VII
As soon as they left the briefing room and were going toward one of the intraship shuttles, Medart said, "I'd like to start that other training you mentioned as soon as possible. When can we do it, and is there anything special you need?"
Once they were inside the shuttle, Corina answered. "We can begin as soon as you like. We need quiet at first, as relaxation will speed your learning of the basic techniques. Afterward, you will need volunteers for practice. I do not like the idea of using unTalented for that, but I see no choice; I can teach you only so much with myself as your target. The techniques are not difficult; you should be able to learn them in an hour or less. It is the practice, for control and power, which will take most of your training time."
"Right. Emperor Chang, take us to Sherwood Forest, please."
"Yes, Ranger," the ship replied, and the shuttle began moving.
Medart turned back to his assistant. "Since you say relaxation's so important, at least for basic training, we're going to what I think is the most soothing part of the ship. I like trees."
"So do I, but what is Sherwood Forest? I do not remember seeing any trees when Sunbeam was showing me the ship."
"Not likely you would, with her for a guide," Medart said, grinning. "She's a city girl, all the way through. Except for orientation, I don't think she's ever been there. If she thinks of trees at all, it's probably just as potential furniture."
"It seems strange," Corina said, "that you, a Ranger, would take such an interest in a young ensign."
"Not this one," Medart replied. "It isn't just that she's impossible to ignore, either. I first heard about her when she was in her third year at the Academy. Her teachers were predicting that she'd end up either getting herself kicked out of the Navy in disgrace, or as Chief of Naval Operations, and I'd tend to agree. She doesn't know it, but I asked to have her assigned to my ship to give her the best chance at the second; if anyone can keep her on the right heading without breaking her spirit, it's David Hobison." He laughed. "As if just running the Chang wasn't enough of a headache for him!"
The shuttle door slid open and they stepped out into a pleasant, open-wooded area which, from all appearances, was on the surface of a planet rather than inside the hull of a warship. It was impossible, Corina knew, but it certainly looked like the parkland was lit by a brilliant yellow sun, while clouds drifted slowly across a blue sky. Except for the odd sky color, it reminded her, with a sudden pang of homesickness, of a small glade she used to visit almost daily. Only the fountain was missing.
She managed to bring her voice under control before speaking. "It is beautiful! But how is it done? And why?"
"It is, isn't it?" Medart agreed. "The sky is simply glowpanels. Clouds are Type II holograms, the sun's a Type IV. If you want the technical details, I'll have to refer you to Engineering; it's something I've never had the occasion to go into deeply.
"As for why—Sovereign-class cruisers are the long-tour ones, sometimes staying away from their home ports for years. Even near a planet, only a small part of the crew can be allowed shore leave at any one time. If everyone were city-bred, like Sunbeam, that wouldn't be a problem, but most aren't. We had some pretty serious morale problems until Ranger Ellman suggested this idea about five years ago. It's proven quite effective, well worth the investment in power and space. Chang, Lindner, and Yasunon are the only ones with them so far, though. The rest'll get them as soon as they go into Luna Base for a major refit."
They had been walking while he talked, and came to a halt beneath a wide-spreading, though not very tall, tree. Corina didn't recognize the species, but liked its smell.
"Is this all right?" Medart asked.
"Fine," Corina said approvingly. She glanced around, saw several off-duty crewmembers strolling around, either singly or in pairs. "If you are certain we will not be disturbed, that is."
"I'm sure," Medart said with a chuckle. He sat cross-legged, his back against the treetrunk. Corina also sat, facing him.
"You had best practice defense first," she said. "If you cannot protect yourself, nothing else I can teach you will be of any use."
Medart nodded, and she tried a gentle probe. *You are wide open, Ranger,* she told him. *You will have to bring your shield under voluntary control. An automatic shield is adequate under most circumstances; if you intend to attempt stopping Thark as you said at the conference, it is not.*
*I understand that, but how?*
*If you can remember the way you felt, your mind pattern when we worked this morning—* She caught a sudden picture of herself holding the sheathed blade at DarLeras' throat, then nothing. "Very good, you have it. Now down again."
Seconds passed, then, *How's that?*
*Excellent,* she complimented him. *You learn quickly. Now I must test you, to find your shield's present strength. Prepare yourself.*
*Right.* Medart's shield went back up, and Corina began probing, gradually increasing the strength and intensity of her attack while the Ranger fought to hold his shield. His eyes closed, his fists clenched with his effort. He was starting to break out in a sweat when Corina felt the shield waver and instantly released her pressure.
"Are you all right, Ranger?"
"I think so," Medart said, shaking his head experimentally. "That was . . . it was like nothing I've ever felt, ever even imagined." He took several deep breaths, relaxing, then asked, "Just how much force were you using?"
"About half my maximum."
"How's that compare to Thark?"
"That is difficult to say." Corina's ears went back slowly, a thoughtful frown. "I would estimate he has half again my strength, so that would be perhaps a third of his maximum."
The Ranger looked grim. "One chance in five? Looks to me more like one in fifty."
"You forget he trained me. I know his patterns, can anticipate how and where he is most likely to strike me, and strengthen my shield accordingly. There is the added factor that this practice will benefit me almost as much as it will you. My estimate remains one in five."
"You know more about it than I do." Despite his words, Medart was doubtful. "Do we try that again, or what?"
"That would be unwise now; it is more of a strain than you realize. No more than two, or at most three brief sessions like that per day, until you gain strength. It would be as well to begin teaching you to use darlas, however. It means going much faster than is usual for this type of training, but our time is limited."
"It is that," Medart agreed. "How do I go about darlas?"
"It is similar to telepathy, which you already know, but is projected directly rather than through the TP center, and is much more powerful. You must try to force a feeling of pressure, of constriction, on your opponent."
She raised her shield, holding it at half strength so she could feel any success he might have. "All right, go ahead."
She waited patiently, but felt nothing, so she lowered her shield slightly. Still nothing. She dropped it even further, finally managed to detect an extremely faint, almost nonexistent, touch.
Even that faded, and Medart looked at her with a frown. "That didn't seem to be working too well, did it? What am I doing wrong?"
"It was indeed weak," Corina admitted, "but with my shield at minimum I was able to detect something. Each individual is different, even among Irschchans, and though it is far clearer than most, your pattern remains human. You will simply have to keep trying until you find what works for you. The potential is there."
"Okay, let's try it again." Medart closed his eyes, and Corina set her shield at about a third of its full strength.
After perhaps a minute, she felt a faint tingle. It got stronger for a moment, peaking at what felt like a gentle nudge before fading again. She studied the Ranger's expression of concentration, and decided to keep her shield up at the same intensity. She would give him another five minutes; that should not strain him unduly, and then she would end the session.
The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back in the grass, looking up at Medart's worried face. "Are you all right, Sir Corina?" he demanded.
She struggled to sit up, dazed, and felt him supporting her.
"Are you all right?" he asked again.
She took a quick self-inventory, decided she was well if uncomfortable, and reassured him. "I am unharmed, though I will have a headache for some time. What did you do?"
He hesitated for a moment, looking her over carefully. "I'm not certain. Nothing seemed to be working, so I tried picturing a giant anaconda—that's a Terran snake—wrapped around you, contracting. I finally got it good and clear, and you collapsed. Are you sure you're all right?"
Corina growled softly, disgusted at herself. "Blades! I should have thought of that. Unless you concentrate on words, I keep getting pictures from you. I should have realized your primary orientation was visual, and guided you—"
"Oh, no, you don't," Medart interrupted. "If there's any chewing out to be done around here, I'll take care of it. You said it yourself: everyone's different, and you're not that familiar with human patterns. And you've never taught before. You can't be expected to anticipate everything at once."
He gave her a quizzical look that reminded her of their first meeting. "I hadn't realized how different in some ways, and how similar in others, Irschchans and humans are until your shield fell. I seemed to almost be you for a couple of seconds, just before you blacked out. I glimpsed a lot of things, but I couldn't understand more than half of them."
Corina was sitting unsupported now, with Medart squatting on his heels facing her. She stared at him, then started searching intensively through her memories of the last few minutes. Her shield was still down, and Medart followed her thoughts with no difficulty.
*Eyes closed… five minutes, then… picture… What's he—* Then an image of herself tangled in an exaggeration of Medart's visualization, a confused jumble that reminded the Ranger of multi-colored spaghetti. She started probing at it, using his actual visualization to guide her as she finally tugged at what appeared to be a key strand. That made the `spaghetti' disappear, releasing a flood of concept/imagery/experience into her mind, understandable only in fragments that seemed to flow past and through her.
"Pattern rapport," she breathed in wonder.
"Right, I got that much," Medart said. "But what is it? I'm not sure I understand anything about it but its name."
"It is an extremely unusual stress phenomenon," Corina said, picking her words with care. "It occurs when two very similar mind patterns are in close physical proximity and under considerable stress. Something—the Order is not sure what, but the most respected theory is both underminds acting as one—apparently `decides' to relieve the stress by combining whatever memories can be used to accomplish that purpose."
"But aren't human and Irschchan patterns too different for that to happen?" Medart objected. "That's what you seemed to think earlier, at least."
"I believed so, yes," Corina said slowly. "Yet the Order's millennia of experience cannot be totally wrong. It had to be pattern rapport."
"Then either human and Irschchan patterns are closer than anyone's ever suspected…"
"Or it is our own two basic patterns which are in phase."
"Uh-huh, that could— Hey! Remember, I told you I had more trouble reading Sunbeam than I did reading you?"
"That must be the case, then, but I would like to know—" Corina cut that thought off before it could go somewhere she didn't want to follow.
Medart, though he wasn't about to broadcast it, had a pretty good idea what the pattern rapport might mean. He wasn't at all familiar yet with Talent, granted, but he did know what his problem was. Apparently so did what she called her undermind, and it agreed with him. "I'd suggest a hearty meal and a good night's sleep," he said. "That was a shock to both of us, and we'll solve our problems better in the morning, when we've rested and steadied down."
Corina nodded agreement. "That sounds most reasonable. We do both need time to integrate the… new experiences. I would say you in particular; I at least knew of the possibility, though I never thought it would happen to me."
Medart chuckled. "Don't be too sure who needs it more. I've been through something similar—you studied the Sandeman Annexation, of course."
"Of course," Corina agreed, puzzled.
"I needed to learn as much as I could about them, as quickly as possible, and Gaelan DarShona, who had sworn personal fealty to Baron Klaes, agreed to a mind-probe. You know about those?"
"I have heard of them," Corina said. "An artificial form of telepathy the Order considers repugnant."
"Close enough. At any rate, I had Gaelan given a deep, full-experience probe, with myself hooked up as the receiver. So I've already `been' one other person. You haven't."
"That may indeed make a difference," Corina agreed. "I wonder if I will experience that part, or if it was bypassed as unnecessary."
"I imagine you'll find out. If you do, I'm sure you'll find it both interesting and different. For now, though, let's go eat."
Corina followed him to the shuttle, conscientiously trying not to think about the rapport, but with only moderate success. It was less the contents of the transfer that concerned her, than the reason for it. Her undermind must be trying to tell her something, but what? And . . . did she really want to know?
The shuttle, at Medart's instructions, took them to Mess Three. "With Sunbeam assigned to you, she's probably staying on the day-shift schedule, so she'd be going to eat about now. She should be able to keep our minds off anything too serious, as long as we don't start talking shop."
"Do you eat there often?" Corina asked, glad of the change of subject.
"Fairly often," Medart replied. "I like the relaxed atmosphere, even if it is a bit on the noisy side occasionally. It was stiff the first few times, right after I took over Chang, until they adapted. It wouldn't be quite acceptable for me to join in the horseplay, but nobody minds as long as I just watch and listen."
Sunbeam was indeed in the mess, standing at the row of autochefs with Major Dawson. Medart and Corina got in line behind them and, when Sunbeam turned around, were invited to join the pair. They agreed; it was, after all, what they had hoped for. Corina decided on hellbeast steak again; it was becoming one of her staples, since Sunbeam had introduced her to it. Besides that, she ordered two things she hadn't yet tried—a taco and tapioca pudding—and her usual milk.
Medart looked at her tray. "That's quite an assortment you've got there. What're you trying to do, sample everything on board?"
"Not quite, though I am trying a number of things. It appears I will be aboard for some time, and I prefer variety. The tastes are strange, but some are quite good."
They were carrying their orders to the table when Medart noticed something seemed to be missing. "No coffee?"
Corina shook her head. "No. I cannot understand how you can drink something so corrosive, much less appear to enjoy it."
"It's an acquired taste," the Ranger agreed. They sat down as he continued, "But the Navy seems to run on it, and I'll admit to drinking more than I should."
"Drink what?" Sunbeam asked, having missed the first part of the conversation.
"Coffee," Medart replied. "Sir Corina thinks we're crazy to drink it."
Sunbeam giggled. "If she thinks coffee's bad, she should try tea!"
"I did!" Corina said emphatically, trying to imitate Sunbeam's gaiety. "The things you humans ingest and claim to enjoy, it is a wonder that you survive at all."
"It's not that bad," Sunbeam said, still amazing Corina with her ability to eat and talk simultaneously—and neatly. "You remember Major Dawson, don't you, Sir Corina? His name's Pat; we got to talking while you were hassling with Colonel Greggson. He's going to coach me in unarmed combat—he's the ship's men's champion, since Lieutenant DarLeras says it wouldn't be proper for him to compete with non-warriors—and he thinks I may have a chance at the women's championship next month."
"You must be quite good, then," Corina said.
"What hassle with Greggson?" Medart demanded.
"It was nothing serious," Corina said, and summarized the incident for him. "I was nervous, but not badly upset."
"That's good," Medart said, then continued silently. *Maybe it doesn't bother you, but it does me. I'll let it go for now, since His Majesty's already warned him and I have a feeling we may need his shield, but if he tries anything else, I want to know about it right away.*
Corina was impressed by his seriousness. *Yes, Ranger.*
The spoken conversation continued on a light tone, with Sunbeam as usual carrying most of it. Corina was almost silent, content merely to absorb the alien atmosphere and continue accustoming herself to it. She felt occasional twinges of familiarity which she knew must come from the Medart-pattern that was becoming a part of her mind. Most of the integration, of course, would be done by her undermind while she slept that night—but she could feel it beginning already.
As she had known it would be, Corina's sleep that night was restless, disturbed by her undermind's attempt to fit those alien memories into a pattern that would allow her to grasp and use them. She might never fully understand them, but when the process was complete, she would have more feeling for humans than was possible for an Irschchan who hadn't experienced pattern rapport with one.
The integration process worked mostly in the form of dreams, some fragmentary, some less so. She/Jim was laying in a bed with bars, a huge pink face framed in white looking down at her/him and radiating a feeling of peace.
Then Corina-as-Jim was sitting beside a wicker basket, stroking a Siamese cat who was giving birth to her first litter of kittens and wouldn't let him leave. There were three already, tiny white-furred things blindly nursing. The mother stared up at him, butting his hand with her head, and purred as only a Siamese could, seeming to be proud of her accomplishment.
A nude swim in a warm blue sea—the memory a pleasant one for the human, but one that made Corina's sleeping body tremble with distaste.
But it was Jim's invitation to the Rangers that claimed most of her attention, from Perry appearing in his room after the Test Week results were posted, through his first meeting with the Emperor soon after—it had been Yasunon then, not Davis, who was still Crown Prince—to his brief visit home before starting his new duties.
For details of Medart's invitation, see [SELECT]
Working with other Rangers, then alone: the massive flood that almost wiped out the Yonar colony, and proved to be sabotage. Taking over the Chang when Rick was elected Successor, and renewing his acquaintance with Dave when Captain Hobison took command. The Ondrian affair, with his new friend Star-flower playing a large part, and a wry thought that he kept getting involved with cats in one form or another.
The crisis in Sector Five when Sandeman erupted, conquering half that Sector before its Duke realized she couldn't handle them and called for Imperial help. The mind-probe of Gaelan, giving her a new insight into the small warriors, and added respect for their integrity and ability. Glimpses of many planets, from space and surface. That one spotting of a huge white ship that disappeared into hyperspace and couldn't be traced.
The memory of his sorrow at Yasunon's death was enough to make Corina toss restlessly in bed. She seemed to see the funeral from two viewpoints at once: her own, the film in history class, and Jim's being there. Then came the Conclave that elected Forrest as Crown Prince when Davis became Emperor.
Then war struck. Fragmentary memories of battle flickered by, then came a chance to capture a Traiti ship. Ray Kennard had come up with an idea that might keep imprisoned Traiti alive, at least long enough to be questioned before they succumbed to the prisoner psychosis that so inevitably killed the ones who could be kept from suicide.
He'd gone with the boarding party despite Hobison's objections. He'd seen his first live Traiti then, with its leathery gray skin and sharklike face. Not attractive at all to Medart's way of thinking— then—but the big male was hurt and in obvious pain; he'd knelt, intending to help, only to be torn almost in two by the Traiti's claws and teeth.
And, he found out when he was allowed to regain consciousness after that week of immersion in rapid-heal, it had been for nothing. The two prisoners the boarding party did manage to take had lived to reach Terra before the psychosis set in, no longer.
It was a memory that reeked of failure and self-accusation. He should've expected that trick; although it wasn't common, it was known. His carelessness and stupidity could have cost them the ship, cost the Empire a Ranger it could ill afford to lose, wasted even more lives.
Corina shifted, unable to accept that even in a dream. He was a Ranger, he had been doing the only thing honor would allow…
Then came the interrupted recovery leave on Irschcha, and his meeting with the young Losinj. In Medart's memory, Corina watched herself defeat the Marines, studied her own records, discussed them with the Emperor. Again came the invitation to join the Rangers, but from his side this time, and the intensity of his emotion was enough to bring her awake shivering.
She rose and automatically went through her morning routine, then went to the service panel and got a glass of milk. She sat at the desk, then, taking occasional sips and thinking. Did she still have a choice, or did the Empire's need of her make this a matter of honor? Jim—no, Ranger Medart, though it was now difficult to think of him that way—would, she knew, leave that question to her. And she was terribly afraid she knew how she would eventually have to answer.