Lyon's Pride

by Anne McCaffrey

  She swallowed. “Yes, at the back of my throat. How can you stand it?”

  “I,” the Rowan said rather loftily, “ignore it.” When Flavia looked astonished, the Rowan relented. “It is particularly strong since we are inside a Hiver, but shortly we’ll be busy enough to be able to put it out of our minds. We’ll only have to endure it for a very short space of time.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Flavia said, pursing her lips and rubbing her tongue against her cheeks and teeth in an attempt to hydrate her mouth.

  The Rowan initiated the merge then, ever so slowly pushing the ship out of its orbit and the gravitational pull of the planet. Since the maneuver was also being performed as night fell across this section of the planet, the stealthy movement was unlikely to be immediately discernible no matter how sensitive the Hive instrumentation might be.

  Breathe, Isthian, his grandmother said once and he grinned at her as she sat in the padded seat as calmly as if she were in her Tower at Callisto, her silver hair shining in the pod’s lights.

  Gradually the merge increased its strength, three pairs of eyes also watching the special instrumentation installed in the pod that expressed speed and relative distance from the planet. Slowly they reached the mark on the dial showing when they had passed beyond the known range of surface-launched missiles.

  Stop hunching your shoulders, you two, she added at a later point. Any missile they could launch would have to penetrate the diameter of the ship to reach us. If, that is, they had any idea we are here.

  That made both Thian and Flavia smile. He rotated his shoulder blades because he had indeed been unconsciously hunching himself against an attack from the rear. He grinned at Flavia who was rubbing her neck and still trying to swallow the sting-pzzt away.

  “Good. Now we can speed up and complete this snatch,” the Rowan said, absently licking her lips and swallowing against the concentration of sting-pzzt.

  He felt the intensity of the merge now and surrendered himself to her guidance at the same instant that Flavia did. He hadn’t even thought to be capable of moving such mass but, with the merge and the gestalt capability, it was abruptly accomplished. He did feel the drop in his energy level when his grandmother released them from the merge and then the slight jar as the tractor beams from the squadron latched onto the sphere.

  “I do hope something down there was watching,” the Rowan said with a mischievous smile more compatible to his sister Morag’s age and habit than his grandmother’s. “First the ship was there. And then,” her smile deepened with great satisfaction, “it wasn’t! Well done, Isthian. You’ve been well-taught, Flavia, and my pleasure to merge with such fine strong minds. Now, let’s get out of this Hive sink of contamination and put the pod where it belongs. Then we can find out what else has been happening.”

  “I feel like I need a good long soak to rid me of that awful reek,” Flavia said, making another grimace of revulsion.

  “Later, when our work is done, my dear,” the Rowan said. “We will have time, however, for a drink to take the taste out of our mouths.”

  “Something sharp, Grandmother, like orange juice.”

  “Does this ship have something like that?”

  Thian “provided” the juice in long cold glasses to Flavia’s obvious relief and his grandmother’s only marginally less fervent thanks.

  * * *

  “You were far enough away not to have felt any shock waves,” Captain Osullivan said when they joined him on a bridge that was packed with officers and crew, and ringed with additional screens so that every view of the theatre of operations was accessed. “Ah, that’s our first casualty,” Osullivan added, pointing to a screen which had just ceased broadcasting. “One of the probes Rojer hid in the flotsam.”

  “The ships?” Thian asked, rapidly checking the secondary screens.

  “Reduced to the debris you see floating in a band around the planet,” the captain said with quiet satisfaction. “What the bombs you placed, ma’am, didn’t fragment, the mines you sowed did. Mind you, there is a time lag between the event and our visuals of it…”

  “Do any monitors need replacement?” the Rowan asked. “Now that we’ve completed Operation Snatch, we are at your disposal. Thian? Flavia?”

  The Rowan took the couch, Commander Metrios vacated his seat with alacrity to Flavia and another chair was brought for Thian.

  “Well-timed, ma’am,” the captain said, pointing in turn to the three central screens which scanned the space field. “They may now retaliate.”

  “Indeed,” said the Rowan with an almost primitive surge of adrenalin as she recognized the tapered prow of a Hive scout ship emerging from an underground hangar.

  “Mrtgrts here, Osullivan,” said the ’Dinis’ liaison officer’s unmistakable voice over the Squadron link. “Is the second wave ready?”

  “It is,” the Rowan answered. “Isthian, you will use the missiles on the KTTS, as you’re more familiar with ’Dini ships. Flavia, have you located the Arapahoe’s? Good. It’s as easy for us to work from here as on the separate ships.” She waited until she could feel the young Talents “reaching” the missiles on the other ships, her eyes never leaving the screen as first one scout ship, then another, and a third became visible. “Three. The normal complement of a Hive colonial ship. They’d be a much more interesting challenge if they changed their tactics,” she added almost ruefully. “Isthian, take the right-hand one; Flavia, the one that’s just emerging; and I’ll dispose of the one that made it to the field. I believe it’s about to launch. At my count…three, two, ONE!”

  Each Prime ’ported the heavy torpedoes easily to the recommended range. Then, before the Hiver world’s warning systems could alert defenses, launched them at the correct velocity for devastating strikes.

  There was, as Captain Osullivan said, a time lag before the screens would register the result, but all three Talents had followed the missiles to their targets and knew their strikes had been accurate. Until visible proof appeared, Metrios toyed with a stylus, his eyes darting from one screen to the next. Though Captain Osullivan appeared completely at his ease, his fingers beat a tattoo on his arm rest. Minutes later, the explosions were recorded.

  In what appeared to be a leisurely fashion, each of the three ships exploded, parts arcing up and then showering down on the trundling Hivers that had been massed on the space field. The debris fell almost gracefully to the now riddled surface and lay smoking and burning in a circle of destruction that spread well beyond the perimeter of the space facility.

  “Someone’s left the doors open,” Thian remarked.

  “In that case,” the Rowan said with a shrug, “let us take advantage of such carelessness.”

  Even as additional missiles were armed and sent on their way by the three Talents, more hangar doors punched upward out of the debris on the field, revealing the squat forms of shuttle craft. These emerged at speed from the protection of the hangars, but not swiftly enough.

  “Fire as ready,” the Rowan ordered Thian and Flavia and they lobbed missiles at the shuttles and then into an aperture that could be seen through the smoke and raging fires.

  “Is this their only space facility?” Thian asked when no more targets were visible. “There are other substantial buildings on the planet.”

  “They seem to be agricultural collection depots,” Captain Osullivan said.

  “Such is not a target,” the Rowan said, glancing sternly at Thian, who shrugged.

  “Did the probes not discover where the queens are housed?” Mrtgrts asked.

  “No,” Osullivan replied. “We were limited to observational probes, not reconnaissance.”

  “The queens are effectively planet-bound,” the Rowan said. “Further action has not been authorized.”

  “We will remain on orange alert,” Osullivan said, touching the arm plate for intership communications. “Captains? Any queries?”

  “A successful attack,” Captain Quacho said, his brows drawn together in wha
t seemed to be a satisfied scowl.

  “Do not rule out the possibility of reprisal,” Mrtgrts said. Behind it on the bridge, ’Dinis could be seen waving their forearms about, expressing their triumph at the success of the mission. Only Mrtgrts appeared dissatisfied and pessimistic.

  “Reprisal with what, Mrtgrts?” the Rowan asked caustically, surveying the destruction on every screen. Then, putting both hands on the arm rests, she pushed herself to her feet. “If we are needed, call us,” she said to Captain Osullivan.

  Thian caught the surprised expressions of Langio, Metrios and Yngocelen but he, too, rose, indicating that Flavia could join them. He paused by the captain’s chair.

  “Permission to leave the bridge, sir?”

  “Of course,” Osullivan said, eyes widening at Thian’s formality even as he shrugged as the Rowan disappeared.

  “She’d be the last to admit it, sir,” Thian said, leaning confidentially toward Osullivan, “but Grandmother had to expend more energy as focus than we did.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  There is absolutely no reason for a T-1 to apologize or explain any action, Isthian Gwyn-Lyon!

  Thian, catching Flavia’s startled expression as she also heard the fierce reprimand, grinned at the girl. No, Grandmother, but it is only courteous to observe ship protocol. And you are tired.

  The bridge door whooshed shut behind Thian and Flavia.

  I might be but you are never to presume…

  Grandmother, your husband gave me specific orders on the care and feeding of his favorite wife…

  His only wife…

  And the only Prime who can rule Callisto and you ARE tired.

  Fighting a war at any age is tiring.

  Flavia’s little gasp of surprise caught Thian unawares. “Was that a war we just fought?”

  Thian stuttered in surprise. “Well, a battle, certainly. What did you think you were going to do here?”

  “Keep the Hivers from leaving this planet.”

  “And that’s not war?”

  “It’s analogous to clearing out vermin.”

  “On rather a large scale,” Thian said, wondering at her curious calm.

  “We have to do so often enough on Altair when there’s been prolonged and heavy rains in the swamplands. Otherwise the towns and settlements would be overrun,” Flavia said quite matter-of-factly.

  Your grandfather did know what he was doing, said the Rowan in a tight tone to Thian and added a snort of amusement.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  DAD? There was the special note in his daughter Laria’s voice that brought Afra sharply to attention. He was alone in Aurigae Tower, making some minor in-system shipments. Damia was out hunting with Morag, Ewain and all the ’Dinis.

  Yes, Laria?

  Dad, just between us? The unusual note of exasperation and self-doubt was one Afra had never thought to hear from the nearly twenty-three-year-old, confident and poised Tower Prime of the Clarf FT&T installation. On completing her training at Callisto, Laria had taken up her duties with a competence that even her perfectionist grandmother couldn’t fault. Yoshuk and Nesrun, the T-2s who had originally run the Clarf Tower, had been shifted to Sef, the most major of the four Mrdini colony worlds. Laria had recently been assigned Clarissia Negeva as her assistant, a T-2, who had been trained by David of Betelgeuse. Clarissia was replacing Stierlman, who had not achieved the necessary rapport with Laria. She’d had no trouble at all with the other members of her Tower staff; Vanteer, the T-6 engineer, or Lionasha, the T-7 station manager and expediter. Although there had been ’Dini-Human pairings on her home planet, Clarissia was unaccustomed to working with them and never gave direct orders to the six paired with the other three Station personnel who happily doubled as cargo handlers or whatever other functions could be done by non-FT&T personnel.

  Clarissia’s not working out either? Afra asked.

  I do better running the Station on my own, Dad, was the tart reply. She’s been here nineteen weeks and she still turns pale when more than our ’Dinis are present and you know that ’Dinis notice color changes. And she’s been moaning about that carrier ever since it got here. Not, and Laria’s mental tone altered, that I enjoy the sight, or more recently, the stench from it. Prtglm is definitely deceased. I’m beginning to think they don’t intend to move it, leaving it there as a reminder that a Human was responsible for Prtglm’s ignominious end. Laria’s voice had a grim edge to it, then confusion colored her thought. There’s ideographs all over it now. They’re ancient ones and I can’t recognize more than the slashes for dishonor. Tip and Huf won’t translate: won’t even answer me when I ask what they mean.

  Yoshuk’s a scholar of their ancient forms. What does he say? Or have you discussed this with him?

  I have and he says it’s too obscure for him but he’s still trying to find references. He does reassure me that they’re not anti-Human.

  This is one of those occasions, Afra said firmly but soothingly, when you know that Humans don’t interfere with ’Dini customs.

  The custom I can ignore if I wish, even if the reek is omnipresent, but I have to be very careful about transfers. Originally, Prtglm’s carrier came down—hard—on the middle cradle. I was told not to move it to one side, but I didn’t, for one minute, realize it was going to take up such permanent residence! I could have used that cradle a hundred times. Once again her tone altered to one less assured. Daaaad, does anyone there know why it’s being LEFT? I almost don’t blame Clarissia but I also need to understand what’s going on about it—Prtglm, I mean—so I can deal with the reason it’s been left there so long. Is it a subtle way of punishing me because I’m Rojer’s sister…

  I doubt that! Afra replied stoutly. ’Dinis don’t think in those terms.

  I sure hope so, Laria replied, exhibiting some of the distress she had been covering.

  I can ask Jeff…

  I already did and he doesn’t know but he doesn’t have ’Dinis. Do yours know anything?

  We never did get any more answer to queries about Mrdini penal codes than that the miscreants were apt to be shipped out… Afra paused, since Laria would know what that could mean on a long trip. The cynical said that saved time, space and money and was an admirable use of expendables, but the thought made him shudder. He forced himself to more positive thinking for Laria’s sake. Remember Prtglm is, or was, guilty of several…errors of judgment even in the ’Dini lexicon, and certainly several against Humans. They don’t want a repetition and that may be their way of driving home the lesson.

  When one’s own son had nearly been a victim of Prtglm’s coercion, it was very hard, indeed, not to take a judgmental stand. Once Afra knew that Rojer was responding to the discreet therapy of his grandmother, Isthia, on Deneb, he felt less bitterness, a most unusual emotion for him, toward the misguided Prtglm. The latest report was that Rojer could now mingle with both Humans and ’Dinis without the intense grief/loss/deprivation reactions he had initially experienced. He was becoming more and more engrossed in his practical engineering studies. His uncle, Jeran, Deneb’s Prime, was going to insist that when the Hiver ship that had been “appropriated” by the Rowan merge reached the investigation orbit at the Mars space facility, Rojer would have a place on that study team. Of course Rojer needed to meet the qualifications, but that had given him a definite goal and he was studying with good purpose and diligence to satisfy the requirements.

  I know that, Dad, but to have that grisly reminder on my Tower field…

  Afra could feel the anger flaring within his daughter’s mind, an unfocused anger and so ambivalent that it was no wonder that she was under great stress.

  You feel that Rojer should have obeyed Prtglm?

  No, I mean, yes but…Prtglm just ought not to have required Rojer…

  Who was the only one who could have carried out Prtglm’s plan…

  Prtglm is—was—an old and revered captain and should have been obeyed. That planet should have been ju
st…wasted. Her tone was riven with intense animosity. When I know how much damage the Hivers have done to ’Dini worlds, and hundreds of others, that…that Xh-33 really should have been…

  When Laria could not find an adequate fate, Afra couched his suggestions in an ironic tone he rarely used with his children.

  Exterminated? Fumigated? Wiped of life forms? Scorched beyond use?

  There was a long pause. Something like that, so that that planet could never be able to colonize, to massacre innocent life forms on any other planet.

  So? We must emulate their methods?

  Well, just look what they did! Forcing queens of their own species out of that ship and then blasting them, without ever trying to find out why the ship came? Indignation now colored Laria’s anger.

  That’s very much a ’Dini viewpoint, Laria.

  It’s not that I’m ignoring other opinions, Dad. Aren’t I transmitting messages backwards and forwards every day?

  You are, but are you listening to the content or just the context?

  What do you mean by that, Dad? And what group do you support? Her tone was aggressive as if any other than the position she espoused would be suspect.

  Along with many other thinking folk, I find the data insufficient and most theories have at least one fundamental flaw. We may never have answers to half the questions we’ve asked because there is no communication. Observation is as open to interpretation as any other method of recording, since invariably the observer translates from his or her own experience.

  There hasn’t really been that much useful observation either, Laria said caustically.

  Afra smiled, keeping his amusement well away from his argumentative daughter.

  I disagree, Laria. The material recorded from Rojer’s probes is still being analyzed…

  All it shows is that the Hivers have not changed their methods or the dominant drive of their species in the centuries the ’Dini have known them.

  The ’Dinis never got close enough to a Hive world to make observations, or attempt contact, Afra said patiently. Laria’s feelings were quite pent-up, by which he guessed she had had the tact not to discuss this with her Tower staff.