A Matter of Honor Part 20

Medart nodded to Corina, smiling. "Go ahead, Rina."

Corina glanced at him, then decided she liked both the nickname and his use of it. "Thank you, Jim. Empire Net, this is Ranger Corina Losinj, ident code RCJ-1643-2048."

"Thank you, Rangers. Is there anything else?"

"No," Medart said, then looked at Corina, smiling. "Welcome to Imperial service, Ranger Losinj. Now that the formalities are over, you might want to get into uniform; we should call His Majesty with the good news, then have breakfast."

"That would seem proper," Corina agreed, "though I would prefer something other than your style. A kilt is nice, with a cloak for bad weather, and the sporran is useful--but I do not think I would be comfortable with fitted garments all over, such as yours."

"Good point," Medart said. "Since uniforms are supposed to be both convenient and a form of easy identification, there's no reason you shouldn't use a kilt the right shade of green; along with the badge, it should serve the purpose. And once we have time, you might want to recommend similar uniform changes for the Irschchan members of other Imperial services."

"Should we survive, I will do so." Corina went into her sleeping area and ordered a complete uniform, though with kilt instead of shirt and trousers, from the fabricator.

"Thark? There's him, of course," Medart called. "But there's no point in worrying about him right now. Make your preparations, get everything as ready as you can--then worry; it might let you find something you've overlooked."

"I will try." Corina shook her head, but Jim was right; she did tend to concern herself with problems that never arose, and that did waste time.

Medart heard the fabricator's delivery bell ping, then sounds of rustling cloth as Corina changed. The pattern rapport had made a big difference in her manner, he thought, and for the better. She was much more relaxed around him, even a little less formal. And she seemed more sure of herself, which would help.

Corina felt strange, changing out of her accustomed bright garb into the functional, if in her opinion unnecessarily drab, forest green.

The fabricator had included an ankle-length cloak with heavy silver embroidery and the Imperial Seal; she considered that for a moment, settled it over her shoulders long enough to admire it in the mirror, and removed it. That was for formal ceremonies in which she used her military rank and t.i.tle, not for every day. There was a visored hat, as well, but she didn't try it on; such headgear did not take Irschchan ear structure into account, so she planned to avoid wearing it. And possibly suggest another uniform change.

She stood holding the badge for a moment, still hesitating to take the final step and pin it on. It was only a small piece of platinum, a star in a circle, but it meant almost total independence and authority, subject only to the Sovereign, anywhere in Imperial s.p.a.ce. It was odd, she thought, but this particular symbol affected her more than it should. Either Irschchans were more symbol-conscious than she had been taught, or this was a side effect of pattern rapport with a human.

She told herself to get on with it. She had accepted the job, why not its symbol? But it did not seem appropriate, after Jim's memories, to pin it on herself--not the first time. She returned to the living area, held it out to Medart. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all. I'd be honored." Medart took the badge and pinned it to the holder the fabricator had provided on her equipment belt.

To Corina's surprise--and Medart's satisfaction--her emotions when he did so were a duplicate of his fifty-seven years earlier. Pride, determination--and the confidence that others' belief in you could create.

*Yes,* Corina sent. *I have heard of such boosts, but had never quite believed in them. It is strange . . . I had always thought myself unaffected by others' opinions, but it is clear I was wrong.*

*Sometimes it depends on who the others are,* Medart replied. *Someone you don't care about can't have more than a surface impact, pro or con; someone you do care about can have a disproportionate one. This is the wrong time for philosophy, though. Is that knife the only weapon you plan to carry? You might want to think about something with a little more range.*

"I think not," Corina said aloud. "I am not familiar with distance weapons, since I am not a Sanctioner; my darlas should be adequate for anyone I cannot reach physically--after this mission, at least." She indicated the weapon at his belt. "Nor, I would say, am I the only one to prefer unconventional weapons; that does not appear to be a blaster."

"It isn't," Medart said, drawing the weapon with a chuckle. "It's just as effective, though, maybe more so. It's a replica of a Browning Hi-Power 9mm automatic--a slugthrower. I had it made not long after I was tapped, and I have a standing order for fresh ammunition; it goes bad after a few years, even under shipboard conditions. It holds thirteen rounds in the clip--" which slid out as he pressed the release b.u.t.ton, "and one in the chamber when I expect trouble. I can always carry more clips if I expect a lot of trouble." He worked the action, then handed her the empty weapon.

Corina examined it carefully. It was too large for her hand, which she expected because it seemed to fit Jim's perfectly. She was impressed by the precise workmanship, too; it made the gun, deadly as it was, a thing of great beauty.

"Why a slugthrower instead of a blaster?" she asked curiously.

"Personal preference," Medart replied. "For one thing, I happen to like slugthrowers--and computers with keyboards, and paper books. For another, more practical reason, it has stopping power a blaster can't match, and it's noisy. A snap shot, if I'm surprised, will give me time enough to get in a second, well-aimed round. That's saved my life a couple of times."

Corina handed it back, watched him reload and holster it. "It seems to be an excellent weapon, but I prefer to rely on my blade and darlas."

Medart shrugged. "No arguing preference. And it's about time we get to work, so--" He called the Comm Center, told them to set up a scrambler call to the Emperor either at the Palace or aboard the Empress Lindner. "And have it put through to my quarters," he added.

Then he turned to Corina. "We'll have to have your quarters rigged for priority communications, but until the techs can get to it, you'll have to use mine or go to Briefing Room One. And my quarters are right next door. I'd also recommend a comm implant, but that can wait if you don't want to spend a couple of hours in sick bay; a wrist-com will do everything you need for now."

"A wrist-com, then, until we complete this mission."

The screen was flickering blue even as they entered the human Ranger's cabin, then it cleared to show a sleepy-looking Davis. "Morning, Jim.

What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but for a change it's good news. We have another Ranger."

Davis smiled. "Losinj? That's the kind of news I don't mind getting out of bed for. How did you manage to convince her?"

"I didn't, sir, at least not in any conventional way. We had a training accident." Medart briefly described the pattern rapport and memory exchange, then went on, "I'm putting her in charge of this mission and going on backup."

"Right," the Emperor said. "That's what I'd do; Thark's her problem anyway. I'll pa.s.s on the good news to Rick and the others." He turned his attention to the young Irschchan. "I'm glad to have you with us all the way, Ranger Losinj."

"Thank you, sir." Corina hadn't expected to be put in complete charge, but she wasn't totally surprised; it was logical, given the circ.u.mstances, and Jim's memories did indicate that Ranger training-- what there was of it--had a tendency to be rather abrupt.

"Before we get to serious planning," the Emperor said, "have you given any thought to the arms you want?"

"Arms? No, sir." It was traditional, Corina knew, for a new Ranger to use the arms of one who had died--but that tradition had not even occurred to her.

"May I make a suggestion, then?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"I think Steve Tarlac's would be appropriate. Hovan told me Clan Ch'kara's Speaker for the Lords said our next Ranger would be his spiritual heir--and now that we've found you, that seems reasonable."

Corina bowed. "I would be honored to bear the Peacelord's arms, sir, though I do not know if I can live up to his example."

"It won't be easy, but then neither are any of our jobs." Davis grew sober. "Back to our present situation. So you can plan, Rick and I are in s.p.a.ce now, as you suggested, outside Sol System. Only the ship's captain and navigator know our location. I've ordered the defense satellites not to fire on any Irschchan ships. Since you're sure Thark will be leading the attack, we'll be using Jim's plan: I want Thark to land and take action against the Palace itself, and to prevent unnecessary damage, I'm making it as easy for him as I can. As a ruling n.o.ble, he'll have no trouble getting through the Complex's weather dome, and he'll find the Palace's security screen has somehow been left off. The Guards have orders not to fire until he takes hostile action."

"I understand, sir. I may not be able to take him alive for a Tribunal, though. I may not be able to take him at all."

"It's not necessary to take him alive," Davis replied after a moment's thought. "A Tribunal isn't essential, it's the evidence that is. If you can't take him at all--" He was silent for a moment, then said, "All right. How long will it take if you can handle him?"

"Less than half an hour, certainly; probably no more than fifteen minutes."

"Considering the size of the Palace," Davis pointed out, "it could take you longer than that just to find him." He thought for a moment.

"Signal Defsat Five when you land. They'll have their orders, and if they don't receive a second signal from you within an hour, they'll blast the Palace and everything for ten kilometers around it. I don't want that to happen--it'd mean losing four Rangers, as well as a couple of hundred thousand people, and probably destroy the Complex--but even that is better than a rebellion that would cost millions or billions of lives throughout the Empire."

"I will do my best to avoid that, Your Majesty."

"I know you will," Davis said. "Still, for the first time, I'm grateful that politics forced Chang to have the Palace built in Antarctica. A strike like that almost anywhere else would kill a h.e.l.l of a lot more people."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't hesitate to call me if you have to. But unless there's anything else, I'll sign off now and let you get back to work."

"I have nothing more, sir," Corina answered, and the screen went blue momentarily before it shut off.