Chapter 11

The group that finally came together in Briefing Room One shortly after noon to form the assault team was an unlikely one, but the only one that would have any chance at all. In addition to those they'd first spoken to, the Rangers had found a nurse, an engineer's assistant, the ship's junior navigator, and four other Marine officers.

There was noticeable tension in the room when Corina called the briefing to order. They already knew the basic situation; she could go directly to the assault itself. "I will be making assignments based solely on shield strength, as that is the only factor which will slow the Seniors to any degree. Ranger Medart, Colonel Greggson, and I will attempt to trace and confront Thark and his two chief lieutenants. I would like the rest of you to spread throughout the Palace, to find and eliminate as many of the others as you can. We will remain in touch as necessary by wrist communicators, which will be issued as soon as we are finished here.

"I have ordered a disruptor mounted on the lander we will be using. Lieutenant DarLeras, Ranger Medart tells me you are a pilot; since we do not have such a specialist, I would like you to fill that position as well as the combat one you agreed to earlier. Will that cause you any problem?"

"No, sir. It just means I prep before we leave, rather than during the trip."

Medart sent Corina a mental wince. *Make sure your restraints are tight. He took it easy on the way up because it was your first trip; he wouldn't be concerned about comfort on a combat flight even if he weren't battleprepped. Since he will be, we're going to have a rough ride.*

*He is still the only pilot we have, and it will be to our advantage for him to be prepped. He will have to take our limitations into consideration, however.*

*He will, since that's good tactics, but that doesn't mean he'll be gentle, especially if he has to do any dodging. Go on.*

"Unfortunately, Prowler will have to be destroyed to prevent its weapons from being used against us. Since I expect the crew to remain aboard, that means they will be killed. The others, Seniors and Sanctioners, will be in the Palace, and we must expect immediate opposition when we land."

"What kind of armament does Prowler have?" Greggson asked.

"When I was last aboard, approximately a week ago, it had medium-power blasters. I believe its shields are standard for that class."

"Nothing a disruptor can't handle, then. It'd take more than a week to mount heavy weapons."

"He would depend more on speed and secrecy, even so," Corina said. "He wishes to take over; he will cause no more destruction than he must."

"What about personal weapons?" Nevan asked.

"The Seniors will depend on Talent. Sanctioners, however, have only limited Talent, as a rule just telepathy and shields, so they use and are quite familiar with distance weapons. Some have considerable skill, and those are the ones likeliest to be in Thark's group."

Greggson frowned. "No unTalented at all? I'd hoped we could supplement our few shielded people with a trained Security team, at least."

"I do not believe he would take that chance," Corina said. "This is far too important to him; his attack force will include only his best people. A Security team would have little chance against even a Sanctioner's simple telepathy; no action can be taken without at least a fraction of a second's forethought."

"Damn." Greggson's voice was flat. "That's out, then."

"Hold on," Hobison said. "Emperor Chang?"

"Yes, Captain Hobison?"

"Identify Prowler, Irschchan registry, and give crew/passenger capacity."

"Prowler, Irschchan registry One-Alpha. Kanchatka-class courier refitted as a yacht, crew of nine plus pilot. Maximum passenger capacity thirty humans. Further data?"

"Not required." Hobison turned his attention back to the others in the room. "Thirty human passengers, so call it about forty-five Irschchans. And there are twelve of us . . . not very good odds at all." He paused, frowned. "Worse, if the crew's Talented."

"They are not," Corina said. "They are all Navy veterans; until myself, Talented went into the Order instead as a matter of course. However, since Prowler must be destroyed to prevent the use of its weapons, I do not expect them to be a problem."

"Forty-five effectives, then," Hobison said. "I've faced better odds; looks like things could get interesting."

"We had best plan on forty-six," Corina corrected. "Thark seldom uses his assigned pilot; he prefers to do his own flying." She laid her ears back. "There will be much death because of his Crusade; I would prefer that we cause as little of it as possible. Set your weapons for a two-hour stun. Under the circumstances, that should be quite sufficient; by the end of that time, either Thark will be defeated, the stunned ones still able to stand trial, or we will all be dead. Are there any questions?"

"I have one," Greggson said. "You can sense shields at a distance, so the Seniors can, too. What's to stop them from killing us with darlas as soon as they sense us?"

"Thark is the only one in the Prime Chapter, to the best of my knowledge, who is able to use darlas effectively without visual contact."

"You did it!" Greggson's tone was accusing.

"I am aware of that," Corina said. "I am surprised I was able to; I made the attempt only because I had more opponents than I had ever faced in training, and had nothing to lose by trying. The others will have to be able to see you before they can attack. If we are fortunate, your shields will all be strong enough to deflect such an attack for the two or three seconds necessary to stun them. And the danger from the Sanctioners, who cannot use darlas at all, is purely physical."

"That's encouraging," Nevan said.

Corina's ears twitched in appreciation of the attempt at humor. "I am glad you think so. Are there other questions?"

When there were none, she dismissed the meeting, and the two Rangers returned to Sherwood Forest to continue Medart's training. Corina began to think she must have an allergy after all, because she sneezed several times as soon as they entered the park, but she refused Medart's suggestion that they find a different location. "This area is most conducive to the proper frame of mind, especially for you. That is worth some minor irritation, and I see our tree is available; shall we take advantage of it?"

When they were seated, Medart came straight to the point. "The first thing, I think, is to find out about what you called reverse darlas."

"As I said, that is not a precise description." Corina's ears went back in frustration. "It is merely the best I can do in Imperial English. Or in Irschchan, for that matter."

"It's all we have to work with, though, so let's try to define it a bit more closely. I can't either practice or avoid something I can't identify."

"That is true enough. Very well, darlas is a form of attack. Its reverse would logically be some form of defense, yet that is not the feeling I get. And it would seem redundant, as well, since your shield is a more than adequate defense, even now, against all but the strongest conventional darlas."

"Let's go all the way to basics, then. An attack is hostility, intent to cause harm. The reverse of that is good will, intent to help. That sound any more promising?"

"Urrr . . . yes, somewhat, though I have never heard of such an application of Talent."

"Uh-huh, you said that." Medart leaned back against the treetrunk. "What you call Talent we call esper abilities, and if I remember right, one of those was healing. Emperor Chang?"

"Yes, Ranger Medart?"

"Scan records for healing as an aspect of ESP, report on verified incidents."

"Insufficient data to verify any given incident," the ship-comp reported after several seconds. "Most data are religious in origin, rather than scientific. Not subject to positive verification."

"Thank you. No further information required." Medart looked at the smaller Ranger. "Like telepathy was, until day before yesterday. Stories, but none of what Greggson likes to call cast-iron facts."

Corina sneezed again, and Medart frowned. "Sounds to me like you're coming down with something, Rina. Maybe you ought to go see Dr. Sherman--you need to be in top shape when you go against Thark."

"That is true, and it is more than the sneezing; I woke with a slight headache this morning, and I feel as if I have been exercising harder than I should. Your ship is warmer than I truly like, and I have been under some strain; I attributed those symptoms to that. It is possible, however that I am becoming ill." She paused, thinking. "If this aspect of your Talent is connected with health, perhaps you should see what you can discover about my condition before I go to Dr. Sherman."

"That sounds reasonable." Medart closed his eyes to concentrate better on sensing her.

Corina closed hers as well, dropping her shield completely to allow him unrestricted access to her feelings. His mental touch was gentle, even soothing, and she felt aching start to ease. Then there was a touch on her forehead that felt like both his hands, warmer than normal human body temperature, and all her symptoms faded to nothing in perhaps half a minute.

When she opened her eyes, it was to see Medart looking at her with an expression of pleased surprise. "I feel considerably better, Jim, and I thank you. It appears your deduction was correct."

"You're welcome," Medart said, still grinning. "And they said there'd never be a cure for the common cold! You were right too, Rina; the change in environment when you came aboard gave some viruses the chance they needed. You were in the early stages of a nasty respiratory infection."

"An unpleasantness that would have hampered me rather badly."

"That's the understatement of the year! Well, if you agree it won't be too useful, maybe we'd better drop it and get on with the darlas and shield training. I can always go into medicine later, when we aren't pushed for time."

"I must agree. Healing will probably be most valuable, but it is hardly something useful in combat. Fortunately, it is also not a hindrance."

* * * * *

"No, Jim, no! That was painful, too strong." Corina shook her head, half in reproof and half to clear her mind. It was getting late, the training session lasting well beyond what the Order considered reasonable, but both wanted to keep going as long as possible. Still, Corina thought, his control was getting worse rather than better; they should finish up soon, then eat and rest. "That snake image is far too powerful for a stun effect. You must visualize something else. And you must also visualize with more consistency, as the power you exert is directly proportional to the clarity of your image."

"I'm sorry, Rina," Medart apologized. "You were right, though. The technique was easy, but the control damnsure isn't. Do you think I'll ever get the hang of it?"

"Of course you will," she replied. "Remember, it took me four years to reach my present degree of control, but I was being trained by the traditional methods. It took me a quarter of a year to achieve what you have managed in two days, with this compressed training. You should be as pleased with your progress as I am, not discouraged."

"Three months, hmm? Then I guess I don't feel so bad."

"That is good. I only hope we have the four to eight days I estimated, even as quickly as you are learning. By then you should be able to consistently come close to the effect you intend, and can begin working with the volunteers."

"Yeah, me too. I have a lot to learn."

"Do not let it worry you. Despite my studies under Thark himself, I still do not have the control I should. Ideally I should be able to stun someone for a given length of time, plus or minus not more than a minute, regardless of the other's strength or mind pattern. I am not even close to that; plus or minus three minutes is the best I have been able to manage."

"That sounds good to me!"

"It is not bad," Corina agreed, "but it is not what I am supposed to be capable of. That is always the goal, working up to your own potential."

Medart nodded. "I can understand that. What next?"

"Next," Corina said, getting to her feet, "we eat and rest. Those are as important to your progress as the training itself."

X

Corina was awakened by the whooping of a siren, followed by a surprisingly calm voice on the ship's annunciator. "General Quarters-- All hands to battle stations. General Quarters--man your battle stations. Rangers Medart and Losinj, Palace assault team, to the hangar bay, please."

Corina scrambled out of bed and into her kilt. "Emperor Chang!"

The ship-comp's voice was unchanged. "Yes, Ranger Losinj?"

"What time is it? What is happening?" The announcement left no doubt, but she wanted details.

"It is 0230, sir. The Prowler requested clearance for Sydney Spaceport, but is on course for the Palace Complex instead. Defsat Five estimates their arrival there in fifteen minutes."

"Blades!" Corina ignored the ship's "I beg your pardon, Ranger?", and sent a hurried thought. *Jim?*

*On my way. We'll land about an hour and a quarter behind them. Another hour to orbit, then fifteen minutes to the Palace. Seems he was closer to ready than you guessed.*

*Let us hope not disastrously so.*

*Right. Anything you can do from this distance?*

*I do not think so, at least nothing useful. Once we are aboard the lander, however, I will attempt to read Thark; his shield will have to be down for him to work, and he may be distracted enough not to notice so light a touch.*

*If it's down, can't you hit him with darlas? You don't need to be in sight of him, from what you said.*

*I do not need to be in sight of someone without a shield,* she returned. *That is all I am sure of. Should I attempt such an attack on Thark, it may have some effect, or it may simply alert him to our approach. I think it would be wiser to do no more than observe, if that is possible, and maintain the element of surprise. You have far more experience than I in such situations, however; I will defer to your judgement.*

*I've got more experience in combat, less in Talent. We go with your judgement on this one. See you in a second.*

It was a little longer than that, but less than a minute later the two were in a shuttle going to the lander bay. "No armor?" Medart asked.

"I do not know how to use it," Corina said. "But you are not wearing it either, and you must be familiar with its use. Why not?"

"From your demonstration, there'd be no point. Armor can protect against blasters, but not against Talent--and it has a lot of places where a touch of TK would be fatal. If anyone wants to wear it I won't argue, for the psychological help it can give, but I'm not going to burden myself with it."

They were the last to arrive; since their quarters were closest to the center of the ship, they had the furthest to come. When they got to the bay, most of the team was standing near the lander talking in low tones, about half in armor, but Nevan was off to one side, kneeling with upraised arms, chanting softly in a language she didn't recognize. Her Gaelan-memories let her recognize what he was doing, however; he was preparing for battle, inducing the psycho-physical conditioning that made Sandeman warriors the most dangerous fighters in the Empire.

"If I am going to provide information about Thark," she said, "we had best go aboard; it is almost time for him to land. It should be safe for you to link with me, if you wish to relay what is happening to the rest."

"That might not be a bad idea," Medart said.

They entered the lander and Corina strapped herself into a seat-- tightly, remembering Medart's caution about Nevan's battleprepped piloting--then she made herself relax, closing her eyes, and reached tentatively for Thark's mind-pattern, ready to pull back at the first hint that he detected her touch.

* * * * *

They were nearing the Sentinel Mountains before Thark began slowing the Prowler. Yes, there it was: the circle of greenery and buildings surrounding the single huge structure that was his goal. The Imperial Palace.

The sight awed him, and he felt an instant of uncertainty. Could those responsible for such a tremendous feat of architecture be as incompetent to rule as he thought? It was too late for such doubts, though. They were through the weather screen, past the main Palace spaceport, and there was no barrier to a closer approach; there was no need to disable the Palace's defense screen. As he had planned, Thark set the Prowler down on the Emperor's private landing pad. Everything had gone smoothly so far, but now there was bound to be opposition.

And that lost no time showing up. The Prowler's touchdown was the signal Palace Guards had been waiting for; humans, Irschchans, and a Traiti, all in Imperial Marine dress blues, ran toward the ship, drawing and firing their sidearms. They were no real threat; handguns couldn't penetrate even a courier's shielding. The heavy disruptor cannon swinging to take aim at the little ship's main hatch was an entirely different matter, though. A small cannon of that type could do serious damage, and one this size would simply separate ship and contents into their component atoms.

But that was something Thark could handle. He made a quick scan to locate the weapon's operator and any backup, finding to his relief that there was none. A swift thrust of darlas, and the cannon was no longer a threat, its operator dead. It was the first death at Thark's own hands . . . but it was not the only one for long. The defending Palace Guards began to drop as the Seniors used viewscreen images to pick and focus on their targets. Thark took the ones they couldn't see, the ones hidden by Prowler's hull.

With the first wave of opposition dead, Thark opened the hatch, extended the ramp, and led the Seniors and Sanctioners toward the pad's entrance to the Palace. They were almost there when more opposition arrived, perhaps a dozen Palace Guards--followed seconds later by a man in Ranger green.

There was no time to be neat; the Sanctioners used blasters, the Seniors darlas and soul-blades. Thark's fur was splattered with blood by the time he reached the Ranger. Menshikov's gun was coming to bear on him even as Thark used darlas to attack. A Ranger deserved that much of honor, to die with @'s body unmarked.

But--Menshikov was shielded, impossible as that was! An involuntary shield, though, however good, was no match for Thark's lifetime of training and experience. Menshikov's face twisted in agony, and he collapsed before he could scream.

Thark stared at the crumpled body for several seconds. The man's shield disturbed him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. It should not have existed! Still, he thought, perhaps in the final extremity, a rare human could show a trace of Talent; such things had been known to happen on Irschcha. He would check on it later, perhaps; for now, it made no difference.

* * * * *

Corina's attention returned to the lander, where she found herself and Medart the focus of the entire assault team's intense interest. *What do you expect?* Medart sent grimly. *That's the second Ranger murdered in the Palace in less than two months--maybe others elsewhere, depending on how widespread this Crusade is.*

*Probably others elsewhere,* Corina replied, equally grim. *He will not be content with one strike, and Rangers are essential targets for anyone who seeks to greatly alter or destroy the Empire. I fear for those who are not in space or otherwise out of the Order's reach.*

*Me, too.* He continued aloud. "Did he sense you?"

"No. As I thought, he is too intent on his task to notice a touch as light as I am using. Is there no way we can get there faster? If he continues at his present rate, everyone in the Palace may be dead by the time we arrive."

"No, dammit," Hobison said. "Hyperdrive is three lights per hour, period, and we're still most of an hour out."

"Perhaps a few minutes," Nevan said. "If Chang can make a sub-orbital pass, we can save the descent from orbit."

That brought the group's attention to him, and Corina was struck by the change in his bearing. Everything about him was taut, ready: his eyes held an eager gleam, and his smile was nothing like the happy one she'd seen when she offered him this duty; instead it was one of deadly anticipation, and he was seething with controlled violence. It was easy, seeing him this way, to believe stories that had been difficult to accept earlier. "Is that not quite dangerous?"

It was Medart who answered. "For a standard human, it's almost impossible. For a battleprepped warrior, it's not too bad; they did it quite a bit during the Incursion. It'd save probably ten minutes."

"We will do so, then," Corina decided. "Captain Hobison, would you give the necessary orders? And ask whoever is in temporary command to notify Defsat Five when we land, please; I believe we may be too busy to do it."

"Yes, sir." Hobison left, going to the lander's controls.

Corina took another look at Nevan, then sighed--a human mannerism, but one that seemed appropriate. "I suppose I should return to my observations."

"It would help to know what he's up to," Medart said. "First, though, I think you ought to check out Nevan's shield. It seems battleprep makes a difference in Talent strength, too."

Corina's ears went back briefly. "Such things do not normally change, but I will retest him." When she touched the Sandeman's mind, her ears went forward in amazement. His shield, respectably strong before, now had the density and chill feel of spacer-steel armor!

She nodded. "This means a personnel switch. Nevan now has a better chance against Thark than Colonel Greggson does; he will accompany us, and Colonel Greggson will assist with the other attackers."

Neither man raised any objection to the substitution, though Greggson's expression was not pleased. Nevan simply nodded, his eyes a bit brighter.

* * * * *

Thark had entered the Palace by the time she made contact again, and the slaughter was continuing. He, Valla, Kainor, and four Sanctioners were looking for the Emperor; the rest were spreading out to eliminate opposition elsewhere in the Palace.

There were adequate maps of the public areas, none of the private areas like this--but for one of Thark's Talent, that was a minor obstacle. It was a simple matter to extract whatever directions he wanted from the unshielded minds of staff and Guards before killing them. His first goal was the Emperor's working office; when that proved empty, he got directions to His Majesty's apartment on the top floor, and led his team there.

When that also proved to be empty, Thark began to worry. Something was definitely wrong, and it took longer to get around in the Palace than he had expected, even for a building so huge; it took a good five minutes simply to get from the bottom to the top floor or back. Then there was the time to find his objectives, made longer by having to eliminate opposition on the way--this was taking too long!

The assault team on the lander disagreed; anything that delayed Thark worked in their favor. "How long till launch?" someone asked Nevan.

"Eight minutes. Then about three to land."