Action stations, p.9
Action Stations, page 9
part #5 of Wing Commander Series
Tolwyn looked around the room again.
"Come on, let's get our cargo transferred," Turner said, standing up and heading for the door.
Geoff fell in behind him, noticing that he was walking slower than usual. Just as they reached the door, Winston turned with a quick, almost catlike movement, drawing a small blaster from his pocket. The report from the gun was muffled, the round impacting the chest of one of the patrons. The man sagged up against the bar and then slowly collapsed, a blaster dropping from his hand. Tolwyn looked at Turner and back to the dead man with wide-eyed surprise. It wasn't just the killing, it was the smooth, graceful ease Turner had displayed, as if he had been training for years for just such a moment.
Turner, his gaze fixed on the other patrons stood silent, weapon pointed straight up at the ceiling.
"Anyone else from the Sarns?"
Everyone was silent.
"Keeper, do you see the weapon in the man's hand?"
The owner of the bar slowly leaned over the counter-top to look at the body and then back at Turner. "I see it."
"And you saw him drawing it?"
The barkeeper nodded.
"Two other witnesses?"
"We seen it," a couple who had been standing next to the dead man announced.
"Then according to the laws of the Landreich the issue is settled," Turner replied, The other patrons nodded in agreement.
With his free hand Turner reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and tossed it to Geoff.
"Take out two hundred, that should cover damages and burial, and put it on the bar."
Tolwyn did as ordered. He looked down nervously at the dead man. There was a hole big enough to put his fist into dead center over the man's heart. He caught a sharp, almost metallic, smell and realized it was blood and felt a slight giddiness. It was, in fact, the first violent death he had ever witnessed. He had seen fellow cadets killed in training accidents, but in those situations it was simply a machine disintegrating, or bursting into flames, or slamming into the ground. It had always been distant, remote, followed a couple of days later by a polished coffin in the chapel. There was no smell of charred flesh and blood, or that shocked, wide-eyed look of a corpse gazing up at him.
He could sense the fear in the bar. Someone whom they had most likely assumed was nothing but a walking target had proved to have fangs. He stepped back from the bar and was surprised as Turner just turned his back and walked out into the main corridor. It hadn't been like the vids at all, where after the shoot-out the winner slowly backed out the door.
Turner did not even bother to look back.
Tolwyn came up by Vance's side.
"Damn, did you see that?" he whispered.
Richards simply nodded.
"That was old Winnie Turner in there," Geoff said. "Hell, I thought he was about as dangerous as a first year fleggie."
"You idiot," Richards whispered. "You never heard the rumors?"
"You mean about some sort of commando stuff? Come on, not Winnie," but even as he spoke he realized just how dead wrong they had all been. "I thought he was nothing but an old prof." Tolwyn looked at the hunched back of Turner as he continued down the corridor.
"Amazing."
Turner was glad that his back was turned to the two young cadets so they couldn't see his bemused smile. Spotting the Sarn hit man was easy enough; he was surprised Kruger hadn't picked up on him as well. The boy certainly was green. The only reason the hit man had not dropped Kruger right in the bar was that he probably wanted to keep it private and was simply waiting for them to leave. It had been a foolish act on the hit man's part to decide to take out Kruger's business associates. Something had triggered him and the damn fool had gone for his gun. Most likely it was that brief instant of eye contact when the Sarn hit man realized that Turner had recognized him.
Turner cursed inwardly; now the damn Sarn clan would be on his case as well.
FAWCETT'S WORLD
Walking through the open-air compound, Jukagu nar Vakka looked around warily. It was, first off, the scent which was so damned disturbing. Since it was a new smell, and one not yet placed as that of prey or rival, his reaction was mixed. The humans, standing listlessly beyond the double strand of electrified wire stood silent, watched him pass. He could hear their whispers, high pitched, disconcerting. He had studied the holo tapes his father had forced him to watch and he tried to distinguish what they were saying.
One word caught his attention, illegitimate offspring. He stopped and whirled about.
None of the humans on the far side of the wire were looking at him.
A soft chuckled rumbled next to him.
"Ah, so you do know a few words of their standard speech."
Jukaga looked over at Harga, his father's oldest friend and most loyal retainer, who was responsible for running this outpost world, granted to the Vakka clan.
"Aren't we going to do something?" Jukaga hissed.
"What?" Harga replied. "Find who said it and kill him? Young Jukaga, if we did that, there wouldn't be a single human left on this world."
"I don't see why my father suffers a single one of them to live."
"Call it an indulgence," Harga said, motioning for Jukaga to step under the shade of a wide spreading ulanna tree, imported all the way from the home world in a small attempt to provide something familiar in this alien landscape.
Jukaga sat down on the silken blanket spread beneath the tree and accepted the ceremonial cup of greeting from Harga. Though Harga was not of the royal blood Jukaga knew enough to defer to him, first since he was a renowned warrior for the Vukka clan, and also because he was his father's closest friend.
Jukaga looked back at the human compound. Most had drifted away from the wire, returning to the fields to till the crops. As Jukaga took in the scene there was a certain pleasantness to it all; soaring blue-gray mountains on the horizon, a cooling breeze coming down from the hills, the only disconcerting note the alien scents.
"I rather like this place," Harga announced. "Never thought I'd one day be master of a world. Much preferred standing by your father's side. How is he?"
Jukaga relayed the latest gossip from court and the final preparations for the forthcoming campaign, Harga slowly shaking his head as he refilled the young lord's cup.
"Strange to be here rather than going out on campaign again, but your father is right, I serve better here."
Jukaga looked back at the humans. How could anyone declare that standing home, watching slaves work, was better than going forth on campaign? Harga, as if sensing Jukaga's thoughts, chuckled.
"Do you know why your father sent you here?"
"He said he wanted me to see you. After all, this world is now part of our family holdings."
Harga smiled indulgently. "This world is far more. You know, this was the first place of contact between us and the humans of the Confederation?"
"Yes."
"Rather interesting. Apparently the Confederation is not even aware of it. The vastness of space, the multiplicity of worlds, the strange connections of jump points that can, at times, spring you past eight times eight systems before ending. The Confederation does not even fully know just where all its people are. The people that settled here, a mistake actually. Their ship was most likely reported as missing when, in fact, it had accidentally jumped to the edge of our forward outposts and shortly afterwards a ship of your father's clan arrived here and conquered them. They would have been slaughtered out of hand if your father had not intervened to save them."
Jukaga looked over at Harga. There was something about his father's friend that had always been strange. He was renowned as a fierce fighter, but he also liked books. Jukaga had to admit to a certain fondness for old Harga, the warrior had even served for a while as his tutor.
"Your father knew war was inevitable but he sensed something about this prey," and Harga motioned towards the fields.
"They work like slaves," Jukaga said.
"They work to feed themselves."
"Nevertheless, that is slave work."
Jukaga sensed something approaching from behind them and whirled about. A human stood behind him, and Jukaga's mane bristled. The human had approached silently, upwind and he instinctively coiled, ready to pounce if the human made the slightest indication of attack. The human looked straight at him, then shifted his gaze away, lowering his eyes.
"My lord Harga. You sent for me?" the human said, surprising Jukaga because he spoke the tongue of Kilrah, the words sounding strange, lisping and high-pitched.
"Abram, I wanted you to join us for jirak"
"I am honored," the human replied, and walking over to the simmering pot boiling on a charcoal brazier, the human poured himself a drink and, acting as if he was an equal, sat down on the edge of the silken blanket.
Jukaga bristled, ready to snarl out an angry comment at a slave who would be so impudent as to drink of the ceremonial herbal brew and beyond that sit in the presence of a royal member of the clan.
Harga chuckled at Jukaga's surprise.
"How dare he?" Jukaga snarled.
"Because I was invited," Abram replied calmly, looking straight at Jukaga.
Harga roared with delight, slapping his hands on his knees.
"The Baron Jukaga thinks I have taken leave of my senses," Harga announced, looking over at the human.
"Well, from what I know of you, I dare say relative to others of Kilrah you have," Abram replied calmly.
"What do you know of us?" Jukaga snapped, forgetting himself for a moment and speaking directly to one who was not even of the blood.
"Oh, much, very much. I've read your Ikgara Kutgaga, I know the lineage of the clans and the Story of the Eight, I can even tell you that I suspect that there's a war coming."
Jukaga looked at the human in wide-eyed surprise. The Ikgara was the sacred history of the clans, tracing the lineage to the mists of creation.
"A bit like our own Bhagavad Gita, and sections of Genesis," Abram said. "Comparative cultures can be rather interesting."
"Abram here is what the humans call a doctor, a teacher actually. He was one of the leaders of the colony ship which wound up here."
Abram nodded and sighed.
"A bit off course it seems. If you hadn't caught us by surprise I would have made sure everything was destroyed. For that matter, I would have most likely autodestructed our ship and everybody with it."
His tone suddenly took on a cold, hard edge and Jukaga sensed a dark, lingering anger.
"Lucky for you it was Vakka and me rather than someone from any of the other clans, or even other retainers from the clan of Vakka who found you first," Harga replied calmly.
"Lucky for me?" Abram replied shaking his head. "You found out far too much about us from our ship's library. You took as prisoner anyone with our group who had served with the Fleet. Tell me, where are they now?"
Harga looked at Abram, saying nothing.
"Dead most likely, after your Emperor extracted all that could be learned from them," Abram replied.
"Why do you allow this?" Jukaga asked, looking over at Harga and shifting to the dialect of the Imperial Court.
"He even knows some of that," Harga replied and there was a moment of hesitation. "I guess you could say because I consider him to be something of a friend."
"A friend?" Jukaga replied, stunned by the admission.
"Yes, you could call us that," Abram interjected. "Though I dare say my days are numbered. Once the war begins, our usefulness will be at an end. Your little lab here for studying the rats you've captured will be finished."
"I already told you the Baron Vakka has placed you under my protection," Harga replied.
Abram laughed. "You know, Harga, I actually do like you. You remind me of the stories of our old Earth, the samurai of the Tokugawa Shogunate. Trained killers, but killers educated in the arts, music, poetry. I only wish all you Cats were that way. Hell, we might even have found a way to get along."
"Cats?" Jukaga asked.
"Slang term they have for us," Harga interjected. "Seems they have a breed of pets that are a bit like us."
"Pets?" Jukaga bristled and his response drew a laugh from both the human and Harga
"I do not see the purpose of this," Jukaga announced coldly.
"Simply this," Harga replied and his tone was now serious, as if he was once again the elder tutor speaking to a young noble. Though the student might be superior in blood, there was still no question of who was superior in wisdom and would administer a sound thrashing if he was provoked.
"In a short time we and the Confederation will be at war." As he spoke Jukaga was stunned by the fact that Harga openly discussed this point in front of an enemy. The human said nothing, casually watching Jukaga while sipping his tea.
"The Crown Prince is a fool if he thinks this will end in eight or eight eights of days. A few weeks here with these humans would teach him that, as your father learned. This war will go on for generations and you, young Jukaga, will one day rule our clan. Your father wants you to know what you are fighting."
He motioned towards Abram, who put his cup of tea down.
"Given who you are, patriotic duty suggests that I should try to kill you," Abram announced calmly.
"Go ahead and try," Jukaga retorted.
Abram laughed softly.
"For my race I am old and you could snap my neck with ease. I doubt if one human in a hundred could hope to stand up to one of you in a physical fight. So my gesture would be futile."
"Human, if you are so aware, then why do you continue to cling to life?"
"Ah, suicide? Actually against my personal religious principles, but also I do rather like living, even if I am a captive."
"Why?" The thought of a captive wanting to stay alive without honor was beyond comprehension.
"Let's just say I want to see how things turn out. Harga and I have reached an understanding of sorts. You already got most of our secrets when you took my ship. Amazing how much stuff gets loaded into a ship's computers through the years and you forget to clean it out of the core memory. Once you got that you had eighty, maybe ninety percent of the picture of who we were, what we could do, our strengths and weaknesses. So, after that, we just agreed to chat. A quid pro quo as we say in one of our ancient tongues, I believe in yours it's huma ta humas."
Again there was a moment of surprise for Jukaga, the human had intoned an ancient saying in the royal tongue.
"Just how much have you shared with him?" Jukaga asked, looking at Harga.
Harga laughed. "Well, when you're alone out here, when you live in a society where learning is viewed with suspicion, of not being warriorlike, conversations with a learned alien can be rather stimulating. It helps to pass the years."
Abram smiled and nodded in agreement.
"We avoid things military," Abram said, "though given what's coming I dare say all things are military. I know Harga, here, is trying to figure us out, but for my friend I think it's just more of an intellectual exercise to pass the years. As for me, well, maybe, just maybe, I'll somehow survive and can report what I have figured out."
"And that is?"
"You'll lose."
"How?" Jukaga asked, incredulous at the audacity of the statement and also the matter of fact way in which it was delivered.
"You really don't know us," Abram replied. "Oh, you have the data, the numbers, the coordinates of jump points, the schematics of ships, the analysis of weapons. In that respect you have us, we're an open society, you a closed one. In a strictly military sense you should win."
Again there was the smile. "But you don't know what's in here," and he pointed towards his heart.
The gesture struck Jukaga as curious. The human was pointing to the place where the Kilrathi believed the soul resided and he wondered if it was a human gesture or simply one mimicked by a slave.
"You are most likely planning a Jak-tu, the springing from surprise. Wise move for any hunter tackling a prey, make it clean and quick, no chance of getting hurt. But the wrong move with us."
How the human even knew that was troubling. He looked over at Harga and saw the bemused look. No, this human had reasoned it out on his own.
"Go on."
Abram hesitated for a second.
"Funny, I start to relax and chat with you Cats and can almost forget that we're blood enemies, that we're destined for a fight and that whatever I say might hurt my race. But what the hell, you're all so fixed in your ways—" he smiled and looked over at Harga and nodded, "—present company excepted, that it really doesn't matter."
"Continue."
"We've got a strange sort of code. Two people meet, have a fight, maybe one gets killed, but there's a code, you shot him in the front, not in the back. Now I know throughout our own history that's usually not been the case, but nevertheless it gets us upset. You see the Jak-tu as proper, we see it as cowardly, a springing from the dark."
Jukaga began to stand up. To tolerate the accusation of cowardice from an alien was beyond all acceptance.
"Remain seated," Harga snarled. "Let him speak."
Abram looked straight at Jukaga, as if half wanting him to strike, to end it. Struggling for control, Jukaga settled back down.
"Maybe it's racial memory for both of us," Abram continued. "You were carnivorous hunters, while we most likely evolved from creatures who, before we discovered tools, were the hunted."
Jukaga looked at the human in surprise. To so casually admit being descended from prey beasts was beyond comprehension. There was no shame in the human's voice, no humiliation. Surprised, he looked over at Harga, who again smiled.
"I told you there was something to learn here," Harga said.
"Did I say something interesting?" Abram asked and Jukaga realized the human actually had no comprehension of the humiliation he had just admitted to. Curious, an alien thought process. If this point was alien, beyond comprehension, then what else was beyond understanding?
Something stirred within Jukaga, a dim glimmering of realization, as if a weighty thought, barely perceived, was starting to open up. He leaned forward, looking straight at Abram.
