Star Wolves (The Tribes of Yggdrasil Book 1) (24 page)

Hal had a look of surprise on his face; not because he was trusted, but because Rukundo trusted Artman so absolutely. He wasn’t sure why that was the case.

As if to answer his unspoken question, Artman spoke, “President Rukundo and I were roommates in University, Hal. We’ve been best friends ever since, but we try to keep a low profile. That friendship comes in handy when so few know about it.”

“Clare, I need you to do some digging. Daryl, Archie, Soo and Lynette, all have political ambitions, so I really don’t feel I can trust them with this. I need to know what these other governments are planning. If they’re going to secede from the SID, and they’ve built warships, what other surprises do they have in store?”

Artman nodded.

“Hal, I want you to take this Hrymar, Devrim, back to Niflheim,”
Rukundo said.

“What? You can’t be serious?” Hal blurted out, jumping up out of his chair.

“Hal, calm down. Hear me out first…please.”
She waited a moment while Hal composed himself. He sat back down, but wore a stern expression.

“Given how weak we are militarily right now, I want to offer an olive branch, so to speak; giving the Over-Chieftain back his son may help.”

“Madam President, they are cold, calculating killers and slave traders. We are a
commodity
to them, like bags of rice, or a side of beef! They’ve attacked us again and again. We need to bloody this bully’s nose so that he never wants to fight us again.”

“I understand, Hal. And to your point, I believe we have done just that. We have just bloodied the bully’s nose. Now we can come offering an olive branch, perhaps that will be seen as an act of strength.”

Hal just shook his head incredulously.

“There’s a second reason for you to take him to Niflheim,”
she continued,
“your wife and son.”

Hal could feel his face flush and he clenched his hands tightly until his knuckles were white. How dare she invoke their names to manipulate him, his mind screamed. It took willpower beyond his reckoning not to jump up and throw something at the video screen; but he restrained himself.

“Hal, it’s my understanding the Hrymar have a central database of all slaves captured and sold, and the central database is on Niflheim. Don’t you want to know for sure they’re dead? What if Nila was lying to you? That would gnaw at your soul, wouldn’t it?”

She played him like finely tuned piano, each word a note in a brilliant concerto. He heard the music with his body and soul; what if they
were
alive, he thought?

All the color drained form Hal’s face, and he felt sick to his stomach.

“Hal,”
President Rukundo said,
“do you understand why I’m asking this of you?”

There were tears welling gip in his eyes. He nodded.

T
he
Sleipnir
was readied
for the thirty-two day journey to Niflheim. President Rukundo had set Hal on a manic cycle of self-pity and angst over the possibility of finding his family alive. He hated her for it, yet at the same time, if there was even the most remote chance, he had to explore it.

O-3 Molly Coogan had been assigned to the
Sleipnir
as a pilot; her ship had been lost in the battle and there would be no replacement for many months to come, if not a year or more. There were now many more officers than ships. Molly was happy to be assigned to the
Sleipnir
, Hal had saved her life after all. But she seemed to be displaying a little more than gratitude.

Apparently, in addition to being an avid surfer, Molly was also a reasonable swordswoman. She and Hal both practiced western swordsmanship originating in the fourteenth-century. Their style originated with the German Master, Liechtenauer in the thirteen-eighties. Instead of floppy foils and touch sparring, they used longswords which were blunted for safety. Each was about one-hundred and twenty-eight centimeters long, and contrary to popular myth, were not heavy, unwieldy chunks of metal. Weighing in at only one-point-four kilograms, they were fast and well balanced, usable in one or two hands.

At Molly’s urging, Hal had joined her for a sparring session. She said he needed to work off a little tension and hoped this would do the trick.

They were each outfitted in padded armor to dampen the blows from the sparring swords. They also wore a more or less traditional fencing masks, with extra padding at the top and around the edges. Even though these swords were not sharp, and had their tips blunted, they were essentially large metal bars; being hit with one was unpleasant at best, even under armor. But that was one of the allures of this type of martial art—it felt much more real. Getting hit hurt, as it should. This meant opponents were much more cagey, and didn’t trade blows recklessly. In a real sword fight, one blow could end an opponent’s life.

The two fencers garbed in their black armor, donned their masks, Molly tucking her golden locks up under her helm. Each touched the guard of their sword to their forehead, indicating they were ready to fence.

Molly watched Hal who held his sword pointed down behind him at a forty-five degree angle; the tail guard. This guard made it difficult for the opponent to predict your attack.

Molly held her sword above her head, the pommel over her right shoulder; the high guard, from which a very powerful downward strike could be delivered.

Hal stepped to the side, transitioning to the plow guard; the pommel at his hip and the blade of the sword at a forty-five degree angle, the tip pointing toward Molly’s face. That was the key, to threaten the opponent at all times.

Molly also transitioned to the plow guard, as they worked well against each other. Hal then transitioned to the high guard and they circled each other for a moment.

Hal exploded forward with a powerful diagonal downward cut to Molly’s left shoulder.

A fraction of a second later, she transitioned from the plow guard, passing her back foot forward as his sword came down. Molly’s sword came up horizontally over her head, shielding her from the blow and counter-attacking with a diagonal cut to the back of his neck has he passed her. Hal avoided it as he swung around. And so it continued for few minutes.

Their clashes were rapid and violent. Observers sometimes compared fencing with the longsword to rams rutting. Rams charged and clashed horns, then broke off, circling each other, then engaging again. It was beautiful and awesome to watch.

Molly continued to circle her opponent, and after a few probing blows, committed to a powerful thrust, which Hal parried, then threw his arm over her sword arm, tying her up and wrestled her to the ground. She struggled, but mass was a determining factor when skill was equal. Molly struggled for a moment, but Hal had her, and pulled his sparring dagger from his belt and slid it under her helm toward her exposed throat—the coup de grâce.

She stopped struggling and pulled off her helmet. She could feel his weight on top of her; it felt good. He took off his helmet and their eyes met, both breathing hard. She could feel his hot breath on her face. She made no attempt to move, content to stay in this moment.

“Well done,” came a voice form the doorway. Eva Joubert was standing half-way into the room.

Molly felt a flush of embarrassment. This was a rather awkward position for two ship’s officers to be in.

Hal jumped up. “Eva, good morning. We were- just getting in some exercise.”

“Really? Fascinating technique, Captain,” she said with a forced smile, “I’m sorry to interrupt. I was just passing by.” Eva stepped back out the door.

Molly was confused for a few seconds, but only a few seconds. Her female intuition had kicked in on high alert. Was there something going on between those two, she wondered? No, it couldn’t be. Eva probably had some one-sided feelings for Hal. He was
the
handsome alpha-male on the ship after all, it wasn’t unusual for women to get a little jealous over a man they couldn’t have; or could they? Could she?

Hal stood in front of the cryo-chamber holding his
guest
, Devrim.

Doc McGregor was busy checking Devrim’s vitals and completing the revival protocols.

With a whine and a drawn out whoosh, the lid to the cryo chamber slid open revealing their Hrymar prisoner. Devrim’s eyes opened slowly, and he blinked several times. “Wha-?”

“Don’t try to speak just yet,” Doc said, “we’re reviving you from cryo sleep. You’ve been under for a couple of months.”

Devrim nodded.

“We’re headed to Niflheim,” Hal said.

Devrim’s eyes opened wide, despite his befuddled state.

Hal continued. “President Rukundo is going to offer you up as an olive branch to your sire. You’ll be a peace offering of sorts, to get some measure of dialog started between out peoples.”

McGregor offered a hand to Devrim and helped him from the chamber. Devrim was shivering.

“What did you do,” asked Devrim, “actually freeze me?”

“Our cryo technology may be somewhat different from yours, but I assure you it’s quite safe.” McGregor said.

Devrim shot a dubious glance at the corpsman.

As McGregor toweled off the cryo-gel from Devrim’s body, Hal walked up closer, now nose to nose with the man; McGregor had to step back as Hal walked forward.

“You told me before there is a complete database of all slave transactions conducted throughout Hrymar space, and you could access it on Niflheim.”

Devrim nodded warily, maintaining sporadic eye contact with Hal.

“You and I are going to go to Niflheim on the ship’s pinnace, and I will offer you back to your father in trade for access to that database. Do you understand?”

Devrim just stared at him.

“Let me be clear, this is not a negotiation. If you can’t deliver what I ask, then I don’t give a damn what the President wants. I’ll throw you out an airlock and watch a nithing meet the fate
it
deserves.”

“I can access it,” Devrim said slowly.

“Good. Doc, have him fed, cleaned up, and ready to go in two hours.”

“Aye, Captain,” McGregor replied.

“Sir, we’ve successfully made the jump to the Alnitak AB system,” helmsman Glaw reported, as the
Sleipnir
dropped back into normal space, “and the ship is in stealth mode as ordered.”

Haldor keyed a button on the arm of his command-chair. “Crew, this is the Captain speaking. We’ve entered Hrymar territory; the ship is now at general quarters. Maximum stealth protocols are in effect. I don’t want to make a peep in their space. Captain out.” Hal got up out of his chair and stretched his arms above his head.

“Cadfael, you have the ship. If I don’t contact you in four hours, leave the system and return to Earth. Understood?”

Cadfael nodded in assent.

A
s Hal reached
the pinnace bay, two marines were keeping watch over Devrim. E-3 Kasper Vollan handed the captain a multicolor plastic card.

“Captain, the key is coded as requested,” Vollan said.

“Thank Vollan. And my other little request?”

“In place, sir,” Vollan replied.

A broad smile formed on Hal’s face. “Excellent.”

“Good luck, Captain,” Vollan said, as both he and Utkin saluted crisply; Hal returned the gesture.

Hal grabbed Devrim by the shoulder and lead him briskly to the pinnace hatch and into the ship. He thrust Devrim into the copilots seat and locked him to the seat with a set of restraints.

Hal then sat in the pilot’s chair and began a quick pre-flight.

The pinnace’s anti-matter reactor spun to life with a satisfying whine and an initial rumble, which subsided as the contragrav kicked in.

Hal keyed the comm system on the console in front of him. “Bridge, this is the Captain.”

“Acting Captain Cadfael here, sir,” Cadfael replied.

Hal couldn’t suppress a smile. “Acting Captain Cadfael, when the pinnace leaves the
Sleipnir’s
bay you’ll appear on their sensors momentarily. Plan to vector away from this location and find a different place to wait for me.”

“Aye, sir. And Captain, may Freyr be with you,” Cadfael said.

“Thanks, Cadfael. Captain out.”

The pinnace floated away from the rear of the Sleipnir, then engaged her reaction drive and vectored toward the surface of Niflheim.

A
s the pinnace
closed on the planet, Hal was jarred by a loud warning alarm from the pinnace’s comms.

“Shit! Two ships, and they have weapons locked on us,” Hal said.

“That’s to be expected,” Devrim said, “let me speak to them.”

Hal looked over at Devrim. “Let me fill you in on something before you get any brave ideas. I know that’s unlikely, but just in case; in the back of your neck, I had the Doc embed a micro-explosive charge. It’s just powerful enough to kill you, and nobody else. My key,” Hal held up the colorful piece of plastic and waved it in front of Devrim, “is also encoded, so killing me and taking the key will do you no good. Further, if I don’t enter a numeric sequence on the key every fifteen minutes, the charge will detonate. So keep that in mind.”

Devrim said nothing.

A tone beeped and a light flashed on the console. “They’re hailing us,” Hal said, “are you ready? And for my convenience, please speak in Yggdrasi.”

Devrim nodded.

“Niflheim security vessels, this is Devrim, offspring of Over-Chieftain Egemen. I have a…an
ambassador
from Earth with me. Please escort us to Uzay terminal at once.”

There was no reply from the ships, which now loomed near the pinnace, one flanking each side. They were massive and heavily armed, so Hal hoped they wouldn’t get trigger happy.

One of the ships accelerated ahead of the pinnace, then took up a position in front of them. The second ship dropped behind them.

“They are leading us to Uzay terminal. That is our main ground-based spaceport,” Devrim said.

Hal looked out the pinnace’s windows at the frozen, blueish snowball in front of him. It was remarkably beautiful. Hal knew the surface was absolutely deadly; the temperatures dropping to negative two-hundred degrees Celsius at night, and barely reaching minus fifty degrees on a hot summer day.

They could see hundreds of ships coming and going from the surface of Niflheim. It was indeed a busy spaceport, Hal thought.

The security vessels corralled the pinnace to a landing pad which was lit up and flashing, indicating for them to land.

O
n the landing pad
, Hal could see dozens of armed men in blue-white uniforms, surrounding the pinnace. He opened the hatch slowly and several of them had rifles trained on him. He
allowed
Devrim to exit first.

Two of the guards surrounded Hal and did a quick search for weapons. They removed his laser pistol, but failed to notice his sword and dagger, which to them seemed just small cylindrical tools on his belt.

“Take me to my sire at once!” Devrim barked at the guards.

One of them, a man with no rifle, perhaps some kind of officer, Hal guessed, bowed to Devrim and gestured toward a hovering vehicle.

The hovering ground vehicle whisked them to an underground station where there was a sort of subway system. Hal and Devrim were lead aboard a car clear of all passengers, save them, four guards and the Hrymar officer. The subway car was launched forward suddenly, like a missile leaving the tube. Hal could feel tremendous acceleration, but it soon smoothed out, and he tried to relax his mind before they made their way to meet this Over-Chieftain.

H
alf an hour later
, Hal and Devrim were lead to a
literally
, cavernous chamber; it was carved directly out of the rock beneath the planet. The Hrymar had no people living above ground. That would make it difficult to wage war on them, he thought.

The ceiling of the chamber was at least one-hundred meters high, and perhaps three-hundred long, and one-hundred wide. It was titanic. From the walls hung various banners, with possibly, clan or tribal insignias. It reminded Hal of crude heraldry. There were also all manner of skins and animal heads mounted on the walls.

Flanking each side of the great hall were hundreds of Hrymar, all in various dress. At the very end of the hall, Hal could see a larger throne, and on it, a hulking Hrymar; that had to be Over-Chieftain Egemen. He sported a massive, brown fur cape about his shoulders

Devrim walked just in front of Hal, leading him, and Hal was flanked by two guards as they approached the throne.

Without warning, Devrim spun around to Hal and body checked him back toward the guards.

“Seize him!” Devrim commanded.

The two guards grabbed Hal instantly and held him in an iron grip. Devrim shot Hal a small grin, and winked.