Chapter 9

The integration process worked mostly in the form of dreams, some fragmentary, some less so. She/Jim was laying in a bed with bars, a huge pink face framed in white looking down at her/him and radiating a feeling of peace.

Then Corina-as-Jim was sitting beside a wicker basket, stroking a Siamese cat who was giving birth to her first litter of kittens and wouldn't let him leave. There were three already, tiny white-furred things blindly nursing. The mother stared up at him, butting his hand with her head, and purred as only a Siamese could, seeming to be proud of her accomplishment.

A nude swim in a warm blue sea--the memory a pleasant one for the human, but one that made Corina's sleeping body tremble with distaste.

But it was Jim's invitation to the Rangers that claimed most of her attention, from Perry appearing in his room after the Test Week results were posted, through his first meeting with the Emperor soon after--it had been Yasunon then, not Davis, who was still Crown Prince--to his brief visit home before starting his new duties.

For details of Medart's invitation, see SELECT

Working with other Rangers, then alone: the massive flood that almost wiped out the Yonar colony, and proved to be sabotage. Taking over the Chang when Rick was elected Successor, and renewing his acquaintance with Dave when Captain Hobison took command. The Ondrian affair, with his new friend Star-flower playing a large part, and a wry thought that he kept getting involved with cats in one form or another.

The crisis in Sector Five when Sandeman erupted, conquering half that Sector before its Duke realized she couldn't handle them and called for Imperial help. The mind-probe of Gaelan, giving her a new insight into the small warriors, and added respect for their integrity and ability. Glimpses of many planets, from space and surface. That one spotting of a huge white ship that disappeared into hyperspace and couldn't be traced.

The memory of his sorrow at Yasunon's death was enough to make Corina toss restlessly in bed. She seemed to see the funeral from two viewpoints at once: her own, the film in history class, and Jim's being there. Then came the Conclave that elected Forrest as Crown Prince when Davis became Emperor.

Then war struck. Fragmentary memories of battle flickered by, then came a chance to capture a Traiti ship. Ray Kennard had come up with an idea that might keep imprisoned Traiti alive, at least long enough to be questioned before they succumbed to the prisoner psychosis that so inevitably killed the ones who could be kept from suicide.

He'd gone with the boarding party despite Hobison's objections. He'd seen his first live Traiti then, with its leathery gray skin and sharklike face. Not attractive at all to Medart's way of thinking-- then--but the big male was hurt and in obvious pain; he'd knelt, intending to help, only to be torn almost in two by the Traiti's claws and teeth.

And, he found out when he was allowed to regain consciousness after that week of immersion in rapid-heal, it had been for nothing. The two prisoners the boarding party did manage to take had lived to reach Terra before the psychosis set in, no longer.

It was a memory that reeked of failure and self-accusation. He should've expected that trick; although it wasn't common, it was known. His carelessness and stupidity could have cost them the ship, cost the Empire a Ranger it could ill afford to lose, wasted even more lives.

Corina shifted, unable to accept that even in a dream. He was a Ranger, he had been doing the only thing honor would allow . . .

Then came the interrupted recovery leave on Irschcha, and his meeting with the young Losinj. In Medart's memory, Corina watched herself defeat the Marines, studied her own records, discussed them with the Emperor. Again came the invitation to join the Rangers, but from his side this time, and the intensity of his emotion was enough to bring her awake shivering.

She rose and automatically went through her morning routine, then went to the service panel and got a glass of milk. She sat at the desk, then, taking occasional sips and thinking. Did she still have a choice, or did the Empire's need of her make this a matter of honor? Jim--no, Ranger Medart, though it was now difficult to think of him that way--would, she knew, leave that question to her. And she was terribly afraid she knew how she would eventually have to answer.

VIII

Medart's night was equally disturbed, though since Corina was younger and had had a more peaceful life, his dreams were less troubling.

He saw/was Corina, about seven years old Standard, receiving her soul-blade from an elderly Order initiate in a ritual as old as the Order itself. He was impressing her mind pattern on the blade with a specialized form of darlas, and her acceptance of it would signify technical adulthood, though she would stay with her parents for some time yet. The dagger, ideally, should never leave her while she lived, and now he felt the reason as well as knowing it. The pattern-imprinting made the blade literally a part of her.

Scattered memory-bits of school and family, nothing particularly significant until her discovery of her Talent, accidentally made while she was basking in the sun beside her favorite fountain. Although she'd said it had been weeks before she'd learned to read thoughts not specifically directed at her, Medart realized that she must have been subconsciously blocking them, because that was how she'd made her accidental discovery.

For details of Corina's discovery, see TALENT

Medart shifted his position in bed, her memory-feelings enough to push him out of that dream but not waken him. He soon slid into another one, rather patchy at first. Her first meeting with Thark, High Adept of the White Order, who was impressed and pleased by a Talent she wasn't sure she was happy to have since it had cost her the future she dreamed of. There were later memories of them together; after she had forced her regret into the background, they had developed a profound regard and respect for each other, though much of it was hidden by their formal teacher-student relationship.

Then came their breakup, in full detail. Medart experienced it all, from the friendly greeting and Thark's comments on her ability, through her discovery of the Crusade and her rejection of it, to their declaration of mutual enmity. Outwardly quiet though that had been, it had enough of an emotional charge to awaken the Ranger.

A glance at his chrono showed 0405. Too late, the way he felt, to go back to sleep, so he rose, showered, and dressed. Then he sent a tentative inquiry. *You awake?*

*Yes.* Hopefully, *Would you care to join me?*

*You bet. I'll be right there.*

He was soon seated in one of the armchairs in her cabin, balancing a steaming cup of coffee on its arm. Corina still sat at the desk, sipping at her second glass of milk.

"That was quite an experience," Medart finally said. "Especially that last meeting with Thark."

"And your feelings when His Majesty pinned your badge on. It is strange, is it not, how a small piece of metal can mean so much?"

She was skirting the subject, and both knew it, but Medart went along. Patience now, he felt, would pay off later.

"There's an ancient Terran proverb," he said, "that clothes make the man. It isn't literally true, of course, and the badge certainly doesn't have any intrinsic power, but humans are very strongly affected by symbols. This one," he tapped the badge on his chest, "can trace its history back to before the Empire, even back before atomic energy. It's meant official authority in one form or another since at least the second century pre-atomic, and for centuries before that--maybe longer--it was believed to be a particularly powerful magical symbol."

Corina nodded, appreciating his intent as well as his explanation. "I think I understand, though clothes are relatively new to us, and symbols of that sort affect us far less strongly." She smoothed her kilt. "What you wear affects the way others act toward you, but does it not also affect your own feelings?"

Medart nodded, but remained silent as he sensed her growing comprehension.

"That, then, is why you and the others wish me to face Thark as a Ranger. The added psychological advantage."

"Yes, partly," Medart said. "You do have the ability--compare yourself to me when I was tapped, if you still have doubts--and the uniform and badge will give you the extra edge of confidence you need to use that ability fully. The other part is the way seeing you as a Ranger will affect Thark, since his main grievance--aside from our supposed lack of Talent--is the real lack of high-ranking Irschschan Imperial officers."

"The second is certainly true. The first . . ." Corina fell silent, retracing her borrowed memories to Medart's first meeting with Perry. She ignored the surface this time through, digging for the deeper memories, and those confirmed Medart's words. Their specific abilities differed, but the general level was approximately the same. And despite mistakes he thought of as idiotic--she winced at the recurring thought of that Traiti deception--he had done well.

"None of us is perfect," he said mildly. "We're mortals, not gods, and we've all made mistakes."

"Yes, I see that," she said at last. "Your memories are most convincing." She paused, took a deep breath, then nodded. "Very well, Ranger Medart. I accept the burden."

Medart seemed to relax all over, though he hadn't seemed particularly tense. "As Arlene said, none of us asked for this job. Anyone who did would be the sort we wouldn't want. And it does have compensations, you know, both social and financial; you'll learn about those as you go. And remember we're not the only ones with a lot of confidence in your ability; Thark knew you could handle being a member of the Prime Chapter, though he had his aims for you set too low. Okay, let's make it official. Emperor Chang?"

"Yes, Ranger Medart?"

"Formal voiceprint confirmation for Empire Net ident and security input. This is Ranger James Kieran Medart, ident code RJT-6743-5197."

There was a brief pause, then the ship-comp said, "Voiceprint confirmed. Awaiting input."

"Change ident code ISCCJ-1643-2048 to RCJ-1643-2048. Delete all security restrictions from the individual identified by that code, and relay to any peripherals that Corina Losinj of Irschcha has been selected as a Ranger."

"Acknowledged. Request formal voiceprint from Ranger Losinj."

Medart nodded to Corina, smiling. "Go ahead, Rina."

Corina glanced at him, then decided she liked both the nickname and his use of it. "Thank you, Jim. Empire Net, this is Ranger Corina Losinj, ident code RCJ-1643-2048."

"Thank you, Rangers. Is there anything else?"

"No," Medart said, then looked at Corina, smiling. "Welcome to Imperial service, Ranger Losinj. Now that the formalities are over, you might want to get into uniform; we should call His Majesty with the good news, then have breakfast."

"That would seem proper," Corina agreed, "though I would prefer something other than your style. A kilt is nice, with a cloak for bad weather, and the sporran is useful--but I do not think I would be comfortable with fitted garments all over, such as yours."

"Good point," Medart said. "Since uniforms are supposed to be both convenient and a form of easy identification, there's no reason you shouldn't use a kilt the right shade of green; along with the badge, it should serve the purpose. And once we have time, you might want to recommend similar uniform changes for the Irschchan members of other Imperial services."

"Should we survive, I will do so." Corina went into her sleeping area and ordered a complete uniform, though with kilt instead of shirt and trousers, from the fabricator.

"Thark? There's him, of course," Medart called. "But there's no point in worrying about him right now. Make your preparations, get everything as ready as you can--then worry; it might let you find something you've overlooked."

"I will try." Corina shook her head, but Jim was right; she did tend to concern herself with problems that never arose, and that did waste time.

Medart heard the fabricator's delivery bell ping, then sounds of rustling cloth as Corina changed. The pattern rapport had made a big difference in her manner, he thought, and for the better. She was much more relaxed around him, even a little less formal. And she seemed more sure of herself, which would help.

Corina felt strange, changing out of her accustomed bright garb into the functional, if in her opinion unnecessarily drab, forest green. The fabricator had included an ankle-length cloak with heavy silver embroidery and the Imperial Seal; she considered that for a moment, settled it over her shoulders long enough to admire it in the mirror, and removed it. That was for formal ceremonies in which she used her military rank and title, not for every day. There was a visored hat, as well, but she didn't try it on; such headgear did not take Irschchan ear structure into account, so she planned to avoid wearing it. And possibly suggest another uniform change.

She stood holding the badge for a moment, still hesitating to take the final step and pin it on. It was only a small piece of platinum, a star in a circle, but it meant almost total independence and authority, subject only to the Sovereign, anywhere in Imperial space. It was odd, she thought, but this particular symbol affected her more than it should. Either Irschchans were more symbol-conscious than she had been taught, or this was a side effect of pattern rapport with a human.

She told herself to get on with it. She had accepted the job, why not its symbol? But it did not seem appropriate, after Jim's memories, to pin it on herself--not the first time. She returned to the living area, held it out to Medart. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all. I'd be honored." Medart took the badge and pinned it to the holder the fabricator had provided on her equipment belt.

To Corina's surprise--and Medart's satisfaction--her emotions when he did so were a duplicate of his fifty-seven years earlier. Pride, determination--and the confidence that others' belief in you could create.

*Yes,* Corina sent. *I have heard of such boosts, but had never quite believed in them. It is strange . . . I had always thought myself unaffected by others' opinions, but it is clear I was wrong.*

*Sometimes it depends on who the others are,* Medart replied. *Someone you don't care about can't have more than a surface impact, pro or con; someone you do care about can have a disproportionate one. This is the wrong time for philosophy, though. Is that knife the only weapon you plan to carry? You might want to think about something with a little more range.*

"I think not," Corina said aloud. "I am not familiar with distance weapons, since I am not a Sanctioner; my darlas should be adequate for anyone I cannot reach physically--after this mission, at least." She indicated the weapon at his belt. "Nor, I would say, am I the only one to prefer unconventional weapons; that does not appear to be a blaster."

"It isn't," Medart said, drawing the weapon with a chuckle. "It's just as effective, though, maybe more so. It's a replica of a Browning Hi-Power 9mm automatic--a slugthrower. I had it made not long after I was tapped, and I have a standing order for fresh ammunition; it goes bad after a few years, even under shipboard conditions. It holds thirteen rounds in the clip--" which slid out as he pressed the release button, "and one in the chamber when I expect trouble. I can always carry more clips if I expect a lot of trouble." He worked the action, then handed her the empty weapon.

Corina examined it carefully. It was too large for her hand, which she expected because it seemed to fit Jim's perfectly. She was impressed by the precise workmanship, too; it made the gun, deadly as it was, a thing of great beauty.

"Why a slugthrower instead of a blaster?" she asked curiously.

"Personal preference," Medart replied. "For one thing, I happen to like slugthrowers--and computers with keyboards, and paper books. For another, more practical reason, it has stopping power a blaster can't match, and it's noisy. A snap shot, if I'm surprised, will give me time enough to get in a second, well-aimed round. That's saved my life a couple of times."

Corina handed it back, watched him reload and holster it. "It seems to be an excellent weapon, but I prefer to rely on my blade and darlas."

Medart shrugged. "No arguing preference. And it's about time we get to work, so--" He called the Comm Center, told them to set up a scrambler call to the Emperor either at the Palace or aboard the Empress Lindner. "And have it put through to my quarters," he added. Then he turned to Corina. "We'll have to have your quarters rigged for priority communications, but until the techs can get to it, you'll have to use mine or go to Briefing Room One. And my quarters are right next door. I'd also recommend a comm implant, but that can wait if you don't want to spend a couple of hours in sick bay; a wrist-com will do everything you need for now."

"A wrist-com, then, until we complete this mission."

* * * * *

The screen was flickering blue even as they entered the human Ranger's cabin, then it cleared to show a sleepy-looking Davis. "Morning, Jim. What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you, sir, but for a change it's good news. We have another Ranger."

Davis smiled. "Losinj? That's the kind of news I don't mind getting out of bed for. How did you manage to convince her?"

"I didn't, sir, at least not in any conventional way. We had a training accident." Medart briefly described the pattern rapport and memory exchange, then went on, "I'm putting her in charge of this mission and going on backup."

"Right," the Emperor said. "That's what I'd do; Thark's her problem anyway. I'll pass on the good news to Rick and the others." He turned his attention to the young Irschchan. "I'm glad to have you with us all the way, Ranger Losinj."

"Thank you, sir." Corina hadn't expected to be put in complete charge, but she wasn't totally surprised; it was logical, given the circumstances, and Jim's memories did indicate that Ranger training-- what there was of it--had a tendency to be rather abrupt.

"Before we get to serious planning," the Emperor said, "have you given any thought to the arms you want?"

"Arms? No, sir." It was traditional, Corina knew, for a new Ranger to use the arms of one who had died--but that tradition had not even occurred to her.

"May I make a suggestion, then?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"I think Steve Tarlac's would be appropriate. Hovan told me Clan Ch'kara's Speaker for the Lords said our next Ranger would be his spiritual heir--and now that we've found you, that seems reasonable."

Corina bowed. "I would be honored to bear the Peacelord's arms, sir, though I do not know if I can live up to his example."

"It won't be easy, but then neither are any of our jobs." Davis grew sober. "Back to our present situation. So you can plan, Rick and I are in space now, as you suggested, outside Sol System. Only the ship's captain and navigator know our location. I've ordered the defense satellites not to fire on any Irschchan ships. Since you're sure Thark will be leading the attack, we'll be using Jim's plan: I want Thark to land and take action against the Palace itself, and to prevent unnecessary damage, I'm making it as easy for him as I can. As a ruling noble, he'll have no trouble getting through the Complex's weather dome, and he'll find the Palace's security screen has somehow been left off. The Guards have orders not to fire until he takes hostile action."

"I understand, sir. I may not be able to take him alive for a Tribunal, though. I may not be able to take him at all."

"It's not necessary to take him alive," Davis replied after a moment's thought. "A Tribunal isn't essential, it's the evidence that is. If you can't take him at all--" He was silent for a moment, then said, "All right. How long will it take if you can handle him?"

"Less than half an hour, certainly; probably no more than fifteen minutes."

"Considering the size of the Palace," Davis pointed out, "it could take you longer than that just to find him." He thought for a moment. "Signal Defsat Five when you land. They'll have their orders, and if they don't receive a second signal from you within an hour, they'll blast the Palace and everything for ten kilometers around it. I don't want that to happen--it'd mean losing four Rangers, as well as a couple of hundred thousand people, and probably destroy the Complex--but even that is better than a rebellion that would cost millions or billions of lives throughout the Empire."

"I will do my best to avoid that, Your Majesty."

"I know you will," Davis said. "Still, for the first time, I'm grateful that politics forced Chang to have the Palace built in Antarctica. A strike like that almost anywhere else would kill a hell of a lot more people."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't hesitate to call me if you have to. But unless there's anything else, I'll sign off now and let you get back to work."

"I have nothing more, sir," Corina answered, and the screen went blue momentarily before it shut off.

She was unfamiliar with Terran geography, but everyone knew about the fabulous Imperial Palace. Isolated in the heart of a frozen continent, it was the center of the Palace Complex, a hundred-kilometer-diameter circle of parklike city. She didn't understand the physics of the modified defense screen that allowed it to exist in spite of Antarctica's climate, but the politics Davis had mentioned were clear enough.

The Solar Federation's capital had been in Ceres, but when Nannstein's discovery of hyperdrive had triggered the necessary change from Federation to Empire, that had been abandoned. The Empire needed a center on Terra itself as a symbol of unity, yet squabbling about its location among the planetary powers had made that unity a mockery until Emperor Chang stepped in.

It was his decision that, since the Empire was not concerned with local politics--it couldn't be and still govern the Empire as a whole properly--the Palace would not be located on any individual nation's territory. That made Antarctica the only possible place. Covered by multinational treaties and with no permanent inhabitants, it had no national identity.

And she would be going there, going to the Palace itself . . . as a Ranger. What would her parents think? Corina hoped they would be proud--

Medart interrupted her musing. "How about breakfast? I don't know about you, but I'm hungry."

"So am I," Corina agreed. "And we have plans to make."

"Correction," Medart said. "You have plans to make. All I'm going to do is listen and critique."

They took an intraship shuttle to Mess One, intended for senior officers and at this hour quite empty, unlike the always-busy Mess Three. They got their meals and ate silently while Corina decided on her plans.

"The first thing, I think," she finally said, "is to find anyone else aboard with mind shields, to make a combat group. I have met surprisingly many--four out of perhaps three hundred--yet five of us will accomplish little against Thark and the Seniors of the Prime Chapter."

"Right," Medart agreed, "since unshielded ones wouldn't last long. Who else have you found?"

"Besides yourself, there is Colonel Greggson, as you know from the conference. Also Captain Hobison, and the small Marine from the demonstration, Lieutenant DarLeras."

"That one somehow doesn't surprise me," Medart commented.