Battle of the Ring (7 page)

Baressa shrugged. “How can I argue with that? I cannot believe that
today’s mistake will be repeated. Just remember that we will always be
here when you need us.”

At that signal the others withdrew as quietly as they could, the younger
pilots retreating to their cabins while the pack leaders departed. Obviously
the matter was not completely resolved; Velmeran now had to make his peace
with Consherra before he could mend his affairs with the rest of the ship. And
Consherra still had a great deal to say on the subject. Taking Velmeran firmly
by the hand, she pulled him inside his own cabin and locked the door behind
them.

“Meran, do you really know what you are doing?” she demanded.
“I can get you on board another ship, one with greater appreciation for
your talents.”

“One that would allow me to command and be meekly subservient to my
every order?” he asked, seating himself on the bed as he watched
Consherra pace nervously. “I cannot leave now. Valthyrra needs me.”

“Valthyrra needs to have her circuits checked!” She declared
explosively. “And so do you, if you hold any false loyalty to that
ancient automaton. You had no business going out there and risking your life...
“

“Will you slow down and at least try to be reasonable,” Velmeran
said with more firmness than he had used with her in a very long time. “I
am Velmeran, and this is my decision. Not yours. Not Baressa’s. Valthyrra
Methryn might have her faults, but she is still the best fighting ship with the
best group of pilots in the wolf fleet. This is what I have to do.”

“Why?” Consherra insisted, only slightly daunted.

“You know well enough. I want to make an end to this war, and my
battles will be fought here, with Donalt Trace. He is looking for the
Methryn.”

“Well, he can just as easily look for you elsewhere,” Consherra
said calmly but firmly. “And I would be just as happy if he did not find
you. Why do you think he has to be your special problem?”

She paused, surprised to realize that he was sitting on the edge of his bed,
crying silent, calm, lethargic tears of desperation and weariness. She realized
then just how selfish her own position on this matter had been. Shamed by her
own behavior, she hurried to comfort him.

“Meran, what is it?” she asked with gentle anxiety.

“What do you think it is?” he asked in return. “I am tired
of it all. I am tired of having to be responsible for every move this ship
makes, of being accountable for every life on board. I am tired of always
having to be right and watching out for everyone else’s mistakes. I am
just tired of being me, Velmeran the Magnificent. It never gives me any
rest.”

“Yes, I suppose you are,” Consherra said as she sat down beside
him. “There is never any rest for you. But you took this burden upon
yourself.”

“Yes, I know,” he agreed, and sighed in resignation. “I
never knew how easy I had it when I was still chafing against my inabilities.
And yet, as difficult as it can be, at least my conscience is clear. Ability
brings its own responsibility. But I am so tired. And I am afraid.”

“Why?” Consherra asked suddenly, glancing at him suspiciously.
“Meran, what is wrong? Is there trouble?”

Velmeran hesitated, then nodded wearily. “Yes, terrible trouble.
Sometime within the next two weeks the Methryn is going to have to fight
something that we have never seen before, and she is not going to win. I will
have to do everything I can to save her.”

“Meran, no!” Consherra cried, knowing that he had no choice.
“Why does it always have to be you?”

“Because this is my game,” he answered. “Donalt Trace is
looking for me. He is going to use his new toy to rip our carriers apart until
I stop him. I have no choice.”

Consherra nodded slowly. “I know, and I will help you all that I can.
What can I do?”

“Love me,” he replied simply. “Help me to forget that I am
frightened and alone. That is all you can do for now.”

That was a bold request for him, and one which worried him. Always before he
had needed love, even longed for it, but he had never asked for what, in his
own belief, could only be given freely. But his time was short, and the future
he saw frightened him. The Methryn would live, but at the price of a life. And
he knew the price. Within the next two weeks he might finally be free of the
burden of responsibility, for he would quite likely be dead.

Maeken Kea had accepted the command of the Challenger knowing that she did
not particularly like the idea, but she did not have time to regret it. By the
end of her first shift on the bridge, however, she knew that she both disliked
and regretted it. This beast was all ship, a relatively small and superfluous
crew, and two captains. No, it was not even a ship, just a mobile planetary
defense system. Maeken was smart enough not to be impressed by technology for
its own sake; therefore, she was not impressed. If it could fight and defeat a
Starwolf carrier, then she would be impressed.

The theory behind this ship was sound, she did have to admit that. The
possibility remained that it might just be able to defeat a Starwolf carrier in
equal combat. But Commander Trace was after big game: he wanted Velmeran and
the Methryn. And Velmeran was too smart for him, smarter even than herself,
Trace, and this ship altogether. She knew that Trace meant to force a confrontation
with the Methryn, and she had strong doubts about their ability to win that
battle.

Marching the halls at a furious pace, Maeken turned onto a main corridor and
ran straight into a monster. Since her diminutive human form was no match for
this towering hulk of quasi-reptilian flesh, she promptly bounced off and fell
on her rump in the middle of the floor. Startled, her first reaction was to
reach for her gun. Then she recognized this massive obstruction as a Kelfethki
warrior and paused. The massive saurian head cocked inquisitively, the enormous
green eyes regarding her.

“Pleesh ekshuz me,” the Kalfethki hissed. He reached out with a
hand that could have encircled her waist and lifted her as easily as if she
were a small pet to be picked up and held.

“And you are?” Maeken demanded as he assisted her to stand. She
weighed thirty-eight kilos, while the Kalfethki weighed perhaps three hundred.
But authority carried its own weight, and she assumed this talking dinosaur to
be part of the crew.

“Ahee am Kramthk, af dee Kalfethki foorze.” His reply was prompt
enough, if unenlightening. “Eeyu air dee Kapton?”

“Of course,” she said less sharply. She did not at all like this
talk of a Kalfethki force, but she thought it best to remain on good terms with
a potential army of the beasts. “Are you an officer?”

“Hay schmall hwun,” Kramthk replied sociably. “Ahee vash
up to dee bridgsh to schpeek weth dee Schector Kommandor.”

“Very good,” Maeken responded promptly, not at all sure what the
Kalfethki had said. He stepped carefully aside, opening a passage for her
to continue. But she hesitated a moment and looked up at him. “If you
would, what is your duty?”

“Ahee am en interpretor,” Kramthk replied proudly, flashing a
toothy grin.

Maeken only shrugged and continued on. At this point, nothing surprised her.

What was Trace thinking of, bringing a Kalfethki ‘force’ on
board this ship? The Kalfethki were a saurian race, higher than true reptiles
even though they laid eggs and had no fur, but lower than true mammals despite
the fact that they were warm-blooded. They were immense beings, three meters
tall and five from their nose to the tip of their powerful thrashing tail. But
they remained dull-witted and primitive, still as much animal as intelligent
being. Their warrior code and complex religion of demons and prophecies were
their only vestiges of civilization, for they possessed few ethical and moral
virtues.

It was that fierce warrior code that made them useful as fighters, and yet
their worship of a demanding and bloodthirsty god made them too dangerous to
keep in useful numbers. One of their many cherished prophecies held that they
would someday cleanse the stars of all aliens, murdering entire races for the
glory of their god, and they looked forward to that day with eager
anticipation. Maeken could imagine the Kalfethki in revolt, having convinced
themselves that this unique ship was the divine gift they needed to wage their
holy war.

Maeken entered the semicircular area of the bridge, crossing to the raised
central portion of the Captain’s station. The Challenger’s bridge
was a vague copy of that of the Starwolf carriers, although there was no middle
bridge for helm and weapons officer. She was not surprised to find Donalt Trace
in the Captain’s seat, only annoyed that the chair had obviously been
made to his size. Even as she climbed the steps to the central bridge, he
signed some report and returned the board to Lieutenant Skerri, the
ship’s second-in-command, who hurried on his way.

“Why was a Kalfethki walking down the corridor of this ship?”
she demanded unceremoniously.

Trace only shrugged. “To get to the other side?”

Maeken rolled her eyes. “Ho, ho. We are a wit today.”

Trace folded his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his seat.
“I try to be. Otherwise I would be totally lacking in any social graces.
To answer your question, however, the Kalfethki serve this ship as a boarding
party.”

“Boarding party?” she asked. “Boarding what?”

“Starwolf carriers, if we are fortunate enough to disable and capture
one intact,” he explained. “We put them in self-contained armor,
like Starwolves. And they can carry guns powerful enough to open Starwolf
armor. If we link up with a disabled carrier, we send them in quick with most
of our sentries as a secondary force.”

“And how long will they last?” Maeken inquired. “A carrier
holds a crew of two thousand, as well as defensive automatons like their
probes.”

Trace shrugged, unconcerned. “The carrier’s crew will be
scattered and disorganized, with wounded and young to protect. And their best
fighters, their pilots, will be gone. Against that, I have two thousand
Kalfethki warriors, as well as five thousand sentries. And given time, I can
also bring in the troop transports.”

“Two thousand Kalfethki?” Maeken demanded. “That isn’t
a boarding party, that’s an army! And what do you do if those fanatical
dragons decide that your fancy fortress is a present from their great demon-god
Harraught?”

“Simple enough,” Trace said, always pleased with his ingenuity.
“Dead Kalfethki are very easy to control. They are all housed together
– alone – in their own section of the ship. Their armor and weapons
are sealed under lock in another section. And the computer watches them
constantly. If they do get out of hand, we seal off that section and vent their
air. Even Starwolves have to breathe.”

“Not quite,” she pointed out. “They can take ten to
fifteen minutes of full vacuum.”

“True, but we are not talking about Starwolves. Kalfethki are
amazingly tough, but space vacuum rips up their lungs and kills them in
seconds. I know. I had it tested.”

Maeken tried to betray her surprise at that. Union High Command, of which
she was a part, privately subscribed to the belief that all life except their
own was of no real worth except in service of the Union. She could not accept
that herself, but she had learned to pretend.

“Take over, Kea,” Trace said suddenly, rising. “I will be
in my cabin.”

With that he was gone, marching from the bridge with a long-legged stride
that she would have to run to match. Maeken watched with mild interest. She was
sure that, when they had first met, he had still been moving cautiously, even
painfully, favoring his reconstructed back. Now he moved with such quickness
and grace that he might have never sustained such injuries. Thoughts of revenge
were proving to be a strong cure.

Maeken had no sooner situated herself in the oversized seat than she saw
Skerri returning quietly to the central bridge. She knew his type well enough,
ambitious but not quite smart enough to make his own opportunities, and she
knew just how to use him to best advantage. Just now there were two Captains on
the bridge, and Skerri wanted to be sure that he was good friends with both. He
was kept so busy that he was in danger of falling off his fence.

“Two thousand Kalfethki?” she muttered, as if to herself. That
was bait to get the game rolling, and Skerri leaped at it.

“With friends like these, who needs enemies?” he asked jokingly.
“I take it that you do not care for the idea?”

“No, but Commander Trace is already aware of that,” she
answered, always careful that she never said anything that could be quoted
against her. “Perhaps I should have asked to go for a ride before I
agreed to accept command of this ship. It seems I find something I should have
already known every time I look.”

“True,” Skerri agreed. “But at least you have a
choice.”

Maeken glanced at him inquiringly. “You did not?”

“Me?” Skerri asked incredulously, “I’m not Union
High Command. Like everyone else, I was assigned.”

“I see,” Maeken commented politely. Then she leaned closer and
continued in a soft voice. “What happened to him, anyway? Did Velmeran
really shoot him in the back?”

“You had better believe it!” the first mate declared.
“That was during the raid on Vannkarn, of course. Trace knew what they
were after and went running to stop it, then ran in the other direction when he
realized his mistake. You do know of Velnieran?”

“Who doesn’t? He led a two-carrier raid in our sector not six
months ago and didn’t leave a ship in the sky. So he expects to fight
Velmeran again?”

Skerri frowned. “We are going outside the Rane Sector and
Velmeran’s usual hunting grounds, so we are not likely to meet up with
him first time. But you can bet that he is going to come running when he learns
of this ship. Trace is counting on it.”