palace Guards--followed seconds later by a man
in Ranger green.
There was no time to be neat; the Sanctioners used blasters, the
Seniors darlas and soul-blades. Thark's fur was splattered with blood
by the time he reached the Ranger. Menshikov's gun was coming to bear
on him even as Thark used darlas to attack. A Ranger deserved that
much of honor, to die with @'s body unmarked.
But--Menshikov was shielded, impossible as that was! An involuntary
shield, though, however good, was no match for Thark's lifetime of
training and experience. Menshikov's face twisted in agony, and he
collapsed before he could scream.
Thark stared at the crumpled body for several seconds. The man's
shield disturbed him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. It
should not have existed! Still, he thought, perhaps in the final
extremity, a rare human could show a trace of Talent; such things had
been known to happen on Irschcha. He would check on it later, perhaps;
for now, it made no difference.
* * * * *
Corina's attention returned to the lander, where she found herself and
Medart the focus of the entire assault team's intense interest. *What
do you expect?* Medart sent grimly. *That's the second Ranger murdered
in the Palace in less than two months--maybe others elsewhere,
depending on how widespread this Crusade is.*
*Probably others elsewhere,* Corina replied, equally grim. *He will
not be content with one strike, and Rangers are essential targets for
anyone who seeks to greatly alter or destroy the Empire. I fear for
those who are not in space or otherwise out of the Order's reach.*
*Me, too.* He continued aloud. "Did he sense you?"
"No. As I thought, he is too intent on his task to notice a touch as
light as I am using. Is there no way we can get there faster? If he
continues at his present rate, everyone in the Palace may be dead by
the time we arrive."
"No, dammit," Hobison said. "Hyperdrive is three lights per hour,
period, and we're still most of an hour out."
"Perhaps a few minutes," Nevan said. "If Chang can make a sub-orbital
pass, we can save the descent from orbit."
That brought the group's attention to him, and Corina was struck by the
change in his bearing. Everything about him was taut, ready: his eyes
held an eager gleam, and his smile was nothing like the happy one she'd
seen when she offered him this duty; instead it was one of deadly
anticipation, and he was seething with controlled violence. It was
easy, seeing him this way, to believe stories that had been difficult
to accept earlier. "Is that not quite dangerous?"
It was Medart who answered. "For a standard human, it's almost
impossible. For a battleprepped warrior, it's not too bad; they did it
quite a bit during the Incursion. It'd save probably ten minutes."
"We will do so, then," Corina decided. "Captain Hobison, would you
give the necessary orders? And ask whoever is in temporary command to
notify Defsat Five when we land, please; I believe we may be too busy
to do it."
"Yes, sir." Hobison left, going to the lander's controls.
Corina took another look at Nevan, then sighed--a human mannerism, but
one that seemed appropriate. "I suppose I should return to my
observations."
"It would help to know what he's up to," Medart said. "First, though,
I think you ought to check out Nevan's shield. It seems battleprep
makes a difference in Talent strength, too."
Corina's ears went back briefly. "Such things do not normally change,
but I will retest him." When she touched the Sandeman's mind, her ears
went forward in amazement. His shield, respectably strong before, now
had the density and chill feel of spacer-steel armor!
She nodded. "This means a personnel switch. Nevan now has a better
chance against Thark than Colonel Greggson does; he will accompany us,
and Colonel Greggson will assist with the other attackers."
Neither man raised any objection to the substitution, though Greggson's
expression was not pleased. Nevan simply nodded, his eyes a bit
brighter.
* * * * *
Thark had entered the Palace by the time she made contact again, and
the slaughter was continuing. He, Valla, Kainor, and four Sanctioners
were looking for the Emperor; the rest were spreading out to eliminate
opposition elsewhere in the Palace.
There were adequate maps of the public areas, none of the private areas
like this--but for one of Thark's Talent, that was a minor obstacle.
It was a simple matter to extract whatever directions he wanted from
the unshielded minds of staff and Guards before killing them. His
first goal was the Emperor's working office; when that proved empty, he
got directions to His Majesty's apartment on the top floor, and led his
team there.
When that also proved to be empty, Thark began to worry. Something was
definitely wrong, and it took longer to get around in the Palace than
he had expected, even for a building so huge; it took a good five
minutes simply to get from the bottom to the top floor or back. Then
there was the time to find his objectives, made longer by having to
eliminate opposition on the way--this was taking too long!
The assault team on the lander disagreed; anything that delayed Thark
worked in their favor. "How long till launch?" someone asked Nevan.
"Eight minutes. Then about three to land."
Corina was aware of her team, so she heard the estimate, but her main
attention was still on Thark. He and his people were on their way to
the Throne Room, hoping to find the Emperor there with his staff.
Others of the Crusade had been along parts of their route; they passed
bodies, all marked by blaster fire, and added others, unmarked or
knife-killed, of those who tried to block their way. Thark was not
proud of the number of beings who had to die. He had to remind himself
sternly--and repeatedly--that their sacrifice was necessary for the
birth of a new and greater Empire.
The Throne Room, when they reached it, was also empty except for a
handful of Guards. Thark grabbed one of them while Valla and Kainor
killed the rest.
The man was a typical human, with no trace of screen, so Thark found it
simple to probe his mind. And this time he went deep, digging for
everything the man knew instead of only for directions. The results
were bad, very bad. Thark let the Guard's body fall and broadcast a
message to the entire attack group. *No more killing. I need
prisoners now, high-ranking ones. Bring any you find to the Throne
Room.*
As soon as he received acknowledgements, he called Valla and Kainor to
him. "We have a serious problem. The Emperor and Crown Prince have
left Terra, an option we did not consider, and this one," he indicated
the body, "did not know why or for what destination. All he knew was
that they were picked up by a lander from the Empress Lindner day
before yesterday. We must find and eliminate them, else the Crusade is
doomed."
"If they are aboard a battle cruiser," Valla objected, "how can we
destroy them? You know how powerful and well-armed those ships are."
Thark nodded. "True. But our ships are no smaller than Traiti
warcraft, and they destroyed several such cruisers without the
advantage of Talent to tell them the humans' intentions. It will not
be easy, but it can be done."
"It will cost us many lives."
Thark agreed, somberly. "I know. Yet we cannot stop now. We have
gone too far to fail."
Movement at the Throne Room's great door attracted his attention. It
was Underofficer Jamar and another of his Sanctioners, half carrying
and half dragging a bound and bleeding prisoner toward him. Thark
purred briefly, pleased. The prisoner was better than he had expected,
a Ranger who would surely know the Emperor's location. From the man's
condition, it was as well he had ordered the killing to stop when he
had, else he might have lost this valuable prisoner.
Aboard the lander, Corina heard swearing--which was interrupted by
Nevan's "Launch!" command. A pressor beam sent them out the airlock
and through the cruiser's wake, the lander's engines screaming as its
pilot fought it through maneuvers it hadn't been designed for. Corina
felt a sudden lurch of fear--could he do it?
*He's from Clan Leras and he's battleprepped,* Medart assured her.
*That part I'm not worried about--can you get anything else while we're
going in?*
*If his maneuvers do not become too violent.* Corina re-established
contact, to find Thark studying the youngest of the Rangers--she was
the newest, but almost four standard years older than he--Ray Kennard.
Medium height and build, he was a fair-skinned redhead who might have
been handsome but for his injuries. He had clearly resisted till he
could fight no more, yet despite his injuries and his obvious
weakness--he could barely stand--he seemed to radiate an aura of quiet
competence. Thark felt grudging respect. This human wasn't like the
tourists and administrators he was all too familiar with.
"How did you manage to capture him?" Thark asked the Sanctioners.
Jamar answered. "We found him in the Comm Section just as we received
your message, Master. We attacked before he could get his weapon out.
He fought well, as you can see, but he could not defeat two of us."
The Sanctioner hesitated.
"Go on," Thark urged him.
"Master Thark--he is shielded! I could not read his intentions!"
"What!" Not another one, Thark denied to himself. He probed Kennard,
only to find the Sanctioner was right. This man was shielded, at least
as well as Menshikov had been. Could he, then, have been mistaken
about the human lack of Talent?
No. He pushed that thought firmly aside, unable to accept it.
Kennard grinned at him, weak but triumphant. "I am, huh? Then Rina
was right--Jim's not a fluke. You've blown it, traitor."
Corina lost contact as the lander lurched, making its firing pass over
Prowler, and then made a fast landing. She was out of her seat almost
as quickly as Nevan, though he beat her to the door. As soon as all
were outside, she said, "Our countdown starts now. Go!"
She was badly disturbed by the bodies littering the landing pad. Even
though she had watched him do it, she found it hard to believe the one
who had taught her so much could be responsible for this. The Thark
she had been so sure she knew would never have been capable of such
slaughter!
She followed Medart's sudden movement toward the green-clad body
halfway to the Palace entrance. He stopped, knelt to turn it over and
close staring eyes, then he looked up at Corina. "Darlas. He never
had a chance."
A taut, quiet voice interrupted. "There is a living one we can still
help, sir."
Medart looked up into cold-steel eyes. "Right. Let's get to the
Throne Room, then."
Hobison and Greggson had already led the rest of the assault group
inside; Corina heard the Security Chief curse, then comment, "They'll
be easy enough to find, Captain. Just follow the bodies."
"Yeah," Hobison agreed tonelessly. "Split up, then. You, Marshall and
Eustazio secure Communications; the rest of us will search-and-silence.
Double-check that your weapons are on stun, then go."
As soon as the rest were out of the way, Medart began leading the other
two through the Palace's private section. Nevan would have been better
at point, but he couldn't know this part of the Palace--
"Down!"
Medart dropped automatically, heard a stun-bolt go by overhead, and saw
a gray-kilted Irschchan fall two corridors ahead. "You okay, Rina?"
"I am fine." Corina had also dropped at the warning; now both Rangers
stood. She turned to the Sandeman. "How did you do that?"
Nevan gave a tiny shrug. "I heard @, probably. Or saw a flash of
kilt, I can't be sure. Since I knew it wasn't one of our people, I
fired."
Medart managed a chuckle, despite the circumstances. "They call it
combat instinct, Rina--but I'm beginning to think it's an aspect of
Talent."
"An aspect that works through a shield," Corina said. "That will have
to be explored later--for now, we can only use it. How much further?"
"Not much." Medart began moving again, taking a straight line until he
made an abrupt turn that took them into a corridor with several
widely-spaced doors. "Our offices--this hall brings us out behind the
Throne, but I have to check something. Wait a minute."
He went into one of the offices, emerged seconds later. "The security
cameras are getting the whole thing--we've got plenty of evidence.
Let's finish this up."
He led them through a door at the end of the corridor. It opened
behind draperies; when the three stepped through those, Corina found
they were on the Throne's marble dais, two meters behind the plain,
high-backed wooden chair. She moved forward, between it and one of the
swirling-silver columns that flanked it.
The scene below her was sickening. Bodies scattered around were bad
enough, but there was worse: Thark's calm, merciless beating of the
helpless Kennard, while Valla and Kainor looked on in apparent
approval. These couldn't be the gentle, affectionate people who had
taught her with such patience over the last four years, now bloody and
fearsome.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward to the edge of the dais and
called, "Thark!"
He turned, startled, and looked up at her. "Corina!" he exclaimed.
"What--" Then he noticed the drab green kilt, totally uncharacteristic
of her. Now what? he wondered. He strode to meet her as she descended
from the dais, drawing his bloody soul-blade as he went.
Corina unsheathed her own blade, the movement attracting Thark's
attention to the bit of metal at her belt. A human would have paled in
deep shock; Thark's only visible reaction was an agitated twitch of his
ears.
"You? A Ranger?" It was too much for him to accept. First humans
with shields--blades, with Talent!--and now Losinj a Ranger? "No!"
"It is true, Thark. I am placing you under arrest for treason against
the Empire."
Thark started to answer, was interrupted by gunfire. The Sanctioner
holding Kennard had let the human fall to go for his blaster; Nevan
dropped him, Valla, and three others while Medart shot Kainor and the
remaining Sanctioner. His demoralization was completed when the
Sandeman said, "Good shooting, Ranger Medart. Do you want that last
one, or may I take him?"
"Neither," Medart replied. "He's hers--give me a hand with Kennard."
"Yes, sir." Nevan holstered his blaster, and the two men went to kneel
by the fallen Ranger.
Corina stopped in front of her former teacher. "You have seen and felt
the truth, Thark. Will you continue to deny it and fight, or will you
do as you taught me honor requires?"
Thark gestured at the carnage around them. "All this has been for
nothing?"
"I would not say that," Corina said. "Your Crusade is the reason I was
able to become a Ranger and to discover and train--or begin training--
Ranger Medart's Talent." She gestured to where Nevan was now standing
guard while Medart still knelt, his hands on Kennard's forehead and
chest. "He is now using an aspect we never developed. This human is a
healer, as well as having considerable darlas."
Thark shook his head. "I cannot dispute your word, but it is difficult
to accept an idea that seemed impossible even an hour ago. May I have
a demonstration of a human Talent I can understand?"
"If he is willing." Corina called to her fellow Ranger. "Jim!"