Battle of the Ring (9 page)

“He also needs to be trained by someone who knows what they are doing,
which means the Aldessan of Valtrys,” Dyenlerra continued. “If
Valthyrra would be good enough to call Home Base and have them pass the word, I
have no doubt that they would send someone out in a hurry to take over his
training. And a few months in airdock would be the perfect time for
that.”

“Unfortunately, it will have to wait a while longer,” Consherra
said dourly. “There has been another prediction.”

Valthyrra’s camera pod snapped around to face her. “Now
what?”

“He said that he is going to have to fight Donalt Trace again. He said
that the Methryn is going to fight something that we have never seen, and
Valthyrra is not going to win. He said that he will have to fight hard to save
her.”

“And why does it have to be his problem?” Dyenlerra demanded.

“He said that if he does not fight it now, then it will destroy other
carriers until he does,” Consherra answered. “I do not like it
either. But if his foreseeing is true – and I certainly hope that no one
cares to dispute it – then we have no choice.”

“I have no problem with that,” the ship replied. “I simply
applied a little old-fashioned logic to the problem.”

“How is that?” Mayelna asked suspiciously.

“Well, the problem arose from the basic assumption that it is
impossible to predict the future,” she explained proudly. “But I
have observed that Velmeran can indeed predict the future. Therefore, Velmeran
can do the impossible.”

The others stared at her in astonishment.

“There are certain inherent fallacies in your logic,” Mayelna
said. “But if it makes you happy, then I am not about to argue.
Consherra, when is this supposed to happen?”

“Sometime in the next two weeks. Velmeran indicated that we will be
called first. Trace will catch another carrier first and thrash it
soundly.”

“Wonderful,” Mayelna said sourly. “That implies that it
will not even be in this sector. At least he can have as much vacation as time
allows. Valthyrra Methryn, where is the nearest likely port?”

“Kanis?” she asked after a moment’s consideration.
“I can be there in three days.”

“Good enough.”

For once in her career as the Commander of the Methryn, Mayelna did not try
to look busy when someone entered her private office. She had always thought
that she should look busy, as if to impress upon others that she really did
serve a vital function on this ship. But not for Velmeran, certainly not this
time.

“I am not disturbing you?” Velmeran asked apprehensively,
glancing about the room as she let him in.

“No, of course not,” she insisted, directing him toward a chair
before her desk. “I asked you here.”

Velmeran nodded absently as he seated himself. “I guess you heard that
there is trouble.”

“Yes, Consherra told us everything you told her,” Mayelna said
as she took her seat behind the desk.

“And you believe me?” he asked fearfully.

“Yes, we believe you,” she assured him. “All of us. Do you
know where and when this will happen?”

“No, not with any certainty. It will be soon, and in another sector.
We must go to him when he makes the first move.”

“The first move?” Mayelna asked. “Will we lose a ship to
him just to learn what he is planning?”

“No, I am sure of that. He will fight Starwolves and win. But they
will flee. And they will call for me. Until then, I can only wait.”

“And until he reveals his schemes, would you prefer to do your waiting
on extended port leave?”

“Kanis?” he asked immediately.

“How did... ?” Mayelna paused, and shook her head. “I
should not have to ask. We will be there in three days. You can go down
immediately, and then forget that you are a Starwolf until you are called
away.”

Velmeran leaned back in his chair, his arms folded on his chest. “There
are times when I wish that I could forget. But it is a very difficult thing to
ignore.”

“No, not really,” Mayelna said. “Have you never pretended
to be human on port leave?”

“Human?” he asked in disbelief. “How could I possibly pass
myself off as human?”

“Look at this.” Mayelna pulled a photograph from a drawer of her
desk and handed it to him. Velmeran recognized it as his mother only because he
had been forewarned; in those days of mutant stock, it might have been a human
girl of some divergent race. Her lower set of arms were obviously folded behind
her back and hidden within the folds of a heavy cape, drawn around her upper
shoulders. The dark color and heavy material of her clothes helped to hide any
revealing shadows, while a hat disguised the fact that her ears were large,
pointed, and not even in the right place. There was nothing that she could do
about her immense eyes and tiny nose, but those features were not as noticeable
as he thought they would be.

“When others look at Starwolves, all they ever see is the
armor,” Mayelna explained. “Take away that and the second set of
arms and they do not know what they are looking at.”

“Amazing,” Velmeran agreed as he handed back the photograph.
“But I do not think I want to play such a game.”

Mayelna shrugged. “I was only suggesting a diversion. Once this battle
is done, you will have all the rest you want. Valthyrra is taking herself into
airdock for an overhaul.”

Velmeran paused a moment, and nodded slowly. “Yes, then I can rest.
But Valthyrra will have no choice in the matter. After Trace is finished with
her, she is going to need more than an overhaul.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“That is no prediction, but a statement of fact,” he said.
“She cannot fight this thing without getting a few dents in her nose.

But I would not tell her that, since she will not refuse this fight.”

“No, I imagine not,” Mayelna agreed, and frowned. “Did
Dyenlerra talk to you? About what you are?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And it does not bother you?” she asked cautiously.

“Bother me?” Velmeran asked. “It comes as something of a
relief. Now I feel that I am exactly what I was supposed to be, rather than
some type of freak. But I also feel very different from everyone I have ever
known.”

“Not everyone,” Mayelna reminded him. “Do not forget that
Consherra is like you, and she will always be with you.”

Velmeran smiled. “I do not believe that I could ever forget that. She
will make certain of it.”

Among the most ancient legends of the Faldenneh there exists the story of
the creation of life. In the earliest days there was just the universe itself,
the stars and the empty worlds, and the gods knew a happy existence, free from
worry and concern. But in time they came to think that they were lacking
something, and so they created all life so that they might have something to
worry and care for. It was not long before they realized their mistake.

Somehow that story came to mind while Velmeran was preparing for port leave.
He was beginning to appreciate a few universal rules that governs all life. On
the whole, life is a complicated, disagreeable, and largely disillusioning
affair, not at all what it was made out to be. And yet all creatures cling
desperately to life, perhaps because the alternative appears less attractive.
Just now complication was the key feature in his own life. He had no real
desire to take port leave, but he could not refuse.

Standing in his cabin, Velmeran moved his arms around to check the
articulation of his new suit. Since he was also the leader of the
Methryn’s resident special tactics team, Valthyrra had been very careful
about the manufacture of his suit. Consherra, standing nearby, nodded
thoughtfully.

“Good enough,” she said, and retrieved the helmet. “You
recall the operation of the new features.”

Since the chestplate was still open, Velmeran looked down into the
folded-down mirror at the controls. Valthyrra had incorporated two special
features into his suit. One was a two-way system that allowed him to hear and
speak with those outside while his helmet was on. The other was a control
device that, when activated, gradually equalized pressure within the suit with
that outside. Sudden pressure changes caused a temporary muffling of his acute
hearing; during his last raid, he had nearly been shot by a mechanical sentry he
should have heard.

“Everything works fine,” he assured her. “Are you certain
that you will not come with me?”

Consherra shook her head sadly. “I cannot. We will be getting the
Methryn battle-ready. Any advice?”

“Yes, two things. Do not take anything apart that will take more than
an hour to put back together again. That is all the warning we will get.”

“That is understandable,” she agreed. “What else?”

“Make certain that the conversion cannon is ready for firing.”
Consherra paused, startled. The Methryn’s conversion cannon possessed the
destructive potential to reduce the planet below them to dust. Valthyrra had
never fired the cannon in actual battle, since there was rarely any need for
such power. If Velmeran planned to use this weapon, then he expected a battle
such as the Starwolves had not seen since the ancient days.

“Yes, it will come to that.” Velmeran knew well enough what she
was thinking. “We will be facing something quite capable of destroying us
if we are careless or unlucky.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she promised. “And you watch
out for yourself while you are down there.”

“I will. Without you to keep me company, I will probably be too bored
and lonely to get into trouble.”

Velmeran hurried down to the landing bay, where he knew that his pack
members would be waiting impatiently. They were already in their ships and
ready to fly, and he dashed to his own. But he slowed as he neared the
centermost of the nine fighters, savoring his first look at his new ship. It
radiated newness in the deep matte black of its finish, unscratched by
debris and handling and unfaded by cannon flash, hot engines, or the extremes
of space.

Velmeran took his pack out of the bay and, without warning, led them on a
wild chase as he tested out his new fighter, defying them to keep pace
with him. They were real pilots now, far from the mere students they had been
only two years earlier. They were the best pack on the Methryn by far, perhaps
the best pack in the entire wolf fleet.

Although he knew that his days might well be short, this was not a time of
sad reflection on what might have been. He was content with what he had
accomplished; he would have said at peace, but that suggested a stoic but
resigned surrender to one’s fate. He was by no means ready to surrender;
his fate was not sealed and he meant to fight for his own life as hard as he
fought for the Methryn But in his own order of priorities, the Methryn had to
come first.

Velmeran knew that he could save his ship, but saving his own life in the
process was problematical. He looked upon his apparent ability to glimpse the
future as a method of forewarning, not a pronouncement of inescapable
fate. There were always alternatives, and most of his forewarnings were
self-defeating because they revealed those alternatives. Just because he had
not yet seen those alternatives did not mean that they did not exist.

Such thoughts occupied his mind for the flight down to the port, but his
first look at the mountainous landscape rising swiftly beneath him chased away
such brooding thoughts. Kanis was a second home for the Starwolves. In terms of
their balance of power, Kanis was Starwolf property, one of several worlds deep
within Union space that enjoyed the freedom and independence that Starwolf
protection brought. In practice, Kanis was an independent world, an empire
self-contained in its own system, self-governed and free of the economic
tyrrany of the trade companies. Its governing council did treat with the Union
as one nation dealt with another, making trade concessions and treaties. Small
allowances, but it kept the Union placated.

Still, no one doubted that the Union would arrive in force if the Starwolves
relaxed their voluntary protection. In return for this service, Kanis was a
strong supporter of the Starwolves. The Kelvessan enjoyed port leaves here such
as they seldom knew, free from danger and at liberty to be their true selves,
not their carefully maintained image of armored death.

Kanis itself obliged by being climatically ideal for the physical
requirements of the Kelvessan. Most of its two major continents were
extremely mountainous and situated in thick bands just below the polar seas.
Thus the climate was cool at best, the summers short and pleasant and the
winters long and harsh. The native population had been there long enough to
adapt somewhat to the adverse climate, and they found it no hardship. For
Starwolves, Kanis was something of a paradise, one of the very few inhabited
worlds where it was both safe and practical for them to come out of their armored
shells.

Kanis remained a frontier world, very sparsely populated, lacking in vast
reserves of natural resources that would attract settlers and industry. Most of
the natives were ‘Rangers’, keeping vast herds of langies
– indigenous beasts of vast size, sharp wit, and evil temper – in
the high mountain plains. Langie wool was a luxury item throughout the Union,
so high in demand that trade companies argued among themselves for a share
of the limited market. The wool was so profitable that the animals were seldom
slaughtered, although a good langie hide was nearly worth its weight in gold.
‘Ranging’ was a harsh life for the natives, but rewarding.

Velmeran brought his pack down in the port field – such as there was.
Kallenes was the only port, and even it saw little traffic except in late
spring when scores of company freighters would descend upon it for their share
of the thousands of bales of langie wool brought in from the highlands.
Otherwise there was one ship in port at most, importing machines and luxury
goods the Kanians could well afford.