The Morcai Battalion: The Recruit

by Diana Palmer

  “So would I,” the old one chuckled. “I will see you later, warwoman.” He left, motioning the reluctant members of his unit out with him, reassuring them all the way.

  Hahnson read his medcom to her. “Now you only have a pierced lung and concussion, not to mention numerous contusions and lacerations.” He shrugged. “A few hours’ work and you’ll be dancing in the corridor. Well, limping in the corridor. You’ll need a couple of weeks of R&R before you return to duty.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Strick.”

  He glanced at Dtimun. “She can’t walk.”

  “Strick can carry me,” she said.

  “Strick isn’t in a rush to die again,” the doctor corrected with a meaningful glance at Dtimun, whose eyes were threatening violence, despite the sedative.

  Madeline was drowsy. She frowned at the byplay, not understanding.

  “If you’ll carry her inside, I’ll treat her,” Hahnson invited.

  Dtimun hesitated just for an instant.

  “The tranquillizer will keep you from going over the edge for that long,” Hahnson told him solemnly. “It’s safe.”

  Dtimun nodded. He bent, slid his arms gently under Madeline and lifted her, standing up in a graceful, fluid motion as if she weighed nothing at all.

  “You can’t...they’ll court-martial you, they’ll space you if they see this!” she protested, struggling.

  “Everyone here is Holconcom,” Dtimun told her. “Your surviving comrades are unconscious. It does not matter.”

  “But...!”

  “Cease and desist,” Dtimun said curtly, turning toward the cave entrance. He folded her even closer, feeling her warm body relax. He was very careful not to contract his arms. It would kill him to injure her even more. “Even the strictest protocols make allowances for extreme circumstances.” He strode out into the clearing. Komak and Stern smiled at him.

  They moved closer. “Hey, Ladybones,” Stern said gently. “How you doing?”

  She managed a smile. “Poorly. But I’ll heal. Thanks for the mutiny on my behalf,” she chuckled, grimacing when it hurt.

  Dtimun stiffened. Involuntarily, a faint growl came from him.

  Komak moved closer. He said something to Dtimun in the Holy Tongue, that the others couldn’t translate.

  Dtimun took a deep breath. He nodded. The anger seemed to drain out of him, but Stern moved cautiously back to the others.

  The largest of the Nagaashe moved close.

  “We know who you are,” it thought to Dtimun. “We will keep your secret. We know of the Nagaashe whom you protect on your estates on Memcache, and the child the red-haired female saved. We are in your debt. Our numbers are decimated.”

  “I understand,” he thought back.

  “You have risked much to rescue this one. The female is important to you,” the serpent added. “Not as a comrade. And she did not come here voluntarily on a military ship.”

  Dtimun scowled. “No. She was sent here deliberately to provoke a response. We know who, and why.”

  The serpent’s blue eyes closed and opened. “We will not retaliate. But this must not be allowed to happen again.” He cocked his great head and his hood vibrated. “You know what we can do. We have no ships, no weapons. But thought can kill. Can destroy. You know this better than any of your crew.”

  “I do,” he replied grimly. “We will not allow another incursion into your planetary system by any Tri-Fleet personnel.”

  The serpent nodded. “We are sorry for the destruction of the other females. It was not intentional. Their ship was fragile.”

  “I understand.”

  “We have told your...old one...that your Dectat may send an ambassador to us, and we will make a treaty with you,” the serpent said. “And then we may negotiate for inclusion in your Tri-Galaxy Council.”

  “The Dectat will be gratified,” he thought in reply. The liaison had long been hoped for by the Cehn-Tahr, because the Nagaashe had resources on their planet that no other system offered, especially vast Helium 3 deposits. “And the president of the Council will be gratified as well. I will inform them.”

  The serpent bowed. So did Dtimun.

  The serpent went back to the translator and began to hiss again.

  “A whole conversation took place that we missed, right?” Stern whispered to Dtimun.

  The alien smiled. “Yes. Pay attention to the negotiations. I may require you to learn Nagaashe.”

  Stern groaned.

  Dtimun carried Ruszel into the ship and down the long corridor to Hahnson’s medical unit.

  She curled close, drowsy and content, her arm going naturally around his neck. “I was so happy to see you. All of you,” she corrected at once, flushing.

  “As were we, to see you. We thought you dead.”

  There was a note in his deep voice, heavily accented all of a sudden.

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him, frowning.

  “I could not access your mind after the explosion,” he said, without looking at her.

  “I could have been dead. But you still came?”

  He looked down at her with an odd, golden shade in his cat-eyes, one she’d seen before. “I knew you were not dead.”

  “How?”

  “The old one knew. Because Komak was still here,” he answered enigmatically. He lifted his eyes back to the corridor and kept walking.

  He put her down on an examination table. Komak joined them, his face oddly flushed. “Incredible,” he said, staring down at her. “I never believed it possible to land on the Nagaashe planet at all. The treaty is history, but I thought the rest, including this rescue, was only an inflating of the legend. And the identity of those who came with the commander to rescue you...!”

  “Excuse me?” Madeline said blankly.

  Dtimun glared at the younger alien. But Komak’s attention was only on Madeline.

  “The identity of your rescuers was also supposed to be part of the legend...!”

  “Shut up, Komak,” Dtimun said sharply.

  “Yes,” came a deep voice from the doorway. “Shut up, Komak.”

  The younger alien tried to bow and salute at the same time as the old fellow marched into the room. Dtimun kicked his boot. Hard.

  “You have duties,” Dtimun told him.

  Komak saluted. “Yes, sir.” He grinned, at Dtimun and then the old fellow on his way out. He paused at the door and actually laughed as he went on his way.

  “Ruszel,” the old fellow greeted her with a smile.

  “Sir!” She tried to salute and grimaced. “Sorry, sir, I can’t lift my arm.”

  “There is no need for protocol between us,” he replied.

  There was a commotion in the hall. The old fellow muttered. “My men will not rest until they see for themselves that you are alive. We shall have to let them in,” he said curtly, “or there will be bloodshed. Again.” He glanced at Dtimun. “Even your best Holconcom would be hard-pressed to overcome my bodyguard.”

  “Indeed,” Dtimun said with a sigh. He nodded to the Holconcom guard, who stepped back with what looked like relief.

  The kehmatemer filed in quickly, in formation, their royal blue uniforms bright in the cubicle’s stark lights. They gathered around the examination table, all talking at once. Their captain, Rhemun, silenced them.

  “Ruszel, we are happy that you survived,” he spoke for them. “We were prepared to give our own blood to recover you! We swore a blood oath!”

  She laughed and winced. It hurt. “Thanks, Captain. Hi, guys! I’m so glad to see you. I thought my girls and I would die here.”

  “Never while there was a breath in my body,” Dtimun thought grimly. Madeline and the old fellow both stared at him, Madeline with surprise, as she heard the words in her min
d.

  “I don’t have the words,” she said, almost choking on emotion.

  The Cehn-Tahr, as a unit, smiled at her with green eyes.

  “Come. She needs rest,” the old fellow told his unit. “We will speak again, Ruszel. But in the interests of interplanetary relations, you must forget that you have seen us aboard the Morcai.”

  “Seen whom, sir?” she asked with a grin. “It was only the Holconcom here.”

  He chuckled. The kehmatemer tried to bow to Dtimun but he growled at them. They rushed out after the old one.

  Madeline eyed him strangely.

  He straightened. “I outrank them,” he said abruptly.

  “Oh. Okay.” She glanced at Hahnson, who was placing a healer on her bare stomach and activating it. “How are my girls?” she asked.

  “They’re still unconscious.” The way he said it was odd.

  She frowned. “And...?”

  He shrugged. “It’s better if they don’t know the particulars of this expedition,” he replied. “They aren’t Holconcom, so they don’t owe us silence. I knocked them out and I’ll keep them that way until we get home. We’ll have our story straight by then. They’re going to be fine,” he added.

  She was solemn. “I lost my whole unit except for Darmila and Rayson. It’s all Ambassador Taylor’s fault!” She looked up at Dtimun. “Sir, if you’ll loan me a novapen and turn your back for five minutes when we return to Trimerius, I’ll...!”

  “Your indignation is understandable,” Dtimun interrupted. “But we need him where he is. As a conduit of intel, he is invaluable. We have access to his private communications with the Rojoks. However, a day of reckoning will come. Soon.”

  “I, uh, have work to do,” Hahnson said, smiling as he moved away.

  “Thanks, Strick,” she replied gently.

  “You’re very welcome.” He gave the C.O. a reassuring look and went to his patients.

  Dtimun stared at Madeline for a long moment. His expression was strange.

  “Thank you for coming to rescue us. And please thank Lawson and the Council...”

  “That...pacifistic...glutted...posturing conglomeration of fools and their prehistoric attitudes!” he growled, whirling. His eyes were dark brown with anger. “The Terravegan ambassador convinced the Council that a rescue mission was not only impossible, but economically hopeless. He demanded the recall of all Terravegan troops from the Holconcom and dared them to refuse under threat of court-martial or spacing! Lawson’s hands were tied.”

  She didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. “Then how...?”

  “Your old fellow,” he explained, calming a little. “He was contacted by the Nagaashe and led here. I pulled the Holconcom out of the Tri-Galaxy Fleet, with his...and the Dectat’s,” he corrected abruptly, “permission.” He’d heard that from the old one aboard the ship on the way here. From what he learned, the president of the Dectat was apologizing in several dialects for what he’d said. Dtimun chuckled silently. The old one was formidable in council. His presence here alone would ensure that the Dectat couldn’t act against Dtimun without implicating the older Cehn-Tahr. And that the Dectat would never dare to do.

  She felt warm affection for the old fellow, but shock for the unexpected diplomatic upheaval Dtimun’s decision would have had on the Council and even the Tri-Fleet. All that, for a mere woman?

  “You are still Holconcom,” Dtimun explained solemnly. “We would not leave you to your fate.”

  She frowned. “If Taylor forbade a rescue attempt—I mean, half the crew is Terravegan...?” She left the question hanging.

  “Because of the Terravegan ambassador’s threat, I attempted to leave the Terravegans behind, but they mutinied and refused to leave the ship. Then the old fellow and his kehmatemer came aboard and also refused to leave,” he added with a flash of laughing green eyes.

  She began to smile. She’d never felt more valued. It was surprising, but touching. She studied his hard face. The strain of the past few days showed there. “But how did you negotiate for our release? The Cehn-Tahr have no embassy here.”

  “We picked up a...diplomat, of sorts, who negotiated with the Nagaashe for us. His race has a treaty with the Nagaashe. We are at war with him, but he came with a friend who provided him with a disguise.”

  He turned toward the open door, and motioned to two figures standing there. One was dressed in the robes of a desert chieftain. He looked quite humanoid, with black hair and eyes and a dark complexion. He smiled, and white teeth flashed at her. His tall, muscular companion was wearing robes like a Terravegan monk, his features obscured, but Madeline was fairly certain that he was a Rojok.

  “Ruszel,” the chieftain said, still smiling. “With the heart and courage of a galot! Do you remember me?”

  She caught her breath. “You’re Dacerian,” she exclaimed. “Hazheen Kamon, if I recall. The chief of one of the bigger tribes on the planet. The commander offered to trade me to you for a yomuth, as I recall,” she added and laughed.

  Dtimun’s eyes made a green, shimmering smile at the memory.

  “That is true,” he chuckled, “but I am certain that he didn’t mean it. I am, indeed, Hazheen Kamon. Your commander lived with my tribe many decades past, when he was a cadet at the military academy on my world.”

  “It was the finest military academy in the galaxy,” the Rojok added. There was a smile in his voice, which seemed oddly familiar.

  “Indeed,” Dtimun replied easily, “and friendships made there have outlasted alliances and even wars.”

  Hazheen Kamon chuckled. “So it seems. It is an honor to aid in your rescue, warwoman,” he told Madeline.

  “Thank you for your help, sir,” Madeline said with genuine gratitude.

  “You are welcome.” He bowed and nodded to the other two before he left the compartment.

  The Rojok moved his hood back and Madeline’s gasp of recognition was audible. The “monk” was Chacon himself.

  “Sir, the risk...!” she exclaimed.

  He shrugged and smiled. “I owe your commander my life. It was little enough to do in return.” He wagged a long finger at her. “However, Ruszel, I will expect you to behave with better judgment in the future. You should never have left the Holconcom. Specialists in Cularian medicine are thin on the ground, even in these times.”

  She managed a wan smile. She couldn’t tell him why she’d left. “That’s twice I owe you my life, sir,” she said.

  “One day, you may save mine,” he chuckled. He turned and clasped forearms with Dtimun. “Hazheen and I will transfer to the scout ship in your hangar and return to Dacerius before any of your complement and crew recognize me and ask awkward questions. Keep well, Dtimun.”

  “And you. We owe you a great debt of gratitude for your help.”

  Chacon replaced his hood and moved back out into the corridor.

  “One must say that you collect unique friendships,” she told Dtimun. Now she understood Dtimun’s relationship with Chacon. Long before the war, the two had been friends at military school.

  He clasped his hands behind him as he studied her. “One could say the same for you.”

  “How is Mallory working out?” she asked.

  He sighed. “It would be better not to ask.”

  “That bad?” she murmured.

  “She is terrified of me.”

  “Imagine that,” she murmured dryly. She moved and grimaced. The pain had eased, but there was a lot of discomfort. But she looked at him and helpless delight flooded her.

  He stiffened, his lips making a thin line, as the bombardment of pheromones engulfed him in tension. “And here we are again,” he muttered. “I shall have to leave or call Hahnson back with more sedative.”

  She grimaced. “I’m sorry, sir. Really I am.”

&n
bsp; He drew in a harsh breath. “It’s not your fault.”

  She felt the powerful hum of the ship’s engines as it left orbit. “Are we headed back to Trimerius now?” she asked, anticipating that she would be returned almost at once to Admiral Mashita’s unit for recuperation.

  “No,” he said shortly. “We are taking you to Memcache. Caneese has already contacted Admiral Lawson about this. You will stay at Mahkmannah. Lieutenant Mallory and Hahnson will remain, to oversee your care. I have duties that will require a few days in the capital. The Holconcom will be allowed R&R during my absence.”

  She managed a smile. “They’d probably prefer to go with you. Mahkmannah is rather serene for our crew.”

  He smiled, too. “I agree. I will take the majority of them with me to the capital and allow them the use of scout ships for their leave.”

  She settled back down, shifting restlessly. “Thank you for coming after us, sir,” she said quietly. “I expected to die, especially when I came to and found myself surrounded by Nagaashe.” She frowned. “They really hated the Cehn-Tahr.”

  His eyes narrowed. “There was something more, was there not? A reason that they contacted the old fellow instead of letting you die?”

  She nodded. She hesitated. “I showed them the memory I had, when you saved the little Altairian child aboard ship, just after you rescued us from the Rojoks near Terramer.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. She knew he was reading, also, her helpless disclosure of that one day with him on Memcache. She had been forced, unwilling, to allow the old fellow access to it as well.

  “You wanted to refuse the old one access to your thoughts,” he said. “It would have meant your death.”

  “He belongs to the Dectat,” she said softly. “I was afraid that he might put duty above comradeship.”

  “Once, long ago, that might have been true. He and I have been adversaries for longer than you have lived,” he added. “But because of you, wounds have been mended. Many wounds.”

  “I haven’t done much lately, except mess things up,” she sighed.