Chapter 1

Produced by Al Haines

+------------------------------------------------------+ | This work is licenced under a Creative Commons | | Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 | | Licence. | | | | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ | +------------------------------------------------------+

TEAMS

A Terran Empire story

by Ann Wilson

Copyright (C) 1992 by Ann Wilson

Narvon III, 2277 CE

Marine Captain Jase Thompson enjoyed Evaluation Team duty, and this particular assignment appealed to what his team members called his warped sense of humor. This had started out as an odd one; it was the Archbishop of Narvon III, rather than its Baron or the System Count, who had pushed the panic button. He'd appealed to the Emperor for a battle fleet, with a full complement of Security and Combat Division Marines, claiming civil war was breaking out because of something that was turning Narvon System's "best people" into "bloodsucking servants of the Devil."

Captain Thompson had no idea what His Majesty thought about the situation, but he was skeptical, himself. Still, no one asked for that sort of intervention without some reason; it was up to the E-Team to find out whether the reason was valid, and if so what degree of intervention was really justified. He certainly didn't want to call in a fleet--no E-Team leader did--but he would if he had to. Then he'd hope that the Ranger or Fleet Admiral in charge overruled him; he didn't like thinking what military occupation could do to the occupied system. Not that the situation was likely to be that bad.

Thompson sighed, checking the clock and deciding he'd better get back to the bridge; the Koslov's Captain--Navy Lieutenant Inga Sanchez-- should have the pre-landing surveillance reports for him by now.

She gave him a rueful shake of the head as he entered her small bridge. "It's peaceful as Terra down there, Jase. No trace of active weaponry, no civil disturbances our sensors can detect, no fires involving artificial substances--no nothing."

Thompson grinned. "Sounds good to me, Inga. What about news reports, entertainment broadcasts, that sort of thing?"

Sanchez grinned back. "Just as normal, except for a couple of oddities. The holos aren't carrying any 'casts of contact sports, and on a talk show, one of the guests had fangs; the others were acting a little nervous, but she was telling them how harmless she and the other `Kins of the Dragon' really were." Sanchez touched a control on the arm of her command chair. "Watch."

The Captain's monitor screen lit up to show several people seated in a group of comfortable-looking chairs around a low table, and Thompson repressed a chuckle. Talk shows seemed to be the same everywhere, he thought--then one of the guests caught his attention. She was attractive, wearing the uniform of a System Security officer--Chief of Detectives, from her badge--except that she was more than slim, she looked damned near starved.

"How do you feel about the Kins who were killed, Chief Kaufman, and what do you plan to do with the ones who killed them?" a man--Thompson guessed him to be the show's host--asked.

The woman shrugged slightly. "My personal feelings have no bearing; I plan to deal with them as I would with any other murderers, how else? I am an officer of the law."

"You don't have any desire for revenge? After all, the killings were rather . . . unpleasant."

The detective chief grimaced. "Yes, they were. But I can't take revenge, any more than I can feed on someone who doesn't want me to--it should be common knowledge by now that Kins feel any pain we deliberately inflict."

"But you can feed on someone who's not willing, or kill; Kins have done it."

"We can, yes; I've killed in the line of duty since I became a Kin, which was bearable because I knew that not killing would cause more harm later. And I did try to feed on someone who didn't want me, once--I suppose most Kins have--but I'd rather starve into coma than try that again. Thank the Prince I didn't really hurt him, but I did feel every bit of his terror."

"Looks like she's doing just that, too," Thompson commented. It didn't look like much intervention, if any at all, would be needed--not with the `servants of the Devil' appearing on talk shows trying to reassure people and looking like death warmed over. "What the hell do they do for food, then?"

Sanchez advanced the recording, then started playing it again. "--willing Donors," the detective chief was saying. "We feel pain we inflict deliberately, yes--but we can also project feelings. If somebody's willing to feed me, I can let . . . feel the satisfaction--even, if @'s willing enough, the ecstasy--I do when I feed. And I certainly wouldn't take enough to hurt, or even to weaken, . . .!"

Sanchez shut off the recording. "You know, I believe her."

"So do I," Thompson said thoughtfully. "I do still have to investigate, of course, but I'd say from this that there's no crisis big enough to call in even a squadron for."

* * * * *

The E-Team's landing wasn't the covert operation Thompson had originally planned; instead, the Koslov called for clearance, and they landed at the main spaceport, where Thompson and his team disembarked in full uniform, complete with sidearms. He didn't particularly like weapons, but procedure called for E-Teams to carry them unless doing so would be more dangerous than not, which didn't seem to be the case here.

Landing openly, even an E-Team had to go through Customs and Health, which was routine enough until a tech told Thompson that he needed blood samples to test for susceptibility to the nosferatu pseudo-virus.

"What's that?" Thompson asked.

"What makes humans into Kins," the tech said, sounding as if he were telling them something they should already know. "If you're susceptible, and if the virus gets into your bloodstream, and if something seriously weakens your system more than twenty-four standard hours later, you turn into a Kin. The Count's orders are that anyone from out-system be tested and warned, so if they are susceptible, they can leave before exposure is possible." The tech shrugged. "Odds are none of you will be, though; no one I've tested has been, and so far it looks like only one percent--maybe less--are."

"We all have full-spectrum immunizations," Thompson pointed out.

"I know. But the pseudo-virus isn't one of the things full-spectrum works against."

"Okay." Thompson extended his arm and let the tech take his sample. When the rest of his team had followed suit, the tech sent them to a waiting room until the results were back, probably in less than an hour. Thompson posted the newest team member with their luggage, sent his second-in-command to a phone to make arrangements for them to be quartered in the System Palace, then told the rest to spread out and start up conversations with the others in the room, all of whom looked like locals.

Not that he really had to give them orders any more, he thought. All except Corporal Nkomo--who'd replaced Corporal van Breda, killed on an earlier mission--had been with him for at least four years; they were more of a family than a military unit, although they were careful to maintain protocol with anyone else around. Thompson knew he had a reputation for being overly concerned with his people's welfare, especially since he'd turned down promotion to stay with his team, but he preferred being called a mother hen to taking command of a larger unit that would give him less personal satisfaction.

While his people circulated, Thompson leafed through several of the newsjournals that seemed to be an inevitable part of every waiting room. He started with the oldest, published about six weeks ago, discovering that the Archbishop's basic facts were accurate. There had been riots, all right, when some kind of laboratory accident and explosion had released the pseudo-virus and created the first Kins of the Dragon. They'd called themselves that from the very beginning, it seemed, which Thompson found intriguing--and it was discovered almost immediately that they had to drink blood to survive. Preferably human blood, taken directly from a donor's carotid, though they could manage for short times on packaged or even animal blood. Normal food made them violently ill, and strong spices caused anaphylactic shock, usually fatal. To balance those limitations, they developed great physical strength and endurance, as well as the responsive and projective forms of empathy the detective chief had mentioned.

Unfortunately, the first reaction to the Kins had been horror. Thompson could understand that, though he didn't share it; psych tests kept people who couldn't overcome such feelings out of Imperial service. He was more intrigued than frightened by the idea of a Kin drinking some of his blood, and according to the journals, most Narvonese had felt the same way after the initial shock had worn off--especially those who'd had friends or relatives affected.

But there had been enough whose horror had persisted to cause the trouble that had inspired the Archbishop's appeal. Riots had broken out in all but the smallest towns, Kins had been brutally murdered by impalement, decapitation, poisoning, incineration--but that trouble had tapered off dramatically, starting about a week after the Archbishop's call, when all three Planetary Barons and the System Count announced that they had been infected and become Kins themselves. Thompson found that amusing, if almost inevitable; once Imperial nobility embraced something new, most of the people in their fiefs followed suit. By now, attacks on Kins were down to scattered incidents, and it looked like they'd taper off to almost nothing soon.

In fact, public opinion had made almost a complete reversal from the initial near-universal horror. In spite of some lingering apprehension, Kins were rapidly becoming respected and even envied--a process speeded by the fact that many of them had been that way to begin with. The Archbishop had been right in his report that it was the "best people" who were becoming Kins. Not "best" in the sense of richest or most powerful, although some were, but in the sense of contributing most to society. Kins overwhelmingly came from groups like doctors, police officers, religious, and others who were devoted to some form of service; none came from criminal or other anti-social elements, and only a few from generally-neutral groups. The approximately one-percent figure the tech had mentioned seemed accurate, so not all members of even the highest-incidence groups were Kins--but it was enough to convince Thompson that such an oddly selective disease called for scientific investigation, rather than military intervention. It wouldn't surprise him to see the Kins become Narvon System's local nobility, either.

"Captain Thompson?"

He looked up from the journal to see the tech approaching, and his people breaking off their conversations to join them. Waiting until his team had gathered around, he asked the tech, "What results?"

"One susceptible, Captain," the tech said, his expression unreadable. "You."

Thompson was silent for a moment, then said, "Oh, Chaos." He wouldn't mind letting a Kin drink from him, but he had no desire to become one, even with the social status they seemed to be gaining. He didn't know just how much blood a Kin needed, but he was positive it was more than his team could supply, and probably more than anything short of a base or mid-sized ship could handle; if he became one, he'd lose his team, maybe even have to be discharged. "You said the virus has to get into my bloodstream to infect me?"

"Yes, sir--well, or into your digestive tract. But it's hard to get infected accidentally, except in a lab explosion like the original ones; most Kins got that way feeding a friend or family member. And then you have to be seriously weakened for it to change you. So if you don't feed any Kins, or if you do and then don't get badly hurt or sick, you'll stay just the way you are."

"Thank you." That was better; he could still lead this mission safely. He turned to his second-in-command. "Report."

"We have quarters at the System Palace," Gunnery Sergeant Audra King said. "Count Nilssun was expecting us, and wants to see you at your earliest convenience. She's sent transportation and an escort."

"She expected an E-Team?" No one was supposed to know about an E-Team, not even the person who'd called for help; teams that came in openly, like his, had covers that would allow them to go around asking questions about anything and everything.

"Yes, sir." King gave her team leader a wry grin. "I'm afraid she was in IntelDiv herself, on an E-Team, before her brother died and she was named to succeed. I'd guess one of her former teammates let her know we were assigned here."

That sounded likely; it was just a good thing the problem had solved itself before his team had to file its evaluation. "Was she upset?"

"No, sir. Pleased."

"That's good, I suppose." Thompson kept from scowling by an effort of will. "When's the transport supposed to get here?"

"Should be already, sir."

"It figures." If the Count had expected them, she'd probably given orders that she be notified when ten Marines arrived; being former E-Team herself, she'd be able to guess that with the primary danger past, they'd be likely to come in openly. "Main entrance?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, let's go."

* * * * *

They were taken to the System Palace in a luxury limousine, with a dozen System Security troops riding escort on gravcycles, then settled into a decade apartments in the Palace's guest wing. Thompson changed into dress blues, and wasn't surprised, moments after he was finished, to hear a knock on his door. "Enter," he called.

The door opened, and a man in black and silver livery bowed to him. "My Lady Count's compliments, Captain Thompson. She invites you to her office to discuss your mission; if you will come with me?"

Thompson nodded shortly, and followed the man to an office whose open door was flanked by a pair of System Security officers. He entered, and the door closed behind him as he came to attention facing the woman standing behind the desk. "Captain Jase Thompson, my Lady Count."

"You may be seated, Captain." The Count gestured to a comfortable-looking leather armchair, and took her own seat as Thompson sat. "Now--you came here to investigate a report of rioting, did you not?"

"You know I did, my Lady."

"And what will your report to His Majesty say?"

"That no intervention is required, of course."

"No, Captain, it will not." Count Nilssun smiled, and Thompson found himself admiring her fangs, with an uncomfortable certainty that she knew what he was thinking. "Since you are head of an E-Team, I'm sure you saw at least part of yesterday's `Narvon Tonight,' and read the spaceport newsjournals while you were waiting for your test results. I hope you weren't too distressed at finding yourself susceptible."

"Not overly, my Lady." She'd been IntelDiv, all right, Thompson thought. E-Team, yes, but he'd be willing to bet she'd been a field agent before that--and that she'd set up the interview with her Chief of Detectives and had a complete set of journals waiting for him. She'd know better than to try misleading him, with her background, but Thompson could understand her setting things up to let him get information without too much effort. And something in the information she'd arranged for him would tell him why she said his report would ask for some kind of intervention.

He was starting to enjoy himself. This was the sort of puzzle IntelDiv people liked to set up for each other, and it let him be sure there was nothing seriously wrong. "Let me see. You couldn't have known I'm susceptible to the pseudo-virus, since this is the only system that tests for that, which means it has no bearing."

"Correct."

"Okay." Thompson thought back. "The journals were a pretty straight-forward account, so you probably set them up just to give me background. The key has to be the interview, then." He saw her nod slightly, and concentrated. "The Empire can't do much about your feeding problem, if you need mostly fresh blood, so that's not it either. Oh!" He nodded, realizing. "You can't deliberately hurt anyone, which means you'd have a hard time defending yourselves from anything, criminals to a full-scale invasion. You need an Imperial military presence, probably a Sub-Sector or Sector-level base. Maybe police, too, though Narvonese who aren't Kins may be able to handle that."

The Count looked pleased. "Exactly, Captain. I do need a full-scale base, and the Empire has none in this Sector as yet. Debate on where to place one is evenly balanced between this system and Argyros; your report on our limitation will swing that debate in our favor."

It sure would, Thompson thought. Given equal merit, the Empire preferred to site bases and jobs where the need was greatest, and a completely vulnerable system needed a base far more than one like Argyros, which could defend itself at least until reinforcements could arrive.

"As for police," the Count went on, "yes, non-Kins can handle most of what Kins cannot--but I have already begun trying to recruit Security Division veterans. Non-susceptible ones, of course."

Thompson grinned appreciation. Former SecuDiv Marines made the best police available, if you were willing to let them do the job you paid them for; if you didn't, they'd probably consider it a breach of contract and leave. Not too many people were willing to deal with someone who'd alienated such police, so that was a definite point in the Count's favor. "I'll be glad to recommend construction of a base, then, my Lady."

"Excellent." The Count leaned forward, her expression serious. "As you have deduced, Captain, I was once a field agent, and I had this set up to give you the maximum amount of information in the minimum amount of time. I can see from your reactions that you also know I want more from you than a base, now that I have learned of your susceptibility." She smiled, showing those tempting fangs again. "And that you are trying to avoid thinking about it, because you want it as well."

Thompson tried to keep his face impassive, even though he knew perfectly well that it was useless, with a field agent reading him. Dammit, a man was entitled to his privacy! "By my Lady Count's leave, I must remind her that my responsibilities to my team outweigh my personal desires."

Count Nilssun leaned back with a sigh. "Formality doesn't change things, Captain. You want to feed a Kin, and I have to send a Liaison Officer to the Imperial Palace to represent Narvon System; a Kin who was head of the team sent here to investigate us would be ideal, from a public relations viewpoint. I can't force you, as you are well aware--but I needn't be the one who introduces the virus, or who weakens you so you will Change. I am perfectly capable of requesting that you and your team be stationed here indefinitely, then surrounding you with Kins until you can no longer resist your own desires."

Thompson's jaw tightened. "My Lady Count may of course do as she thinks best--but I will, equally of course, protest any such orders."

The Count stood, and Thompson had to follow suit. "So be it, then, Captain, although I had hoped you would be more reasonable. You have leave to use the Palace ultrawave for your protest--after I have made the initial request." She smiled, this time almost sadly and without revealing her fangs. "I can sense hidden depths within you, Captain, and I would like to be the one to bring them to the surface. Should you ever decide you want to see me, I will grant you an audience as soon as I can."

Thompson was unwillingly impressed; an Imperial Count's time was worth considerably more than a Marine Captain's. That didn't make enough difference to change his mind, though. "By the Count's leave, I would like to return to my people."

"Permission granted, Captain. But please remember, I am not doing this out of hostility; I do what I do only because I think it best for my own people."

* * * * *

Returning to his assigned apartment, Thompson changed back into service black. He wasn't sure whether to be angry or flattered at the Count's intentions for him; at the moment, he felt a bit of both. She was trying to take him away from his team, but on the other hand, she wanted him to become Liaison Officer for an entire system--which, being primarily ceremonial in nature, was a less responsible, but far more prestigious, position. And, though he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, he was more than a little tempted by the prospect of--

Resolutely, he blanked out the inviting image of Kin fangs, and went to knock on King's door. She had evidently been going through the library; when she let him in he saw tapes on the coffee table, and more in the delivery tray. "Research again, Audra?"

"Uh-huh. What's up, Cap?"

He described his conversation with the Count, then scowled, knowing Audra wouldn't take it as aimed at her. "I'd try to get back to the ship, but she'd anticipate that. I'm afraid we're stuck here until either she decides on someone else as liaison, or I let myself be turned into a Kin."

King looked thoughtful, hesitating before she spoke. "Cap . . . we could all use a leave, and this isn't half bad."

Thompson chuckled, startled into real humor. "True, Audra. And we won't get too many chances at living in a System Palace; pass the word to take full advantage of it."

"Will do, Cap. Anything we should do when her Ladyship starts setting Kins on you?"

"I don't think so," Thompson said, "unless you can arrange for someone to be on hand to interrupt if things get touchy. They won't hurt me, or even try to; from what I've read and been told, they can't. But . . . Audra, I may need--well, protection from myself. I . . . it's hard for me not to--"

King nodded understandingly. "They are tempting, aren't they? Cap, in your position I wouldn't hesitate; I'd donate, and enjoy the hell out of myself, even if it meant I'd have to stay here." She gestured to the tapes she'd been studying. "This system is in the beginning of a major social change, one that ought to be absolutely fascinating."

"I'm sure it would, if I shared your interest in sociology," Thompson said drily. Audra was the team's socio spec, and kept trying to get the rest as interested as she was. "But I'll be damned if I'll voluntarily do anything to take myself off this team, or out of the service."

"If you're given the choice, no. But--" King raised a cautionary hand--"if the Count's as determined as you say, it may not be your choice. They have something called projective empathy, according to these tapes, and they can use it to make you feel anything they want you to feel. Especially if it reinforces something you already feel a little."

"And I already want to donate. Yeah, I see what you mean. Her Ladyship could have taken me already--and made me like it. I wonder why she didn't." Another thought struck him, and he looked sharply at his second-in-command. "Our hostess was a field agent, Audra. Were any of these tapes waiting for you?"

King looked startled, then nodded. "Two of them, yes. And one answers your question--they don't know how long the effects of the projective empathy last. Which may mean they won't use it to infect or change you for fear it'll backfire on them."