Korval's Game (22 page)

Nelirikk stood for a moment, then forced himself to move over to the place where his pack lay beside the shameful rifle. He had sworn, he reminded himself, as he reached inside and removed the recall beacon. He had sworn, and the Troop had sent him to die, which was the least of the Troop’s sins against him.

Yet, it was as hard as anything he had done in his life, to pull the beacon out and lay it in the fragile hand of a man of the race of the enemy.

The scout received the beacon with a bow, green eyes solemn.

“Battle-duty, Explorer. I do not ask you to forgive it. I only say that I would not require it of you, for less than the lives which must be preserved.”

The understanding of an arms-mate, from one who was no soldier? Nelirikk felt something in him ease, and he nodded in the Terran manner.

“I hear you. It is no shame, that a soldier fight as a soldier must.” He drew a breath. “You will wish to know the place,” he said, and rummaged in the pack once more for the captured map.

“Here,” he said, unfolding it on the floor between them. The scout knelt down to see where his finger pointed, studied the area and nodded—nodded again as Nelirikk recited the procedure for sounding the recall.

“I shall contrive,” he said, rising lightly to his meager height. “And now I shall leave you to your duty, and attend mine. I advise you—as a comrade—be on time to the captain.”

A bow without flourish and he vanished through the open doorway. Nelirikk cinched the pack, picked up the useless rifle and walked over to that tempting portal. The small stone room beyond was empty, though there was doubtless a sentry outside the door in the right-hand wall. Still, a blow from the rifle would settle a sentry and gain him a working firearm.

The rifle was heavy in his hand. He had sworn, by Jela. And the Troop had sent him uselessly to die.

Nelirikk walked back inside the larger room, lay the rifle next to the pack and carried a packing crate over to the computer. He sat down, adjusted the height of keyboard and screen, read the first question, and began to type.

***

“OK,”
Miri told her troops. “Dismissed. Arms drill in an hour.”

The vets she’d inherited—a couple ’falks, like Winston, who’d asked for the patrol, and a handful of others who had been separated from their units by the invasion—swung on out toward the mess tent like they’d just had a nap instead of a twenty mile hike. The greenies mooched out considerably slower, a couple walking like their feet hurt. Which, Miri conceded, they probably did.

In point of fact, her own back hurt from the unaccustomed weight of a full equipment pack, rifle and comm. But she stood tall until the last of the Irregulars was out of sight before sighing and reaching for the straps.

“Tired, cha’trez?” His voice was in her ear, his hands taking the weight of the pack as she eased it down.

“Tell you what it is,” she said, as his hands settled on her shoulders, “I got soft.”

“Ah,” Val Con replied, comprehensively. His fingers were kneading gently, finding and smoothing the knots in her muscles, apparently by instinct. Miri sighed and bent her head forward. He rubbed the back of her neck.

“Gods, that’s good. Don’t get carried away, though. I wanna be alert when I introduce your pet Yxtrang to his unit.”

“
Our
pet Yxtrang,” he corrected, softly. She felt him shift balance, and then shivered with pleasure as he ran his tongue around the edge of her ear.

“Watch that stuff. I’m an officer.”

“So am I.” He nipped her earlobe lightly, hands pressing her waist.

Miri sighed, savoring the sensation a second longer, then slowly straightened. Val Con released her immediately, though she seemed to feel a moment of wistful lust, echoing and enforcing her own feelings, just before she turned to face him.

“Got more ways than a kitten, don’cha?” She smiled, reached out to touch his cheek, tracing the line of the scar.

“If the captain pleases.”

“Big joke,” she said mournfully, shaking her head. “Now, I think the new addition to the family is just as respectful as he oughta be. Do you good to watch how he carries on.”

“I assure you, I intend to watch how he carries on very carefully, indeed.”

She cocked her head. “Hey, you were the guy took his oath and sponsored him into the Irregulars.
Now
you got second thoughts?”

“Say rather that I do not dice with my lady’s life. Nelirikk undertakes no easy thing here. To completely cut himself off from his people, his culture, his language? Worse, to give an oath of service and go to live among the enemy, the most of whom see him as an object to be vilified, hated, and feared?” He shook his head.

“Wishing only to honor his oath, yet he may fail of it.”

Miri stared at him. “So you figure he’ll crack quick?”

“I figure,” Val Con said, taking her hand and beginning to walk slowly in the direction of the mess tent, “that the luck has favored us, in that Nelirikk has been so badly used by his people. I take him for a man who possesses a strong and innate sense of Balance, else he would never have allowed himself to be persuaded to that oath. If we are clever, and give him what he starves for—work, discipline, and respect—we may yet preserve him.”

Miri chewed on that awhile as they continued their meander across the grass. “How come you’re so interested in this guy? I know you said you owe him, but there’s something more than that, ain’t there?”

There was a small silence. “This
Jela
whom Nelirikk swears by—he of the neck-jewel?”

She nodded.

“One of the founders of Clan Korval was Cantra yos’Phelium’s partner, a man named Jela, who had been a soldier. It is Jela’s Tree that our clan watches over, in fulfillment of an oath he had from Cantra to keep it safe, should he fall. My study of Korval’s Diaries inclines me to believe that Nelirikk’s Jela is that identical soldier.”

“Oh.”

Diaries from a time before Terra had space. A soldier in the family who happened to have the same name as some Yxtrang war-leader. A tree which was paid the courtesy of a bow and a promise to recall it to its parent. Miri sighed to herself.

He believes every word of it, Robertson. Look at the man’s pattern. He might be crazy, but he ain’t lying.

“So what’s that make you?” she asked, as they approached the mess tent. “Cousins?”

He smiled and squeezed her hand lightly. “More like students of the same master.”

She let him see her sigh this time. “OK,” she said. “We’ll give the man his shot.”

“Thank you, cha’trez,” Val Con murmured, dropping her hand and allowing her to preceed him into the tent. “And remember, I will be watching.”

***

The vets arrived
on the field first, took their places and composed themselves to wait for the newbies to straggle in and sort themselves into lines.

A tall figure strode smartly across the field, straight up to where Miri stood near the situation board, Val Con at her back.

“Reporting for duty, Captain.” Nelirikk snapped a sharp salute, now he had the merc way of it. Not only that, he was on time—not late, not early.
On time
.

Bland-faced, she took his salute, then walked around him as she had the first time, with him nothing but blood, sweat, and nerves and looking as much like a street brawler as a soldier.

Today, leathers gleaming and boots glowing, he was clearly a soldier. His utility belt held its pouch and the knife he had used in the fight with Val Con, enclosed in a battered but well-oiled sheath. He stood at attention like he meant it, eyes front while she completed her leisurely circuit.

He was big, but totally lacking the exuberant massiveness that characterized Jase Carmody. Nelirikk, Miri thought, lived private. His eyes might give him away. Maybe.

Without the tattoos, his face was ordinary: two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and a decidedly square jaw. The rapid-grown hair was sandy brown and wavy. The mustache was a sandy brown brush over the thin unsmiling mouth.

Circuit done, she crossed her arms and looked up at him.

“Explorer. Is your kit complete?”

“If the captain pleases. I have not a sidearm.”

“I see that. Anything else missing?”

“No, Captain.”

“Enough ration-bars for your needs?”

“If the captain pleases. I am not informed of a mission. The kit and rations are more than adequate for general use.”

Miri nodded. “Can you march in those boots today?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Could you march in them again tomorrow?”

“Yes, Captain.”

What she did then was probably as stupid as anything Val Con’d done on behalf of this man, but she didn’t question the right of it. A soldier who didn’t have a sidearm was no soldier at all. Nelirikk, a pro, would know that, right down in his gut.

“Think you can work with the quartermaster?”

The tiniest flicker of surprise at the back of those careful blue eyes. “Yes, Captain.”

“Good. After arms practice, you’ll draw a sidearm and ammo.”

“
Yes
, Captain.”

“All right,” Miri said, flicking a look over the field. The lines were formed now, soldiers at field rest. Time for class.

“Consider yourself on duty. And remember to draw extra protein and a second dessert at mess. Orders from the head med tech.”

“Yes, Captain.”

She marched forward, Nelirikk at her shoulder. Val Con took his usual place, a little off to the side of the main action, and stood there, bland-faced and perfectly calm. His pattern, when she looked at it, displayed some interesting tensions, but no real alarm. He was watching, like he’d said. Aware of the possibility of danger.

“All right, Irregulars,” she called out over a field that was suddenly very quiet, indeed. “This is Beautiful. He’s my aide and he’ll be assisting in today’s hand-to-hand drill. Squads count off by threes and—”

“That is an Yxtrang!”

Oh, hell
, Miri thought, locating the miscreant. jin’Bardi. Of course it
would
be jin’Bardi. Man hadn’t given her a minute’s peace since he’d showed up at Erob’s in the first wave of refugees from the city. Worst part was, when he put his mind to it, he could soldier.

“No chatter!” Reynolds, that was, a vet from Higdon’s Howlers, and, like the rest of the vets, strawboss to a double-dozen newbies. jin’Bardi, predictably, ignored him.

“I say that thing is an Yxtrang, Captain! Do you deny it?”

Miri glared him down the field, which didn’t do much good, jin’Bardi being a mean-tempered somebody, and answered, voice level and pitched to carry to the last soldiers on the field.

“I say this man is an Irregular, mister. Report for kitchen duty after arms practice.” She looked out over the quiet field. “Count off.”

“And I say no!” jin’Bardi left his place and ran toward her. She felt Val Con shift—stopped him with a shoulder-twitch.

“At ease, Beautiful.”

“That is not a man!” jin’Bardi yelled, voice echoing over the field. “And if you think that it is, you are not fit to lead this unit!”

You damn fool
, Miri thought at jin’Bardi. The vets exchanged glances among themselves, and Winston took the lead.

“Now, see, among us real mercs, there’s a tradition, kinda, where if somebody don’t like the way the captain’s leading, they can go hand-to-hand and whoever wins, their opinion wins, too. I ain’t especially advising you to try that against Cap’n Redhead. What I’m advising for you is to take the fifty years kitchen patrol you just earned, and get back in line so’s we can drill.”

He paused and looked around the field, his gaze crossing Miri’s for an instant. One eyelid flicked in a wink.

“I ain’t got no problem with Beautiful joining up. Fact, I’m glad to have him. Can always tell a real soldier by the way he keeps himself, and shows proper respect to command.”

The tension was easing out of the field—or it would have if jin’Bardi hadn’t chosen that particular moment to sing out, loud and clear: “Fine, then! I challenge the captain here and now to hand-to-hand combat.”

Miri sighed wearily, sensing rather than seeing Val Con drifting in from the sidelines. Beautiful stood at her back, at ease like she’d told him. She hoped.

“jin’Bardi, you got a deathwish?”

“Afraid to fight me, Captain?”

“In your dreams.” Damn the man. Nothing for it, now. “Troops!” she shouted across the field. “Form a circle.”

She unbuckled her belt and handed it to Beautiful, who slung it over his right shoulder, which, by a fascinating coincidence placed her sidearm in position for a reasonably quick draw. He folded her battle-jacket carefully and placed it between his feet.

jin’Bardi stripped off his belt and jacket and looked around, but nobody was offering to hold them. He dumped the jacket onto the ground, belt on top.

The circle had formed to include Beautiful. Winston was on one side of him, Miri noticed. Reynolds was on the other. Val Con was on the far side of the circle, not quite directly opposite Beautiful. She hoped he had sense enough not to interfere with this one. There really wasn’t any need for him to be concerned. She could take jin’Bardi hand-to-hand. The problem was going to be remembering not to kill him.

In the center of the circle, she turned to face jin’Bardi.

“Beautiful!” she called out. “Give the mark.”

“Mark in three, Captain. One Captain. Two Captain. Three.”

jin’Bardi came in fast, like she’d known he would, trying to startle her into a stumble. She sidestepped, got a foot around his ankle and a hand under his elbow and let him do most of the work of flipping himself onto his back.

He hit hard, but came up in a quick snarl of motion, and was heading back, low this time, and it wasn’t until he was right on her that she saw the telltale gleam.

She twisted and at least he knew better than to lead with the knife. She countered with a move Val Con had taught her, dancing away, feinting in with a kick, tempting the knife.

And jin’Bardi, the idiot, took the bait.

It was quick, then. She slapped the knife away and gave him a ride over her shoulder, slamming him flat. The air went out of him with an audible
whoosh
and while he was seeing stars, she spun, grabbed the knife, and spun back, pinning his arms with her knees, and put the edge under his ear until she saw the first drop of blood and real fear in jin’Bardi’s eyes.