by Ross Winkler
Kai grabbed a passing man by the shirt collar and spun him around. "What's happening?"
Kai's physical stature and the strength of his voice cowed the man's surprised anger. "There's vehicles coming. No one knows if they're friendly or not."
Kai let the man go. "We might have a problem," he said, rushing past the table of Maharatha, who fell in behind. The way out was crowded as the bar denizens tried to get outside all at the same time, heedless to what was behind.
"MOVE!" Kai shouted, his voice cutting through the excited hum of voices, the press of anxious bodies. He projected, too, his Word of Command and Sahktriya cleaving a pathway to the exit.
Outside, the streets were chaotic. People, drunken and fearful, spilled from bars and apartments out onto the streets; farmers and cooks packed up their carts; men and women on horseback pushed through the crowded streets using their horses' size to make way. Every hand held a weapon, and Civil Police tried to keep order while Wei officers struggled to organize their defensive troops.
Kai led the small procession across the street to a stairwell that granted them access to the top of the wall. He entered his code and held the door for the others of his Void.
The Maharatha streamed upward, the wall defenders sparing them a short glance as they prepped themselves for battle against unknown enemies. Corwin slid to the front, and he led his Void in a low crouch along the wall to where they could best see the oncoming enemy. The cavalcade approached along the southern road and was just now streaming from the cover of the woods into the open killing grounds.
"Get eyes on targets," Corwin said, staying low but throwing his rifle up onto the edge of the parapet and looking out through the scope. The others did the same, Chahal's weapon and scope both larger and longer than the others.
The scopes compensated for the low light, and it was obvious now that the onrushing vehicles bore Republic colors, the tanks dressed in flat gray, turret gunners in the gray-on-gray combat suits of the Teyma Caste. A single man stood straddling the main gun atop the lead tank. His suit, pressed and neat, bore the markings of a Teyma Mobile Sergeant.
Corwin played his scope over the Sergeant's face, checking for the tell-tale scars and same-face of the Choxen.
Finding none, Corwin stood, slinging his rifle behind his back. "Stand down, everyone. They are Republic soldiers."
Along the wall-top, nearby city defenders cheered. It spread, picking up speed as those in the streets below, relieved, joined in. Cheers raced round the city until it seemed like everyone had taken up the same excited call.
Everyone that is, except Corwin and his Void. Corwin's frown only deepened. "All right," he said, "let's go receive the good Mobile Sergeant and ask him why he didn't announce himself sooner."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The four Maharatha waited with Mayor Yanmao a dozen meters beyond the southern gate. Yanmao glanced around, his eyes scanning the tree line.
The tank rolled to a stop before the Maharatha, the Mobile Sergeant eying them for a moment. He slid down the armor plating to the ground. Languid brown eyes with dropping eyelids swept across the gathered Maharatha, at once taking them in and dismissing them.
He bowed at the perfect angle but still somehow managed to make it disrespectful; perhaps it was the set of his lips, almost smiling but more of a smirk. "I am Mobile Sergeant Jame Shota. You give me dreng with your presence."
Yanmao frowned, and his haggard face took on a little more worry. "I am Oniwabanshu Mayor Yanmao. This is Maharatha Void Commander Shura and his Maharatha Void."
Shota inhaled a sharp sniff. "Yes. I've heard of you and your successes, along with the others." He swept his eyes over them again, assessing, judging.
"Why didn't you announce yourself sooner?" Corwin asked, steel in his voice.
"We, my superiors and I, have reports that things are getting out of control here and that announcing our presence may have, in fact, endangered our lives and our mission." Shota stared at Yanmao, eyes intensifying with each word.
"Your superiors know better—" Yanmao began.
Shota interrupted. "I am here as a special envoy working under the Beirat. My superiors are the highest members of that esteemed institution, and they do know better than the likes of a Mayor of a border settlement — especially with regards to galactic diplomacy."
Yanmao's mouth snapped shut.
"We will conduct our own operations in this sector." He turned to face Corwin and bowed. "Working in conjunction with the Maharatha, of course." He gave them a shark's smile.
Corwin's frown deepened. "You are an envoy? To whom?"
"While I am not required to give you the details of my mission, for the sake of interagency cooperation, I shall. We were sent to receive Alliance dignitaries who are scheduled to arrive within the week. I am tasked with handling any diplomatic agreements as well as their safety while they make their rounds. I trust that you will make yourselves available should they need defending." It was not a question.
"As official representatives of the Oniban, we are trained in diplomacy and are also authorized to make agreements on behalf of the Republic — better qualified, in fact, than even the highest diplomat within the Beirat," Corwin said. "You will notify us as soon as they arrive so that we may be present to greet them with all the accolades they deserve. I would hate for them to take offense at being greeted by a mere Mobile Sergeant."
Anger flashed over Shota's features, but he smothered it and bowed again. "I'll make sure of that, sir. I must see to my men and women." He turned and left.
"That wickting guy," Phae said, turning to Corwin. "Nice job putting him in his place."
Yanmao raised a hand in warning. "Let's speak somewhere private. Quickly. Follow me, please."
The Void looked to Corwin. He shrugged. "Let's go."
Yanmao activated his blackout device and rubbed his hands over a weary face. "This is maybe the worst situation, beyond all-out Choxen invasion, that we could face right now."
"Who is that guy? He's a wickt." Kai's voice was painful in the enclosed space.
"And how does a Teyma get off talking down to you?" Phae asked.
"Jame Shota," Yanmao said, taking the glass container from his desk and pouring off three fingers of the golden liquid inside, "is a rising star in the small military force that the Beirat created a few years back."
"I never heard about that," Corwin said.
Yanmao shook his head. "Not many did." He took a sip of his drink. "We, that is, the Oniwabanshu, kept it out of the public eye — didn't want the public to think that the Oniban's power was waning."
"But the Beirat holds no real power. They work on the enactment and reformation of Republic laws, limited diplomatic relations. Why does the Beirat need a military?" Corwin asked.
Yanmao took a larger sip of his drink. "At its formation, the Beirat was just an empty micro organization that the First Oniban consulted on basic domestic issues. The creation of the Beirat was in response to concerns that the First Oniban had, or would become, a dictator. At the time it was thought that it would mimic some preinvasion governments and provide a check to the Oniban's power.
"In reality, the small society of Human survivors couldn't survive in a democratic state. They were a hodgepodge from different nation-states, religions, and castes, and they were too close to extinction to engage in the democratic process of debate. From the start, the seats within the Beirat were staffed with those loyal to the Oniban. It provided the illusion of control that helped assuage the fears of those not in power.
"Over the last four centuries, that stranglehold over the Beirat has waned. A few of the more industrious and savvy members have united and scraped for more power. Against their conniving, each Oniban has had to yield to their demands a little every time. The formation of the Beirat Military was the preceding Oniban's foolish concession to that struggle."
Corwin nodded. "Okay. Then what is he doing here instead of a real military guard detail?"
"T
he purpose of the Beirat Military was to be an autonomous unit of soldiers that could deploy in situations wherever the Beirat deemed the Wei Caste was lacking." Yanmao quaffed the remainder of his drink.
"The only reason that I can think of whay Shota is here with the Beirat Military, instead of a real military unit, is because the aliens aren't sanctioned diplomatic delegates."
"That doesn't make sense," Phae said. "Why would they dispatch any Republic soldiers if they weren't true delegates?"
Yanmao nodded and poured a few more fingers of liquor. "As you are all aware, the societies of the individual alien races and the culture of the Intergalactic Alliance as a whole are varied in the extreme. Even within one species there can be many factions, each with its own agenda. Most are loyal to the species, but some choose to break away.
"Part of the treaty that the Exiles signed with the Prehson requires Humanity to supply guards to all nonmilitary Alliance members that visit the planet. I think that's what's happening here."
"So they could be here on holiday?" Corwin asked.
Yanmao chuckled. "No. The planet hasn't been opened to tourism yet." He paused to drink again. "No, the aliens have some business here, a survey crew maybe, perhaps something they call 'Auditors.' Whatever they are, even the smallest of these organizations possess more resources and manpower than Humanity could acquire in a decade."
"Then why do they need the Beirat Military?"
Yanmao sipped again. "Respect, mostly. Also, imagine the backlash with an IGA client member if even the smallest of their factions is killed or captured on Earth. Humanity would be shunned, or they would increase the Tithe."
"Either way, Shota's here to help. Good," Chahal said.
Yanmao shrugged. "Well, kind of. He's here to help himself and his faction — a faction that works for the Beirat, not the Oniban."
"Ah," Corwin said, "so a mission of this stature will give Shota and his benefactors dreng, and with that, power."
"That's right. They have their own agendas, and if Shota can discredit the Maharatha — and by association the Oniban — and raise himself and his benefactors up in the process, he'll do it."
Yanmao took the container from his desk again, but Corwin laid his hand over the drinking glass. "You need a clear mind until this is over."
For a moment it looked as if Yanmao would protest, but he relinquished with a nod and replaced the cap.
"Good," Corwin said, standing. He gathered his Void with his eyes. "We have some things to take care of."
On the way back to their bunks, the Maharatha were silent, contemplating the new information, rolling it around their minds and trying to make sense of it. They stopped by their storage room, and Corwin took his sneak suit's helmet from the wall, carrying it under one arm.
They sprawled out onto the room's beds as Corwin linked to the helmet through his implant. With a few thoughts he located and called the com number of the Military Operations arm of the Oniwabanshu.
After a few seconds of silence, someone answered the line. The Oniban's clear soprano voice came through the helmet's speakers. "This is the Oniban."
The others in the room sat up straight; Kai rammed his head against the upper bunk's frame.
"Ma'am, you give us dreng," Corwin said, exchanging glances with Chahal.
Silence from the other line.
With a shrug, Corwin went on. "I'm calling to report mission success, ma'am. The Quislings have been destroyed."
"Noted. Corwin, do you know what kind of commotion you've started here?"
"W-what? No, ma'am."
"I've had IGA representatives bombarding my office with flight plans and requests for information. What can you tell me about it?"
"About what, ma'am?"
"I don't know!" Her voice was more akin to a growl. "Something you put into the Library search cue. They've locked down our single connection with security protocols well over my authority to override. I've had my people groveling and scraping to get it back online."
Corwin's heart skipped a beat. "I, I didn't know anything about it. We took it from the Quislings when we destroyed their camp."
"Well, do you still have it?"
"Yes, ma'am. I have a scan of it too. Let me send it to you."
"NO!" The four Maharatha cringed. "Whatever it is, the IGA has mobilized six drop ships and several thousand soldiers to come and collect it from you. Keep it with you; keep it safe and don't let anyone get their hands on it."
"I understand, ma'am."
"Good. Stay there until they come for you. Best I can figure is a couple days."
"Understood. May I make a request, ma'am?"
"Maybe. What do you want?"
"When we destroyed the Quisling caravan, we took prisoners. Six children."
"And your request?" the Oniban asked.
"That they be accepted into the Republic. Like I was." Corwin added the last part as an afterthought and even as he said it realized how false a statement it was. He'd never been accepted, never would be, and the captured Quisling children wouldn't either.
The Oniban was silent. "Fine. We'll spread them out across the Republic into the orphan crèches. Anything else?"
"Split them up, ma'am? I request that the brothers stay together."
"Request denied. Two Quislings together would mean trouble. Anything else?"
"No, ma'am," Corwin said.
The line went dead.
Corwin shook himself. "All right. I guess we'd better get some sleep before the IGA arrives and starts asking questions."
"Corwin, sir," Kai began, "could we see the … the thing you found?"
Corwin shrugged and fished in his cargo pocket. "Sure."
He pulled forth the orb and handed it to Kai, who examined it, then passed it on to Phae. She gave it a cursory inspection then tossed it to Chahal.
Chahal gave her a glare, and Phae returned a little smile and a shrug. "I knew you'd catch it."
Once Chahal handed the orb back to Corwin, he stowed it away in his pack. "Anyone seen or heard of anything like it?"
They shook their heads.
Corwin shrugged. "All right, I guess we just wait." He slid his helmet under his bed and stripped down to his underwear. The others of his Void — along with most of the Republic — slept naked, and as Kai, Chahal, and Phae undressed, Corwin kept his eyes locked on the underside of the bunk above his.
The last one into bed, Kai dimmed the lights and slid onto his bunk. The supports groaned and creaked under his bulk. Corwin waited as they shifted in search of comfort on foreign beds, then waited a handful of minutes more for the change of breath and gentle snores that indicated unconsciousness. He removed the microcom from his pack and flipped it open, careful not to let the screen's light give him away.
The small screen displayed a message:
Need tracker frequency.
A quick search through the com showed that there were no numbers stored within, and the message had no associated number either. For lack of a better idea, Corwin typed in the tracker's frequency. After a few seconds, his message flashed and disappeared.
Corwin tucked the com away and rolled onto his back. As he waited for sleep to take him, he stared upward into the gloom, the gray material of the bunk above him almost invisible. It wasn't a fast process — it never was — and as he waited his mind turned to the Quisling children.
He wanted to let it go; longed to forget about them and their miserable past, their hopeless future, but he couldn't. There was too much of himself in them.
The brothers.
Long-repressed images and memories came back unbidden, fiercer now as they broke free of their restraints.
Running through the forest, fleeing the destruction of their camp and family not far behind. He still saw the blood, still heard the screams of combat snuffed out by death. Always the pain in his chest as his lungs stung from smoke and his legs burned from running.
And his brother. That was the last he'd seen of him as an armor
ed hand yanked him out of their meager cover to smother him under cover of night.
Corwin sat up in his bunk and ran shaking hands through his hair and down his neck. He wouldn't sleep tonight. Gathering his clothes, his pack, his sidearm, he slipped from the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Corwin jogged around the city, twice, before stopping at the firing range. Every Republic city had one, and like the showers, it was in use at all times. The firing ranges always seemed out of place to Corwin given the Republic's concepts of dreng and jendr. Firing round after round at targets seemed like a waste of ammunition. He decided, when he was wont to come to a reasonable explanation, that perhaps a few hundred rounds was less wasteful than the death of a soldier and loss of their equipment.
As he squeezed out the last rounds of his sixth full clip, Corwin was grateful for the indulgence. When he had lived in the wilds with his family, ammunition was so rare a commodity that he hadn't fired a real bullet until he'd spent two years handling an empty gun. The hybrid rounds that he now fired would have knocked the boyhood memory of himself onto his back.
At a small table outside the range doors, Corwin cleaned his weapon. He could have thrown it into the bin with all the rest, and a Technician would have received it, cleaned it, and delivered it to him, but he enjoyed the monotony of the process. The gun came apart at his expert touch, and he wiped and scrubbed and oiled it clean, then reassembled it all. Then he did it again, and again, then once more with his eyes closed.
He was no closer to sleep than he was before.
With a sigh he stood and wandered around the city. He found himself, after a time, in front of the jail.
"Aww, wickt," he said under his breath. Entering his passcode, Corwin pushed into the hive of cells.
The Wei guard stood from where he slouched against the wall and bowed. "Sir."
"Where are the Quislings?"
"Third hall on your left, sir. Fourth, fifth, and sixth cells."
Corwin nodded and walked to the edge of the hallway, slowing and quieting his footsteps so the skittish Quislings wouldn't hear his approach. He also pulled back his Sahktriya, condensed it, hid it away so they could not dyzu his presence.