Warrior's Valor (4 page)

“Good.”

Izontro seemed calm yet intense. Emeron had encountered do-gooders like her before, always caring about the bleeding masses, but with a personal agenda. Nobody did anything for the greater good without making sure the greater good gave something back. Fame of the heroic kind usually motivated types like her. Corruption, from one or more players, sometimes motivated others. Emeron wondered what Izontro's currency was, though she bet the woman probably aspired to sainthood and heroism.

The Maireesian fields billowed beneath them, stretching as far as Emeron could see. Even she admitted that the green with splashes of purple, red, and golden where the flowers grew in groups created a spectacular sight.

“Have you seen this before, Ensign Noor?” Emeron heard Izontro ask.

“No, ma'am.”

“Please, call me Dwyn.”

Silence.

“It's a fantastic view and a completely unique flora and fauna. These fields were originally created by the government a thousand years ago. At that time, of course, Berenias, the Emperor of Corma, led your government.”

“Really.” Noor didn't seem very interested in the history lesson.

“Yes,” Izontro continued, clearly undaunted. “Berenias was a great ruler, according to the chronicles, far ahead of his time. He considered all men and women equal and was the first to realize how quickly the Disi-Disi forest could be exploited and destroyed unless someone established safeguards to protect it. He and Chief Troboday, the leader of the Disians at the time, signed the Thousand Year Pact, a treaty that would ensure the Disians' right to their forest and prevent deforestation and intrusion. It has been nearly a thousand years now, and the Cormanian government, as well as the open market, apparently thinks it can gnaw at the edges of the pact.”

“And why not?” Ensign Noor asked, sounding mildly exasperated. “We need the space. The Disians are…how many? Sixty thousand?”

“Not that it should matter, but approximately two hundred thousand individuals exist. However, the point is—”

“And they should be entitled to nearly a quarter of the southern hemisphere?” Noor raised her voice, and Emeron knew she would have to intervene or the hotheaded ensign might insult the woman they were there to protect. She opened her mouth, but was forestalled by Izontro.

“You should be glad that the forest covers a fourth of this hemisphere.”

Noor's total silence confirmed that the change from enthusiasm to forged steel in Izontro's voice had taken her aback.

“It gives you the oxygen you breathe and stabilizes this planet's ecosystem. Without it, Corma would suffer one natural catastrophe after another, not to mention how the buildup of toxic gases would poison this planet. If you don't care about the Disians, look at it from a selfish point of view. If you want to breathe clean air and drink clear water, pray that Aequitas is wrong. Pray that your government hasn't allowed greed to override the law.”

“Ah. Well. Never thought of it that way.” Noor cleared her throat. “Actually, I've never been to the forest.”

“It's hard to get a permit to enter,” Emeron added. “Not many regular people ever go there.”

“Perhaps that needs to change. It might help open people's eyes.” Izontro's voice mellowed. “The seclusion of the Disians is part of the problem.”

“The mystique and romance surrounding this race are overrated,” Emeron said without thinking. She realized too late that her contempt shone through and wished she had had the sense to shut up.

“What do you mean? The Disians are one of the very few original people within the SC.” Izontro sounded bemused. “They live the old-fashioned way, with shamans, with no modern technology, not even electricity.”

“And you find that admirable.” It wasn't a question, more of an accusation. When it concerned a population who refused to evolve, Izontro was as starry-eyed as most of her kind.

“I do. It's easy to adopt the view of everyone else. Staying true to your beliefs and honoring old traditions—”

“Traditions?” Emeron had to laugh and wondered if Izontro detected her bitter undertone. “Tradition is just another word for stagnation, and it also stands for nostalgia.”

“And you have no use for nostalgia.” Izontro's voice turned annoyingly mild. “Makes me wonder what you have against these people, Commander. It sounds personal.”

“I don't have anything against any individual. But every person should evolve, not hang on to
tradition
and use it as an excuse for not growing or being ambitious.” Emeron punched in new commands and flew the hovercraft in an elegant curve, following the outline of tall, dark trees. “We've entered the forest. We will reach our coordinates for the landing site in half an hour.” Emeron hoped her tone would ensure that the subject was closed.

*

Ambassador M'Ekar walked on board the matt black spaceship. A smaller vessel had taken him off-planet and delivered him safely in high orbit. He now admitted this part of the escape had made him nervous. This was a critical moment. He automatically felt the side of his neck where Desmond had used the instrument provided by Weiss Kyakh to configure and remove the insidious implant. The only trace of the chip that would have directed the lethal poison into his carotid artery was a small ridge of scar tissue. He shuddered involuntarily, then immediately straightened and stared inquiringly at the woman before him.

“I am M'Ekar. And you are?”

“M'Ekar. Strange, I somehow pictured you younger.” The tall woman stood inside the docking port and regarded him with a crooked smile. Dark brown hair, kept in a short, tight ponytail, emphasized her sharp features. Her deeply set, frost green eyes clearly appraised him, and the fact that she seemed to find him lacking infuriated M'Ekar.

“You have yet to identify yourself,” M'Ekar hissed. “Where's Kyakh?”

“You're looking at her.”

M'Ekar blinked. “I thought you were older. And male.”

“We were both wrong.” Weiss Kyakh shrugged and smiled maliciously. “But we don't have time to stand around debating our flawed perceptions of each other. The sensor scramblers can hold off the authorities for a limited time, but let's not push our luck. Come on. I'll show you to your quarters.”

“How long before we reach our target?” M'Ekar asked as they started walking down the corridor.

“Five days. The
Viper
is faster than most SC vessels.”

“A lot can happen in five days.”

“You can always try to get another ride.” Kyakh looked expressionlessly at M'Ekar. “Here we are now. Your quarters.”

M'Ekar sighed at the sight of the miniscule cabin. The term “quarters” was entirely an exaggeration. This was little more than a bunk bed with walls. “Hmm. Thank you.” He tried not to let his exasperation show. Couldn't Desmond have arranged for something a little more in his league?

“I hope you don't mind sharing.” Weiss Kyakh motioned to the young man behind M'Ekar. “Quarters are cramped in such a small and insignificant ship, so we have to bunk where we can and share when we must.”

“Share?” This was too much. M'Ekar had to object. “Not only am I traveling under deplorable circumstances, but must I share quarters with a servant?”

Desmond's eyes darkened. “I am not your servant, not anymore, Your Excellence,” he said, sounding both hurt and angry. “I have risked everything to help you escape and I, if anybody, deserve to stand by your side.”

“Now, now, boys,” Weiss Kyakh said slowly. “No fighting. Ambassador, cut the “I'm-entitled” act. You're not
traveling
anywhere. You're a fugitive, running for your life, and you have no say in what goes on here. I'm the captain and ultimately everybody's boss until we reach your homeworld and I get paid. On board this vessel, my word is law. The ship's name is the
Viper
, and trust me, the name fits. So, you share quarters, Ambassador. End of discussion.” Weiss Kyakh left them and M'Ekar saw her shaking her head as she disappeared down the narrow corridor.

Desmond was obviously sulking. M'Ekar knew he might need more favors from the resourceful, and unscrupulous, young man. “Forgive me, Desmond,” he managed. “I didn't mean to sound so harsh. It's been nerve-wracking recently.”

Desmond seemed eager to get back on good terms with his former prisoner. “It's all right, sir. This ship is fast, and I'm confident Kyakh will deliver us safely to Onotharat. I will be proud to stand by your side when you regain your title and office.”

You fool
. “Of course, dear boy. You've been most helpful.” M'Ekar never knew when he might have to sacrifice someone else for his own greater good.

The faint buzz under his feet told him the
Viper
was leaving the planet Jasin's high orbit. He sat down on the narrow bed, ducking so he wouldn't bump his head against the top bunk. This journey couldn't go fast enough.

Dwyn opened the door to the small carbo-nylon habitat where she'd spent her first night in the Disi-Disi forest. Morning dew lay like transparent drops of glistening syrup on the shrubbery. The air was thick and humid at this early hour and Dwyn drew a few extra breaths, needing more oxygen in her lungs.

“You're up early.” The husky voice to Dwyn's left sounded reluctantly approving.

D'Artansis sat on a cubic chair at the table near the cookery unit that the team had placed in the center of the circle of habitats. D'Artansis took out a small cube from a container next to her and tossed it on the ground with a muted pop. It hissed and instantly took on the shape of a cube big enough to sit on. “Have a seat.”

“Fantastic trick. Thanks. Normally I love sleeping in.” Dwyn shrugged and sat down, determined to not let D'Artansis get to her this morning. These protected surroundings were beautiful, and today she was eager to journey farther. If anyone was exploiting the territory, they were most likely doing it well into the forest, out of sight. “You're always up early, I suppose, Commander.”

“Call me Emeron,” D'Artansis said, surprisingly. She shrugged in a cynical manner. “We're going to spend time together in this godforsaken place, and I'm not one for formalities.”

“You don't like formalities and you're in the military?”

“Trust me, when it comes to my team, I'm prepared to make an exception.”

“Then please call me Dwyn.” She peered into the pot on the cookery plate. “Cormanian coffee?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course. Help yourself. There's breakfast, if you don't mind military rations.”

“Military rations are fine.” Dwyn poured coffee into a thermos-mug and grabbed a bar of cereal-nutrients. “How early is it? We the only ones up?”

“Not really. Mogghy and Noor are making sure the hovercraft are in good shape. Never hurts to be extra careful.”

Dwyn knew that transportation was vital to her assignment, but something in the way Emeron spoke made her think the outcome of Dwyn's work wasn't what concerned her.

“Expecting trouble already?”

“Not really. But I'd rather be wrong than be caught off guard with no way to get you and my team out of here.”

Dwyn took a bite of the tasteless bar and sipped the amazing coffee, which warmed her stomach and rejuvenated her instantly. “You seem as if you could care less about this place. To me it's wondrous.”

“It's a forest. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“A rare forest. A life-sustaining, one-of-a-kind forest.” Dwyn spoke softly, sensing that if she pressed too hard, she'd lose this more benevolent connection with Emeron. She didn't want that.

“I can see its ecological value. I can even understand the anthropological interest some may have in the lives of the Disians.” Emeron gestured dismissively with her free hand. “I simply don't admire its inhabitants. There's nothing to admire about a people who make a point of being different, of being
backward
.”

Dwyn blinked. “Backward?” Certain she must have misheard or misunderstood, she searched Emeron's pitch black eyes. “The Disians aren't backward at all. A famous Earth anthropologist recently called this an amazing society with traits many people would do well to emulate.”

The blackness in Emeron's eyes cooled as she slowly placed her mug on the table. She snarled quietly, “I don't agree with some enamored Earth anthropologist who views these natives through a romantic filter. They're nothing but a stagnated people, caricatures of ‘sons and daughters of nature.' Once you see them for yourself, you'll be disappointed.” Emeron tossed what was left of her coffee into the bushes. “I understand why Corma needs this forest intact, but trust me, Corma doesn't need the Disians. They contribute
nothing
.”

Emeron's opinion stunned yet intrigued Dwyn. The words “backward” and “caricatures” showed more than indifference. Such language revealed disgust and contempt.