IV
By the time they got to the gym, it had been set up for the demonstration; it held a translucent-walled structure that Corina recognized from descriptions as a combat practice module, its walls opaque from the inside. To her dismay, there was an audience; off-duty crewwens lined the gym walls. An audience, she thought, was the last thing she needed now—but there was no help for it; she would simply have to do her best in spite of them.
Then she saw Greggson and five others in Marine black standing slightly apart from the spectators. She recognized Dawson, and three of the others were as big—but the fifth, little taller than Corina herself and seemingly as slight of build, she recognized as by far the most dangerous. The pale-eyed, dark-skinned blonds from Subsector Sandeman were the product of major genetic engineering, particularly their warriors. They had a number of advantages over standard humans, but the only ones she needed to worry about right now were their greater strength and speed. Maybe Greggson was right after all. Talent was important, but it certainly was not the only factor; she knew better than to underestimate Imperial Marines, and when one of them was a Sandeman warrior—
She broke off that line of thought abruptly. If she kept it up, the Marines would have no need to defeat her; she would do it to herself. Calm and control, as Valla and Thark had told her repeatedly, were the keys to victory. She and Medart joined the waiting group.
"My men have been briefed, Ranger," Greggson said. "And they have stunners, not blasters, so… Sir Corina… won't be hurt." He turned to her. "Unless, of course, you'd rather call it off."
Corina's self-doubt was turning into determination under his scorn. "No, thank you," she said quietly. "I will continue."
Medart smiled briefly at her, then turned to Greggson. "Get off her back, Colonel," he said. "You can join the spectators; I'll set up the situation for them."
Greggson obeyed silently, and Medart turned to the team leader. "This may be a demonstration, Major Dawson, but I want you to treat it exactly as you would a real security alert. You've just gotten word of an intruder, probably armed, and you're checking the ship." He turned to Corina, touching a control beside the module's entrance. When the walls turned opaque, he said, "You're the intruder, of course. Go on in the module and pick yourself a spot. I'll give you time for that, then send them in and turn the walls back to one-way."
"Yes, Ranger." Corina did as she was told, picking a spot near the far end, a location that had several connecting corridors. If what she'd read about search procedures held true, the team would split into two pairs, with the fifth person keeping several meters behind to back up whoever needed it. Her best bet, if they separated widely enough, was to take out one pair and the backup, then the remaining pair. If not, it would probably be best to try for the standard humans first— assuming, as seemed most logical, the Sandeman was backup—which would leave all her attention free for him.
She closed her eyes, taking her soul-blade and its sheath from her belt, and scanned for other presences as she would if she were entering hostile territory. Despite the distractions of the crowd, she quickly sensed her five opponents—and got an unpleasant shock. Three were totally unshielded, and Dawson's screen was so weak it would offer him no protection—but the fifth had a shield as tight as any she'd ever felt. She shook her head in brief amazement. Four shielded humans in the perhaps three hundred she had mind-touched since coming aboard, and Thark insisted he had met no Talented humans? But then the Emperor-class cruisers did have elite crews, and three of the four were Command level—that must be significant, somehow.
But this was no time to worry about theory. She had been almost right about her opponents' formation; two were coming down secondary passages, the fifth—the shielded one, and she learned from Dawson that he was the Sandeman—was coming down the main corridor. There was no way she could defeat them conventionally, but she had known that from the beginning—and this was to be a demonstration of the Order's potential; her Talent, not her blade-work, was necessary. So she should try for the standard humans first, with darlas.
In training she'd always been able to see, as well as sense, her opponents; although she had been told her Talent, like Thark's, was strong enough to make visual contact unnecessary, she wasn't sure she could concentrate well enough without it. Considering the circumstances, however, it was worth trying; she chose Dawson, focusing her Talent on him with what felt like the right degree of intensity to knock him out for roughly an hour.
To her surprise and satisfaction, her attack was just as effective and noticeably less difficult than in her practice sessions; she sensed the flash of Dawson's pain, then his loss of consciousness. It was easy to repeat the process with the unshielded three, and it was good to know that her training had been so effective—but she knew her most dangerous opponent remained. And even Thark's darlas couldn't penetrate a shield that strong, which left TK, weak as hers was, her only real weapon.
She waited tensely, a meter back from the main passageway, as he approached. He was quiet, his steps barely audible, but she didn't need that to place his relative position. He stopped just short of the cross corridor, then entered swiftly, in a crouch, his stunner ready to fire—but he was looking to his left, away from her, and that gave her the time she needed to push the stunner's powerpack release and, as it fell, spring at him with her sheathed blade coming to rest at the angle of his jaw, close under his ear.
To her surprise he grinned at her, raising his hands. "I'd call that conclusive advantage, Sir Corina," he said. "With abilities and reflexes like that, you should've been born Sandeman—I'm Lieutenant Nevan DarLeras. Welcome aboard."
Corina replaced the soul-blade at her belt and stepped back, returning his courtesy with a bow. She'd read about Sandeman ethnocentrism, and knew he meant his words as a compliment, so she said, "You do me honor, warrior. I am pleased to meet you; I hope my victory has not dishonored you or your fellows in the eyes of your shipmates."
The Sandeman chuckled. "Hardly, with powers that were only legend until you proved them. The others are all right?"
"They are unconscious and they will have painful headaches when they wake, but other than that, they are fine."
"Only because it was an exercise, I'd say." Nevan picked up the powerpack, replaced it in the stunner, and holstered his weapon. "May I ask a tactical question?"
"Of course."
"In that case, why did you knock them out and simply remove the power-pack from my stunner? I would have expected you to use your strongest ability against me."
Both looked toward the entrance as they heard footsteps, and saw Ranger Medart approaching. When he joined them, he said, "I'd like the answer to that one myself."
"I did," Corina replied. "Although it would be more precise to say that I used the strongest of my powers he was vulnerable to. His shield is strong enough to protect him from an attack directly against his mind; were it weaker and this not an exercise, I could break through, injuring or killing him. However, even the best shield does not protect from physical effects, so I was able to use TK against him. Had this been actual combat, I would have attacked him instead of his weapon, but a ruptured blood vessel in the brain is too permanent for a simple demonstration."
"It is that," Medart agreed, pleased and a little surprised at what sounded like she might be attempting mild humor. "If this were real, then, you're saying all five would be dead."
"Yes. Although had the warrior Nevan entered the corridor facing right instead of left, the result would have been different."
"But he wasn't." Medart nodded to the Sandeman. "You can go back to whatever you were doing, Lieutenant; I know you're not on watch right now."
"Thank you, sir." Nevan bowed to Corina, then left.
Medart gave Corina his full attention. If he hadn't just watched her do it, he would have found it almost impossible to believe one small, delicate-looking student could defeat five Marines at all, much less do it so quickly and with so little apparent effort. Her demonstration didn't make the actual threat any worse, of course; it just made the magnitude of that threat a lot more apparent. The White Order was a small group compared to the rest of the Empire, but with that type of power, it wouldn't take many of them to cause a major disruption. Especially if they selected their targets carefully, which Medart had no doubt would be the case.
He'd better find out her potential as soon as he could, he decided. If she wasn't Ranger material, best to know it right away and go from there; if she was, she should be wearing the badge. It was a demanding job, but he enjoyed the challenges, and so would she if she had what it took—which he found himself hoping she did. "That was a very impressive demonstration, Sir Corina," he said then. "I think you and I need to have a serious talk. Let's go to my quarters, where we won't be disturbed."
Corina settled into the armchair Medart indicated, her legs curled under her, and accepted the glass of milk he offered. He had sounded quite somber when he had mentioned the demonstration, and had been silent on the way here, but there was something in his attitude that gave her the impression of hope, as well.
His first question startled her. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do with your life, now that you've gone against the White Order?"
All she could do for a moment was look at him. Finally she said, "I have hardly had time to think about that, Ranger. I suppose I will return to my original ambition, which was to attend the Imperial Military Academy; being a naval officer appears to be the most practical way for me to explore the Empire while being of service to it."
That was promising, Medart thought—very promising. "I don't mean to rush you," he told her. "I have a couple of ideas on that line myself, so I'm naturally curious, but I don't need to know right this second. You're welcome to stay aboard the Chang until you make up your mind, either as my assistant or simply as a guest."
Corina was puzzled—what ideas could he possibly have about her future?—but all she said was, "I thank you for your kindness; I do need time to adjust."
"Probably less than you think, from what I've seen." Medart seated himself, taking a sip of coffee. "Tell me about yourself."
Corina made a gesture of dismissal. "There is little to tell, I fear. Until my Talent was accidentally discovered four years ago, I led a normal, quiet life. Afterward, I received training in how to use it, as well as going to tertiary school. Though my Talent was late in developing, it was strong enough for Thark to take an interest in me and supervise my training until he took it over completely. Otherwise there is nothing notable."
"That isn't exactly what I meant," Medart said. "I was thinking more about things like how you get along with your family, how you feel about other people, that sort of thing."
"Again, there is nothing truly unusual. I moved to MacLeod's Landing when my Talent was discovered, to make my studies under Thark possible. The Order, as is customary, was supporting me until my initiation, as well as providing tuition for my advanced schooling. I remain grateful for that, despite what I now know of them. My parents and I get along well enough, though we are not close. We simply have very little in common. The same is true for my other relatives, including my siblings."
"What about other people?"
She laid her ears back in what Medart recognized as a frown. "That is difficult to explain. It is not that I have trouble associating with others, because I do not. More and more, however, I find myself reacting as an observer rather than as a participant, especially in purely social gatherings. That disturbs me."
Better and better, Medart thought; that was a pretty good description of the detachment a Ranger needed to maintain impartiality. "Don't let it," he advised. "I feel the same way most of the time myself; it's nothing to worry about. You said you'd planned to go to the Academy; do they do pre-testing here?"
"Yes." Corina allowed herself a brief purr. "I did well enough to receive conditional acceptance by the main Academy on Terra."
Medart raised an eyebrow. "Not bad, though I wouldn't wish Test Week on my worst enemy. Emperor Chang, query the local comps for those records, please, and send me a hard copy."
"Yes, Ranger," the ship replied. "It may take some time, however."
"By morning will be fine. Medart out."
Corina stared at him, then decided she had to ask. "Why are you so interested in me?"
"Isn't it obvious? You're my assistant, at least for now, and I need to know a lot more about you than your name."
Corina wished she could probe him, but his shield made that impossible. His interest, she was certain, was greater than normal about a simple assistant—especially when he had mentioned having a couple of ideas about her life-plans. But she had been raised to trust Rangers; if that was all he thought it wise to say, it would be best not to persist.
Medart grinned at her. "You want more, but you won't ask. That's good, since I don't have the answers just yet. Why not let me call Sunbeam up here, get her to take you to supper, then both of you relax for the evening? We can talk more once I've gone through your records, and I expect to have a war conference after that, when you'll have to evaluate whatever you know about Thark for us."
Medart had been too keyed up by the young Irschchan's demonstration to even try sleeping normally. Two hours on the sleep machine gave him the equivalent of a good eight hours' rest, though, and by 0100 he was keying the service panel in his cabin for a cup of coffee, strong and black, plenty of sugar.
He gulped half the cup, scalding his tongue in the process, then sipped at the rest, thinking about her and making plans for the day. First thing to do was check her records, then report his findings to the Emperor. From what he knew of her already, he fully expected those reports to be favorable.
He finished the first cup of coffee, then checked his delivery slot, finding Chang had accomplished its mission; the slot held a hard copy of Corina's records, complete with summary. He got a second cup of coffee, taking it and the printout over to his work area.
Several hours passed as he studied those records with growing satisfaction. The more he read, the more promising Corina Losinj looked. The only flaw he could find was in her psych profile; it showed a lack of self-confidence. Medart wondered at that, because she certainly didn't lack ability. Still, self-evaluations were notoriously inaccurate—and for his current purpose, too little confidence was better than too much.
Finally he stood and stretched, easing muscles cramped from sitting in one position too long. His next step, he decided with some amusement, would have to be getting rid of that coffee!
That accomplished, he returned to his work area and switched his display screen to communications mode. It was 0800 by ship and Palace time; the Emperor would be in his office by now, so Medart accessed the Imperial priority band, then the Emperor's private comset.
The response was prompt; Davis' face appeared within five seconds. "Morning, Jim. What have you found out?"
"She looks promising, sir. Very promising. I talked to her a bit last night, and I've just finished going over her records. They're damn good. IQ in the top tenth percent, personality profile stable Class I. School grades above average but not spectacular—her teachers attribute it to boredom from lack of challenge, even in the advanced classes—and she's a generalist. Independent work is widespread and good; she did one paper on Imperial administration that should be turned into a handbook. And she's already taken the pre-Academy tests. Top level, of course; she qualified for the Academy at the Complex. Which is where she plans to go, now that she's not committed to the White Order any longer."
"Typical pattern for a Ranger, all right," the Emperor said with a smile. Then he turned serious. "How many potential Rangers are we missing? The gods know we need every one we can find! Anything else?"
"She's lacking self-confidence, but that's the only negative thing I saw. As for missing others, there can't be too many we would miss, even on Irschcha. Anyone with the right personality pattern is certain to try for the Academy, and that degree of ability will get them to Terra—unless they're stopped by something, like the White Order pre-empting anyone with Talent."
"Mm." The Emperor looked dissatisfied. "Not much we can do about that, though. You're satisfied that Sir Corina is fully qualified?"
"No question in my mind. Yes, sir, she is—maybe more so than the rest of us, with her extra Talent abilities. She demonstrated them very convincingly yesterday afternoon." Medart described the previous day's exercise in full detail, then shook his head. "It was almost unbelievable. Five Marines, with one of them a Sandeman warrior."
"And you saw it," Davis said. "If Chang made a tape, I'd like a copy."
"We didn't expect much, so I didn't order one, but somebody else might have. Emperor Chang?"
"Colonel Greggson has all such exercises taped for analysis, Ranger. I will send His Majesty a copy."
"Thank you. Medart out."
There was a brief silence while the ship sent the tape and Emperor Davis watched it. When his attention returned to Medart, he echoed the Ranger's headshake. "I see what you mean, Jim. It's a good thing she's with us, instead of the Order. Do you think you can get her to join?"
"With that lack of self-confidence, I doubt it."
"Considering the rest of what you've just told me, she'll get over that. Ask her to think it over, at least. It's possible that just knowing we think she's suitable will do the trick.
"At any rate, I want a conference with you, her, and Chang's Command Crew later today. We need to get more information from her, and we also have to do some planning. How about 1600? If you can't talk her into it by then, Rick and I will give it a try."
Medart nodded. "That sounds good, sir. Considering the time zone she lived in, she's probably still asleep; that'll give me a chance to go over her records again, maybe find a good talking point."
"Good enough. I'll talk to you again at 1600, then. Out."
The screen went blank, and Medart picked up the printout, carried it to his favorite armchair, and sat half reading it and half sunk in thought. Her lack of self-confidence was the real problem, all right; it was hard enough convincing someone who had a normal amount, and not always successful at that.