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.
Medart turned to Corina. "Did you assault a Sanctioner officer?"
"That is a matter of interpretation," she replied. "I was on my way here when they stopped me. They were taking me to Headquarters for execution; I had to use Talent to knock one of them out so I could escape."
"Self-defense, then, since you were trying to prevent a crime by escaping." Medart took Dawson's place behind the desk, and the Marine took position slightly behind and to the Ranger's right, standing at parade rest. All three waited silently until the door slid open again, to admit the Sanctioner chief. He wasted no time getting to the point.
"You have no right to interfere in purely planetary matters," he said. "I must require the return of Losinj and Entos."
"You're wrong on two counts," Medart said coldly. "As a Ranger, it is not only my right to interfere, as you put it, anywhere and anywhen I see a threat to the Empire, it is my duty. Rebellion against the Empire is such a threat, not a `planetary matter'; Losinj was acting properly in defending herself to report that treason. She is guilty of no crimes, which is not true of the ones who obstructed her.
"I am not particularly concerned about the ones who arrested her," he continued. "They were obeying what they considered lawful orders from their Baron, on his world, so punishing them would be unjust. Entos, however, is guilty of attempted murder on Imperial territory. I have both eyewitness and mind-probe evidence, so there is no doubt of his guilt; he will be executed."
"But she betrayed the Order!" the Sanctioner chief objected. "For that, if nothing else, she deserves to die. Entos was acting properly."
"Not under Imperial law," Medart said. "The sentence stands. And I advise you not to get more deeply involved. Just carry out your peace-keeping functions."
"But—"
"No buts," Medart said coldly. "Losinj lives, Entos dies. If you interfere further, I will have to assume you are part of this Crusade, and take appropriate measures. Is that understood?"
The chief's ears twitched. "Yes, Ranger."
"Good. You may leave."
Corina watched the subdued Sanctioner chief do so, then she turned back to the Ranger, intrigued. His sudden change of manner had caught her by surprise, and it might have been frightening—except that he had defended her, even as he condemned Entos to death. Knowing what he was and seeing him in action were very different things. There was something decidedly attractive about this human, more than just his appearance—a something she was beginning to appreciate.
"I must ask asylum," she said quietly. "If I leave the Palace… urrr. You know what will happen. Most in the Order will feel as he does."
"But you say you're not a member of the Order," Dawson objected. "If you're not oath-bound, how can you betray them?"
"They do not see it that way," Corina said. "They expect anyone with Talent to feel bound to the Order even before formal initiation. It is—or was—inconceivable that anyone with any useful degree of Talent would refuse to join the Order. It is natural that they would see my opposition as betrayal. I would probably feel the same way myself if I had spent my childhood being indoctrinated in Order schools."
"That's all very interesting," Medart interrupted, "but not right now. Ms. Losinj, there's no asylum involved; I've said I need your help, so you'll be coming aboard the Emperor Chang with me."
"I have no desire to be killed, and you certainly need to know about Talent. I will give you what help I can."
Medart was careful to hide his amusement at that response; she'd made her choice already. But he couldn't help feeling a little regret at tearing her away from her home world, even though it meant saving her life; home meant a lot to most people, and losing it usually meant a serious blow. But at this point neither of them had much choice left. "Shall we leave, then? We do have a rebellion to stop."