A Matter of Honor (Privateer Tales Book 9) (8 page)

"Sorry, sometimes I get carried away. Suppose it comes from sailing solo for so many years," he said. "I've still got my bond. Why? What do you have in mind?"

"Can you cover six hundred thousand credits?"

"What's it worth to you?"

"We need to sail six hundred meters of cargo and a hundred tonne ship. Two stops," I said.

"How far?"

Nick flicked him a navigation plan that had him stopping by Descartes on the way to Meerkat on Nuage Gros.

"Run to Gros, eh? Wondered who they'd pick up for that. I've been making that run for decades," he said. "I thought you wanted to buy the ship. I'm looking to retire."

"One-way trip, Captain Norris. We'd like Meerkat to do a refit. We're offering full price on your Kestrel and if you can cover the bond, we need to know if you'll take the run," I said.

"Fifteen thousand," Norris offered.

I raised my eyebrows. "That's pretty steep, don't you think?"

"Son, if you wanted to negotiate, you shouldn't have shown up in a shuttle worth half a million credits. I figure you're well-funded and out of options."

"How soon can you leave?" Nick asked.

Grand Village of the Elders, Planet
Ophir

Elder TeePa gripped his bash stick as he looked across the ceremonial fire pit to Corget To. At twenty seasons, Corget To was in his prime and sat defiantly, refusing to acknowledge the elder.

"The KentaPoo are weak and we should attack while their entrance stands open." Corget To reiterated his position. KentaPoo was a common, derogatory term that loosely translated to 'slugs with arms' as opposed to the FenTamel, or 'children of the stars.'

"Corget To, you are a brave and mighty warrior, but you lack the wisdom of our histories," Elder TeePa said, affecting patience. "You avoid our fires so that you may listen to the blood rushing through your ears, singing you to battle. The FenTamel are indeed as soft as the Kenta, but they strike with the light of the Tamel of the night sky. My matron sung to my nest of how our village was brought low before I was hatched."

"Our failure of two moons back was not that of our warriors but of our elders. We should have sent all our nests and we would have defeated the KentaPoo and the entire mountain range would know of the glory and power of Grand Village. Instead, this group of cowards…" Corget To spat on the ground, showing his disgust by wasting his water, "held us back and our village has been cut down."

"And what if we'd been raided? Would you give our village to the Red Clan of the north?"

"I would rather give our village to the Red Clan than to allow the KentaPoo to continue to disgrace us. We should merge with our brothers of the mountain and mount an attack of a hundred nests. Only then will we avenge our lost warriors," Corget To said.

TeePa stood, bash stick in hand. "We will not! The FenTamel village is in our territory and it has been our sacred duty to destroy them."

Corget To jumped to his feet, seeing the challenge in the elder's stance. "We are the disgrace. The songs sung of our village only talk of our weakness. We are the joke of the mountain and now we have failed again. We must unite all of the mountain and then our disgrace can be forgotten."

TeePa, while old at forty seasons, once again heard the song of battle, played by the blood rushing in his ears. Elders were not to be questioned and he would make an example of this impudent tadpole. He roared as he leapt across the fire pit, bash stick raised. He would send a message to the nests to respect their elders.

Corget To knew it was his responsibility to receive his beating. Tonight, however, he would not. Thirty nests, fully one hundred fifty of the strongest warriors of the Grand Village, had been sent to their glorious death and now, while the KentaPoo's village stood open, they sat back, waiting for them to rebuild. At least the elders should send the remaining forty nests. It was cowardice.

"No!" Corget To roared, bringing his bash stick up into TeePa's armored chest.

He struck with such strength that the much older Ophie was thrown to the side. With blood song in his ears, Corget To swept his bash stick into his elder's shins, striking at the knees as he tried to stand.

Members of the Elder circle stood back, waiting. It had been long since a whelp challenged an Elder at the fire, but TeePa had struck first. They were honor bound to allow the fight to discover its own end.

Corget To jumped over TeePa, swinging again. Instead of finding the softness of the fallen Ophie's groin, Corget To instead felt the crushing impact of TeePa's stick beneath his jaw. He stumbled back, trying to keep his feet beneath him. A second blow to his groin, followed by a jab to his throat, toppled the large warrior.

"Corget To, do you yield?" TeePa asked as he stood on the younger Ophie's club.

Corget To struggled, trying to free his stick. Seeing that this was not possible, he brought his leg up in an attempt to kick at the older Ophie.

"Always the same. We learn too slowly and then we die." TeePa raised his club. It was a shame to end such a powerful warrior, but discipline in the village was critical, especially now that their numbers were reduced.

"TeePa, would you hold a moment for a proposition?" Sevn Tar, his once mate, and matron of Corget To's nest asked, placing her hand on his arm.

"Yes, honored Matron, I will hold," he responded.

"I recognize your prowess in battle and right to finish Corget To. What if there was another way to defeat the FenTamel? What if we were to require tribute to Grand Village for the honor of crossing our lands and fighting them?"

"What does this have to do with Corget To?"

"You are about to join him with the mountain, am I right?"

"I am."

"What would you do if one of the Red Clan came to our village with a proposal to allow us to hunt predators in their territory? Would you listen or would you join him with the mountain?"

"I am not sure. It would depend if they had especially fierce predators," he said. As he spoke, understanding showed on his face. "Are you proposing that we send Corget To as an emissary to the Red Clan? Doesn't that make us look weak to our brothers of the mountain?"

"Perhaps at the first. But how many nests would Red Clan send to attack the FenTamel?"

"I don't know. If they came, I suppose they would send their strongest nests, maybe two or three of them at first."

"Would they be successful against the FenTamel, mighty TeePa?"

"Certainly not. They would not be successful with fifteen nests, so much we have proven over so many seasons."

"Would their songs about Grand Village change?"

TeePa paused to think. Matron Sevn Tar had always shown wisdom and had once been a mighty warrior. He knew the blood song had sung to her for many years. Maybe she was right, perhaps it was time for a change, if only a small one.

Yishuv Settlement, Planet
Ophir

"Amon, it's time to break open the furnace and see what we've got at the bottom. Just stack the bricks to the side. You'll need to break the mortar, but try not to ruin the bricks. If we didn't smelt the iron right, we'll have to make another run," Merrie instructed.

Nurit and Merik had followed the pair back to the abandoned tannery, their curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean, Merrie?" Merik asked.

"If I failed to keep the temperature in the right range, we'll just have a nice wrought iron smelt," Merrie said. "I'll know based on the final carbon content of what's called the bloom."

Nurit joined Amon in removing the bricks from the tall furnace. Even with gloves, the heat at the bottom became too much for them to continue with careful removal and they resorted to toppling the bricks with iron poles.

"Use your tongs. You should be able to lift the bloom out," Merrie said handing the blacksmith's tongs to her friend.

"Bloom?"

"The steel that's collected at the bottom. Supposedly looks like a flower," she explained.

Amon stepped forward and dug into the glowing pile with his meter long tongs. Even with his great strength, he was unable to free it. "I'll have to pound it out of there," he said.

"Just be careful of my oxygen inlet and slag release. I'd like to reuse them," Merrie said, backing away.

After a few minutes of hammering, Amon successfully freed the remaining bricks from the iron slag. He dug into the pile with his long tongs and grabbed hold. "It's heavy, but I've got it," he said. Nurit slid in beside him and he accepted her help. Together they worked the pile back and forth, finally rolling an orange, spongy looking ball from its prison.

"How much does it weigh?" Merik asked, excitedly.

"It's loaded with slag that we need to break off," Merrie said. "You can beat on it, Amon, whatever falls off is slag."

Amon, wearing heavy leather gloves and apron, pulled a transparent face shield over his face and swung away at the big pile. Twenty minutes later, he'd chipped away the loose material from the otherwise pocked and porous looking steel bloom.

Merrie leaned down with a small instrument in her gloved hand, touched it to the black mass, and pulled back.

"Careful, Merrie. That's still very hot," Nurit said.

Merrie looked up to Amon, oblivious to Nurit's warning. "We did it!" She jumped up and wrapped her arms around the confused blacksmith, unable to contain her excitement. She spun him around and let go, looking back to the two masters expectantly.

"What did you do, Merrie?" Merik asked. His face reflected the young woman's excitement.

"High carbon steel on our first try. I'd just hoped for mild steel – or, you know, any type of steel at all - but we're at two point three percent carbon. We can do better, but we could have done a lot worse," she said.

"You're saying that's all steel?" Nurit asked. "There has to be thirty kilograms of it."

"It's not all steel. You'll lose another ten or fifteen percent as you work it. But, it's mostly steel." Merrie grabbed Amon's hands and pulling him around in an impromptu dance.

"What will you do with it all?" Nurit asked.

"I'd like a couple of kilograms for the maker-machine. We've been recycling all of the founder's steel and could use more. There are patterns we haven't been able to make for years," Merik said.

"Master, please don't yell at me, but I brought along the engineering pad. I can show you what Amon and I have been planning to make," she said.

"Merrie…" Merik shook his head disapprovingly, then rolled his eyes. "Very well, show us."

Merrie pulled a wrapped bundle from a wooden case and turned on the computerized pad. She showed a video of an ancient swordsmith working raw steel into a highly polished, slightly curved blade. "Amon already makes such beautiful daggers and there are only a few steps that he has to learn to make this work."

"We've tried the shorter iron swords against the Ophie. They don't penetrate the natural armor," Nurit said. "Why do you think this will be different?"

"These blades are thinner and sharper than anything we can achieve using iron. You are right, though, there are other options for blades. We believe this design will give better results in penetrating the Ophie's natural armor," Amon said.

"There's more." Merrie swiped the engineering pad to the next video she had queued up.

On the screen a woman held a complex-looking bow. She drew it back as the camera swept to the front. The pad showed a magnified view of the arrow sporting a swept back, sharpened steel head. As the archer released, the video followed the arrow down range, where it buried itself into a thick leather ball.

"With our steel, we can produce the wheels for that compound bow, as well as heads for the arrows. The engineering pad estimates that this bow, configured with these arrows will penetrate six centimeters of bone and cartilage at fifty meters. I just need twenty minutes of maker-machine time to fabricate the limbs and gears. That is if Master Nurit would cast the handle," Merrie said.

"The handle is simple enough. Have you consulted Captain Gian about this?"

"I have informed the captain of the experimentation," Merik said. "He has previously been cool to the idea, but I believe with recent attacks, he is becoming more receptive."

"I approached Eliora. She is willing to work with our new weapons in her spare time and to help demonstrate them. I believe it is our responsibility now, mother," Amon said.

"You will spend a full six hours each day on your normal tasks. If this fails, we will not be accused of letting the village suffer. You may use the smithy's resources for your work, but you will work safely. Merik, our power hammer is not operating. I do not want to see Amon working this much steel with just the power of his arms. I'm not sure there is enough food in all of Yishuv if he were to do that." Nurit's tone was serious, but there was a small glint of mischief in her eyes.

"But of course, it is our responsibility to maintain our settlement's machines. I'll send a particularly bright apprentice over first thing in the morning to see what can be done about fixing the power hammer," Merik said.

"There's not much more to be done tonight. We'll be by first thing in the morning to pick up Merrie's treasure."

***

"Why do you believe this will pierce an Ophie's chest plate?" Eliora asked, looking at the strangely constructed bow. "We've tried long bows before and they don't work. The only thing that has any effect is the small crossbow and even they don't pierce the chest deeply enough."

Merrie smiled at the willowy protector and handed her a straight wooden arrow with a narrow steel razor blade on the end. "Two things. First, we've not had a good supply of steel before. We've been able to manufacture these very light-weight arrow heads that are shaped to penetrate. Second, these wheels reduce the work required by the archer and magnify their strength. It's purely mechanical. You'll see," she said.

Just then a warning siren sounded. It was the signal for an attack.

"This will have to wait," Eliora said, handing the bow back to Merrie and dashing off.

Eliora raced through the small town and joined her fellow protector, Bashi, as they approached the main barracks beneath the left side of the gate. Eliora surged ahead into the building, grabbing her small crossbow from its protective cradle on the wall. She danced around Bashi, raced back out the door, and climbed up the stone stairs that led to the top of the wall.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"Five attacked a group of woodcutters. Only two of ours made it back," Pele explained. "The Ophie rushed the gate, but we took them out."

As he finished, a bell rang on the southwest side of the village.

"The farms," Eliora said, as Bashi arrived.

"Good, you're here, Bashi. Man the main turret. Eliora, you're with me," Pele said.

As the third-ranking protector, Pele was only one of two given the responsibility to carry a portable blaster rifle. Eliora's duty was to defend Pele with her life, as the weapon he carried was irreplaceable. Eliora followed him as he flew down the stairs to the waiting cart.

Eliora vaulted into the back of the cart and grabbed the roll bar just in time to steady herself as Pele accelerated. She hooked her left arm into the support and checked her crossbow. She had a full load, as she'd expected.

The bells in the tower that sat twenty meters inside of the gate continued to ring as they sped past. At the top of the tower, a young boy hung out of the arched window and pointed frantically over the wall. He appeared to be shouting, but the noise was too much for her to make out the boy's words.

"Pele, we've action outside of the gate," Eliora interpreted the boy's gestures.

The southwest gate was closed and several farmers stood just inside, looking hopeful at their approach.

"On me," Pele said as he skidded to a halt.

Eliora marveled at the physical grace the man displayed as she followed him. He wasted no time running around objects, but rather took a straight line, vaulting, spinning and hurdling anything in his path. If not for her own speed, Eliora would have been left behind.

"To the rampart," Pele commanded as they arrived at the top of the wall.

Four defenders were shooting their crossbows and dodging an onslaught of Ophie spears. The battle roar of frustrated Ophie's chilled Eliora as she flashed back to her recent, narrow escapes.

The rampart on the southwest gate was a narrow wooden deck that overhung the very top of the wall. It gave the defenders a stable surface on which to mount their defense, although it could be cut free if it was compromised by attackers.

Eliora grabbed two restraining harnesses and clipped them into the wall. First, she helped Pele attach his and then set to work on hers. When she finally had time to turn and survey the field, her vision clouded with tears. Many dead farmers lay in the fields. Brushing away tears, Eliora forced herself to look away, seeking out their enemy.

Seven Ophie stood beneath the wall, bellowing and hurling rocks, having exhausted their supply of spears. It was a strange behavior. The Ophie knew better than to stand in the open within range of the wall unless they were actively attempting a breach.

"Why are they standing in the open?" Eliora asked.

"Look at their belts. We've never seen those markings before. And they're throwing rocks, like they're trying to entice us into joining them for a fight," Pele said. "I'll certainly oblige them."

As he fired, the Ophie dropped one by one. Instead of running away, the others simply watched their brethren as they were cut down. It was as if they were unable to process what they were seeing.

"It's like they've never seen us before," Eliora said.

"And their attacks are never this close together. Something changed," Pele said as he put the last one down. "How many do you count?"

"Eight," Eliora said.

"Then we're looking for two more," he said. "You two stay put and close the gate behind us. We'll see if we can find the stragglers," Pele said to the two protectors who had joined them at the base of the wall. "You're driving, Eliora."

"Yes sir," she replied.

Eliora slowly drove out into the field. The carnage wasn't as bad as it had been in the previous attack, but it wasn't easy seeing the dead villagers. There had been no warning, as many of the farmers still held their tools, albeit defensively in some cases.

Movement at the tree line caught Eliora's eye as three Ophie emerged, fanning out at a dead run. They were thirty meters away and quickly closed the distance. Pele's first shot went wide, but he adjusted and fired again. Two Ophie continued to charge. Pele swiveled twenty degrees and lined up on the next target, but wouldn't have time for a third. Eliora said a quick prayer, fully expecting it to be her last, and positioned herself between Pele and the charging beast. She fired repeatedly, her peripheral vision acknowledging the Ophie to her right dropping to the ground only meters from their position. As the final Ophie closed in, she rose up into it - a final sacrifice. Eliora hoped to force the large reptile to stumble over her body, giving Pele more time to shoot, but the impact sent her flying backward into the man. Her last vision was of the Ophie grabbing the barrel of the blaster rifle, pulling it from Pele's grip and splitting his head open with the butt of the rifle.

Third Protector Shem fired from atop the gate. The range was too great for accuracy on a moving target, but he couldn't allow the Ophie to escape with the only other blaster rifle. A puff of dirt at the Ophie's feet gave him hope that he might yet recover the priceless weapon.

***

Corget To saw the earth explode at his feet and understanding seeped into his small brain. He'd killed the great warrior who possessed the Tamel weapon and now it was his. It had already been a glorious day. The nests of the Red Clan and his own Great Villagers had joined to slaughter many of their enemy. As he'd planned, the Red Clan lost many warriors in the fighting and their defeat would be sung by the home fires all along the mountain. Better yet, a new song would be sung in his honor for slaying the FenTamel warrior who bore the Tamel weapon. He ran into the forest, toward his song and glory.