Warrior-Woman

by Mary Ann Steele

  "Preston's dead, sir. We saw absolutely nothing on the vid. No disembodied exhaust. Signe evidently docked a black ship on Two, and landed some invisible something crammed full of blasting gel, on Three. That vehicle exploded right on the deck of Three's inner lock, as far as we can tell. The concussion blew the pressure-proof doors out, and sent seals sliding shut in the corridor, on both sides of the breach. The blast killed three guards, and locked the others away from aiding the twenty guards Signe attacked along with Preston and his spacers.

  "Thirty fighters emerged from that ship. The Gaeans bombed the stairs opposite the communications center, but by sheer luck, a squad coming on duty managed to prevent their destroying those facing Two. We fought our way out into the corridor, and did what we could, as did Levi, sir--right beside me. Signe's force managed to divide, gain the locks, and close the doors. When we opened them, the red lights were on. How in hell two sets of rear guards got aboard in the time it took for the doors to reopen, we don't know. And whoever operated that thing they landed in Three's blown to atoms. A suicide mission, that must have been."

  She masked her exhaust. Dust … some gaseous form of that damned coating! Docked … killed! Karyn …

  Amin emerged from the stairs, his hawk-profiled face the embodiment of dread. "Arlen…they've pumped air into the corridor before the lifeboat locks. I'll go with you…and look. But no boat lifted from here. I'd have seen one."

  Dead.

  That single word reverberated in Arlen's befogged consciousness. The seal slid back with a harsh clamor. Three pairs of eyes stared down the long corridor strewn with the still forms of guards, and fastened onto one inert feminine figure clad in bright green.

  Dropping to his knees beside the motionless bodies of his wife and his son, still clasped in each other's arms, the stricken husband and father reached out to confirm that the two beings he loved best were dead. Pain greater than any he had known rose to shatter him. Slowly, that emotion submerged below a fearful wave of savage self-condemnation. Tears burned behind the eyes the viewer could not tear away from the lifeless remains of the woman he loved, and the boy in whom he had taken such pride. "Karyn," he whispered hoarsely. "Tiryll…"

  The agony convulsing Arlen drove his mind into a shadowy realm of the past--into otherwhere, otherwhen--but failed to bring merciful unconsciousness. Awareness seared him; regret flayed him; sorrow threatened to unhinge the mind exquisitely conscious, grimly accepting, of full responsibility for the tragedy. As moisture spilled silently down cheeks gone white as frost, the widower's hand stroked dark hair, while the faint scent of perfume wafted upwards. Existence at that moment became an excruciating totality of unbearable pain.

  Amin dropped beside the man on the deck, who felt through the intensity of his ordeal an arm encircle his shoulders. "Arlen…" Words failed the scholarly aristocrat normally so adept in their use. Tears momentarily filmed his own eyes as he sensed the magnitude of his oldest friend's inconsolable grief.

  "I'm responsible." That rasping whisper sent fear as well as pain lancing through Amin's generous heart. "I should have sent them back the moment they arrived. I weakened…let Karyn sway me…let this happen…"

  "Arlen, it could as easily have happened anywhere. In the capital. In Dayton, even. Anywhere an Earth-armed ship chanced to set down, to tempt a strike. Don't add guilt to the intolerable weight of pain. Arlen, old friend…I'm so sorry…"

  As his shock wore off, Arlen's agony increased, putting his habitual self-mastery to a fearful test. His consciousness that as Commander-in-Chief he bore responsibilities on his shoulders other than personal ones enabled him to retain command of himself. Rising stiffly to his feet, he cast a final anguished glance at his dead, and turned to the men gathered about him: men whose eyes reflected mute sympathy. In a voice held creditably level, he issued orders, and watched as his subordinates obeyed.

  Chapter Nine

  Amin presided at the memorial for Karyn and Tiryll. Seated between Danner and Evan on the hard bench beneath the lofty dome, Lacey strove to master debilitating weakness. Holding himself stiffly erect by the power of an unyielding will, the Captain suffering from a still-unhealed wound savored his recent feat: mustering enough impassioned eloquence to convince the physician of his fitness to leave the infirmary solely for the duration of this ceremony. Forcing his mind off the pain stabbing with breath-catching force through his emaciated frame, he listened, all the while exquisitely conscious of the sorrow emanating from the bereaved husband and father sitting ramrod-straight just in front of him.

  "We stand too near the gulf between us and the departed," the Friend asserted gravely. "Only time heals the wounds dealt by sudden forced separation from those we loved. What lies in our future hides behind a veil. We know only that what passed before this rift was precious. The day will arrive when unfading memories offer exquisite comfort. Those who precede us in death await us in an altered state--another species of existence. Let us not sink into despair, nor buckle under the formidable weight of sorrow. Let us imagine our loved ones saying with the poet, 'We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare/ And we can conquer, though we may not share/ In the rich quiet of the afterglow/ What is to come.'"

  Karyn's a little pile of ashes , Lacey demurred bleakly, rejecting the conventional solace. At peace: oblivion holds no sorrow. But Arlen has taken a wound that may never heal. He loves differently than do most of us. Harder. Deeper. He loves exclusively … permanently. Would I suffer what he's feeling now, if I lost my wife of twelve Earthyears tomorrow? I'd hurt, naturally. I'd grieve, but I'd recover. Am I more selfish? More shallow?

  I wonder. Somewhere along the line, that original fire I felt for Elena died. Sputtered out, almost without my noticing. I'm a husband from habit. I took on responsibilities to a wife and two daughters. I don't duck out of commitments--don't shirk duties of any sort. And I love my girls deeply. If I lost a daughter … Nicole, especially … I'd suffer, all right, but my marriage never grew to be what Arlen's must have been. Vulnerable, a man capable of that degree of affection. So vulnerable … Damn, but I feel rotten. Amin, wrap it up. What comfort can any of us offer? Even you?

  Arlen sat unmoving, shrouded in all but unbearable pain.

  A fourweek passed. Despite the ravages to his psyche wrought by the raid that claimed the lives of his wife and son, the man bereft, scourged by remorse, flayed by guilt, achieved his goal of producing a device that he knew past all doubt would detect a vessel coated with a substance that absorbed all wavelengths of scanning radiation. The necessity of completing that work forced the Commander-in-Chief's thoughts, for the bulk of his waking hours, off the worst of his grief.

  Levi credited that circumstance with saving the sanity of the colleague for whom the mathematician's kindly heart ached. Arlen worked himself brutally, dreading the hour when utter exhaustion forced him into his bunk. Agonies of regret, of bitter self-denunciation, accompanied his fevered efforts to compose his mind and fall asleep. Only his fierce, unflagging determination to render his world safe from further attacks kept him from withdrawing into a private mental hell from which he might otherwise never have emerged with his brilliant intellect intact.

  Faced now with action, the widower felt some of the fog of pain lift. Hours passed when the bitter memories subsided below the surface of his consciousness, and his mind grappled with the work at hand, unhampered by the recurrent, intrusive thoughts that produced brief periods of total abstraction. Those disturbing lapses, his subordinates tactfully outwaited in respectful silence, even as fear mingled with compassion. Exerting himself to the utmost, the statesmanlike military dictator planned the installation and guarding of three orbital forts.

  One morning, Arlen arose to the realization that he had spent a full eight hours sunk in profound, dreamless slumber. He felt physically invigorated, and intellectually renewed. Searing, debilitating grief had somehow transmuted into settled, permanent sadness. He found himself thinking of others beside himself. In a sudden acce
ss of shame, he realized how self-absorbed he had been in his all-consuming sorrow. Amin is bereaved as well , he chided himself. He lost one old comrade--a man closer than a brother--and aches owing to the suffering of another. Yet he strove mightily to comfort you --lent you his strength when you stood in direst need. It's time you exerted your habitual self-command. You need to lead, not run in place.

  Having thus sternly admonished his alter ego, Arlen recalled a promise as yet unkept. Striding into his office with a purposeful step that Dahl observed with profound relief, he summoned Levi. While awaiting his technical advisor, he reviewed Merck's spirited account of how the new recruit had responded to the alarm.

  Levi coolly deduced that the smaller explosion wiped the stairs before One , the Commander-in-Chief mused. For all he knew, that infernal woman might have succeeded in advancing close enough to the stairwell to bomb the only remaining route leading to the base. No one uses an elevator in an emergency! It's far too easy to die trapped inside, or be killed by someone standing in wait, prepared to fire a handweapon--or toss a bomb--through the opening door. But Levi gamely stepped into the elevator opposite Two, and emerged in the thick of the battle raging outside the entry to Two's stairs. A professor with no experience of combat cut down the Gaean about to take Merck in the flank, and then fought beside Merck as he and a force of guards, who chanced to be coming on duty just as the raiders appeared, prevented the enemy from drawing close enough to bomb the stairwell. Levi never gave one thought to the fact of his mind's being a national asset too priceless to risk.

  Responding to the summons, the subject of Arlen's soliloquy hastened down the corridor still evincing visible traces of Signe's assault. Metal of burnished newness adjoined that dulled by slow oxidation over a long span of time. Scaffolding still rose to the curved upper plates, where workmen methodically replaced damaged lighting elements in the array of overhead fixtures. Moving with the athletic grace characteristic of a swordsman, the mathematician mechanically threaded his way through a maze of spidery metal supports.

  Ruminatively, he assessed his achievement, and sighed audibly. You ought to feel elated … proud. You didn't fail the autocrat who placed such touching trust in a burned-out academician. Arlen asked, rather than demanded, and promised a reward. If only … Damn! By his very generosity--his recruiting you on such favorable terms--he unwittingly deepened the depression that's plagued you for so long a time, and worsened since you managed your breakthrough. Don't let on, Levi. Look at the sorrow afflicting the Commander-in-Chief. Your pain pales beside his. Just be glad you succeeded!

  Rising from the chair before his terminal to greet the man striding through the door, Arlen smiled. His visitor beamed, immeasurably heartened to behold an expression on his superior's face that no one had seen in weeks. "Sit down," the dictator invited, gesturing to a chair. "Tomorrow will see the installation of a fort begun. Today, you're going to accept a reward commensurate with the unique nature of your contribution."

  "Sir, there's no need…"

  "Levi, you heard me. I won't take no for an answer, and I'd as leave offer what will do you the most good. Don't argue. State your preference."

  Levi knew that tone. He sat erect, still. Dare I ask what I want so badly? Would Arlen regret his generosity? Could I handle so radical a change? Could Rachel? No. I'm too old for this as well. I'd see Rachel only seldom. I've missed her so … Could we … No! You risk placing in an acutely embarrassing position this man who just passed through hell. No!

  Arlen saw a gleam of fierce joy, of ardent hope, of wistful yearning, fade into resignation. Levi smiled, finally. "I'll just let you bestow what you think proper, sir."

  "No, you won't! There's something you want, but won't request, out of fear that I'll regret making the offer. Say plainly what compensation you desire."

  Dark eyes widened in shock. He reads minds , Levi decided in wonder. What should I … I can't ask that.

  "Levi, state your preference. That's an order, and don't think I won't know, if you try a hasty substitution."

  He will know. He infallibly detects when a man's lying. "All right, sir, I'll mention what thought leaped to prominence, but I won't blame you for refusing to grant it."

  Rallying his failing nerve, the reluctant petitioner stated his wish. "I'd like to stay on in the Special Force, sir…to undergo training as a spacer, and eventually, as an officer. I'm fifty Earthyears old, and unused to military life, but I'm willing…eager…to learn. I'm past my prime as a creative thinker. I enjoy teaching, but I've instructed a long succession of students at the University for thirty Earthyears now, and haven't yet found a successor: a mind the equivalent of what mine once was, when I was sixteen…eighteen…twenty. I've settled into a sterile groove. I like this life…relish the companionship…even the danger. When you don't know whether you'll live to see tomorrow, today seems a priceless gift. I haven't felt as…alive…in decades. This theoretical breakthrough was my swansong: the last upflaring of a dying fire. I need new goals."

  Thunderstruck, Arlen stared at the mathematical genius seated stiffly erect, meeting his eyes squarely. For a span of milliseconds, he weighed the request while controlling his face to perfection. At length, he smiled with beguiling warmth. "I offered a reward for service, and you beg to go on serving--plead eloquently for the dubious privilege of risking your irreplaceable, precious life. You ask to resign a position conferring high social standing, to enter a dangerous, demanding new profession, in the midst of a war! And yet I realize that you just requested what you do most deeply want. Well, you've got it."

  Far less practiced than was his superior at keeping his thoughts hidden, Levi found it impossible to conceal either his fierce delight, or the attendant amazement. "Sir, I… You don't think me…presumptuous…?"

  "For asking to serve in a new capacity? Hardly. As for training, you'll need to undergo a long, difficult apprenticeship under men who rank as your peers¾some of whom might resent my raising you to their rank arbitrarily, as a reward for service far different from their own. But you're no stranger to prejudice, Levi, and I'll employ men I trust, to undertake that chore--men who'll fully realize that your genius made an impenetrable defense possible. I surely don't intend to reduce your rank. No, I'll arrange a different sort of induction than the usual."

  Stunned, Levi digested the astounding fact that his life at this juncture changed irrevocably. I'm grasping at this chance at Rachel's expense , he agonized silently. I miss her so, now! But she'll understand. She realizes how I've felt. "Sir, I didn't expect to keep the rank to which you so generously raised me--a rank I don't deserve. I'd be willing to start at the bottom."

  "Well, you won't. I'll delegate to you in your present capacity the responsibility for overseeing the scanning with new devices unfamiliar to the men who'll use them. That'll drive home to all of them the fact that this breakthrough constitutes your contribution. Amin's presently deprived of his lieutenant, and lacks a replacement capable of exerting authority with the firmness and even-handedness that characterize an experienced second officer. Amin's a man wholly lacking prejudice of any sort. I'm raising him to the rank of Acting Commander of the Special Force, and entrusting him with the external defense of the forts once all three installations are in orbit.

  "You'll oversee the manning and utilization of the devices. That'll be tricky. Our devices won't connect to weaponry. We'll have to relay coordinates to men firing blind, until I can produce variants capable of being interconnected with the weaponry. I'll use your talent there, as well. I lack your skill at programming, but most especially, at programming Earth-built computers."

  "Ahh…I'd anticipated that difficulty. I've given it a wealth of thought, these past few days. We'll manage that, as well." Dark eyes burned with eagerness, as Levi's lean frame shouted his ebullient joy in the Commander-in-Chief's unexpected response to his appeal.

  I've just gained a wholly loyal, incredibly talented addition to my force! Arlen acknowledged bemusedly. A man who kee
ps a most extraordinarily cool head in a crisis. Levi … captain of a military ship? Why not? You're not the warrior Amin is, or Evan. Nor Danner's equal as a swordsman, let alone Brant's, but you started out as captain of a military ship, yourself. Your swift ascent to power came about through your ability to outguess--to outthink--to outmaneuver--your peers. To your sheer gall--your willingness to take fearful gambles with your own life, and those of the men closest to you. To your ability to command the loyalty of men like Amin, Danner, Evan, Lacey and Dahl, and to handle talented captains whose own careers come first in their thinking, such as Brant and Yukio. But Levi's the soul of honor--the epitome of loyalty. And he's beholden to you, now. You offered a reward, and gained more than you'll give. Well!

  The next fourweek saw an effort of monumental proportions: one extremely well planned. Arlen high-handedly commandeered what men, ships, technicians and engineers he needed, well able to select the very men whose special talent the endeavor required. As each fort underwent construction from materials ferried to a point in space which the passenger vessel would occupy, a force of seven military ships kept constant guard, occupying orbits slightly closer in, therefore moving faster than the fort, or farther out, moving slower.

  Arlen's vessel traveled exactly the same orbit as the passenger ship housing the workers, close enough to fly in formation with the clustered mass of openwork components and attendant gear. Flocks of men in mobile assemblers--small vehicles from which a single occupant operated robot arms--began constructing the framework around the capacious vessel. As the worked progressed, the Commander-in-Chief worked on the modifications he hoped to perfect for devices as yet untested. Components of his own invention, integrated into the board of his ship, allowed him to listen, as he worked, to the cross-communications of his captains, to speak, if an occasion demanded orders, and to see the men speaking, on a large video screen built into the wall enclosing an area originally forming two cabins: space remodeled now into a single workshop-laboratory.