Chapter 2

"I foresee a chance of it," the Emperor said slowly. "Not a good chance, but without the summoning, there would be no chance."

Medart nodded. "You had to do it, then. Thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Ranger Medart. The ship and crew you want will meet you as soon as possible--and in the meantime, I'd recommend you not study magic. You don't want our version limiting you if you are able to get any help from the Sandemans."

"Yes, sir. I'll concentrate on recording everything I can remember about them, then."

* * * * *

Medart watched the lifecraft heading back for Imperial space. His volunteer crew had given him a good ride to near-Sandeman space, and had been reluctant to leave him to face them alone, but they'd finally obeyed his orders and left.

Once the lifecraft was out of sensor range, Medart switched on all the courier ship's external lights, activated the locator beacon, and set course for the center of the Sandeman sphere. The Sandemans at home had become familiar with Rangers, but the ones here still weren't, so he'd done as he had for the Mjolnir Conference: traded his military title and uniform for his civilian title and appropriate clothes, which meant a lot more to them.

The Sandemans here were as alert, quick to respond, and curious as the ones at home; less than an hour later, he was challenged. A dark-skinned face with light blond hair and pale grey eyes appeared on his comscreen. "You are intruding, Imperial. Identify yourself and give us a reason not to blast you out of existence."

"James Medart, Prince of the Terran Empire--but an Empire in a different universe. At home, we're friends, and I'd like the same to be true here." He unhooked the lightsaber from his belt, held it where the Sandeman could see. "I was bequeathed this by the warrior Leigh of Clan Vader, for giving him Last Gift. Both he and the warrior Keith, of Clan Lewies, named me as battle-companion for that service, and I have never claimed the life-debt owed by either clan."

"You know things you should not, Prince James," the Sandeman said. "Do you claim life-debt now?"

"No." Medart grinned. "I would if I thought it were necessary, but the Sandemans I know would be curious enough to invite me to their ships, or to Sandeman itself, to talk about it."

"You wish to surrender?"

"Not hardly--but I will, if that's what it takes to get a chance to talk to you."

"I will have to consult the Warleader on that, Prince. In the meantime, I will have your ship brought aboard our cruiser--release your controls to our operators."

Medart did so, nodded. "You have control."

The Sandeman disappeared, his place taken by a view of space. A ship-image was growing, and Medart's sensors told him it was a big one--not quite as large as an IBC, but close. Shortly afterward, he felt the surge of tractor beam lock-on and the ship grew more quickly--fast enough he would have worried, if anyone but a Sandeman had been at the controls. With their reflex speed double that of the human standard norm, though, the speed of his approach was perfectly safe; as his ship was brought into the docking bay and landed, he double-checked his appearance.

He wasn't used to seeing himself in anything but uniform, since he spent so much time aboard Imperial Navy ships. But he'd worn similar clothing during the Mjolnir Conference, with the Sandemans there thinking it appropriate for his rank: silvery shirt, emerald-green pants, black uniform boots and equipment/weapons belt, topped by his green, silver-fringed arms baldric with his arms pin on the left shoulder. He'd worn his coronet as well, there, but that had been to distinguish him from the other Rangers he'd called in; he saw no reason to go to that extreme here.

Satisfied, he went to the airlock. As soon as the pressure equalized, he opened it and left the little ship, leaning against its hull with his arms crossed to wait for his hosts--or his captors.

Moments later the bay's inner lock cycled open and a small group of warriors approached him, the central one wearing honor-black. Medart straightened, then bowed and addressed that one. "I am Prince James Medart of the Empire in Alternate Alpha Prime. You do me honor, Warleader, wearing ceremonials. Am I prisoner, or guest?"

The Sandeman returned the bow. "I am Ryan, a warrior of Clan Vader and Warleader of this fleet. You place me in a difficult position, bearing a lightsaber you claim was a death-gift, and claiming further that Clan Vader still owes you life-debt. If either is true, I cannot honorably hold you prisoner--but I have only your word and a lightsaber that could have been taken from a dead or captured warrior in this universe."

"I'd be skeptical too, in your position," Medart said. "Even the fact I came here alone, deliberately, could be a trick. It isn't, but it could be. There's a way to convince you, though; I'm sure you have some way of questioning people and being certain you get truthful answers."

The Warleader frowned. "We do, Prince. I could question you under a compulsion spell, but your magical defenses are strong enough that doing so would be the equivalent of torture--which I may not honorably have you subjected to if you did indeed give one of my clansmen Last Gift."

Medart winced at that. Sandeman customs allowed enemy warriors to be tortured for information, and having warriors as battle-companions made him the closest possible non-Sandeman equivalent of a warrior. As Ryan said, giving Last Gift had made him immune from that particular unpleasantness, at least as far as Clan Vader was concerned--but it also looked like telling his story under that compulsion spell was the only way he'd be believed. And for his already-uncertain plan to have any chance of success, he'd have to have more than belief; he'd need active cooperation from at least one of the two clan-chiefs who owed him life-debt. Which in turn depended, of course, on whether they'd consider that debt binding in a universe other than the one where it was incurred.

"Since you're not certain I did," Medart said at last, "and since that's the only way I can prove I'm telling the truth, does the prohibition have to apply?"

"That question has never come up." The Warleader frowned again. "Your claims cannot be disproven if they took place in another universe, so you must be given the protection they grant you, though not payment of a debt that may not exist. But I would also judge it dishonorable to deny you the opportunity to prove those claims, if you choose to waive that protection."

"Consider it waived." Medart managed a partial grin. "But don't bother asking any tactical or strategic questions; once I realized I'd have to put myself in your hands, I was careful to avoid any such information."

The Warleader stared at him for a moment, then chuckled. "Were our circumstances reversed, Prince, I would have done the same. I will ask only what is necessary to establish the truth of your claims. And you may consider yourself a guest of Clan Vader."

Medart bowed. "Thank you for your courtesy, Warleader. How soon can we take care of the interrogation?"

"As soon as you wish, Highness. That particular chamber is always kept ready."

"Let's get it over with, then. Putting it off isn't going to make it any easier, and I'd like to end this war as soon as I can--if that's possible at all."

"It will end, unfortunately," the Warleader said. "Not for some time, I hope--the Empire is the most competent enemy we have yet encountered--but it will end."

"With the Empire destroyed, the way you're going," Medart said. "That's not exactly what I had in mind. At home, you're a vital part of the Empire--a crucial part of our military, and contract police on any world that really values law and order. To me, that's the ideal--but I'll settle for having you as friends to this one, allies against the worst enemy any civilization in any universe has ever faced."

Ryan looked suddenly interested. "Oh? An even better enemy?"

"I thought that would intrigue you, if you hadn't already heard about them. Ask me about the Ravagers while you have me under--they're something nobody would believe on simple hearsay. If you're lucky, you'll never run into them--but if you're not, and they show up here, you'll be glad of any allies you can get."

* * * * *

Clan-chief Ryan watched as his people fastened Prince James into the interrogation chair. He'd had a primarily-Vader fleet in the area because of an information-gathering spell that had told him his clan would benefit by an intercept here, with a "side note" that it would be best if he seem to be less than his true rank. Deception was difficult for Sandemans, but introducing himself as Warleader rather than clan-chief was failure to reveal he was both rather than an active lie, so he'd been able to manage it. Lying was for Shapers and their kin.

This Prince James was obviously related to the Shapers, from his size and coloring, but Ryan found himself wanting to believe what James had told him. Not that he'd given Last Gift to a Vader warrior, or that Sandemans were actually part of the Empire he came from--even though that was something chiefs couldn't either deny fully or reveal--but that he had gotten the saber honestly, and his motives for claiming what he did were equally honest. It was impossible to believe that one who risked himself as James was could do so without some overwhelming motivation beyond the self-advancement of Shaperkin!

When the restraints were all in place, Ryan moved to stand directly in front of the chair. "I regret the necessity of binding you, Highness, but it is for your protection; as I told you, this spell can be extremely painful to one with your automatic magical defenses, possibly causing convulsions and self-injury."

"I appreciate the consideration, especially toward one you must regard as little if any better than the Shapers." Medart shifted in the chair, then made himself as comfortable as possible. "Okay, I'm as ready as I can be; go ahead."

Ryan nodded. "As you wish, Highness." He began the words and gestures of the truth-compulsion spell, watching its effect on the human. Medart tensed and started to sweat, his expression becoming strained. The spell was working, but Ryan was impressed by the resistance it was encountering. Not conscious resistance; if anything, the Prince was trying to cooperate, which was less of a surprise than Ryan would have expected before meeting him.

But the resistance did make it necessary to strengthen his spell. As he did so, the Prince's discomfort turned into pain, his muscles spasming and his breath coming in gasps.

It wasn't enough, and Ryan frowned. The next level of this spell was likely to send the Prince into convulsions, and though he'd mentioned the possibility, he hadn't really expected the man's defenses to be that strong. Such extreme measures were normally used only to extract the most critical information; he was reluctant to use them for less.

"Why the hesitation, Ryan?" a woman's voice asked, curiously. "You've questioned Terrans before."

Ryan looked around. "I'm glad you're here, Kelly. He doesn't have any information, he just wants us to believe he's from a universe where we're part of the Empire--and where he was bequeathed a saber for giving one of our warriors Last Gift. He waived immunity from compulsion to obtain that belief, and he's trying to cooperate, but his auto-defenses are stronger than I'd have credited to a Terran; if I keep going I'll send him into convulsions, maybe kill him if his defenses collapse too quickly for me to pull back."

"And simple verification is nothing to die for, even verification of such revolting statements." The warriors'-woman nodded once, sharply. "Still, if he wants it, he is entitled to prove his honesty. I'll support his defenses if necessary, and have a healing spell ready if his condition gets critical."

"Good. As soon as you're ready, then, I'll boost the power."

Kelly took position behind the man, resting her hands on his shoulders. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then opened them. "All right, I'm ready."

Ryan nodded, then concentrated on Medart again, increasing his spell's pressure against those defenses. As he'd predicted, the Prince convulsed almost immediately, the restraints the only things that kept him from breaking bones. At last, though, his defenses collapsed and Ryan released the pressure, maintaining only the truth-compulsion. A few questions verified his identity and universe of origin, then Ryan got to the key points. "You say you gave Last Gift to warriors of Clans Vader and Lewies. Describe the circumstances."

"They were prisoners aboard my ship, in sickbay because they were dying of something we didn't understand and couldn't cure. I was able to work it out and save most of the rest, but those two were beyond help, and I wasn't about to make them suffer if I could help it. I guessed you had some form of euthanasia or aided suicide the other Sandemans couldn't provide in enemy hands, so I told them I'd handle it if that was what they wanted. It was, so I did. They died quickly, and as painlessly as I could manage. Then we gave them star-burial, the best we could do in space."

"And how did you get the saber?"

"That was later, on Mjolnir, for the conference that brought the Sandeman worlds into the Empire. I got into a TreasureTunnels game that included Clan-chief Wylie of Vader, along with a few others, Sandeman and Imperial. But I didn't have an appropriate character, so Wylie loaned me one of his, the Black Jedi Kynan Ardais. He explained the game saber, then handed me a real one and let me try it out. When I went to return it, he told me it was mine, a thanks-gift from the warrior Leigh."

Ryan wanted to continue that line, but he'd promised to restrict his questioning to what was required to prove James' claims--and the subject James had told him he should ask about. "Tell me of the Ravagers."

"They're inter-universal raiders. They aren't life as we usually understand the term; some scientists believe they aren't really life at all. From time to time, at unpredictable intervals, they erupt into a random universe and--if that universe doesn't have a technological and population level near the Empire's--devastate it and proceed to another. But no Empire-level civilization is attacked more than once, because a civilization at that stage can defeat them, and so far always has. After such a defeat, the Ravagers retreat, and it's several years before they attack again anywhere. That's why Empires in various alternate universes cooperate to develop Empires or the equivalent in still other alternates."

"And you do not think we could defeat these Ravagers, though we are defeating this Empire?"

"You probably could. In fact, I'm sure you could. But it's never an easy fight; there are times we have to go in and rebuild, even after they're thrown out. The stronger a universe is, the better for everyone--and this one would be strongest with you and the Empire as allies. United would be best, but that wasn't easy at home; it may be impossible, here."

"And just how was such a union managed in your universe?"

Medart managed a grin. "Sweet reason, backed by five battle fleets. The fleets turned out to be a temptation rather than the threat I'd expected, but either way they worked."

"To your pleasure." Ryan scowled, then shook his head. "I have asked what I agreed to restrict myself to; I will not go beyond that. Is there anything else you would like to tell me while under the spell?"

"Just that I won't lie to you. Rangers don't, unless it's essential to the Empire's survival--and the survival of this one depends on me gaining your trust, which means I don't dare lie. I may not tell you everything, but what I do tell you will be the truth."

"Said under truth-compulsion, I must believe you--though I find it almost impossible to credit the idea of a Terran who does not lie. Still, this interrogation is over." Ryan released the spell, and Medart collapsed, unconscious. Looking at Kelly, Ryan said, "Will you care for him, lady? I named him clan-guest when he waived immunity to convince us of his honesty."

"Yes, Chief." Kelly looked down at her patient with a bemused expression. "His ideas are revolting . . . but there's a certain fascination to them at the same time, and the man himself is intriguing."

"Yes, he is. I think I'm going to leave Trevor in charge of the fleet and take Prince James back to Sandeman--you can come along, if you'd like."

"Thank you--I would."

* * * * *

Medart knew as soon as he woke that he was on a smaller ship. There was no single specific item, but a lifetime aboard numerous classes of ship had given him a feel for the differences between them; this was about courier size. Wondering what was going on, he got dressed--someone had cleaned his clothes and hung them up, with his boots and weapon belt nearby, his saber clipped to the belt.

That was a good sign, he thought as he fastened the belt. Weapons were customary for the warrior caste, but a warrior or equivalent being unarmed around others wasn't considered an insult, the way it was in the Traiti Sector; they could have disarmed him without dishonoring him.

Something to eat seemed like a good idea, so he left his cabin and started exploring. Almost immediately, he ran into the w'woman who'd taken part in the interrogation. He'd been aware of what was going on, though he hadn't been able to react without prompting, so he knew she'd been ready to help him--and he was willing to bet it was she who'd cared for him when he'd passed out once he was free to.

He bowed to her. "I thank you for your aid, lady. Without it I would probably be in considerable discomfort today."

She returned the bow. "I was pleased to be able to help, Prince. Fortunately, your pulled muscles responded well to a simple healing spell, which also insured a good rest. Would you care to join me and Warleader Ryan for breakfast?"

"I would be delighted. That's what I was looking for, as a matter of fact." Medart grinned at her as they started walking. "We've changed ships; are we bound for Sandeman?"

"Yes. Have you been there?"

"To Alpha Prime's, yes--but that's a different world, in a different part of the galaxy. I'm looking forward to seeing yours."

"It is a beautiful one, particularly near the Vader clanhome," Kelly said. "As the first clan formed after Overthrow, we took the Shapers' area--and they, of course, had chosen one of the best and most attractive parts of the planet."

"The same was true at home," Medart said. "I visited there a couple of years after Annexation, not long after they were granted the patent I suggested they try for, on the saber's controlled-length blade."

"What is a patent?"

"The exclusive right to market something you've invented. On something as useful as a controlled-length laser beam, that's quite an advantage--last I heard, Clan Vader was one of the richest groups in the Empire. And probably the only one that amount of money didn't change much."

"Why should it change?"

Medart laughed. "No reason, really, but most people who suddenly get a lot of money do change."

"In here--most people aren't Sandemans."

Medart followed her into the dining area and to Ryan's table; when the Warleader gestured them to sit, they did so. "I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for both of you," he told them. "It should be here very shortly."

"Thanks," Medart said. "And thanks for letting me keep my saber and gun, too. The gun I could replace if I ever get back; the saber's special." He paused, grinned. "Not that I'm any physical threat to a Sandeman, whether I'm armed or not. If I went for my gun, I'd be dead before I could get it halfway out of the holster."

"True," Ryan agreed. "That sounds like you've seen it tried."

"Close; I've demonstrated it. But I made sure the Sandeman was using a stun setting on his needler."

Ryan chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd care to let myself be used as a target that way. You must have trusted that warrior implicitly."

"No more or less than I trust any Sandeman," Medart said. "I've only known one who was capable of deliberate deception, and that was because his Intelligence field work for the Empire required it. Naturally, he was the best field agent we've had, though his successor as top agent came close."

"Naturally," Kelly said. Whatever she was going to say next, though, was interrupted by the arrival of their breakfast; all three concentrated on eating.

When they were done, they moved to a small lounge, and Ryan addressed Medart with an expression the Ranger couldn't quite identify. "I did not reveal my full rank yesterday, Highness; a foretelling spell said it would be in the clan's interest to use only my lesser one. Besides Warleader, I am the chief of Clan Vader."

Medart nodded, grinning. "I know. I can read clan arms, and you either forgot or didn't bother to change yours. But if you wanted to claim a lesser rank, I couldn't see any harm in playing along."

"My arms?" Ryan looked chagrined. "I never even thought of them--I did a lot at first, when I added the chief, but I've gotten so used to them since that I no longer really notice the difference."

"And you're not used to deception, so it's easy to understand how you'd miss that." Medart sobered. "But since you are clan-chief, I need to know whether the life-debt your clan owes me at home is valid here."

It couldn't be, was Ryan's automatic reaction. The debt had been incurred in a distant alternate, involving an enemy and a warrior who had, in this one, lived a long and adventurous life.

On the other hand, a life-debt was sacrosanct, and the one owed it was entitled to repayment whenever and wherever that repayment was asked. The crucial question, then, was whether a change in universes by the one owed it voided that obligation.

Ryan studied the Prince's carefully-impassive expression. The personalities involved should have no bearing on his judgement as the Vader in a matter of honor, but the human's courage and integrity had earned his respect; it would be difficult to ignore those, though he would have to try.

Restrict himself to the basic facts, then. James had done a warrior of Clan Vader the ultimate service, sparing him the horrors of death in need. That meant the clan owed him a comparable service. James was the person owed, no question about that. Was this universe's Clan Vader close enough to his universe's to be considered obligated, then?

The warrior Leigh had lived at the proper time, and Wylie had been clan-chief then. Those were indicators that it was, but he'd like more. "May I see your saber?" he asked, using High War Speech.

"Yes," Medart said in the same language, handing it over. "I've added the improved power pack, but otherwise it's the same one I was given."

So he did know the warrior caste's language, another point of similarity in his favor. Ryan examined the saber, checking for the small traces of workmanship that distinguished Vader-made lightsabers from those of other clans. They were there, including Leigh's engraved signature inside the powerpack cover. That made four points--five, if he counted the signature as extra verification of the saber's provenance.

Since the Prince had no other physical evidence, and couldn't be expected to know the clan as well as one of its members--wait, there was one more detail. "Did you recognize the complete arms, or just the chief?"