A Matter of Honor Part 29

base is a case in point. The only way it'll be found and destroyed, other than by sheer accident, is by infiltration. If it could be done openly, it's big enough it'd be a Ranger's job; since it can't, field agents go in. To succeed, an agent will have to convince the pirates @'s a criminal--probably have to take part in some crimes for that purpose--to be allowed onto the base at all. Then @'ll have to convince them @'s trustworthy enough to be allowed access to the base's defenses to determine their strength, and to communication facilities to call in a strong enough Navy force to take the base out . . .

preferably coming out alive @self."

Medart paused. He wished he could read the Sandeman's mind, but Nevan's shield was definitely up. Still, revulsion seemed to have subsided to dislike, so he continued. "That's lying, probably theft, maybe murder. But it's the only way we know to eliminate what's become a major threat to inter-sector commerce, and is rapidly becoming worse.

Let me see if I can put it another way. Field agents are people we can trust to act against the Empire's short-term interests when, and only when, that's necessary to protect its long-term ones. It's always a dangerous job, usually a nasty one, and the agents know very well that most people share your opinion of them. The only reason they put up with all that is because they know how necessary it is."

"I . . . never thought of it that way," Nevan said slowly. Sandeman custom said that any sort of deliberate falsehood or deception was wrong, a grave dishonor, and he believed that implicitly--but it sounded like Ranger Medart was telling him that in some cases it was not only honorable, it was praiseworthy! That was a difficult concept to absorb--yet a Ranger was as scrupulously honest as a warrior, unless the Empire's very existence depended on one being otherwise, and Nevan couldn't imagine a warrior's becoming a field agent was anywhere near that important.

Another strong consideration was just which Ranger was giving him that information and advice. James Medart played a prominent role in Sandeman history, one of the few standard humans they accepted as being on a par with their warrior caste, and the one person they credited with making their entry into the Empire on an honorable basis possible; his words were to be given more than ordinary value.

After several moments' silence, Nevan nodded. "Since you name it both honorable and the best way to prepare for the service I hope to give Ranger Losinj, I will do my best to become such an agent." He paused, went on less formally. "If what you just told me--about field agents having a position of special trust--was known in Subsector Sandeman, any whose ident.i.ty we knew would be honored, not scorned."

"And that's something I hadn't thought of," Medart said. "If you're willing to waive warrior privacy on that part of our discussion, I'll be happy to pa.s.s it along to your clan-chief, the Vader, and the Miklos."

"It is waived, but only on that part."

"Understood, warrior." Medart strongly hoped Nevan would make it through agent's training; outside of the unfortunate but inevitable warrior's tendency to consider combat a preferred option rather than a last resort, he had all the qualifications of a Ranger. Whether Rina accepted his offer of fealty or not, the Empire would have something it'd never managed before: a Ranger-cla.s.s field agent. That would frighten some people if they ever found out about it, Medart thought, but he found it rea.s.suring--especially since the prospective agent was a Sandeman warrior. "Would you like me to brief you on the training?"

Nevan thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I'd rather go in without preconceptions, since you say I'm likely to find parts . . .

not intolerable, since I intend to tolerate them, but extremely difficult. The fewer details I know, the fewer contingency plans I'll automatically put together."

"That sounds reasonable," Medart agreed. Especially since a warrior's contingency plans tended to be violent . . . "Do you have any idea when you plan to offer fealty?"

"I was thinking of about five years," Nevan said. "I do want as much experience as I can get, and that's not a lot--but her people are allergic to the anti-agathics, so I don't dare wait too long."

"True. I'd say that was a reasonable compromise." Rina was a year younger than Nevan, but he was on anti-agathics and she couldn't tolerate them; if he didn't get himself killed on the way, he'd probably outlive her by close to two centuries. "Is there anything else?"

"No, sir." Nevan stood, bowed. "I thank you for your counsel, Ranger Medart. G.o.ds permitting, I intend to follow it."

Medart rose and returned the bow. "May they grant you success in both your training and your offer."

Until next time . . .

[Preparer's note: This is the end of the main story. The material following this note is the supplementary material linked to from elsewhere in this file.]

SELECT

It was the end of Test Week at the Academy, almost time for the results to be posted outside the cadet-candidates' dining hall, and all of them were there waiting. The results determined the incoming cadets'

initial standings, so James Medart was as eager--and as apprehensive--about them as any of the others.

Promptly at 1300, the display board lit, and Medart skimmed the list for the M's. He was confident he'd made it through the grueling tests--though even at this point, about a quarter didn't--and he was hoping for a good ranking. In the planet-wide testing, he'd rated #1.

That was good enough to get him to the main Academy at the Palace Complex but everyone here had scored high on their home worlds; he wouldn't be too disappointed, he told himself, as long as he made the top quarter.

When he found his name, though, it was all he could to to hold back a whoop of delight. He'd made #1 again, even in this picked group! It was Cadet Medart now, no longer Cadet-Candidate, #1 of the Cla.s.s of 2516! At least, he cautioned himself, until regular academic rankings started coming out. Then he'd be working hard to keep his rating, with the rest working equally hard to take it over--but for today, coming through Test Week on top was plenty of grounds for satisfaction.

The new cadets spent some time congratulating each other and commiserating with those who'd be going to branch Academies instead, then the group broke up to pack. This afternoon was theoretically free time, but the new cadets were anxious to move to the Academy proper, the others to leave the scene of their disappointment, so within half an hour Medart was back in his room.

He packed automatically, his mind busy. He was relieved to have Test Week behind him, still excited by his ranking, and trying for what felt like the millionth time to decide on his third major when there was a knock on the door. He called, "Come in," expecting to see one of his cla.s.smates or an uppercla.s.swen, when he finished closing his carryall and turned around.

The woman standing in front of the again-closed door was neither, and Medart couldn't help staring at her in shock. Outside the Palace Complex no ordinary Imperial citizen, and very few n.o.bles or officers, could reasonably expect to see one of these people in the flesh. He tried to regain control, but when the woman said, "Cadet Medart?" all he could manage was a nod.

The woman smiled. "I'm sorry for the shock, Cadet. I'm Ranger Arlene Perry. Do you have a few minutes to spare?"

This time Medart managed to find his voice, though it was a little shaky. "Yes, sir, of course." Dear G.o.ds, he thought numbly, an Imperial Ranger. There were only ten in the entire Terran Empire, and one had come looking for him. That was astonishing in itself--and if cadet rumor was right about the reason for such a visit, it was also intimidating.

To his surprise, Perry chuckled. That wasn't the sort of thing he'd expected from one of His Majesty's personal representatives--it was too ordinary. So was her grin when she said, "I gather from your reaction that you've heard the rumors about a post-Test Week visit from one of us."

Medart nodded. From Perry's tone and expression, she was trying to give him time to adjust, but he wasn't sure that would help.

"The rumor's absolutely true," Perry said. "What do you think?"

His first impulse was to say she must be either joking or crazy, but he knew better, and that kept him from answering right away. Of course he'd had the usual daydreams of himself in the forest green uniform and platinum badge, but he'd never seriously thought of himself as one of this premier elite. He didn't feel qualified, and the idea of taking on a Ranger's tremendous responsibilities terrified him. The authority and prerogatives were tempting--dear G.o.ds, who wouldn't want to be Imperial royalty, with unlimited money and power?--but it was the responsibilities that were his primary concern. A military officer's mistake could endanger a ship, maybe a fleet at the worst; a Ranger's mistake could endanger anything from a world or system all the way to the Empire itself. That was easily intimidating enough for him to want to turn Perry down flat. It wasn't at all the sort of thing he cared to have on his conscience.

After several minutes, he shook his head. "That's very flattering, sir, but you have the wrong person. I don't think I have what it takes to handle that kind of power."

Perry chuckled. "The cla.s.sic answer. Jim, all your test results were fed into the Empire Net and a.n.a.lyzed. The comps saw you had the kind of profile we're interested in, so the Net kicked your records up to the closest Ranger, who happened to be me. I agreed, so I brought them to His Majesty's attention. He agreed, so I'm here. Care to argue that combination?"

Medart took a deep breath. "With all due respect, sir, I don't have any choice, since I can't agree. I think I know myself pretty well; I'd make a good Navy officer, maybe even captain of a battle cruiser-- but not a Ranger."

Perry sat down on Medart's bed, next to the carryall. "Good. Believe it or not, Jim, that's exactly the response we were hoping for. If you did want the job, thought right away you could handle it, you'd be an arrogant fool--and you'd have disqualified yourself, even this late. I know it's hard to understand that feeling unqualified is part of what makes you qualified, but history proves that in most cases, people who want power are the last ones who should have it. There are a few exceptions, of course, but we're talking about the vast majority.

"What we want are people who have the necessary ability and a reasonable amount of ambition, but who aren't interested in power for the sake of power itself. It's a delicate balance, and we may miss some who qualify because we prefer to take no chances on power-hunger-- but you can be positive that if you are tapped, you do qualify."

Medart hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. He knew as well as anyone that the Empire was chronically short of Rangers. There were never enough, even when there were more than the average of ten. It was also common knowledge that however few there were, the selection criteria-- whatever those were--were never lowered. They might be, and had been, raised; the opposite, never. So however unqualified he felt, he could be positive, as she said, that he was in fact fully qualified.

And he'd applied for the Academy because, as far back as he could remember, his goal in life had been to serve the Empire to the best of his ability. Until Perry had entered his life, he'd thought that meant the military, like the rest of his family. Now he was told there was a far more essential service the Empire wanted of him. That, he thought, had to take precedence over his fear of the responsibility--and they must have known he'd feel that way.

"In that case, sir--it scares me more than I want to admit, but if you and His Majesty want me for the job, I have to try." He hesitated, then said, "Which you probably knew, from my psych tests, before I did."

Perry's smile was relieved. "We hoped, and we thought the odds were good--but we didn't know. Good as the indicators are, we do have some refusals. Welcome to Imperial service, Ranger Medart."

Ranger Medart. The idea still scared him, but he had to admit he did like the way it sounded. "Thank you . . . uh, what do I call you now?"

"Arlene in private, Ranger Perry in public. And His Majesty is 'sir'

to you now, not 'sire'." She grinned. "I think civvies would be more appropriate than probationary-cadet clothing, and I have a sidearm for you outside the door. His Majesty will give you your badge when we get to the Palace. Okay?"

"Uh, yes, of course. Isn't there some sort of oath or something?"

"You don't need it. There'll be a confirmation ceremony after your initial leave, emergencies permitting--but the fealty oath you'll take there is for the public, not for yourself."

Medart was a little disappointed that Perry's uniform was hidden by a cloak when he got changed and left his room, and that the trip to the Palace was in an unmarked car, but she explained that was simply to give him enough private time to notify his family of his selection personally before His Majesty made the official announcement. "Take advantage of privacy whenever you get the chance," she advised. "You won't get it often, especially at first--and you'll want to make arrangements for SecuDiv to protect your family from the more persistent newsies, at least until the novelty of your selection wears off."