1
Four Katana-class Skimmers came slicing down out of the clouds in diamond formation at over twice the speed of sound, their very profiles lethal; bright sunlight glinted on their vanes and the red horse-head symbol of the Petit Harriers—not that any of them had ever seen a horse.
In the lead ship, Line Commander Goren Haakogard watched the surveill screens display the terrain underneath the clouds. It was a rocky, forbidding place, this Neo Biscay, inhospitable: all he was seeing was canyons, gullies and occasional high, arid plateaus. Of the five main land masses, most were rugged, jagged upthrusts and abrupt defiles showing the struggles and pressures deep in the core of the place. The two colonies that had settled three of the small continents eighteen and sixteen generations back, respectively, had scratched and scrambled their way from barest survival to a civilization of sorts.
"We got something coming in to port," said Line Commander Haakogard's Executive Officer, Mawson Tallis, a tall, angular kid from Buttress with an aristocratic accent and a threadbare uniform. "Coming very slow. Subsound speeds, in fact."
"That slow?" Haakogard asked, still watching the surveills for signs of the capital city of the second-largest continent. They were expected to arrive there within the hour.
"Subsound," Tallis confirmed as he read over the calculations. "No chance of being overtaken, but they could fire on us. Shells or lasers could catch us."
"Why would they do that?" asked Haakogard. His eyebrows went up. "The Comes poMoend invited us here. This is his territory according to the documents at the Hub." The fretwork of lines at the corners of his eyes deepened in a quick, cynical smile. "They sent for us, didn't they? Maybe they're an escort?"
"Doesn't act like an escort," said the navigator, a soft-spoken woman from the junior branch of the most ancient family on Xiaoqing. She brushed her dark-blue hair back from her brow. "No hailing, no sign of welcome or formal acknowledgment, and I don't think the heading we've been given will get us to Civuto poMoend."
The youngest of the eight human crew members, she was going out of her way to show herself a real professional.
"And the device on the wings doesn't match the one for poMoend," she added. "In fact, we don't have it on file anywhere."
"How much doesn't match poMoend?" asked Haakogard, catching sight of a wide road on the ground. It was promising, very promising. He tapped his hailer. "Follow to starboard," he ordered the other three Katanas in the formation. "Dachnor, drop back five lengths, just in case." This last was to the ship directly behind him. "Check out the company."
"Done," said Group Chief Eben Dachnor, who had been in the Petit Harriers for sixteen years, all of them active, and would sound just as laconic if they were under heavy fire from a superior foe and going down.
"The device for poMoend is a four-leafed stem. That ship . . ." Navigator Zim looked toward the screen and revised her figure. "Those ships. There are six of them, Line Commander. They have five leaves on the stem."
"Relatives!" It was an expletive and a question all at once. It always came down to relatives. Haakogard looked to his protocol officer. "Well? What now?"
"Put on the poMoend hail. It can't hurt," she answered, not bothering to look at the screens. "If they have any questions about us, the hail will reassure them; they'll probably leave us alone. We're newcomers. Could be they don't recognize the Petits. But they know their own hailings. Everything we know about the place says they'll respect the hail. If they don't, then we're free to leave."
"We return fire?" asked Tallis, not hiding his anticipation. He had been hankering for a battle since he came aboard the Yngmoto.
"It's up to them to make the first move," said Haakogard, trying to curb Tallis' eagerness. "At the speed they're going we can outrun them; no contest."
"What if they're faster than they've shown us? It could be a ploy, their coming up slowly to catch us off-guard," Tallis said.
"We'll find out," Haakogard answered.
He signed to the navigator to start the poMoend hailing on all frequencies. "Zim, keep an eye on them!"
"Done," said Zim, concentrating on her screens. "How are we doing down below? Do you know where we are?"
"No break in the cloud cover, but there's signs of civilization down there—I've got three roads now, and there's a town of sorts up ahead." Haakogard did not like to divide his attention between the unknown ships following them and the job of finding Civuto poMoend. Technically he didn't have to, but he did not like to delegate his command in tight situations.
"I think we're on track," he said.
"About time," said Section Leader Jarrick Riven. "I've got the other three Katanas in my screen. Group Chief Dachnor's holding further to the rear, as ordered. Fennin, number two, has more company. Three ships, by the look of it."
"Same as the others?" Haakogard asked, glancing at his own screen to try to pick up the new ship.
"A dozen of them now," said Zim, then added, "Straight poMoend devices on the newcomers; four leaves." Haakogard's hand hesitated over the alert button. If the new ships were a second part of an attack force . . .
He looked toward the oddest member of his crew, the squat, eight-limbed, single-eyed Mromrosi. The only one of the crew who was not a Petit Harrier, he represented the Emerging Planet Fairness Court and was supposed to be an impartial observer. None of the humans knew and the Mromrosi would not accurately explain which of his species' six sexes he was; everyone referred to him as "he" for convenience. Luckily—and unlike the other nine species of the Emerging Planet Fairness Court—the Mromrosi thought humans and human descendents were quaint, while humans tended to regard the Mromrosi as cute.
"What do you think, Advisor?" The Mromrosi tossed his enormous mop of curly pink hair. From time to time the Mromrosi changed color, though the reasons were not always apparent.
"Things done in haste are definitionally unconsidered acts," he replied.
"That they are," said Zim, who always got a kick out of the things the Mromrosi said, which she insisted were aphorisms.
"The guys behind us are going home," reported the voice of Group Chief Dachnor from the rear Katana. "I don't know if it was the hail or the other guys showing up that did it."
"We'll find out," said Haakogard, hoping he would. He-moved his hand from the alert button. He could not afford to let himself be pressured into a defensive position unless it absolutely could not be avoided.
"So, no fight today," said Tallis, not entirely pleased it was so. He lifted his hand to the others; two answered his gesture and a couple others whispered a cheer.
"Life's always interesting in the Petits," said Riven, grinning at the relief on the faces of the crews of the other three Katanas. "You can say that about the service."
"Better than the Grands." Zim knew mockery in Riven's words when she heard it. "You can have your parades and pomp and titles and gold braid; I'd rather be in the Petits any day. You do something worthwhile when you're a Petit."
She shot a single, angry look at Riven.
"And unlike you, I could qualify for the Grands, but I didn't want to."
Riven leaned back and chuckled. "That's right; you're the forty-third cousin of some old First Fifty-Six Colonist, isn't that it? Just because we can't authenticate our patent of arms—" Zim said nothing, he knew she would not dignify his slight with an answer. "Say, look; those new guys are trying to form some kind of an escort. What do you know?"
"They're sending out the poMoend hail," said Group Leader Viridis Perzda, the protocol officer, her very ordinary face showing no reaction at all; people often thought that meant she was not paying attention or did not care about what was going on, which was their first mistake.
"Assessments are in order," said the Mromrosi, uncharacteristically direct.
"We'd better slow down so they don't think we're trying to outrun them," said Haakogard, and thumbed the deceleration toggle. "And cancel the poMoend hail in case they have something they want to tell us." He signaled the fourth Katana at his rear. "Dachnor, close up as we slow down. I want diamond formation when we land."
"Done," said Dachnor. "These guys are okay, you think?"
"Apparently. They've got the password and the hail," said Haakogard, feeling the tension between his shoulders begin to ease; a decade ago the strain would not have bothered him. And a decade ago, he reminded himself, he was only a Minor Group Chief and did not have assignments like this one.
He leaned back in his command couch and reviewed all the surveill screens.
"There's a city down there, up ahead a little way," he said. "It's got to be Civuto poMoend. It fits the description. There's nothing else that big between here and the coast." He looked at the screen and did the calculations in his head. "Ten Standard Minutes out, I make it, fifteen to twenty if we go slow."
Communications Leader Alrou Malise straightened up his own stiff back, at his station. So different from Gascoygne, the Harriers, he thought. He had fled the rigid, nightmarish society of his birth-world for the freedom of this, three years before he was technically permitted to join the force. But the habits of youth die hard—he knew most of the crew thought him sullen.
"This is the Katana-class Skimmer Yngmoto of the Petit Harriers of the Magnicate Alliance, Line Commander Goren Haakogard commanding, and accompanied by the three Katana-class Skimmers Freyama, Sigjima, and Ubehoff. We are here at the behest of the Comes Riton poMoend and the orders of the Alliance.''
The response came quickly, heard in all four Alliance ships. "Welcome, ships of the Magnicate Alliance. We will guide you to the Most Excellent Comes Riton. Be certain you always address him as 'Most Excellent.' All others are to be spoken of in his presence as Mere: as the True First, only he deserves the Most Excellent title."
"What was that all about?" asked Haakogard when Group Leader Perzda had finished all the proper formalities. "That thing about being the True First?"
"I don't know, but you can bet they do. They'll expect us to, as well. Be sure you pay attention when they talk about it." Perzda put her six-fingered hands together. "Well, I suppose you'll want me to figure it out as soon as possible."
"Yes," said Haakogard. "And find out what the story is on those ships that moved in on us. Everything you can."
"Done," said Perzda. She was amused, but she hid that in back of her ordinary brownish eyes; for in addition to being the protocol officer for the ship, she was also their spy.
Civuto poMoend was an uneasy hybrid of a very new and advanced engineering and architecture, the kind that was found throughout the Alliance, and an ancient, convoluted series of hodge-podge, interconnected buildings dating back to the founding of the city.
On the ride to the headquarters of the Most Excellent Comes Riton, Line Commander Haakogard observed the abrupt transition of styles. This puzzled him. Had there been fighting or a natural disaster that had destroyed part of the center of the city? Or was it simply result of the desires of the Comes Riton himself?
"How did all this happen?" he asked, waving at the stylistic jungle to the leader of the delegation that met them at the travelport.
"A war. There is always a war," answered Pangbar Thunghalis poTorMoend, a massive individual whose Pangbar rank had translated roughly as "gate breaker." "Of late, it has been worse."
"Nuh-huh," said Haakogard. With any luck that remark would be interpreted as positive or negative, depending upon which Thunghalis found appropriate.
"The last phase of the Most Excellent Comes was heartbroken by the tragedy that brought the war inside the gates. There are those who said it hurried his death. It is a dreadful thing when honor is forgotten," said Thunghalis. Haakogard heard strong emotion in his voice. "It would never have happened if Syclicis had not stolen the clone when she did."
There had been something in their mission briefing about clones, but at the moment Haakogard could not call it to mind. It looked now as if his earlier lack of attention to this could be serious oversight. What else had he overlooked—or not been told?
Clones, he said to himself, hoping that the word would jar the rest of the information loose. Clones. Clones. No luck.
"How long ago was that? The theft, I mean," he asked Thunghalis.
"Thirty-four years. Consider the omen in that!" Thunghalis rolled his eyes upward to acknowledge the enormity of the portent in the figure. "Thirty-four years."
"Nuh-huh," said Haakogard again, keeping to safe ground.
"You can hardly blame the Most Excellent Comes Riton for his fears, and with the conduct of the clone, he has reason for his actions." Thunghalis did something with his hands that Haakogard suspected was intended to counteract bad fortune.
"It's that serious?" Haakogard probed blindly. He had to discover what he and his Harriers had got into. "After all, a clone—"
"Exactly! Of the True First!" Thunghalis fairly pounced on the word. "We had to send for you, of course. You can see that. We cannot act honorably without your presence. What else would be acceptable? No matter which clone we oppose, we commit treason against the True First."
Haakogard was still confused, but a little less so than when their conversation began.
"Forgive the fact I don't quite follow you, Pangbar Thunghalis. Perhaps my briefing was incomplete."
He was really getting angry at the lack of information he had been given.
"As if such delicate questions could be explained in a briefing," scoffed Thunghalis, his expression dour. "No wonder you did not know the proper address for the Most Excellent Comes. I am disappointed in the Magnicate Alliance."
"You have every right to be," said Haakogard. Time to start smoothing over relations now. "I share your disappointment. But knowing how vast the Alliance is, I'm not surprised that we didn't get full information concerning Neo Biscay."
Thunghalis pouted, still unappeased.
"I'm sure you are aware of the difficulty in obtaining accurate translations, even with the Series 81Vs. Often there's a slight shift in meaning between one language and another. This may be such a case, considering the differing status clones have throughout the Alliance. Many of the Alliance worlds do not permit cloning of humans. I come from such a planet myself. On Grunhavn all we're permitted to clone is trees."
"Fools, then, if you trust to open breeding," said Thunghalis with scorn. "To disallow so natural and sensible a thing as a clone, and give favor to the caprice of the genetic code. When one being has proven satisfactory in every way, isn't it wiser to renew that being rather than take chances on another genetic shuffle?"
He laughed at his own joke, though the sound was more of a honk than a laugh.
"Is that your usual way of . . . reproducing? You don't appear to have the facilities for so ambitious—" Inwardly Haakogard was cursing the Commodore and administrators of the Petit Harriers for being so lax in their preparations for this mission. He had always suspected that the head of Alliance Intelligence Operations was more political than patriotic in his devotion to the Magnicate Alliance, but rarely had Knapp so blatantly revealed himself.
"Not for most people, no. As you observe, the process is complex and requires more support than we are in a position to give. It is the aim of the Most Excellent Comes to make such a project possible, but that is still many phases away. Of course, our leaders are clones."
He gestured toward the enormous building ahead of them, a collection of huge, jewel-like bubbles and shining curlicues. "The Comes' palace."
As the vehicle stopped, Thunghalis gave Haakogard a quizzical look. "Well?"
"Well?" Haakogard stared hard at it. "It's a very impressive palace." Especially, he added to himself, out in this desolate stretch of land on this remote planet.
But Thunghalis was not appeased. He made an exasperated gesture. "Isn't it proof that it is best for leaders to continue as the being you know?" he said. "Beings who have proven themselves? Don't you think that cloning prevents all manner of conflicts and difficulties?"
"I must say it sounds sensible," said Haakogard carefully. Inwardly, he was only further convinced it was idiotic. He followed Thunghalis down a wide corridor, thinking he would have preferred his crew to be with him. But he remembered that this was forbidden.
"My people are being taken care of?" he asked.
"Of course!" said Thunghalis, stiffly. "You will meet them later. They are being properly entertained; you need not fear. The Most Excellent Comes Riton knows the correct way to receive guests and is always ready to make their stay memorable."
Haakogard hated ceremony, display and courtly functions. It had been one of the reasons he had joined the Petits instead of the Grands—over strong family objections. Now, it seemed, he was having to endure them anyway.
"No doubt," he said, reminding himself that "memorable" was not necessarily the same as "hideous." He attempted to appear respectful but nonchalant; a combination he had been working on for the last seventeen years and had yet to perfect.
"It isn't fitting for them to come into his presence until you have been established as a First. Otherwise, who can say which among you might assume the position for himself?"
Thunghalis made a sign, and two very tall, gold-studded doors swung open, revealing a reception room that would comfortably hold all four Katana Skimmers and a traveling circus besides without crowding.
"Very impressive," said Haakogard, his admiration the first honest response he had been able to make since Thunghalis had picked him up. This time it was not an effort to put a better face on his response.
"It is a tribute to the Most Excellent Comes Riton. He caused it to be built in his second phase and, naturally, it has suited him ever since." Thunghalis continued across the room, motioning for Haakogard to follow.
"And was that long ago?" Haakogard asked as he tagged after the long-legged Thunghalis.
"Well, the Most Excellent Comes Riton is in his eighth phase now, so it was over three hundred Standard Years since his second phase. Let me see . . . 348 Standard Years. But that is nothing to a True First." He clapped his tremendous hands twice, making a point definitely, and indicated a place on the patterned floor where he wanted Haakogard to stand. "He will be here very shortly."
"Fine," said Haakogard, wondering what it was proper for him to do while he waited. Should he talk about something? Whistle? He needed Perzda here to work out the protocol. Well, there was still Thunghalis. "Before he gets here, would you help me out?" he improvised. "Can you fill me in about the current war? I don't think I know as much as I need to."
"Small wonder you should say so. It is a terrible tale," he began with such enthusiasm that Haakogard stared at him. "The Comes Riton, being the True First, has many potential phases waiting for vivification, for all True Firsts come from a single budding of clones, so there will be no genetic drift possible. The proto-embryonic clones are kept viable and are vivified at the order of the current phase. The immediately previous phase of the Comes Riton ordered his next-phase clone vivified, all in accord with our scientific traditions, and ordered an alternate vivified at the same time, as is the practice. Of course, the alternate is—"
"Wait a minute," said Haakogard. "An alternate? What do you mean? What alternate?"
"I was about to explain. Every Comes has an alternate to take over the phase should anything befall him before he is given the flail and the reins. The alternate is trained as the Comes himself is, and in every way is like the Comes, except he is the alternate. Once the Comes is authenticated and is in possession of the flail and the reins, the alternate is devivified. As should have been the case for this phase—all perfectly proper, you see. But then!"
He threw up his hands.
"There was a rebellion?" Haakogard ventured, for that was what he had been told. Some of the earlier colonists had mounted a revolution and attempted to overthrow the later colonists.
"Hardly anything so significant," said Thunghalis contemptuously. "But a group of malcontents from the Other Colonization managed to infiltrate the Comes' clonery. We believe they were trying to destroy all the clones, for they rely solely on open breeding—they make a religion of it, almost. You can imagine the chaos of their society, with no continuing leadership."
He looked at Haakogard, expecting to see his horror shared. Haakogard did his best to comply.
"But I gather they didn't succeed?" he asked. Since Civuto poMoend was still the headquarters of the Comes Riton, it seemed a safe bet.
"They made off with the alternate. We were all outraged, as you may well imagine. With the current phase of the Most Excellent Comes Riton ruling now, there are hints that the Other Colonists will bring forth the alternate to challenge his authenticity. It is a dreadful predicament for all of us." Pangbar Thunghalis made a movement with his shoulders to indicate his perplexity. "The alternate is a True First, a viable clone of the Comes Riton, and he can be authenticated just as the Comes himself can. Those of us who are in the service of the Comes Riton have all taken a blood oath to defend the Comes Riton unto death, and to oppose all who come against him. Where does our duty lie, with two Comes Ritons? We cannot attack the Comes Riton in any phase, and we cannot attack his alternate: both are perfidious treason and would disgrace our families. If the men with the alternate attack us, we cannot act, for the alternate is . . ."
He made a sound like a cough that Haakogard suspected was a sigh. "We cannot take any actions whatever." He slapped his hand to his wide forehead. "What else could we do but send for you? You, at least, can act."
"Aha," said Haakogard, still baffled but now with a better notion of the stakes of the game, and its rule. "Are we to recover this alternate . . . uh, phase?" Was that the right way to discuss this other clone?
"Of course, of course," said Thunghalis impatiently, but with every sign that he had something else in mind. "He must surely be recovered. That is necessary. But we must not betray honor in making the recovery."
Haakogard was about to ask why such a recovery would compromise honor when a four-man escort entered the chamber to the sound of huge bells, so deep in tone that the room trembled at their sound. Another man in a gaudier version of what the others were wearing came forward and bowed to Thunghalis.
Haakogard doubted this was the Comes Riton; and he turned out to be right. The man was some kind of herald, who in a high, loud voice began to rattle off the titles and virtues of the Comes Riton from the first phase until that very afternoon. The entire recitation required about ten Standard Minutes and Haakogard did his best to listen politely.
Finally the Most Excellent Comes Riton himself came forward.
Haakogard looked at him with real curiosity: he was a man just turning from youth to maturity; he was not much more than average height, but he had a massive chest and broad shoulders that more than made up for it. His hair was bronze and his eyes were the color of sand. When he spoke, his voice was soft and resonant, the kind that would carry without being raised, that would provide the illusion of profundity by its nature; a beautiful voice. Haakogard realized that the voice more than any other asset made the Comes Riton a leader.
"They tell me your rank is Mere Line Commander," were his first words to Haakogard. He raised his hand to his shoulder to enable Haakogard to press his palm with his own.
"That's correct, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard. He was cautious but did not want to appear hesitant. He used a standard greeting, knowing that it might not be entirely right, but it was also not entirely wrong. "It is an honor to meet you."
"Most surely; one rarely granted to those not of poMoend," said the Comes Riton. "How worthy of you to acknowledge it." He gestured toward Thunghalis. "I trust my faithful Mere Pangbar has seen to your needs?"
"He has brought me to you, Most Excellent Comes. It is my mission to see to your needs, I believe."
Haakogard thought he handled that rather neatly and was pleased when Thunghalis smiled an approval.
"If such a thing is possible." The Comes Riton scowled and spoke at a deeper, more mesmerizing pitch. "For what are my needs? Who can answer that, with the alternate clone still vivified and in the hands of the Other Colonists?"
He stared at some point about six meters behind Haakogard's head.
"I ought to sense him, because we are the same," he went on. "But I don't, not that I am aware. But it may be that I sense him so naturally that I give no attention to it and do not recognize it for what it is."
He shifted his eyes back to Haakogard.
"What do you think?"
"I haven't been here long enough to have an opinion, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard, carefully.
Comes Riton considered the answer and made the spread-palm gesture of approval. "You are astute, Mere Line Commander. You give me a little hope. Hope! After so long a time and so many disappointments. My alternate must be rescued. How can I remain authenticated while the alternate continues to act against me? It must be resolved. That much is certain. My former phase demanded it of me, which, as he and I are one and the same, more than father and son, and the alternate and I are one and the same, more than twin brothers, I can do no less. Blood and gene call out, and blood and gene will answer."
The ringing tones of his last words made them a battle cry. He looked expectantly toward Haakogard.
It was tempting to applaud, but Haakogard only said, "We'll do what we can, Most Excellent Comes." He saw the fervid light come into Thunghalis' eyes. "As soon as you can present us with all the pertinent information, we'll set about . . . finding this alternate and working out a peace settlement."
"Good. Good. A wonderful beginning. What a relief your coming here is, Mere Line Commander." The Comes Riton stood back but in no way gave ground. "I have asked for the pleasure of the company of your crew tonight. There will be a banquet for you where you will sit in places of favor. Does that please you?"
Haakogard, seeing another endless official function before him, bowed in his best court form. "We're not used to such courtesy, Most Excellent Comes."
"I know," said the Comes Riton complacently. "I understand it is left to the Grand Harriers, not the Petits; but under the circumstances there is no reason not to host you properly. We are not quite a backwater here."
If Neo Biscay were not a backwater, thought Haakogard, the Grands would be here, not the Petits. As it was, the Commodore had not ruled out the possibility that the Grands might be needed on Neo Biscay if the poMoend succession were not straightened out.
"We'll appreciate that, I'm sure," he said, now making a slightly different, complicated ritual bow he had just remembered was the one the Most Excellent Comes preferred, according to Haakogard's briefing. "You show us more favor than we deserve. Perhaps you should wait until we have done something before you honor us."
The Comes Riton smiled a little. "A bit old-fashioned but well done, Mere Line Commander." His smile deepened. "But I am something of an old-fashioned fellow myself—it's in the genes." His chuckle was dutifully echoed by Haakogard and Thunghalis. "We are prepared to offer you some entertainment, of course. We do not expect you to dine with us and protect us without any acknowledgement of your service."
"That would be dishonorable?" Haakogard guessed.
"Very," said Thunghalis softly.
"We have arranged for animal trainers to come with their beasts. On such short notice it is the best we can manage." The Comes Riton made a gesture that was as close to an apology as he could come. "They are reputed to be the best that can be had."
"Your men?" asked Haakogard, anticipating the answer.
"We do not sully ourselves with the training of wild beasts," said the Comes Riton, as if such sentiments were universal. "We leave that to the degenerates who came here earlier."
Haakogard clenched his jaw. When he spoke, he made an effort not to sound upset. "What security measures are you taking?"
"Security?" echoed the Comes Riton. "What do we need of security? If we were to mount a guard beyond those appointed to the honor of guarding this phase, we would show ourselves to be cowards, afraid that we could suffer at the hands of the Other Colonists. What man of honor would do that?"
This announcement did not surprise Haakogard; he gave a fatalistic shrug. "You asked for the Petit Harriers to assist you, Most Excellent Comes. We can't do a very good job of it if you do nothing yourself."
"We will do all that is necessary," said the Comes Riton. "It is not necessary to bring in our fighting men because a few of the Other Colonists come here with animals. Only cravens take such action, and no craven is entitled to rule when demonstrably without honor. We will not dishonor poMoend by arming ourselves against animal trainers. We are not wretches."
"Certainly not," said Haakogard, thinking that the Comes Riton was an arrogant, pigheaded fool.
"Well, then, we are in agreement," said the Comes Riton.
"We understand each other," corrected Haakogard.
The Comes Riton paid no attention to Haakogard's implication. "I will leave you to make your arrangements. You are welcome in Civuto poMoend, Mere Line Commander Petit Harrier."
"You're most gracious, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard, convinced that there were other words he would rather use.
Thunghalis motioned his approval once more as he turned to follow the Most Excellent Comes from his reception hall.
In the end, all thirty-five Petit Harriers had to attend the banquet. The Mromrosi went along out of curiosity.
The protocol officer was chewing on a Kleestick—one of her few indulgences—and leafing through a huge stack of documents just zapped in from the Magnicate Alliance Hub. "How'd it go?" she asked without formality as Haakogard stepped into the central cabin of the Yngmoto.
"You tell me." He reached for the red horse-head insignia on his wide, shiny collar and removed it, handing the tiny spool concealed in it to her. "As required, O Protocol Officer. Where is everyone?"
"Zim's asleep. She stood five watches straight, and so I told her to rest up." She leaned farther back in her chair, putting the documents aside. "Sometimes I wish you'd leave Riven in charge while you're gone, just for variety. It's beginning to pall on me. On the rest of us, too, I suspect."
"You're Protocol, Perzda. It's your job and you know it." Haakogard no longer argued with her about this, but went through a ritual of affectionate bickering on every new mission.
She took a deep breath, sighed, and took a second deep breath. "Tallis is working out again. He won't accept that he's always going to be skinny as a hoe-handle. Who knows what the Mromrosi is up to; he's in his quarters. The rest are out on local escort, taking in the sights of Civuto poMoend." The slight wrinkling of her nose expressed her opinion of the sightseeing opportunities on this desolate planet. "Dachnor's being leader on that." She reached out for the documents, but hesitated. "Goren, do you have any idea why this is so important?"
He did not answer her promptly. "I thought you knew. You're Alliance Intelligence Operations; I thought you'd be better briefed than I am. Or is this some kind of test? Something the Grands have dreamed up?"
"No test," she said with a single, decisive gesture. "It's just that, well . . . I don't know. I can't get rid of the nagging suspicion that something isn't . . . There's a piece missing, and it's missing on purpose. I always get nervous when that happens. I'm worried that the other piece is the Grands and they're up to something." She did her best to sound amused, then thought better of it. "I don't like it when I don't know the truth."
"Neither do I, Viridis," said Haakogard, and left her to continue with her documents. "None of us do."
In his quarters, he bathed and donned the most impressive uniform he had with him, the glistening one with the Petits' horse-head and the insignia of his rank picked out in jewels: the Senior Bunter had set it out for him, and Haakogard knew better than to argue with a Bunter. He studied himself in the mirror, thinking that age was starting—just starting, mind—to sink its claws into him. His dark-blond hair seemed lighter now that there were occasional strands of white through it. The lines around his eyes that lined to show only when he laughed or squinted were there all the time now, and his cheeks were a bit more hollow than they had been at this stage of his lust mission. There was no cure for it but dying young, Haakogard reminded himself, and smiled at his own vanity.
"Oh, no," exclaimed Jarrick Riven as he met Haakogard coming out of his quarters. "Not top dress."
"It's formal, it's court, and it's only third-class top, no capes or swords." He made a what-can-you-do shrug.
"And no stunners," said Riven, disgusted.
"Technically we shouldn't," said Haakogard. "But we'd better carry them."
"For effect?" Riven asked, startled.
A frown flicked Haakogard's brow. "If that's what they want to think, fine. But make sure they're charged."
Riven looked surprised. "Are you expecting trouble?"
Haakogard shook his head slowly. "No. That's what's bothering me. Given the lax state of their security and their unconscionable pride, I ought to be." He took a step away. "I'll make sure the Bunters are on notice."
But Riven wasn't quite through. "Is it true we all have to go?"
"Every last one of us, with the Mromrosi as well." He gave Riven a quick, ironic salute. "We've been through worse than this together. You survived the collapse of Feddalsi Oasis Station. You can survive a banquet on Neo Biscay."
"I could fight back at Feddalsi Oasis." Riven's snarl was not quite as humorous as he intended it to be, but he would not protest again.
All the Petits were assembling, gathering for their briefing for the banquet. Most of them took advantage of their dress uniforms to poke fun at one another.
In the full glory of her third-class top dress uniform, Group Leader Viridis Perzda still looked ordinary. Her hair was smartly arranged, her Bunter had applied the correct cosmetics for Neo Biscay, but she still looked unremarkable, which suited her very well.
In contrast, Navigator Nola Zim was spectacular, her jeweled uniform dyed to match her dark-blue hair; from her shoes to the last coil of her coiffure, she was an example of what was most splendid about the Magnicate Alliance. Perzda and Zim smiled at each other, enjoying their private joke.
"If you don't distract them," Perzda said wryly, "I can't think what will, short of the walls caving in." She looked at Communications Officer Alrou Malise. "You'll do for the rest." There was nothing in her expression to suggest that she was looking over each of the crew, but everything about them was etched into her mind. "Keep your translators handy and visible."
"And keep the stunners hidden," said Haakogard, who had joined them. He felt a familiar twinge of pride at the sight of his Petit Harriers.
Perzda shook her head. "I hope you know what you're doing, Goren."
"So do I," said Haakogard. "Go on."
She gave a little shake to her head and addressed the others again. "The spools in your insignias will give us a lot of information, so don't worry if you can't get everyone to open up. You can admit to known difficulties within the Alliance, but dismiss anything else as rumor, no matter how correct. You all know the drill. You've done it before. Keep your wits about you and don't get distracted. If there is something you don't understand, ask them to explain, no matter what it's about. We're more in the dark about this place than we thought and we've got to make up for that as quickly as possible, before we do something stupid. I want your reports before tomorrow morning." She glanced toward Haakogard. "Is there anything else, Line Commander?"
Haakogard considered. "Not really. I agree with everything our Protocol Officer has said. Don't stay together. Circulate. Be available. Pretend to be Grands"—he ignored the groan of protest from three of his crew—"and smile. Encourage them to talk. We don't know nearly enough about this place. Don't get dragged into any arguments. These people are very touchy about their honor, and we can't afford to get on their bad sides. And whatever else you do, no game and no gambling. This isn't Standby: this is Neo Biscay, and right now it's a cipher."
Since Jarrick Riven was the only member of the crew to have gambled on Standby, he was indignant. "That was a mistake! How long do I have to keep telling you that? How was I supposed to know about cutting off fingers? Besides, those guys have four arms and twenty-four fingers. They had an unfair advantage!" He laughed suddenly, and so did everyone else in the cabin.
"You took quite a chance," said Zim, grinning.
"Well, what else do you do out in the middle of nowhere?" he asked with tremendous innocence.
Hoots and hollers met his protestation, and Tallis shouted, "Nothing like a friendly wager, is there?"
"I'll wager you, you Buttress-bred—" Riven challenged in a comic threat.
More cries and chortles erupted. This time it was Haakogard who brought them to order.
"All right, all right. Save it for after. We're going to need straight faces for Civuto poMoend. Be good," said Haakogard as he put on his jeweled cap with the iridescent tassel. He hoped he did not look as foolish as he felt. "Let's go to work."
As soon as the thirty-five Harriers and the Mromrosi were escorted into the banqueting hall, the Most Excellent Comes Riton exclaimed over the beautiful Navigator Zim, his magnificent voice sweet as warm syrup. He made the most banal observations seem like poetry. Navigator Zim seemed at once bemused and doubtful of the purpose for his singling her out.
From his vantage point at the next table over, Haakogard watched the Most Excellent Comes offer Navigator Zim the place beside him. "Does the Comes Riton have . . . how to put this? . . . many women in his life?"
"No. No, he does not." Thunghalis was troubled as he saw how the Comes danced attendance on Navigator Zim. He went on, slightly embarrassed. "He is a True First. It is not appropriate."
"Ah. Free breeding can be—" Whatever the rest of Haakogard's comments might be, they were shattered by a loud consort of brass instruments braying out to announce the meal and to signal the night closing of Civuto poMoend's gates.
"Is the closure necessary?" asked Haakogard, who did not like being away from the Yngmoto, no matter how well the Skimmer was secured. "Since you refused to post guards for this reception, I wouldn't have thought—"
"It's because of the Other Colonists. They attack the city at night. We make sure they cannot get in, and that way we do not dishonor ourselves with battle against those who are not our equals." He made a gesture of condemnation. "You know, it is because they came here first that they have forgotten civilization. We never were wholly lost. But they had over seven generations when they had no contact at all. There were N'djowul here part of the time, on the southernmost continent, and they had to abandon everything they had built there and take refuge here. It turned them into barbarians." Thunghalis shook his head. "So they come at night, as if we wore N'djowul, too, and if they can get inside they do all manner of heinous things. They burn and kill and steal."
"That's very unfortunate," said Haakogard as he followed Thunghalis' example and took his place. "Are you sure you will be safe with the doors locked?"
"What harm can they do us, if they cannot get in?" Thunghalis asked.
For the time being Haakogard thought it wisest not to speculate.
There were over a hundred small L-shaped tables not around the room, each with a setting for five. Aside from the table of the Comes Riton himself, there appeared to be no obvious social order to where people sat, or with whom, though Haakogard suspected that such an order did exist. Thunghalis was careful to explain to Haakogard about the food they were served, once or twice warning him away from a questionable dish: "That merlle is an acquired taste, Mere Line Commander. You might like to try some of the s'was; we find most off-worlders prefer it." He made certain that Haakogard learned the names of everyone in attendance, and at the conclusion of the meal, while a troupe of animal-trainers demonstrated the skills of their charges, he did his best to explain the complicated relationships that were inherent in Second Colonization Neo Biscay families. "More attention is paid to lineage in the capital, of course, but we do our best to maintain the standards."
"Then let me see if I have this straight so far," said Haakogard when the evening was almost over and the animal trainers, dressed in bright, engulfing costumes, were being kept busy by over twenty dissimilar beasts, at least four of which had impressive, tusk-like fangs. "Because each phase of the Comes is a clone of the original Comes . . . would you call it original?"
"True First," corrected Thunghalis. He was more relaxed now than he had been earlier, mellowed with food and a strange concoction called Sand Juice, which apparently was mildly hallucinogenic. "The actual True First died long ago, but almost all his clones have lived long."
The animal trainers were building to a climax, creating an unlikely pyramid of very carnivorous-looking beasts, each of which seemed to dislike and distrust the others. "Come Riton was a True First, one of the Second Colonists, the group that was sent because it was believed the First Colony had been lost. You know already what had happened to the Other Colonists. In fact, they regarded the Second Colonists as a return of the gods, or some such thing, and for some time they behaved very sensibly toward us. We were able to establish our Colony with honor. But the Other Colonists did not remain as reasonable as they had been at first. They gradually came to resent our superior civilization and accomplishments, and rather than emulate us, they decided to plunder us instead." He nodded toward the Comes Riton. "To all intents and purposes, the Most Excellent Comes has been present since the conflict began."
"But not this phase," said Haakogard. He would have liked to enjoy a Kleestick but was told that the Comes Riton disapproved of the mildly intoxicating root, though he drank a fair share of Sand Juice.
"This phase, any phase, is precisely the same Comes Riton as he was at the beginning." Thunghalis looked around as the deep bells rang and rumbled again. "We rise," he whispered, tugging at Haakogard's sleeve.
Haakogard did as Thunghalis told him, and was surprised to see the Comes Riton coming toward him, carrying a metallic gauntlet. His wonderful voice was as gripping as the echo of the bells. "We thank the Magnicate Alliance and the Most Distant Gods for aiding us in this time of need through these Petit Harriers. They can, without dishonor, attack our rivals and recover my alternate. We will then be in a position to restore civilization here, and to enter into a greater participation in the Alliance, which is a very dear wish to me, and has been since my first phase." He offered the gauntlet to Haakogard.
"Touch it but do not take it," Thunghalis said softly. "On the fingers only, not the palm."
Haakogard did as he was ordered. "We are pleased to assist all those who are friends of the Magnicate Alliance, for that is the task of the Petit Harriers," said Haakogard, trusting that he was close enough to court form to satisfy these aristocrats of Civuto poMoend.
"We have great hope," said the Comes Riton, making the air ring gloriously, "that none of our misfortune will dishonor you; your presence alone should serve to bring about a rapid settlement to the disruption. We anticipate the day when my authentication is assured and all hostilities cease."
"Good of you," said Haakogard. He wondered if he should say something about the hospitality he and his crew had been ordered to receive. The Mromrosi, near the kitchen door, was no help.
One of the animal trainers made a signal and the largest of the beasts lumbered onto its hind legs, making it almost three times the height of its trainer. Many of the guests stared at the creature, some of them showing anxiety, for it appeared that the trainers were having some difficulty with their enormous charge.
"Look out!" shouted one of the Pangbars, his hand coming up as if to ward off a blow.
The huge beast began to sweep about with its front legs, its long, pointed hooves making impressive gouges in the furniture where it struck. The other animals became angry and restive.
"Most Excellent Comes!" yelled the senior officer of his Guard as he rushed toward the enormous animal, bringing his ceremonial flail up to strike at it. The creature beat him to the blow, its enormous reach giving it fatal advantage before the Tydbar could get close enough to damage the animal. In a single, savage knock with its massive foreleg it smashed the Tydbar's skull and shoulder before the rest of the company was able to move.
As the Tydbar collapsed, more of the Guards came at a run, and Thunghalis moved to protect the Comes Riton.
The enormous metal gauntlet Haakogard had touched dropped onto the floor; a dozen of the poMoend soldiers cried out in horror.
While the poMoend Guard faltered, shaken by what they had seen, Haakogard drew his stunner from the concealed pocket in his sleeve and fired, hoping that the charge would be enough to slow the animal down. He was not certain where to aim, so he chose the neck, reckoning a stun on the spine would work best.
One of the trainers was being mauled by two of the other, smaller carnivores, but the rest of the entertainers had vanished, leaving their ferocious animals behind.
There were screams in the room now as the animals, freed from the bondage of their trainers, went after the sudden bounty around them, snagging for arms and legs with pointed hooves and claws.
"Harriers!" Haakogard shouted, hoping some of the crew could hear over the sudden outburst of noise. "Stunners on!" He fired again, standing much too close to the huge creature to feel secure, but afraid to step back, in case he might endanger one of the others. There ought to be one or two more charges in his stunner, and then he would be without a working weapon.
The largest creature had dropped back onto its front legs and was beginning to wobble as it walked. It craned its neck and made a growling cough before it toppled forward.
Group Chief Eben Dachnor had already stunned two of the smaller animals into unconsciousness and was stalking a third; Executive Officer Mason Tallis was grinning merrily as he aimed at an animal with imposing fangs and a long prehensile tail; Communications Leader Alrou Malise just avoided being knocked off his feet by the sudden rush of one of the midsized beasts; Section Leader Jarrick Riven had managed to stun three of the smallest creatures and was now giving his attention to protecting a group of unarmed courtiers.
Five men lay on the floor, dead or broken, and the beasts were starting to fight over them.
Thunghalis was no longer defending the Comes Riton by himself; Navigator Nola Zim stood between the Comes and the beasts, her stunner leveled at a low-slung animal with a broad head and a double row of triangular teeth. The Comes was staring at her as if she were the most amazing sight he had ever seen. Haakogard sheathed his stunner, its charges exhausted, and glanced toward Zim one more time.
The Guards had drawn their ceremonial flails and were now making their way from one half-conscious beast to another, bludgeoning them to death. The Petit Harriers moved out of their way, a few trying to conceal their disgust, one sorry to miss the fun.
From his place near the door the Mromrosi bounced on six of his eight limbs and made a sound like the patter of hail on glass. His tremendous mass of curls was candy-pink.
When the last of the animals had been dispatched, the Comes Riton raised his splendid voice. Even frightened and nervous he sounded as if he were singing. "I thank you deeply. If your action had not been swift and your weapons sure, my next phase would have had to begin his rule long before he is prepared to do so, and the alternate would claim to have the right to serve in my place. You have shown yourselves honorable and dependable, and I will hold you always in high regard, and have each of my phases to come do so as well."
Pangbar Thunghalis dropped flat on his face in front of the Comes Riton. "O Most Excellent Comes, give me permission, I beg you, to expiate my disgrace for not acting more swiftly. In your need I failed you. The dishonor is intolerable." He half-rose; his shining uniform was mired with blood and other things. "I do not deserve to continue as your Pangbar. I do not deserve to live."
The Guards were beginning to drag the animals away, leaving bright bloody smears to mark their departure.
The Comes Riton sighed. "Yes. You ought to be permitted to kill yourself; I know. But it is not convenient for you to kill yourself just now, Pangbar Thunghalis. I would rather you delay your death until the alternate is found and devivified."
As he lowered himself to the floor again, Thunghalis moaned as he knocked his forehead against the bloody stones. "How can I bear the shame of what I have done?" he pleaded. "Let me end it."
Navigator Zim, who was watching this aghast, turned to the Comes Riton. "You can't seriously intend to give up a good soldier because we moved a little faster. It makes no sense."
"It is a matter of honor," said the Comes Riton unhappily. "I know how keenly he feels his error, how the magnitude of his betrayal poisons his vitals. But just now it does not please me to give him up. Yet how can I refuse when he has disgraced his oaths to me?"
"But death—isn't that a bit extreme, given your present situation? You're in no position to give up good fighting men, Comes"—though she had not called him Most Excellent, no one seemed to notice—"and Thunghalis is supposed to be one of your best. Isn't there anything else he could do?" She put one hand on her hip, trying to present an attitude of nonconcern. "Suicide is so . . . impractical."
"I am nothing," said Pangbar Thunghalis miserably, countering Zim's attempts at pragmatism. "Let me become nothing. It is all that is fitting."
The Comes Riton was staring at Navigator Zim. "What else could he do? What else would be right?"
She gestured impatiently. "I don't know. He doesn't have to die, though, does he? Isn't there something you could demand of him that would clear his honor other than taking his own life? Set him a task, a very difficult task, to accomplish."
"I am not worthy to perform a task for the Most Excellent Comes," protested Thunghalis, shocked at the notion. "It is not our way to usurp the honor of others when ours is gone."
"But it's a—" She gave an exasperated toss of her dark-blue hair.
Haakogard interrupted, hoping he was doing the right thing. "Would it be possible for Pangbar Thunghalis to be put under my supervision while we try to recover the missing clone? My honor is not at stake here as his is, and he would not compromise what the crew does. In fact, he might very well help. We need the advice of someone who knows this world, understands your ways, who can guide us." He took care not to look at the prostrate figure. "I was going to make the request in any case, but given the circumstances I think it might be best if you will agree to this."
Thunghalis howled as if branded.
"It is not an honorable thing to serve foreigners," said the Comes Riton, his tone as much speculative as condemning.
"All the more reason to loan him to us, then," said Haakogard at his most unperturbed. "It would make his dishonor known as much as his suicide would."
The Comes Riton strode about the room, pondering. He looked at the dead animals and gestured toward them. Then he looked at Thunghalis. "It is not honorable to serve foreigners, and you are now without honor. The foreigners have shown worth that has made you valueless." He came to stand over the prone figure, then looked directly at Navigator Zim. "I gave him to you, foreigners. I make a worthless present of him to you." This time his gesture was different, but it caused one of the Guards to stare in dismay.
"What?" Zim asked, as if she had not understood the words through her translator. "What are you talking about?" She was too astonished to stick to procedure. "You can't give him away like . . . like a goblet."
"I am providing what you seek," said the Comes Riton. "Since you do not want this disgraced man to die, he will be my gift to you." He stared down at Thunghalis again. "You are hers. You are worse than a masterless beast." He turned on his heel and strode away. "Most Excellent Comes," Haakogard called after him, and had the satisfaction of seeing the Comes falter. "Tell me, who would make such an attempt on your life?"
He came back a few steps to face Haakogard, his expression polite and closed. "Attempt on my— Surely you do not assume that—"
"The only trainer left is dead," Haakogard said, deliberately blunt. "He was killed by a knife-thrust, not by the animals."
The Comes Riton shrugged. "Most animal trainers are Other Colonists, free-breeders without honor, who go from city to city and live off the leavings from civilized tables."
"And plot insurrection?" Haakogard inquired.
This time the Comes Riton denied it more forcefully, "That would require a plan, and many men to carry it out over a long time. The Other Colonists are not capable of such action. They have no aptitude for such plans."
"But some of them kidnapped your clone," Haakogard reminded him, and continued sarcastically. "Well, you may be correct, and the Other Colonists have no reason to come against you now. Still, it seems to me that their performance was very convenient." He looked from the Comes Riton to the last two dead animals. "Tell me: do most animal trainers use such formidable beasts?"
"This troupe certainly does. They are famous for their work with the most dangerous animals," said the Comes Riton as if that settled the question. "They have been summoned here many times before, and they have performed honorably. I do not want minor skills around when there are major ones to be had." He looked toward Navigator Zim again. "I never thought they would lose control of their animals, and I apologize for putting you into danger, no matter how inadvertent it was."
"Who is to say that they lost control?" Haakogard asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "What if this was intended from the first, and they waited for the opportunity your summons provided?"
The Comes Riton glowered; there was a short, hostile silence. "You are new here, and for that reason I will not take offense at what you say. But I warn you that you are not to question me in this manner again. If you do not accept my truth, you must pose your disbelief as a question relating to known facts. Anything less would impugn my honor, and there would be trouble between us. Do you comprehend what I am saying, Mere Line Commander?" His reprimand seemed less insulting because of the sound of the voice delivering it. "Do you comprehend?"
"I hear what you say," said Haakogard.
"I remind you that you are here because I petitioned the Magnicate Alliance for support. You are here at my behest and to do my bidding." His face was rigid with fury, but still his voice held them with its resonant beauty.
'That's a thought over-simple, Most Excellent," said Group Line Chief Dachnor. "We are here to do the bidding of the Magnicate Alliance: the Alliance has ordered us to work for you, as they ordered us to work for Samblahrazi on Kousrau two years ago and Ngomai-yn on Drought Central the year before that." He watched as the next-to-the-last animal was hauled away by five soldiers. "We answer to the Alliance, not to you." He smiled a little. "No offense intended, Most Excellent Comes."
The Comes Riton glared at Dachnor and then transferred his baleful gaze to Haakogard. "I will inform the Magnicate Alliance of your statements and your actions. I will praise where it is deserved and I will upbraid where such is merited. It is clear to me that your understanding is imperfect, and so I will not hold you entirely accountable for what has been said here." His voice was as icy as it was possible for it to be.
"You must do as you think best, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard, deliberately making himself relax. "You have your duty and you must do it. Just as we must." He signaled to Navigator Zim. "Come on. All of you. We need to confer. We have reports that must be sent." He held out his hand to Zim and was pleased when she took it. His bow to the Comes Riton was so perfect it bordered on insolence.
In a surge of speed unexpected in so absurd-looking a being, the Mromrosi shot across the room on six of his eight limbs, his masses of curls a shade of yellow none of the crew had ever seen before. He stopped beside Haakogard and said, "The Emerging Planet Fairness Court will want to know about this."
"Emerging Planet Fairness—" began the Comes Riton, his sand-colored eyes filled with mockery. "What ridiculous—" Haakogard held up his hand. "It's not part of the Magnicate Alliance, Most Excellent Comes. The Mromrosi is an observer only."
"That? An observer?" Watching angrily, the Comes Riton was about to leave when he rounded on Haakogard one last time, pointing toward Thunghalis. "Take that offal with you, then." He turned away and was gone before the Petit Harriers could leave ahead of him and bring him further disgrace.