A Warrior's Sacrifice (14 page)

"Over the last four centuries, that stranglehold over the Beirat has waned. A few of the more industrious and savvy members have united and scraped for more power. Against their conniving, each Oniban has had to yield to their demands a little every time. The formation of the Beirat Military was the preceding Oniban's foolish concession to that struggle."

Corwin nodded. "Okay. Then what is he doing here instead of a
real
military guard detail?"

"The purpose of the Beirat Military was to be an autonomous unit of soldiers that could deploy in situations wherever the Beirat deemed the Wei Caste was lacking." Yanmao quaffed the remainder of his drink.

"The only reason that I can think of whay Shota is here with the Beirat Military, instead of a real military unit, is because the aliens aren't sanctioned diplomatic delegates."

"That doesn't make sense," Phae said. "Why would they dispatch
any
Republic soldiers if they weren't true delegates?"

Yanmao nodded and poured a few more fingers of liquor. "As you are all aware, the societies of the individual alien races and the culture of the Intergalactic Alliance as a whole are varied in the extreme. Even within one species there can be many factions, each with its own agenda. Most are loyal to the species, but some choose to break away.

"Part of the treaty that the Exiles signed with the Prehson requires Humanity to supply guards to all nonmilitary Alliance members that visit the planet. I think that's what's happening here."

"So they could be here on holiday?" Corwin asked.

Yanmao chuckled. "No. The planet hasn't been opened to tourism yet." He paused to drink again. "No, the aliens have some business here, a survey crew maybe, perhaps something they call 'Auditors.' Whatever they are, even the smallest of these organizations possess more resources and manpower than Humanity could acquire in a decade."

"Then why do they need the Beirat Military?"

Yanmao sipped again. "Respect, mostly. Also, imagine the backlash with an IGA client member if even the smallest of their factions is killed or captured on Earth. Humanity would be shunned, or they would increase the Tithe."

"Either way, Shota's here to help. Good," Chahal said.

Yanmao shrugged. "Well, kind of. He's here to help himself and his faction — a faction that works for the Beirat,
not
the Oniban."

"Ah," Corwin said, "so a mission of this stature will give Shota and his benefactors dreng, and with that, power."

"That's right. They have their own agendas, and if Shota can discredit the Maharatha — and by association the Oniban — and raise himself and his benefactors up in the process, he'll do it."

Yanmao took the container from his desk again, but Corwin laid his hand over the drinking glass. "You need a clear mind until this is over."

For a moment it looked as if Yanmao would protest, but he relinquished with a nod and replaced the cap.

"Good," Corwin said, standing. He gathered his Void with his eyes. "We have some things to take care of."

On the way back to their bunks, the Maharatha were silent, contemplating the new information, rolling it around their minds and trying to make sense of it. They stopped by their storage room, and Corwin took his sneak suit's helmet from the wall, carrying it under one arm.

They sprawled out onto the room's beds as Corwin linked to the helmet through his implant. With a few thoughts he located and called the com number of the Military Operations arm of the Oniwabanshu.

After a few seconds of silence, someone answered the line. The Oniban's clear soprano voice came through the helmet's speakers. "This is the Oniban."

The others in the room sat up straight; Kai rammed his head against the upper bunk's frame.

"Ma'am, you give us dreng," Corwin said, exchanging glances with Chahal.

Silence from the other line.

With a shrug, Corwin went on. "I'm calling to report mission success, ma'am. The Quislings have been destroyed."

"Noted. Corwin, do you know what kind of commotion you've started here?"

"W-what? No, ma'am."

"I've had IGA representatives bombarding my office with flight plans and requests for information. What can
you
tell me about it?"

"About what, ma'am?"

"I don't know!" Her voice was more akin to a growl. "Something you put into the Library search cue. They've locked down our single connection with security protocols well over my authority to override. I've had my people groveling and scraping to get it back online."

Corwin's heart skipped a beat. "I, I didn't know anything about it. We took it from the Quislings when we destroyed their camp."

"Well, do you still have it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I have a scan of it too. Let me send it to you."

"NO!" The four Maharatha cringed. "Whatever it is, the IGA has mobilized six drop ships and several thousand soldiers to come and collect it from you. Keep it with you; keep it safe and don't let anyone get their hands on it."

"I understand, ma'am."

"Good. Stay there until they come for you. Best I can figure is a couple days."

"Understood. May I make a request, ma'am?"

"Maybe. What do you want?"

"When we destroyed the Quisling caravan, we took prisoners. Six children."

"And your request?" the Oniban asked.

"That they be accepted into the Republic. Like I was." Corwin added the last part as an afterthought and even as he said it realized how false a statement it was. He'd never been accepted, never would be, and the captured Quisling children wouldn't either.

The Oniban was silent. "Fine. We'll spread them out across the Republic into the orphan crèches. Anything else?"

"Split them up, ma'am? I request that the brothers stay together."

"Request denied. Two Quislings together would mean trouble. Anything else?"

"No, ma'am," Corwin said.

The line went dead.

Corwin shook himself. "All right. I guess we'd better get some sleep before the IGA arrives and starts asking questions."

"Corwin, sir," Kai began, "could we see the … the thing you found?"

Corwin shrugged and fished in his cargo pocket. "Sure."

He pulled forth the orb and handed it to Kai, who examined it, then passed it on to Phae. She gave it a cursory inspection then tossed it to Chahal.

Chahal gave her a glare, and Phae returned a little smile and a shrug. "I knew you'd catch it."

Once Chahal handed the orb back to Corwin, he stowed it away in his pack. "Anyone seen or heard of anything like it?"

They shook their heads.

Corwin shrugged. "All right, I guess we just wait." He slid his helmet under his bed and stripped down to his underwear. The others of his Void — along with most of the Republic — slept naked, and as Kai, Chahal, and Phae undressed, Corwin kept his eyes locked on the underside of the bunk above his.

The last one into bed, Kai dimmed the lights and slid onto his bunk. The supports groaned and creaked under his bulk. Corwin waited as they shifted in search of comfort on foreign beds, then waited a handful of minutes more for the change of breath and gentle snores that indicated unconsciousness. He removed the microcom from his pack and flipped it open, careful not to let the screen's light give him away.

The small screen displayed a message:

Need tracker frequency.

A quick search through the com showed that there were no numbers stored within, and the message had no associated number either. For lack of a better idea, Corwin typed in the tracker's frequency. After a few seconds, his message flashed and disappeared.

Corwin tucked the com away and rolled onto his back. As he waited for sleep to take him, he stared upward into the gloom, the gray material of the bunk above him almost invisible. It wasn't a fast process — it never was — and as he waited his mind turned to the Quisling children.

He wanted to let it go; longed to forget about them and their miserable past, their hopeless future, but he couldn't. There was too much of himself in them.

The brothers.

Long-repressed images and memories came back unbidden, fiercer now as they broke free of their restraints.

Running through the forest, fleeing the destruction of their camp and family not far behind. He still saw the blood, still heard the screams of combat snuffed out by death. Always the pain in his chest as his lungs stung from smoke and his legs burned from running.

And his brother. That was the last he'd seen of him as an armored hand yanked him out of their meager cover to smother him under cover of night.

Corwin sat up in his bunk and ran shaking hands through his hair and down his neck. He wouldn't sleep tonight. Gathering his clothes, his pack, his sidearm, he slipped from the room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Corwin jogged around the city, twice, before stopping at the firing range. Every Republic city had one, and like the showers, it was in use at all times. The firing ranges always seemed out of place to Corwin given the Republic's concepts of dreng and jendr. Firing round after round at targets seemed like a waste of ammunition. He decided, when he was wont to come to a reasonable explanation, that perhaps a few hundred rounds was less wasteful than the death of a soldier and loss of their equipment.

As he squeezed out the last rounds of his sixth full clip, Corwin was grateful for the indulgence. When he had lived in the wilds with his family, ammunition was so rare a commodity that he hadn't fired a real bullet until he'd spent two years handling an empty gun. The hybrid rounds that he now fired would have knocked the boyhood memory of himself onto his back.

At a small table outside the range doors, Corwin cleaned his weapon. He could have thrown it into the bin with all the rest, and a Technician would have received it, cleaned it, and delivered it to him, but he enjoyed the monotony of the process. The gun came apart at his expert touch, and he wiped and scrubbed and oiled it clean, then reassembled it all. Then he did it again, and again, then once more with his eyes closed.

He was no closer to sleep than he was before.

With a sigh he stood and wandered around the city. He found himself, after a time, in front of the jail.

"Aww, wickt," he said under his breath. Entering his passcode, Corwin pushed into the hive of cells.

The Wei guard stood from where he slouched against the wall and bowed. "Sir."

"Where are the Quislings?"

"Third hall on your left, sir. Fourth, fifth, and sixth cells."

Corwin nodded and walked to the edge of the hallway, slowing and quieting his footsteps so the skittish Quislings wouldn't hear his approach. He also pulled back his Sahktriya, condensed it, hid it away so they could not dyzu his presence.

They spoke to each other through the bars with hand signals and in Quisling pidgin. Waves of nostalgia hit Corwin, taking away his breath.

"Wud de du wud um?" asked one of the older girls.
What will they do with us?

"Ceel um in totaal."
Kill us all.

"Wud de baytotaal um a ceel um in totaalnach? Bay. Deeetum um volfin."
Why would they keep us alive just to kill us later? No. They'll feed us to the wolves.

Corwin wanted to round the corner, to speak a language that he'd almost forgotten. They wouldn't trust him, though; they'd lock him out of their small community like he'd been locked out of the Republic's.

"Gark. En baard komm."
Quiet. A guard approaches.

Corwin dyzued it too. He heard nothing yet detected the presence of another Human nearby, the familiar yet unwanted Sahktriya of a fellow Maharatha creeping up from behind. The Quisling children scurried into the recesses of their cells. Corwin wished he had one to hide in as well.

"No need to be quiet now, they know you're here."

Phae stood up, relaxed. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep."

"And the run and firing range weren't enough to calm you down? You had to come
here
?"

"Were you following me?" Corwin asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You told us to stay together. I'm following orders." Phae leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. She wore the red-trimmed black Maharatha cargos and t-shirt, her rifle slung over her shoulder and pistol attached to her hip.

Corwin turned away. "I'm fine by myself. You can go back to bed."

"Corwin, sir, what are you doing here?" Phae was closer now, her hand resting on the middle of Corwin's back, the light touch of fingertips seemed to pulse with electricity.

"I came to check up on them. They — I know what it's like, that first day locked in a cage, wondering how death would come. It was terrifying."

"They would kill you if they had the chance. You are their enemy now," Phae said.

"Would you blame them?" An infant began crying. Corwin looked around the corner and watched as the older brother took up a bottle supplied by the Republic troops. The boy grimaced, hesitated, then offered it to his sibling. His mouth twisted in anger at himself and hatred at the Republic, as the younger sucked and slurped.