A Matter of Honor Part 2

Thark also rose, nodding his acceptance. At least, he thought, she was acting as he had taught her, with honor and decorum. "Then we are enemies. I truly regret that, necessary as it is. Will you at least give me your word that you will not go to the Imperial authorities?"

He knew the answer even as he asked the question, but it was a propriety he had to observe.

"I cannot do that," Corina said. "You have taught me too well.

Failing to act now, on what I am positive is right, would be as dishonorable as treason itself."

"It would indeed," Thark replied with regret. "You leave me no choice.

I cannot kill a guest in my home; to do that would bring only shame.

However, I cannot let you live to reach the Imperials with this information, either. And I most certainly will not allow you to aid their cause."

Fear almost weakened Corina's resolve. She did not want to die, but death seemed unavoidable. If she thought about it too much, though, she might give in, and that would be worse. "I must try," she said steadily. "What of my family?"

"The decision was yours, not theirs," Thark replied. "It will not be held against them. If you wish, I will give them your soul-blade."

"I am not yet dead," Corina said, caressing the dagger's hilt. She turned and left.

"No," Thark said softly, watching her leave. "Not yet." As soon as she was out of sight, he mindcalled his lieutenant. *Valla? I have a job for you.*

*Yes?* came the calm reply.

*Corina Losinj must be eliminated. She broke through my shield when your call distracted me, and discovered the Crusade. She has just left, and is going to report to the Imperials.*

*Corina!* Valla's thought was surprised. *But I thought--* She hesitated. *Are you sure, Master? Why would she--*

*Apparently her lack of Order schooling. I cannot fault her; it is simply that her loyalties lie with the Empire rather than with us.

Still, she is a danger which must be eliminated.*

*Understood, Master. She was a good friend, and most Talented.* Valla had felt the regret in Thark's mental touch, and shared it, but there was no time for emotion now. *This is an unfortunate happening. I will take care of it.*

*With your usual efficiency, of course. But not personally. Arrange it. Tell the Sanctioners she is wearing that red-and-gold kilt. Then bring Kainor and meet me at my ship. She is forcing me to speed up the timetable; the Prime Chapter and other Crusade leaders are to gather as soon as possible on Rendavi. Inform your people.*

*How do you wish her to die?*

*She has betrayed her Talent; let her be destroyed by Talent. Tell your executioner to use darlas.* Thark regretted that, in a way; death by telepathic attack was exquisitely painful. But it was just, and it was honorable.

*What of her family?* Valla asked.

*They are oathbound. Disregard them.*

*Yes, Master Thark. Are there further instructions?*

*No.*

Thark broke the contact, then made three more briefer ones before his general broadcast to the off-planet Crusade leaders. Once they had been informed of the accelerated schedule, he was free to leave for his private s.p.a.cefield and the Prowler.

Thark's attention focused again on his immediate surroundings, the Prowler's control room. In retrospect, he was as sure of Corina's thoughts as if he had read them. He laid his ears back in a frown.

No, he could see no way he might have changed the morning's events. It was most regrettable, both the loss of such a Talent and Corina's death. He was still quite fond of her.

But enough of these useless memories, Thark told himself sternly. What had happened could not be changed. He should join his pa.s.sengers. He rose, giving his instrument panel an automatic scan as he rose. Urrr-- the proximity alarm! He'd forgotten to turn it on, a mistake he'd not have made but for Corina's defection. He sat back down and corrected his error, wondering if there were any others he'd made in his chagrin over Corina's betrayal.

Corina was thinking in rapid, frightened bursts as she left Thark's home. She was certain he would lose no time in sending the executioners after her, probably Sanctioners. She was not particularly optimistic about making it safely to the Planetary Palace and the Imperial authorities.

Thark's home was ten kilometers north of the capital city, MacLeod's Landing. It would be a long, time-consuming walk, but what choice did she have? With Sanctioners on her trail, using her identification to call for public transportation at one of the hailing posts would be a fatal mistake.

The occasional clumps of bushes bordering the street's short-cropped gra.s.s gave her an idea. She was fairly conspicuous; there were few pedestrians this far from the city, and as Thark had told her often enough, she did dress rather gaudily. She made her way into one of the clumps, took off her kilt, turned it inside-out, and put it back on.

It was a youngling's trick, but . . . She surveyed the results. Not good, she decided. Still, it might help; at least the solid maroon lining was a little less gaudy than red and gold plaid.

She returned to the street, glad for the soft gra.s.s that had replaced pavement when null-grav craft came into common use, and resumed her walk toward the city. As small as MacLeod's Landing was by human standards, it was already large by Irschchan, and still growing. If she made it that far, there was at least a chance she could avoid the Sanctioners in the crowds, and reach the Palace.

She had been walking for perhaps five minutes when a Sanctioner patrol cruiser sped past her, toward Thark's home. The wind of its pa.s.sage ruffled her fur as well as her kilt, but they seemed to pay no attention to her, for which she was grateful.

Still, it was what she had hoped. If she were obvious enough, the Sanctioners should think she had nothing to hide. Between that and her kilt-flipping, unless she ran into a Sanctioner who knew her well enough to identify her by the pattern of her mind-shield, she might make it.

Bare minutes later, though, her hopes fell as she heard the patrol cruiser approaching again. It stopped in front of her and three gray-kilted Sanctioners got out.

Besides the usual sporran and soul-blade everyone carried, the Sanctioners wore their collars of office, gleaming gold bands snug at their throats. And their blasters, normally worn on belt clips, were all pointed in her direction. Pitting around the muzzles showed Corina, as if she had needed the confirmation, that the weapons had all seen use.

She made her body relax. These Sanctioners were big, and they were treating her as cautiously as they would a dangerous criminal. From the Order's point of view, though, that was now an accurate description.

"All right, Losinj," the oldest one said. "Hands on your head, and do not move."

Corina obeyed, moving slowly to give herself time to think. These three would have tight mind-shields, and anyway, the most she had been able to handle in practice was two--which Thark, of course knew. She was in no position to fight. Her only chance was to get them to relax, drop their shields voluntarily. Unless they were simply going to kill her here . . .

Which they were apparently not going to do. Two stood back, perhaps three meters from her and an equal distance from each other, their blasters steady on target. The leader, staying carefully out of their lines of fire, approached her. He unclipped the soul-blade, sheath and all, from her belt and attached it to his own.

"It will be returned intact to your family for their Hall of Memories after your execution, as Senior Valla has ordered," he told her.

"My thanks to Senior Valla," Corina said, her voice shaky. So Thark had turned her case over to Valla. That wasn't good news at all. She knew Valla well, had in fact gotten much training from her, and they were friends, though not close ones. But Valla didn't let friendship interfere with her work, and she had a well-earned reputation for thoroughness and efficiency. At least, Corina thought, Valla did not dishonor her by ordering her blade broken.

The Sanctioner moved behind her. "Put your hands down, behind your back."

She obeyed, felt cool metallic bands close around her wrists. The Sanctioner took hold of her arm just above the elbow.

"Into the cruiser, youngling."

She got in, was seated between him and another Sanctioner, both with blasters aimed at her. The third took his place at the controls, heading them toward MacLeod's Landing and Sanctioner headquarters. She put her sort-of-a-plan into action; as uncertain as it was, she had been unable to think of anything else.

Huddling up, she let her mind-shield relax slightly. As the cruiser picked up speed, she felt one of the Sanctioners try a probe. Don't fight it, she told herself, use it. Sanctioners were Talented, of course, but they didn't have the training or control she had gotten from Thark. They shouldn't be able to detect her attempt at deception.

She shivered, letting the shield drop even further and allowing her fear, only partially falsified, to seep through. If she could convince them she was terrified, too paralyzed with panic to be a danger, she might have a chance.

The Sanctioner leader looked at her for a moment, then said, with some sympathy, "You seem harmless enough, hardly a dangerous criminal. Why does Senior Valla want you dead, youngling?"

"I do not know," Corina lied, projecting more fright. "I mean . . . I have done nothing . . ." She let her voice trail off.