Zeta Exchange Part 2

Chavvorth took the pictures, clearly puzzled. "An object from an old entertainment tape?"

"Right, and I'd recommend close study of the movies, too--Lord Vader in particular. The Sandemans at home regard those movies as cla.s.sics, and based several aspects of their culture on them. The first clan formed after Overthrow is named for Lord Vader, for instance, and the clothing they call honor-black is based on his armor and robes. They put a lot of effort into developing real lightsabers, too--I got mine as a death-gift from the warrior Leigh DarVader, and I wear it on ceremonial occasions or when I'm in Sandeman territory."

Chavvorth came as close to frowning as most Traiti could manage. "I hope you do not intend to confront them personally."

"I think I'm going to have to. There isn't anything I can do long-range that your own Rangers can't; what I can do is talk to them on their own terms."

"I understand." Chavvorth rose. "I will give these to Major Treschler and ask him to start preparations immediately."

"Thanks." Medart watched him leave, then asked the ship for a basic magic text. If he was going to have to confront hostile Sandemans again, he wanted every bit of knowledge and skill he could manage.

He was perhaps a third of the way through the tape when the ship informed him the Emperor was calling. He went to the screen, pleased to see that this universe's Sovereign looked like he was standing up well to the strains of war. "Ranger James Medart of Alpha Prime, Your Majesty. I'm at your Empire's service."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Ranger Medart, though I must apologize for having you taken away from your own Empire."

"No apologies needed, sir. Things were quiet at home, and I was planning to ask for temporary out-universe duty. It seems I've made friends out of your current enemies once before, so I get the challenge of trying to do it again."

The Emperor smiled. "I'm glad to hear you feel that way, Ranger. I'm not sure it'll be possible to make friends out of the Sandemans, but I'm not asking for a miracle; it'll be enough if you can just stop them from destroying the Empire."

"I'll do my best, sir. What resources can I call on?"

"Anything that's not actually engaged in combat. Or anything that is, if you consider it essential, including myself and the Rangers."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. In that case, I'd like to borrow the best magic teacher available; I won't be much real good until I can control the power I accidentally burned Captain Chavvorth with."

The Emperor frowned. "I saw the record tape of that, Jim. We don't have any teachers who can give you control of that much power without limiting it--the only ones who might even come close are the Sandemans, and they're not likely to want to help an Imperial."

"In that case, I'd like the fastest small ship available--something on the order of a courier--with a volunteer crew, to take me to Sandeman territory. I'll tape everything I know about them on the way, so you'll have that information whatever happens to me."

"What do you plan to do?"

"I don't know, exactly," Medart admitted. "That depends a lot on exactly how closely these Sandemans parallel the ones in Alpha Prime--and on how they feel about some incidents that took place there. But I do know, as I told Captain Chavvorth, that I can't do anything at long range that your people can't do at least as well. The only thing I have that they don't is over a hundred and a quarter years of friendship with Sandemans."

"That long?" The Emperor looked concerned. "Just how old are you, Ranger Medart?"

"A hundred and seventy-five, Your Majesty--but the anti-agathics are still working fine; I have the same physical abilities I did when I started them at eighteen."

"Understood. All right, Ranger; you were on full duty, and you obviously know more about them than we do, so I can't reasonably order you to stay away, however dangerous a situation I believe you're going into."

"It is dangerous, Your Majesty--I don't have any illusions about that.

I fought them before I brought them into our Empire, and they scared the stuffing out of me then. These have an extra century and a quarter of development, a h.e.l.l of a lot bigger civilization, and magic, so they scare me even worse. But the only chance I see for your Empire is going in, so I have to do it." He paused. "I was brought here with no chance to inform Alpha Prime's Emperor Kennard. If I'm able to return, I can explain things myself; if I can't, for whatever reason, I'd appreciate it if you'd notify my Sovereign of the circ.u.mstances."

"I'll see to it, Ranger. Is there anything else?"

"Just one thing, if I can indulge my curiosity."

The Emperor chuckled. "A weakness you know I share. Go ahead."

"In my universe, you have limited precognition. Do you foresee the kind of solution we'd both like as a result of bringing me here?"

"I foresee a chance of it," the Emperor said slowly. "Not a good chance, but without the summoning, there would be no chance."

Medart nodded. "You had to do it, then. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Ranger Medart. The ship and crew you want will meet you as soon as possible--and in the meantime, I'd recommend you not study magic. You don't want our version limiting you if you are able to get any help from the Sandemans."

"Yes, sir. I'll concentrate on recording everything I can remember about them, then."

Medart watched the lifecraft heading back for Imperial s.p.a.ce. His volunteer crew had given him a good ride to near-Sandeman s.p.a.ce, and had been reluctant to leave him to face them alone, but they'd finally obeyed his orders and left.

Once the lifecraft was out of sensor range, Medart switched on all the courier ship's external lights, activated the locator beacon, and set course for the center of the Sandeman sphere. The Sandemans at home had become familiar with Rangers, but the ones here still weren't, so he'd done as he had for the Mjolnir Conference: traded his military t.i.tle and uniform for his civilian t.i.tle and appropriate clothes, which meant a lot more to them.

The Sandemans here were as alert, quick to respond, and curious as the ones at home; less than an hour later, he was challenged. A dark-skinned face with light blond hair and pale grey eyes appeared on his comscreen. "You are intruding, Imperial. Identify yourself and give us a reason not to blast you out of existence."

"James Medart, Prince of the Terran Empire--but an Empire in a different universe. At home, we're friends, and I'd like the same to be true here." He unhooked the lightsaber from his belt, held it where the Sandeman could see. "I was bequeathed this by the warrior Leigh of Clan Vader, for giving him Last Gift. Both he and the warrior Keith, of Clan Lewies, named me as battle-companion for that service, and I have never claimed the life-debt owed by either clan."

"You know things you should not, Prince James," the Sandeman said. "Do you claim life-debt now?"

"No." Medart grinned. "I would if I thought it were necessary, but the Sandemans I know would be curious enough to invite me to their ships, or to Sandeman itself, to talk about it."

"You wish to surrender?"

"Not hardly--but I will, if that's what it takes to get a chance to talk to you."

"I will have to consult the Warleader on that, Prince. In the meantime, I will have your ship brought aboard our cruiser--release your controls to our operators."

Medart did so, nodded. "You have control."

The Sandeman disappeared, his place taken by a view of s.p.a.ce. A ship-image was growing, and Medart's sensors told him it was a big one--not quite as large as an IBC, but close. Shortly afterward, he felt the surge of tractor beam lock-on and the ship grew more quickly--fast enough he would have worried, if anyone but a Sandeman had been at the controls. With their reflex speed double that of the human standard norm, though, the speed of his approach was perfectly safe; as his ship was brought into the docking bay and landed, he double-checked his appearance.

He wasn't used to seeing himself in anything but uniform, since he spent so much time aboard Imperial Navy ships. But he'd worn similar clothing during the Mjolnir Conference, with the Sandemans there thinking it appropriate for his rank: silvery shirt, emerald-green pants, black uniform boots and equipment/weapons belt, topped by his green, silver-fringed arms baldric with his arms pin on the left shoulder. He'd worn his coronet as well, there, but that had been to distinguish him from the other Rangers he'd called in; he saw no reason to go to that extreme here.

Satisfied, he went to the airlock. As soon as the pressure equalized, he opened it and left the little ship, leaning against its hull with his arms crossed to wait for his hosts--or his captors.

Moments later the bay's inner lock cycled open and a small group of warriors approached him, the central one wearing honor-black. Medart straightened, then bowed and addressed that one. "I am Prince James Medart of the Empire in Alternate Alpha Prime. You do me honor, Warleader, wearing ceremonials. Am I prisoner, or guest?"

The Sandeman returned the bow. "I am Ryan, a warrior of Clan Vader and Warleader of this fleet. You place me in a difficult position, bearing a lightsaber you claim was a death-gift, and claiming further that Clan Vader still owes you life-debt. If either is true, I cannot honorably hold you prisoner--but I have only your word and a lightsaber that could have been taken from a dead or captured warrior in this universe."

"I'd be skeptical too, in your position," Medart said. "Even the fact I came here alone, deliberately, could be a trick. It isn't, but it could be. There's a way to convince you, though; I'm sure you have some way of questioning people and being certain you get truthful answers."

The Warleader frowned. "We do, Prince. I could question you under a compulsion spell, but your magical defenses are strong enough that doing so would be the equivalent of torture--which I may not honorably have you subjected to if you did indeed give one of my clansmen Last Gift."

Medart winced at that. Sandeman customs allowed enemy warriors to be tortured for information, and having warriors as battle-companions made him the closest possible non-Sandeman equivalent of a warrior. As Ryan said, giving Last Gift had made him immune from that particular unpleasantness, at least as far as Clan Vader was concerned--but it also looked like telling his story under that compulsion spell was the only way he'd be believed. And for his already-uncertain plan to have any chance of success, he'd have to have more than belief; he'd need active cooperation from at least one of the two clan-chiefs who owed him life-debt. Which in turn depended, of course, on whether they'd consider that debt binding in a universe other than the one where it was incurred.

"Since you're not certain I did," Medart said at last, "and since that's the only way I can prove I'm telling the truth, does the prohibition have to apply?"