“He means to kill me. Besides, if he is pretending to be half Starwolf, I owe it to him. Most of my friends are Starwolves. How did he come up with that, anyway?”
“He’s a heavy worlder,” Lenna explained. “Growing up in two and a half G’s left him as strong as a bull langie.”
Velmeran laughed. “Charming fellow! I believe that we should just wander around until your friend does make his appearance. Then we will really celebrate.”
6
Velmeran forgot all about the matter of Treck Lesries after the first hour. As the Kanians already suspected, Lesries was no doubt a Union agent, not so much a spy or subversive as an embarrassment and a nuisance. He was a wolf in the fold, and the Kanians were unable to protect themselves from him for fear of creating an incident with the Union. The only ‘safe’ way to remove this annoyance was for him to provoke a fatal incident with a Starwolf… and Velmeran was the perfect bait for that trap, a Starwolf in sheep’s clothing.
He was still unsure of just where he stood with Lenna Makayen. She was quietly but obviously in awe of him for how easily he had dealt with Lesries’s henchmen and his apparent disdain for their leader; he suspected that, in spite of her initial interest in him, she had also dismissed him as the skinny little off-worlder he appeared to be. Whether she was conscious of it or not, she did see him as the key to getting what she had always wanted. Either she was mercenary enough to try to seduce him, or else she was trying to force herself to love him because she thought she should.
Later that night, after they had taken in several hours of music at a Ranger pub, Lenna suggested that they should spend the night together at the port inn. Velmeran skillfully maneuvered his way out of that one, explaining that he had to report back to his ship for the night. Lenna arranged to meet him for late breakfast at the same restaurant; she had downed enough of the local beer to know that she would not be able to drag out very early. Velmeran desperately needed a few hours to himself. For one thing, he needed to eat; he had been dining on portions suitable for a human his size, which was hardly adequate. He did need to check on the members of his pack. And he simply needed a rest from Lenna’s dauntless exuberance.
By morning Velmeran clearly sensed that this would be his last full day of port leave. He arrived at the appointed meeting place well ahead of time to give himself an early start on that late breakfast, in the hope that two breakfasts and one lunch would be enough to last him until night. He had just finished when he became aware that trouble had arrived.
“I got your message, little one,” someone said behind him, someone who lacked the thick native accent. Velmeran rose calmly and turned to face his enemy. The first thing the Kelvessa saw was a chest and shoulders at least twice as broad as his own. Lesries had the hard looks to match his reputation, with a high, hooked nose and small, penetrating eyes made all the harder by a perpetual squint.
Treck, seeing his own adversary more clearly, laughed scornfully. “You are a little fellow, aren’t you? No matter. You know what I am?”
“I know what you are not,” Velmeran answered calmly.
“And what’s that?”
“You are not half Starwolf, since there is no such thing. And you are not going to leave this place alive.”
Treck laughed again. “My brave little man! And what are you that you think that you can take me?”
“More than I seem, I assure you.”
“Prove it, then!”
Whatever Lesries thought of his tiny adversary, he still did not intend to fight fair. He struck with a lightning swiftness meant to catch his enemy off guard, launching himself with remarkable grace to deliver a fatal kick to the base of the neck. His martial cry of attack turned to one of surprise when he felt himself plucked out of the air. He found himself suspended like a doll, two hands holding his wrists while two more held his ankles.
“Oh, shit!” he muttered in quiet despair as he realized his mistake. It was his last conscious thought.
Iyan Makayen stepped aside as medics hurried out of the room with the body, then turned back to survey the damage. He had seen some very strange things in his short career, but this was surely the strangest. It was inconceivable that this tiny off-worlder had thrown Treck Lesries across the length of the room, through an inner wall of the restaurant, across a second room, and halfway through the outer wall. And Lesries might well have gone through that second wall, except that it had a solid brick outer facing. Heavy wooden studs were scattered like matchsticks, and a fine, white powder from shattered plasterboard covered everything.
Den Ohlera, proprietor of the pub and owner of these shattered walls, also stared in disbelief, but it was the disbelief of an almost childlike delight. “A bull langie couldn’t have knocked him harder. Look at the hole he left! Just as neat as neat.”
“You’ll have a bit of a mess to tidy up, that’s for sure,” Makayen said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ohlera speculated. “Thought I might leave that one hole. Give the gang something to talk about, how that little off-worlder damn near pitched Treck Lesries into orbit. A regular conversation piece, as they say. He was bad for business in life, the way folks would scatter when he walked in. In death, he might be uncommonly good for business.”
“What about the damages, all the same?” Makayen asked.
“Oh, he made good on that right away,” the proprietor said, displaying a piece of jewelry worth at least twice the costs of repairs. “Surely you’ll not be arresting him for this. If you do, I’ll be the first to hire him a lawyer.”
“And I’ll be the second,” Makayen agreed. “I don’t expect I’ll have to, as long as he can give me fair answers to a couple of questions.”
They returned to the adjoining room, where Velmeran was sitting at a table with a cold drink, looking unconcerned.
“Let me get right to the point,” Makayen began unceremoniously. “Last night my sister came home half drunk and worried about some off-worlder she had met. A Trader by the name of Sergei Rachmaninoff. She said that he had run afoul of Treck Lesries, and Lesries was looking to kill him. Would you be that person?”
“I might.”
“Well, I thought that odd from the start, since there is no independent freighter on the ground or in system at the moment. No ship of any kind, for that matter, except the Methryn. So I ran a computer check on the name Sergei Rachmaninoff, and it told me something quite amazing.”
Velmeran shrugged. “It is hard to be original on short notice.”
Makayen nodded thoughtfully. “I figured as much. Well now, if you can give me an honest accounting of who you are, where you might be from and what you’re doing here, I’ll call it good and trouble you no more.”
“My name is Velmeran, Commander-designate of the Methryn,” he said, drawing aside his cape to reveal his lower arms — and the guns he wore. “I am trying to enjoy port leave.”
“Bless me, I’ve something cooking in the kitchen!” Den Ohlera exclaimed and ran from the room.
“Well, you can see why I would want to take a vacation from that name… and the reputation that goes with it,” Velmeran said, amused.
“I suppose I can,” Makayen agreed. “I was a little peeved at you, I must admit, for doing what I could never allow myself to do. You were waiting for him to come, weren’t you? Why did you do it?”
“Well, for any number of good reasons. Because he was a Union agent, for one. Because the Union cannot retaliate for his death if a Starwolf was responsible. To give Lenna something in exchange for the one thing she wants most and I cannot give her. And to keep you from having to sacrifice your career, your freedom, and possibly even your life trying to handle the matter yourself.”
“Then I owe you a lot, I suppose,” Makayen said. “And taking care of Treck Lesries for her makes up for your deception. But it will still break her heart when you go, for she’s expecting you to take her with you.”
“Yes, I know. This much, however, I can do. The Traders are a race apart, and they take car
e of their own. I can put the word out that someone with the training to be an apprentice in helm and navigation wants a place on a ship. Someone will come for her.”
“Fair enough,” Makayen agreed. “I think she’s a fool, but I can also see that she’ll never be happy here. Now be on, before I arrest you for possession of illegal arms.”
Velmeran smiled as he smoothed his cape into place. “Is there such a thing?”
“Sure, and that’s what we call it,” the Kanian replied. “For that matter, those jack-snappers you wear probably qualify… not that I would try not take them from you. Just promise me that you’ll try not to kill anyone else this visit.”
“Except Unioners,” Velmeran said on the way out.
“It’s open season on them!”
Velmeran had only just stepped outside the small cafe when he saw Lenna racing toward him down the narrow street of the Mall. He hurried to intercept her, although he suspected that she already knew something about his morning’s activities. She stopped just short of him and walked around him in a slow circle, inspecting him for damage.
“I saw the medics taking someone away just now,” she said. “I was afraid that Lesries had caught up with you.”
“He did,” Velmeran explained. “That was his body they were hauling off.”
“His body, did you say?” Lenna demanded, turning momentarily white in that curious way she had. “You killed him, did you now? And why the hell didn’t you wait for me? You sat in that pub until he came for you, didn’t you?”
“Sure, and I did,” he replied lightly. “I did not want you to be there when it happened.”
“Spare me not your barbarity, Mr. Rachmaninoff!” she exclaimed in exasperation as they started down the street. “I hope they plant him fast, so that I can have the pleasure of dancing on his grave.”
The Challenger left starflight reluctantly, her vast bulk refusing to lose momentum. The moment she dropped to sub-light speeds she sent out her riders, a hundred destroyers and twenty battleships she carried in bays hidden within her outer hull. They quickly fanned out ahead, forming a protective cone about the larger ships. A fleet of stingship carriers followed close behind, and then the supply convoy with spare engines and cannons transported in long racks. A planetary invasion force brought up the rear, then regular carriers and five battleships with a score of destroyer escorts. Two separate forces, one to deal with the rebellious planet they had come to tame, and the other to deal with the Starwolves who would come to protect it.
The Challenger’s bridge was a scene of organized confusion. It now seemed that Maeken Kea was the only Captain of this ship. Commander Trace clearly deferred to her in the operation of the ship, staying completely out of her chair and, for the most part, off the bridge as well. That did not mean, however, that she was not under his orders, and she waited now for him to tell her what he expected.
“All secure, Captain?” Trace asked suddenly over com, obviously still in his cabin. She bent over the unit in her console to answer.
“All secure, Commander. She fought us a little coming out of starflight, but I understand that you’ve see that before. What are your orders?”
“My orders?” Trace asked. “I brought you along to give the orders. What do you think we should do?”
Maeken Kea sat back in her chair a moment to consider that. “Actually, there are not just a great many options. First, we send in the invasion force immediately, standard procedure, and get that out of the way. It seems to me that this ship will fight best alone. Send the convoy into hiding and give it all our fighting ships for protection, since it is the weak link in our defenses. When the Starwolves realize that they cannot fight us directly, they will go after the convoy to rob us of our advantage in damage control.”
“Interesting,” Trace commented. “I had always thought to keep the convoy close, but you’re right. What next?”
“Well, a Fortress is no good in a chase, so we have to get the Starwolves to come to us. I would park it in a very wide orbit over the planet. With any luck they will see it, take it to be a large armored battle station like I almost did, and come strolling over to take a look. That way we might get them well within our range before the fighting starts. Then we move the stingship carriers halfway between us and the convoy so that they can move quickly to support either position at need.”
“Carry on as you see fit. You are in complete command.”
“Does that include the invasion force,?” she asked.
“Fleet Captain Margis is responsive to your orders. But he has done this before, so he knows what he is doing and you can trust him to handle things at his end.”
“Very good, sir,” Maeken said, although Trace had already closed the line. She shrugged and looked up. “Marenna Challenger?”
“Yes, Captain?” the machine responded promptly.
“Get me Captain Margis.”
The response came momentarily. “Margis here.”
“I’ve been busy with this monster of a ship, so I haven’t had a chance to look at what you’re up against. What do you think?”
“This is going to be a tough nut to crack,” Margis explained. “They’ve got quite a horde of fighters, and if they’re smart they’ll make us come inside the planetary defense shield to fight. They have the fighters and the defenses to make it hard to get at their defensive installations. We will take it slow and careful.”
“That’s fine,” Maeken answered. “Keep your communications closed so that nothing gives us away. We’re going to be parked a little way out pretending to be a battle station, and no one is to know otherwise. I certainly don’t want the locals tipping us off to the Starwolves. Proceed when ready.”
“We’re ready now, so we might as well go straight in,” Margis said. “I’ll keep you informed of our situation. Out.”
“Out.” Maeken glanced up. “Marenna?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Find us a likely place to hide this convoy, will you?”
“Word does have a way of getting around,” Lenna Makayen offered helpfully as Velmeran stared dejectedly at the pitcher of beer in front of him. He had been receiving ‘presents’ all afternoon, rewards from various members of the grateful population of Kanis for his brave act of pesticide. He had no use for any of it; Lenna stood to do well by his notoriety.
“You have no place for me in your ship. I’ve guessed that already,” Lenna said, returning to their original subject as she reached for his empty glass, set it beside her own, and filled up both.
“So? I have connections with the regular Traders. All I have to do is put in a good word for you, and someone will come for you soon. Or advise you where to meet them.”
“I’d rather go with you.”
He smiled. “Once you step on board your own ship, it will be a long time before you think of me again.”
“You’ll not be an easy one to forget,” Lenna said, reaching across the table to catch the end of one of his braids. The thick, soft tufts of fine hair fascinated her. “You come from somewhere outside Union space, don’t you?”
“No, I was born in this very sector,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re the most curious little fellow I’ve ever seen. You look like the people I grew up with, only they didn’t wear their hair in braids. And they didn’t speak with an accent.”
“Everyone has their own dialect.”
“Sure, but I know the Trader’s dialect,” she insisted. “Yours isn’t a dialect. It’s the accent of someone who knows Terran very well but speaks something else at home. For one thing, you don’t contract.”
“Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“You know what I mean,” Lenna said, frowning. “There’s something about you that is as alien as can be in something that’s still human.”
“What? Oh, come on!” Velmeran declared, rising swiftly and pulling her with him. “I learned last night that when you begin to wax philosophical, it means
that you are getting drunk.”
They paused outside the door of the pub, looking up and down the street. Velmeran was unaware that there was anything different about this night compared to the last, but there were more people out and about the narrow streets. And he thought from their manner and dress that they were looking for entertainment rather than just shopping.
“You realize that there is nowhere we can go tonight that people aren’t going to make a fuss over you,” Lenna said after a moment. They started down the street to their right.
“Why?” Velmeran asked. “Are they that glad to be rid of Lesries?”
“Everyone hated Lesries, that’s a fact, and everyone is glad he’s gone. But you, now. You’re a hero. It’s you they’re celebrating.”
“Me?” he asked, confused. “I only paid back a murderer.”
“And so you did, “ Lenna agreed. “That’s what people admire you for. You saw what needed to be done and you did it, simple and quick. You’re a little like Treck in that. Sure, he was a murderer and a first-rate bastard, but he took what he wanted and never gave a damn what anyone else thought about it. He was completely independent and never afraid of a thing, and neither are you. You’ve got to admire that in a man, because most of us don’t have it.”
Velmeran did his best to understand, but he was defeated by that curious sense of panic of a mind struggling with an impossible concept. To Kelvessan, the concepts of good and evil were nearly absolute. Their own laws of society were instinctive and inviolate, without the need of the enforcement of police and courts. For humans, he realized, the laws of nature were instinctive, laws that held that the self is all-important and each took what he wanted. The laws of society had to be learned and accepted, but were always in danger of being lost beneath older, more basic standards. He could understand that much, but that was the limit of his comprehension. He could not begin to understand why humans actually cherished that lawlessness in themselves.
He noticed that Lenna was staring at him very intently and shrugged. “Perhaps, but I still do not care for all the notoriety. I certainly do not want the reputation of being a killer.”
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