IronStar

by Hallman, Grant

  “And this convinced them?” asked Irshe.

  “Almost. Almost, Irshe-ro’tachk. When they first asked me why I served Kirrah Warmaster, I asked her what to tell them. Do you recall what she said?”

  At Irshe’s thoughtful look, Kirrah supplied: “I told you to tell them your truth. And…?”

  “I translated those words exactly. Then, I think, they understood. They had already seen me leading your Wrth and your Talamae in battle. But then, they saw that even at the very heart of the negotiation, with the outcome still undecided, you trusted me. This is what convinced them, I believe, that they could trust you.” The group fell silent for a few moments, eating and considering. Finally Captain Og’drai spoke:

  “There will be great celebration when we return, Warmaster. This is your second major victory, as remarkable as the first and as low in cost. To devastate an O’dai war fleet - apologies, Fleet-Captain Schmado, but even you declared as much.” The O’dai waved ‘continue’ from his place across the fire. The small Captain wiped a bit of grease from his lips and continued:

  “The soldiers will follow you anywhere, Warmaster. You are becoming a legend. I heard some of the men on the ride this afternoon, retelling how, when the treacherous Captain Durkalo was about to fill you with crossbow bolts, your namesake the kae’rruckh cried out from above and distracted him at a critical moment. The soldiers think you are protected by heaven.”

  “The soldiers need to be more realistic, Og’drai. I am one woman. I have knowledge that people on this world do not, but nine tenths of that knowledge is useless to me. We lack the tools to make the tools to make the devices. My Regnum comrades will come, but not for …some time,” Kirrah caught herself before saying ‘one hundred thirty days or more’ in front of their O’dai guest. “Meanwhile, we may face more fighting. I simply cannot guarantee this kind of victory every time.”

  “Even so, Warmaster, but soldiers are often superstitious, and confidence is…” Og’drai broke off at a commotion rising nearby.

  “Warmaster!” a soldier called. “The Kruss is stirring!” They all stepped hastily to the man’s side, and Kirrah knelt next to the small bound figure. A thin line of heavy mucous drooled from a corner of its mouth, and its eyes were fluttering open and closed. A soft hissing murmur issued from between its lips. Kirrah set her wristcomp to translate Kruss speech and heard:

  « water, Lssghagk begs water »

  Kirrah nodded, and someone brought her a mug. She poured a few drops onto the being’s lips, and spoke into her wristcomp:

  “Is your name Liss-ghack?” The translator AI would hopefully render the unpronounceable proper name correctly. Hisses and gurgling issued from the device’s speaker to the Kruss.

  « more water »

  “First, your name. You are in danger here. Do nothing until you have heard me. Your name, then water.” The elongated head lolled on the neck, the eyes closed.

  « Lssghagk. Name Lssghagk. Need water » Kirrah administered another few drops, kept them dripping.

  “Your suit is damaged. Your …weapon is damaged.” For the first time, Kirrah realized she was talking to her wristcomp in Talamae, not Standard. She switched to Standard for the technical vocabulary, noticing how strange it felt on her tongue. “Your communicator is damaged. Your beamer is destroyed. There is a knife behind your head, if your helmet attempts to close, it will likely kill you. Do you understand? I do not want you injured further.”

  « I understand. I comply. Without water I die. Three, four liters at least. » Kirrah had several of the men raise the creature to an upright position and allowed it two mugs, about a liter of water, which it lapped up using a narrow dark-gray tongue. As it drank, she could see its eyes roving over the camp, probing and analyzing.

  “You have been unconscious many hours. Why? What is the problem?”

  « tassa#kkraa » The translator passed the unfamiliar word, including the hard rattle sound (#), without modification.

  « This one ran from pursuers, until felled by tassa#kkraa. Human would say ‘metabolic crash’. No energy remains, very dangerous. Water required. More water. »

  “You purchase water with information. How long have you been on-planet?” More lolling head, more eye-blinking, in that weird way of sphinctering shut and open, not quite together.

  « Two years, local. Water needed. »

  “How many Kruss on-planet?”

  « Sixteen, plus some guard soldiers. »

  “How many ships?”

  « aass#aa, need water »

  “Your information is not satisfactory. Another mug of water when you remove your suit. You will be bound again, but…”

  « Psaa#sskaa! You are cruel! Need water! »

  “Do you see water coming to you? I do not need Kruss. I will hold Kruss in a secure cell, until Regnum can transport you to a neutral planet. I will trade food and water. But I will take no chances. Your life is not worth even a small risk, to me or any of my soldiers. I believe your suit has resources I have not been able to neutralize. You will remove it now, or I will test its cooling system in that fire until it fails. And a little farther.”

  « Human tortures Kruss. Breaks Civilium law. Penalties, sanctions. Bad… » The translator and talker fell silent together, as Kirrah’s sidearm was suddenly pressing into the top of its head. The human onlookers drew back, except Peetha, who was suddenly at Kirrah’s side, eyes gleaming, her new Kruss blade drawn and ready.

  “Don’t - ever - quote - Civilium law - to me,” Kirrah ground out between clenched teeth. “Your vessel fired on mine, no hail, no provocation, in free space. Three times. That is what the Civilium Scrutineer and Justice Board will hear. That, and how the trauma drove me temporarily insane, and led to my regrettably excessive caution with the dangerous and uncooperative Kruss prisoner. Your Honor.” The Kruss’s eyes were sphinctering open and closed, alternately. Its tongue lolled out one side of its black-lipped mouth.

  « You speak well, for a human. I must comply. Unbind me and I will open my suit for you. »

  “You insult my intelligence. First release your suit seal, and retract its boots and gloves.” Alien fingers moved against pressure pads in the gloves, and below the ropes, one boot split, resealed, then retracted fully up into the cuff, exposing a hard leathery foot about thirty centimeters long, with cream-colored three-centimeter razor-sharp nails.

  « I regret, the suit seal malfunctions. Does not open. » Kirrah sighed and stood from her half-crouch at the creature’s side. Peetha’s eyes questioned her, blade ready.

  “I regret, the beamer malfunctions,” Kirrah said through her wristcomp. The Kruss’s eyes narrowed and lips peeled back from black shearing teeth. She swiftly swung her sidearm down and fired a searing bolt into the creature’s unprotected foot. Bits of steaming flesh sprayed in all directions, splattering her startled companions. A high screech stabbed into the night. The Kruss lunged galvanically against its restraints, the heavy ropes creaking audibly. Air hissed harshly in and out of the nostrils at the back of its skull, and its mouth opened and closed in a rictus of agony. Several of her companions stared in shock at the sudden violence.

  Purple-rimmed black eyes rolled and focused on her, slid away, focused again. The gray tongue licked at a ragged place where the carnivore’s teeth had bitten into black lips. A stream of pale pink fluid from the ankle’s stump slowed to a trickle and stopped as the suit’s tourniquet activated automatically. Broken ends of three of the tough, clear cartilaginous rods that the Kruss called bones, squeezed together under the cuff’s pressure. Hope that hurts, something ground out in the back of Kirrah’s mind.

  “Let us review your situation. A healthy Kruss can kill any number of armed humans. You, however, are bound, helpless, and now missing a foot for your insults. If I intend to kill you, I will do so now.” The beamer passed across the captive’s face, lingering over one wide eye, then returned to its holster.

  “You are a danger and an inconvenience to me, nevertheless I int
end to hold you until you can be safely repatriated. I will tolerate no more games. Please, please do not open your suit, so that I may cook you out of it over this fire. I would enjoy that, and I doubt my companions know just how good roast Kruss smells.”

  “You, you, and you,” Kirrah gestured to wide-eyed soldiers standing in the circle around them. “Carry this creature to the fire.” The men approached warily, but laid firm hands on the being.

  « #ssee! Pa#hhthss! I yield! I yield! » The being’s suit split down the front from neck to groin, and the other boot and both gloves retracted. With its muzzle wrapped tightly in a Wrth lasso and two more around its neck, the Kruss was stripped from its suit one limb at a time and rebound in the heavy mooring ropes. Kirrah’s sidearm kept vigilant watch over the proceedings. Another cord replaced the suit’s tourniquet around the oozing stump of ankle. An uneasy composure returned to the camp. Kirrah realized some explanation of the confrontation was required.

  “Listen to me, soldiers of Talam. Your Warmaster will not always explain her decisions, but this has been extraordinary. I want you to understand what you have seen. Know that these creatures can regenerate lost limbs. I have not maimed it, I have temporarily inconvenienced it. Half a year from now, it will have grown a new foot. In a year, it will forget which foot was damaged.

  “There is no safe way for men to handle a Kruss. Many have died proving this. This one has attempted several times to trick me into removing its bonds, and tried trickery to avoid removing its armor. I believe its suit can be tracked by its comrades, and I know it protects it from your arrows and blades. By destroying its foot, I have insured it will not try to escape again, and convinced it to obey.

  “Guard it well. If it makes this sound,” Kirrah keyed her wristcomp, and three of the rattling (#) sounds issued, “call for me. Otherwise, do nothing, nothing at all, to help it or feed it or comfort it. It is still three times as fast as a man, and twice as strong, and very dangerous. If anyone has the slightest doubt that this creature can and will kill him, do not come within twenty hab’la of it, on peril of your life.”

  As the camp settled for the night, she sent four men with torches and the Kruss suit, and orders to carry it at least eight doi’la down-river, fill it with stones and sand, tie it securely, and heave it as far into the river as they could. Satisfied that she had done everything that could be done, she finally rolled exhausted into her sleeping blankets and fell into a deep sleep.

  Much later that night, Kirrah woke to the sound of a ghastly shriek somewhere in the camp. Her tent flap burst inward immediately and Irshe lunged inside, blade drawn, looking wildly about. Struggling to consciousness, she found her sidearm and demanded:

  “Who screamed? What’s happening?”

  “You screamed, Kirrah Warmaster. Where is the danger?” Peetha’s face appeared behind Irshe, looking anxious. From outside came the sounds of men stumbling out of their bedrolls, weapons being drawn.

  “I… I screamed?” Memory rummaged over the preceding few minutes, found nothing but blackness and sleep. And the sound of a scream.

  “Kirrah’jasa, it is a dream of kaena’hachk. Issthe can help you with it when we return. Do you remember any of it?”

  “Irshe, nothing… I remember nothing. Blackness, deep sleep. The scream woke me.” Suddenly Kirrah was aware of being filled with energy, all thoughts of sleep evaporated. The tent seemed intolerably confining. “Peetha, please tell the camp, it was only a bad dream. My apologies for waking the soldiers. Irshe, I need to walk. Please walk with me.”

  Ten minutes of brisk pacing around the camp perimeter seemed to drain off the frisson of energy and settle her jangled nerves. The night was half spent, the largest moon high in the sky. Its golden light turned the zenith a deep, deep purple. A gauze of stars showed through.

  “I am sorry, Irshe’jasa. I acted like a foolish schoolgirl. That was more frightening than the Wrth and the O’dai together. It was only a bad dream, but frightening, because there was nothing to be frightened of.”

  “Kirrah’jasa, we learn that there are no ‘bad’ dreams, only strong ones. I hope you will seek Issthe’s assistance, she can show you how to use this strength.”

  “Hmm, I believe I will talk to her. I am becoming sleepy again, yet I am not anxious to repeat that… whatever it was.” Irshe paused, his eyes searched her face in the flickering yellow light from the campfires.

  “I do not know your customs in this, Kirrah’jasa. If you were raised as Talamae, I would offer to lie beside you the rest of the night, and it would be clear I meant not as mate, but as simple pathazza, a comfort-between-friends. If you like, I would ask Peetha, or another. We would perhaps all sleep better.”

  “I thank you most sincerely, Irshe’jasa, that is …very kind. I believe I will sleep well now, but I do not want to be inside a tent tonight. Perhaps you and Peetha could arrange your sleeping blankets in the open, not far from mine…”

  Ten minutes later the three were bedded down under the stars. As she slid once again over the edge of slumber, she was followed by the errant thought: And what would it sound like to a Talamae-raised, if you did mean as mate?

  Chapter 28 (Landing plus sixty-nine): Interlude

  “This I know - that the only way to live is like the rose, without a ‘why’.” - Meister Eckhart, op.cit.

  Four mornings later, after three days of seemingly endless riding and an even more wearing day of high-spirited celebration that started a kilometer outside the gates, flowed into a spontaneous victory parade through the city streets and ended in speeches in the palace grounds of Talameths’cha, Kirrah drifted slowly up from sleep.

  A very nice sleep, she thought muzzily, one arm across Irshe’s bare chest rising and falling steadily beside her. In her mind, voices were already arguing, but she ignored them like children bickering in the next room.

  What took you so long?

  What will you do in another hundred fifteen days when the Navy arrives, Lieutenant? ‘Well, it’s been nice, bye’? Or did you plan to just kind of take him back with you, like some sort of… specimen?

  Phooey, we already talked about that, this was just a nice friendly romp, everyone understands that!

  Do they? Do we understand enough about Irshe’s culture that you know all the implications for him, of sleeping with his commander? Or with someone who’s leaving? Or with a woman who fights?

  Understand Irshe? Who are you kidding? She doesn’t even understand what this means for her!

  Well, he is a sweet man, and very understanding.

  Exactly why this is such a bad idea…

  That’s not what you said last night, dearie!

  “Mmmph!” she proclaimed, shaking the voices out of her head and sitting up. Irshe’s eyes opened lazily, and a slow soft smile spread across his narrow face. Kirrah smiled back:

  “So much to do! The transport for the stranded O’dai. The holding cell for our Kruss prisoner. The return of the Wrth’s prisoners. The steam boats.”

  “My Warmaster is troubled”. Smiling gray eyes belied his formality.

  “Your Warmaster is feeling better than she has in days, thanks to that whatever-she-does treatment Issthe gave me last night.”

  “The ath’lae’mara? You mean it wasn’t my steadfast performance of duty and my careful attention to the commands of my Warmaster?” Both smiled. Kirrah’s fingers interwove with his as she sank back onto the bed.

  “Well, that too. What does ‘ath’lae’mara’ mean exactly? I recognize ‘ath’lae’, I would say ‘priest’. Let me see that device-which-speaks.” Kirrah reached to her suit draped across the chair beside her bed and began tapping on the wristcomp. Irshe thought for a moment, held his palms about ten centimeters apart over his body, and replied:

  “It means light-drawn-forth. When performed by one as skilled as Issthe, I have also heard it called ath’la’doma.” Kirrah recognized this unfamiliar word combination as ‘spirit-sculpture’.

  “It is such a simple thin
g, most are trained as children to do it. Although the ath’lae receive more training and have more experience. Does the Regnum not teach its citizens to guide their ath’la with their hands, so?”

  Hands… Kirrah remembered Issthe’s hands the evening before, moving in graceful sweeps down her tired body and aching limbs, a few centimeters from her skin. The warmth that seemed to follow those hands. The sense of well-being that followed the warmth. The same warmth, just as intimately present, yet of an additional, more physical merging, that accompanied her first tentative lovemaking with Irshe later.

  Wait a minute, how had we gotten from supper to sitting in the outer apartment while Issthe did her magic, to …wherever “later” was? There’d been a superb meal, Akaray wide-eyed and full of questions, the nearly-worshipful attitude of the students on serving-duty towards Kirrah, Irshe, Peetha and anyone else who’d been part of the campaign. After a nod exchanged with Slaetra, Issthe had taken Kirrah in tow to her apartment, and spent perhaps a quarter hour in ath’lae’mara.

  There’d been a meeting after, Irshe bringing a few reports of urgent concern - the securing of the Kruss, suitable quarters for the O’dai fleet-captain, while Akaray listened from the side with the profound silence of a bright child hoping his bedtime won't be noticed. Tash’ta, bringing clean pillows and a vase of fresh flowers, had spotted the lad and swept him off to his room, leaving them alone. Then they’d sat and talked for just a few moments more. Conversation had moved casually from military training to her personal background, from there touched on her former life and friends, her crewmates… She’d teared up at the still-aching memories, and as she’d suddenly, unexpectedly sobbed, Irshe had completely naturally put warm arms around her… damn, that had felt comfortable. He’d finally made to depart, uncertainty in his face, and she’d almost grabbed at his hand. The rest had unfolded as easily as her suit…