Battle of the Ring (17 page)

“The Kanians are of Irish descent, are they not?” Baress asked.

“Mainly, but with a great many Scots thrown in,” he explained.
“Makayen – McCain – is a Scottish name, unless I am mistaken.
Of course, Lenna would not know a Scotsman if he bit her on the leg.”

Consherra laughed in mischievous delight. It was hard to say if she found
his odd choice of terms amusing, or if she simply liked the idea of anyone
biting Lenna Makayen on the leg.

“Of course, she told me once that her Kanian accent is a pure act, and
I have heard her drop it,” Velmeran continued. “I suspect that
she is just using it to beguile us.”

“There is no question of that,” Consherra agreed. “When
she is talking about ships, she acquires a definite Trader’s accent. And
she uses their terms. She calls a transport a ‘lift’, and a launch
a ‘roundabout’. And she really knows her business, too. I quizzed
her about navigation for some time, and not only does she know it, but she
actually understands what she is doing.”

“Well, for a human, that is something new,” Baress remarked.

“You know what I mean,” Consherra snapped. “Most human
navigators learn their formulas by rote, but they have only a vague understanding
of the actual mathematics involved.”

“The Traders are not a degenerate race,” Baressa pointed out.
“And their mathematical ability is very strong. Lenna may sound like a
Kanian, perhaps because it suits her. Do none of your know your genetics?
Traders are nearly a separate species from true humans. The offspring of a
Trader and a human is what is known by the vulgar term of a mule, a sterile,
invariably female offspring that is essentially a smaller, stronger version
of a true Trader. If they know, they might not want her back.”

“She seems amorous enough to me,” Velmeran remarked.
“Sterile hardly means sexless.”

“Well, at least we have a replacement for Consherra,” Velmeran
remarked, then looked up. “Sherry, could you teach her to fly this
ship?”

Consherra was plainly astonished. “Lenna?
Varth!
She has only
two hands, Meran.”

“A distressing handicap, I do admit,” Velmeran agreed blandly.
“But then, humans have done quite well in spite of it. I did not mean to
put her on direct manuals in battle.”

Consherra considered that for a moment and shrugged. “How should I
know? I have always said that the Methryn is, for her size, a remarkably easy
ship to fly.”

They glanced up as Tregloran and Lenna returned, each balancing a
plate. She seemed to be adjusting very well to life among the Starwolves,
although ‘making herself at home’ was probably the best way to
describe it. But then, for all Velmeran knew, she had already forgotten that
she was not a Starwolf.

He quickly introduced the members of his pack, forgetting that humans did
not have a memory like a disk drive. And yet, Lenna never forgot the name of a
single Kelvessa she was introduced to. The problem lay in identifying
names with the proper owner, since she could not easily tell most Starwolves
apart.

“And then there are the members of my special tactics team,” he
continued. “Baress and Tregloran are subsets of both groups. They are
about tied as the best pilots on this ship.”

“Second best,” Baress corrected him, pointing to the one who
actually deserved that honor.

“Trel and Marlena are the pilots of our modified transport. This is
senior pack leader Baressa, and the quiet old gentleman at the end is Keth. He
gets our students ready to fly with the packs.”

Lenna stared for a moment, since this was the first old Starwolf she
had met. Or at least the first she was aware of as being old, since there was
nothing about elderly Starwolves to indicate the fact. As she looked
closer, she could detect the tiniest creases about his eyes, such as she had also
noticed on Mayelna. And both had a few black hairs among their brown; they
apparently did not get gray.

“Did you teach Velmeran to fly?” she asked hesitantly.

“No, indeed,” Keth replied. “In fact, I flew in his pack
for a short time before I retired. I could no longer take the high
G’s.”

“I know how that is,” Lenna muttered.

“In fact, Velmeran’s first grand adventure was to rescue me when
I was captured,” the older Kelvessa continued. “If Valthyrra
and the Commander were here, you would see gathered at this table all the
people that Union High Command hates most. The Methryn’s Magnificent
Maniacs.”

“Which reminds me,” Lenna said turning to Velmeran. “Where
have you been all day?”

Velmeran shrugged. “Making battle talk.”

“The whole time?”

“Yes, actually,” he said, frowning with consternation.
“Life was easier when we were secure in the belief that the Union could
not throw anything at us that we cannot handle. Don has found himself a really
first-rate toy this time. I hardly know what to make of it.”

“That sounds ominous,” Tregloran remarked. “And we are
going to fight it?”

“If it is at all possible, then we must. And if we do fight, this is
going to be our most difficult one yet.”

“Great Stars, I would not miss this one for anything!” Lenna was
practically shaking with excitement.

Velmeran regarded her blandly. “If you see this fight at all, it will
be from a distance. You will be transferred to the Kalvyn with the rest of the
nonessential personnel.”

“Nonessential?” she demanded indignantly.

“That seems like an adequate description for a stowaway.”

Lenna let the matter drop, seeing perhaps that there was no argument she
could make that would keep her on this ship. Or perhaps she simply had ideas of
her own.

After half an hour of cautious deceleration, the Methryn left starflight as
gently as if her hull was porcelain and likely to break. Although she was still
moving fast in terms of ordinary ships, her gentle approach was so unlike the
sudden, darting movements of Starwolf carriers as to be remarkable. The system
that was her destination lay well ahead; she had stopped short for a final
meeting with the Kalvyn before going into battle. Valthyrra quickly cast about
for her sister ship and altered her course in a long, lazy turn.

“Methryn?” a voice called out questioningly over com.
“Valthyrra Methryn? Is that you sliding in?”

“Why, so it is,” she answered. “Who were you expecting,
Schayressa?”

“Well, the last time I saw anything move that way, it was one of our
own freighters with her hold so packed that she could barely move,” the
Kalvyn answered. “Is there something wrong with you, Val? Have you hurt
yourself?”

“You might describe my problem as a pain,” Valthyrra said.
“Actually, I have a passenger.”

“A passenger?” Schayressa was incredulous. “A paying passenger?
Great Spirit of space, Valthyrra, this is hardly the time for you to consider
converting yourself to a luxury liner. Starwolf Express! A human
passenger?”

“A stowaway, to tell the truth.”

“A stowaway? On a Starwolf carrier? I have never heard of such a
thing. What did you keep it for?”

“To give to you,” Valthyrra snapped.

“Oh. I had to ask.”

“If you will hold your diodes for a moment, I am trying to get myself
slowed down. Do you have any idea how hard it is to move our ancient bulks like
we were hauling breakables?”

“Tell me about it,” Schayressa answered. “I lost a forward
engine, and that means cutting the corresponding engine to maintain balance.
Suddenly I have half the deceleration power I used to. I hate the thought of
trying to put myself into airdock for repairs.”

“You could be towed in,” Valthyrra suggested.

“Towed? That would give me nervous fits. Have you ever been
towed?”

Mayelna glanced up, then returned to her monitor, shaking her head slowly.
“Aval
den tras etrenon.
They are all crazy.”

“What?” Velmeran asked, glancing up from where he had been
watching the monitors over Consherra’s shoulder.

Mayelna regarded him blandly. “Someday, my boy, all this will be
yours. One aging, know-it-all, gossiping starship.”

Valthyrra rotated her camera pod at the end of its boom, as if looking over
her shoulder. “All the world is a stage, and everyone is a
critic.”

Everyone looked up expectantly as Lenna Makayen entered the left wing of the
bridge, staggering under the strain of G’s that would have left most
humans unconscious. Traders had developed remarkable strength and resilience
from thousands of years of such conditions; Iyan Makayen had always been embarrassed
by the fact that his rangy half sister was considerably stronger than himself.

“The last time I saw her walk like that was near the end of that first
night in Kanis,” Velmeran remarked. He hurried to her assistance, half
carrying her up the steps. “You should have stayed in your room.”

“And miss all the fun?” Lenna demanded, and bowed her head
respectfully to the Commander.
“Val edesson,
Mayelna.”

“Val treron,”
Mayelna corrected her; Lenna still had her
days and nights reversed. “That, I suppose is your way of informing me
that I am in your seat?”

“Sure, I’ll not be asking you for your seat,” Lenna
insisted, spreading her accent thickly. “If it’s all the same, I
would be happy with Consherra’s seat.”

“Varth! Schon il vessa!”
Valthyrra exclaimed softly,
calling their attention to the main viewscreen. Just then she jerked herself
to a sudden stop with a final blast of reverse thrust, disturbing no one
except Lenna. She executed an interesting forward flip and would have broken
her neck except that she landed on Consherra, who was coming up the steps at
that moment, and they tumbled all the way down to the main bridge. For a moment
they provided a more interesting diversion than anything that could have been
happening outside, and everyone stared in speechless astonishment, then calmly
applauded the acrobatics.

Lenna picked herself up, bruised and swearing, and turned to the main
viewscreen. The Kalvyn sat motionless perhaps seven kilometers away, and turned
almost directly toward them so that her forward hull was in plain view. Cannon
blast had ripped round and oval craters intermixed with long, narrow tears in
the thick armor.

“Are you finished staring yet?” Schayressa asked in mild irritation
as the silence continued, unaware that most of the time had been taken up with
Lenna’s amazing distraction.

“I suspect that I will look much the same before this is over,”
Valthyrra replied.

“Perhaps, but you will have something to show for it. All I was able
to do was run,” the other ship pointed out. “If you will open a
bay, the Commander and I are on the way over.”

Valthyrra laughed softly. “So soon? You are anxious to see me blast
that monster. We will be down to meet you.”

“Bring that passenger of yours as well, if you can trust it,”
Schayressa added. “When dealing with humans and the deceptions of
humans, we might profit from the opinion of a human.”

Valthyrra glanced at Lenna, who was checking herself for broken bones. The
Trader girl was learning Tresdyland at an astonishing pace, but she could
hardly follow a conversation after three days. Lenna would not believe her good
fortune when she discovered what she was going to do now.

The delegation from the Kalvyn stepped off the right bridge lift, where
Mayelna, Velmeran, and Consherra were waiting to meet them, their unexpected
guest standing to one side. And everyone stopped short to stare in disbelief.
Even Lenna could see clearly that Velmeran was almost a exact duplicate of Commander
Tryn, nearly three hundred years his senior. Everyone was amazed. Everyone,
that was, but Mayelna, the only one who had known both Velmeran and Tryn before
this meeting. Tryn was himself as surprised as anyone.

“Hello, Mayelna,” Tryn said at last, turning to her. There was a
curious look of both fear and satisfaction in his eyes. “It has been a
long time.”

“Eighteen years,” she agreed, then turned to her son. “You
know Velmeran, I suppose. He runs this ship now, although he still keeps me
around to handle the trivialities.”

“Do you remember me?” Tryn asked. “I met you once, a long
time ago.”

“I had forgotten,” Velmeran replied uncertainly.

“Well, I do recall this girl,” Tryn continued briskly.
“Consherra, if I remember correctly. I know that you are the
Helm.”

Consherra smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do remember you. Velmeran is my
mate now.”

“Is that so?” Tryn replied to that rather odd admission, then
glanced over at Lenna. “Your passenger, I suppose?”

“Hello,” Lenna said in one of her rare self-conscious moments.

“Lenna Makayen, our artist in residence and expert Starwolf
impersonator,” Mayelna said.

“Well, I can see how she could get away with it,” Tryn said, smiling
reassuringly in the mistaken belief that Lenna was shy. If he had not been
distracted by other thoughts, he would have realized that shy people did not
sneak aboard Starwolf carriers. He glanced around quickly. “Oh, this is
our Helm Keldryn and our Commander-designate Denlayk.”

“Hello,” the pair said in unison.

Mayelna frowned, deciding that matters had deteriorated from bad to
ridiculous and that she had better put a quick end to this before the
conversation drifted into areas she had no wish to explore. “I suppose
that we should get down to the business that brought us here. Valthyrra is
waiting.”

They retreated quickly to the third and smallest of the council rooms behind
the bridge. Valthyrra was indeed waiting, the camera on its short boom above
the oval table glaring as they took their seats.

“Were you aware that Daelyn has been made Commander-designate of the
Karvand?” Mayelna asked suddenly. “The Karvand fought with us
at Vannkarn, and again a few months later.”

“I had heard that she had been made Commander-designate,” Tryn
replied. “And Velmeran’s raid into Vannkarn is a matter of legend.
But then, everything Velmeran does assumes legendary proportions.”