A Matter of Honor Part 10

Medart nodded. "Good suggestion. Greggson, get half a decade of your best troops together in the main gym as soon as you can."

"Yes, sir." Greggson left, scowling at Corina as he pa.s.sed her. She wondered what she could have done to arouse the man's hostility; after all, she had barely met him.

"Give him a few minutes to get them together," Medart said, "then we can meet them in the gym. Do you really think you can defeat five top SecuDiv Marines?"

"I do not know," Corina replied quietly. "It has been some time since I worked with unTalented people, and last time I tried, I could defeat only two, neither of whom had a shield. On the other hand, I have been training with Thark and Valla. But defeating them is not as important as convincing Colonel Greggson of the danger he and his Marines face."

"Truthfully, I don't think you can do it," Hobison said. "All his people are top caliber, or they wouldn't be on this ship--and one of them, Ranger Medart's bodyguard, is a Sandeman warrior."

"Any selected for this vessel's Marine contingent would be formidable, I know," Corina said, "particularly one of that race's warriors. But I still believe the demonstration necessary; if one who is yet a student can make a respectable showing against such, then you will take more seriously those who are long-experienced in the use of their greater Talent."

"Can't argue that," Hobison said. "But I don't envy you the demonstration, Sir Corina."

All except the Ranger agreed aloud. He agreed privately as well, but wanted to give her the best chance possible, which meant not discouraging her before she even got started. And she was right; the demonstration, whatever its outcome, would be valuable. "Greggson's had time to call his people together," he said at last. "Let's get to the gym."

Medart spent the shuttle trip un.o.btrusively studying the young Irschchan. She'd certainly been handed a rough deal, he thought sympathetically. He might not share her telepathic Talent, but he could make an educated guess about how she felt. Betrayed by her teacher, attacked and almost killed, then drafted and hauled into a whole new kind of life . . . she couldn't be exactly comfortable about the whole thing, but she was reacting better than he could've expected--well enough that he'd rate her adaptability level the equal of a Ranger's, which was a promising sign. She'd make out all right, whether she met Ranger standards all the way or not.

Corina's self-evaluation was less optimistic. She was managing to keep up a good front somehow, she thought, since she didn't care to let strangers know just how overwhelmed she felt by the day's happenings.

At the moment she was going strictly on stubbornness, and was just hoping that would last long enough for her to adapt to this totally unfamiliar existence.

IV

By the time they got to the gym, it had been set up for the demonstration; it held a translucent-walled structure that Corina recognized from descriptions as a combat practice module, its walls opaque from the inside. To her dismay, there was an audience; off-duty crewwens lined the gym walls. An audience, she thought, was the last thing she needed now--but there was no help for it; she would simply have to do her best in spite of them.

Then she saw Greggson and five others in Marine black standing slightly apart from the spectators. She recognized Dawson, and three of the others were as big--but the fifth, little taller than Corina herself and seemingly as slight of build, she recognized as by far the most dangerous. The pale-eyed, dark-skinned blonds from Subsector Sandeman were the product of major genetic engineering, particularly their warriors. They had a number of advantages over standard humans, but the only ones she needed to worry about right now were their greater strength and speed. Maybe Greggson was right after all. Talent was important, but it certainly was not the only factor; she knew better than to underestimate Imperial Marines, and when one of them was a Sandeman warrior--

She broke off that line of thought abruptly. If she kept it up, the Marines would have no need to defeat her; she would do it to herself.

Calm and control, as Valla and Thark had told her repeatedly, were the keys to victory. She and Medart joined the waiting group.

"My men have been briefed, Ranger," Greggson said. "And they have stunners, not blasters, so . . . Sir Corina . . . won't be hurt." He turned to her. "Unless, of course, you'd rather call it off."

Corina's self-doubt was turning into determination under his scorn.

"No, thank you," she said quietly. "I will continue."

Medart smiled briefly at her, then turned to Greggson. "Get off her back, Colonel," he said. "You can join the spectators; I'll set up the situation for them."

Greggson obeyed silently, and Medart turned to the team leader. "This may be a demonstration, Major Dawson, but I want you to treat it exactly as you would a real security alert. You've just gotten word of an intruder, probably armed, and you're checking the ship." He turned to Corina, touching a control beside the module's entrance. When the walls turned opaque, he said, "You're the intruder, of course. Go on in the module and pick yourself a spot. I'll give you time for that, then send them in and turn the walls back to one-way."

"Yes, Ranger." Corina did as she was told, picking a spot near the far end, a location that had several connecting corridors. If what she'd read about search procedures held true, the team would split into two pairs, with the fifth person keeping several meters behind to back up whoever needed it. Her best bet, if they separated widely enough, was to take out one pair and the backup, then the remaining pair. If not, it would probably be best to try for the standard humans first-- a.s.suming, as seemed most logical, the Sandeman was backup--which would leave all her attention free for him.

She closed her eyes, taking her soul-blade and its sheath from her belt, and scanned for other presences as she would if she were entering hostile territory. Despite the distractions of the crowd, she quickly sensed her five opponents--and got an unpleasant shock. Three were totally unshielded, and Dawson's screen was so weak it would offer him no protection--but the fifth had a shield as tight as any she'd ever felt. She shook her head in brief amazement. Four shielded humans in the perhaps three hundred she had mind-touched since coming aboard, and Thark insisted he had met no Talented humans? But then the Emperor-cla.s.s cruisers did have elite crews, and three of the four were Command level--that must be significant, somehow.

But this was no time to worry about theory. She had been almost right about her opponents' formation; two were coming down secondary pa.s.sages, the fifth--the shielded one, and she learned from Dawson that he was the Sandeman--was coming down the main corridor. There was no way she could defeat them conventionally, but she had known that from the beginning--and this was to be a demonstration of the Order's potential; her Talent, not her blade-work, was necessary. So she should try for the standard humans first, with darlas.

In training she'd always been able to see, as well as sense, her opponents; although she had been told her Talent, like Thark's, was strong enough to make visual contact unnecessary, she wasn't sure she could concentrate well enough without it. Considering the circ.u.mstances, however, it was worth trying; she chose Dawson, focusing her Talent on him with what felt like the right degree of intensity to knock him out for roughly an hour.

To her surprise and satisfaction, her attack was just as effective and noticeably less difficult than in her practice sessions; she sensed the flash of Dawson's pain, then his loss of consciousness. It was easy to repeat the process with the unshielded three, and it was good to know that her training had been so effective--but she knew her most dangerous opponent remained. And even Thark's darlas couldn't penetrate a shield that strong, which left TK, weak as hers was, her only real weapon.

She waited tensely, a meter back from the main pa.s.sageway, as he approached. He was quiet, his steps barely audible, but she didn't need that to place his relative position. He stopped just short of the cross corridor, then entered swiftly, in a crouch, his stunner ready to fire--but he was looking to his left, away from her, and that gave her the time she needed to push the stunner's powerpack release and, as it fell, spring at him with her sheathed blade coming to rest at the angle of his jaw, close under his ear.

To her surprise he grinned at her, raising his hands. "I'd call that conclusive advantage, Sir Corina," he said. "With abilities and reflexes like that, you should've been born Sandeman--I'm Lieutenant Nevan DarLeras. Welcome aboard."

Corina replaced the soul-blade at her belt and stepped back, returning his courtesy with a bow. She'd read about Sandeman ethnocentrism, and knew he meant his words as a compliment, so she said, "You do me honor, warrior. I am pleased to meet you; I hope my victory has not dishonored you or your fellows in the eyes of your shipmates."

The Sandeman chuckled. "Hardly, with powers that were only legend until you proved them. The others are all right?"

"They are unconscious and they will have painful headaches when they wake, but other than that, they are fine."

"Only because it was an exercise, I'd say." Nevan picked up the powerpack, replaced it in the stunner, and holstered his weapon. "May I ask a tactical question?"

"Of course."

"In that case, why did you knock them out and simply remove the power-pack from my stunner? I would have expected you to use your strongest ability against me."

Both looked toward the entrance as they heard footsteps, and saw Ranger Medart approaching. When he joined them, he said, "I'd like the answer to that one myself."

"I did," Corina replied. "Although it would be more precise to say that I used the strongest of my powers he was vulnerable to. His shield is strong enough to protect him from an attack directly against his mind; were it weaker and this not an exercise, I could break through, injuring or killing him. However, even the best shield does not protect from physical effects, so I was able to use TK against him.

Had this been actual combat, I would have attacked him instead of his weapon, but a ruptured blood vessel in the brain is too permanent for a simple demonstration."

"It is that," Medart agreed, pleased and a little surprised at what sounded like she might be attempting mild humor. "If this were real, then, you're saying all five would be dead."

"Yes. Although had the warrior Nevan entered the corridor facing right instead of left, the result would have been different."

"But he wasn't." Medart nodded to the Sandeman. "You can go back to whatever you were doing, Lieutenant; I know you're not on watch right now."

"Thank you, sir." Nevan bowed to Corina, then left.

Medart gave Corina his full attention. If he hadn't just watched her do it, he would have found it almost impossible to believe one small, delicate-looking student could defeat five Marines at all, much less do it so quickly and with so little apparent effort. Her demonstration didn't make the actual threat any worse, of course; it just made the magnitude of that threat a lot more apparent. The White Order was a small group compared to the rest of the Empire, but with that type of power, it wouldn't take many of them to cause a major disruption.

Especially if they selected their targets carefully, which Medart had no doubt would be the case.

He'd better find out her potential as soon as he could, he decided. If she wasn't Ranger material, best to know it right away and go from there; if she was, she should be wearing the badge. It was a demanding job, but he enjoyed the challenges, and so would she if she had what it took--which he found himself hoping she did. "That was a very impressive demonstration, Sir Corina," he said then. "I think you and I need to have a serious talk. Let's go to my quarters, where we won't be disturbed."

Corina settled into the armchair Medart indicated, her legs curled under her, and accepted the gla.s.s of milk he offered. He had sounded quite somber when he had mentioned the demonstration, and had been silent on the way here, but there was something in his att.i.tude that gave her the impression of hope, as well.

His first question startled her. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do with your life, now that you've gone against the White Order?"

All she could do for a moment was look at him. Finally she said, "I have hardly had time to think about that, Ranger. I suppose I will return to my original ambition, which was to attend the Imperial Military Academy; being a naval officer appears to be the most practical way for me to explore the Empire while being of service to it."

That was promising, Medart thought--very promising. "I don't mean to rush you," he told her. "I have a couple of ideas on that line myself, so I'm naturally curious, but I don't need to know right this second.

You're welcome to stay aboard the Chang until you make up your mind, either as my a.s.sistant or simply as a guest."

Corina was puzzled--what ideas could he possibly have about her future?--but all she said was, "I thank you for your kindness; I do need time to adjust."

"Probably less than you think, from what I've seen." Medart seated himself, taking a sip of coffee. "Tell me about yourself."