by Ann Wilson
now?"
"No." Medart grinned. "I would if I thought it were necessary, butthe Sandemans I know would be curious enough to invite me to theirships, or to Sandeman itself, to talk about it."
"You wish to surrender?"
"Not hardly--but I will, if that's what it takes to get a chance totalk to you."
"I will have to consult the Warleader on that, Prince. In themeantime, I will have your ship brought aboard our cruiser--releaseyour controls to our operators."
Medart did so, nodded. "You have control."
The Sandeman disappeared, his place taken by a view of space. Aship-image was growing, and Medart's sensors told him it was a bigone--not quite as large as an IBC, but close. Shortly afterward, he feltthe surge of tractor beam lock-on and the ship grew more quickly--fastenough he would have worried, if anyone but a Sandeman had been at thecontrols. With their reflex speed double that of the human standardnorm, though, the speed of his approach was perfectly safe; as his shipwas brought into the docking bay and landed, he double-checked hisappearance.
He wasn't used to seeing himself in anything but uniform, since hespent so much time aboard Imperial Navy ships. But he'd worn similarclothing during the Mjolnir Conference, with the Sandemans therethinking it appropriate for his rank: silvery shirt, emerald-greenpants, black uniform boots and equipment/weapons belt, topped by hisgreen, silver-fringed arms baldric with his arms pin on the leftshoulder. He'd worn his coronet as well, there, but that had been todistinguish him from the other Rangers he'd called in; he saw no reasonto go to that extreme here.
Satisfied, he went to the airlock. As soon as the pressure equalized,he opened it and left the little ship, leaning against its hull withhis arms crossed to wait for his hosts--or his captors.
Moments later the bay's inner lock cycled open and a small group ofwarriors approached him, the central one wearing honor-black. Medartstraightened, then bowed and addressed that one. "I am Prince JamesMedart of the Empire in Alternate Alpha Prime. You do me honor,Warleader, wearing ceremonials. Am I prisoner, or guest?"
The Sandeman returned the bow. "I am Ryan, a warrior of Clan Vader andWarleader of this fleet. You place me in a difficult position, bearinga lightsaber you claim was a death-gift, and claiming further that ClanVader still owes you life-debt. If either is true, I cannot honorablyhold you prisoner--but I have only your word and a lightsaber thatcould have been taken from a dead or captured warrior in thisuniverse."
"I'd be skeptical too, in your position," Medart said. "Even the factI came here alone, deliberately, could be a trick. It isn't, but itcould be. There's a way to convince you, though; I'm sure you have someway of questioning people and being certain you get truthful answers."
The Warleader frowned. "We do, Prince. I could question you under acompulsion spell, but your magical defenses are strong enough thatdoing so would be the equivalent of torture--which I may not honorablyhave you subjected to if you did indeed give one of my clansmen LastGift."
Medart winced at that. Sandeman customs allowed enemy warriors to betortured for information, and having warriors as battle-companions madehim the closest possible non-Sandeman equivalent of a warrior. As Ryansaid, giving Last Gift had made him immune from that particularunpleasantness, at least as far as Clan Vader was concerned--but italso looked like telling his story under that compulsion spell was theonly way he'd be believed. And for his already-uncertain plan to haveany chance of success, he'd have to have more than belief; he'd needactive cooperation from at least one of the two clan-chiefs who owedhim life-debt. Which in turn depended, of course, on whether they'dconsider that debt binding in a universe other than the one where itwas incurred.
"Since you're not certain I did," Medart said at last, "and sincethat's the only way I can prove I'm telling the truth, does theprohibition have to apply?"
"That question has never come up." The Warleader frowned again. "Yourclaims cannot be disproven if they took place in another universe, soyou must be given the protection they grant you, though not payment ofa debt that may not exist. But I would also judge it dishonorable todeny you the opportunity to prove those claims, if you choose to waivethat protection."
"Consider it waived." Medart managed a partial grin. "But don'tbother asking any tactical or strategic questions; once I realized I'dhave to put myself in your hands, I was careful to avoid any suchinformation."
The Warleader stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. "Were ourcircumstances reversed, Prince, I would have done the same. I will askonly what is necessary to establish the truth of your claims. And youmay consider yourself a guest of Clan Vader."
Medart bowed. "Thank you for your courtesy, Warleader. How soon canwe take care of the interrogation?"
"As soon as you wish, Highness. That particular chamber is always keptready."
"Let's get it over with, then. Putting it off isn't going to make itany easier, and I'd like to end this war as soon as I can--if that'spossible at all."
"It will end, unfortunately," the Warleader said. "Not for some time,I hope--the Empire is the most competent enemy we have yetencountered--but it will end."
"With the Empire destroyed, the way you're going," Medart said."That's not exactly what I had in mind. At home, you're a vital partof the Empire--a crucial part of our military, and contract police onany world that really values law and order. To me, that's the ideal--butI'll settle for having you as friends to this one, allies againstthe worst enemy any civilization in any universe has ever faced."
Ryan looked suddenly interested. "Oh? An even better enemy?"
"I thought that would intrigue you, if you hadn't already heard aboutthem. Ask me about the Ravagers while you have me under--they'resomething nobody would believe on simple hearsay. If you're lucky,you'll never run into them--but if you're not, and they show up here,you'll be glad of any allies you can get."
* * * * *
Clan-chief Ryan watched as his people fastened Prince James into theinterrogation chair. He'd had a primarily-Vader fleet in the areabecause of an information-gathering spell that had told him his clanwould benefit by an intercept here, with a "side note" that it would bebest if he seem to be less than his true rank. Deception was difficultfor Sandemans, but introducing himself as Warleader rather thanclan-chief was failure to reveal he was both rather than an active lie,so he'd been able to manage it. Lying was for Shapers and their kin.
This Prince James was obviously related to the Shapers, from his sizeand coloring, but Ryan found himself wanting to believe what James hadtold him. Not that he'd given Last Gift to a Vader warrior, or thatSandemans were actually part of the Empire he came from--even thoughthat was something chiefs couldn't either deny fully or reveal--butthat he had gotten the saber honestly, and his motives for claimingwhat he did were equally honest. It was impossible to believe that onewho risked himself as James was could do so without some overwhelmingmotivation beyond the self-advancement of Shaperkin!
When the restraints were all in place, Ryan moved to stand directly infront of the chair. "I regret the necessity of binding you, Highness,but it is for your protection; as I told you, this spell can beextremely painful to one with your automatic magical defenses, possiblycausing convulsions and self-injury."
"I appreciate the consideration, especially toward one you must regardas little if any better than the Shapers." Medart shifted in thechair, then made himself as comfortable as possible. "Okay, I'm asready as I can be; go ahead."
Ryan nodded. "As you wish, Highness." He began the words and gesturesof the truth-compulsion spell, watching its effect on the human.Medart tensed and started to sweat, his expression becoming strained.The spell was working, but Ryan was impressed by the resistance it wasencountering. Not conscious resistance; if anything, the Prince wastrying to cooperate, which was less of a surprise than Ryan would haveexpected before meeting him.
But the resistance did make it necessary to strengthen his spell. Ashe did s
o, the Prince's discomfort turned into pain, his musclesspasming and his breath coming in gasps.
It wasn't enough, and Ryan frowned. The next level of this spell waslikely to send the Prince into convulsions, and though he'd mentionedthe possibility, he hadn't really expected the man's defenses to bethat strong. Such extreme measures were normally used only to extractthe most critical information; he was reluctant to use them for less.
"Why the hesitation, Ryan?" a woman's voice asked, curiously. "You'vequestioned Terrans before."
Ryan looked around.