Korval's Game (36 page)

Shan inclined his head and Val Con caught the flicker of a smile in his direction.

“I’d love to join you, Commander. You should be warned, however, that Sub-Commander Kritoulkas doesn’t seem taken with me.”

“Sub-Commander Kritoulkas,” said Jason, turning to the left once again and motioning the patient sentry to move on, “isn’t taken with most people. Count yourself approved though, laddie. After all, she let you live.”

***

Val Con
had changed, Shan thought, settling next to him round the sub-commander’s hastily cobbled conference table.

He had thought so, when the two of them had spoken mind-to-mind and Val Con issued the orders that ended with four of the line direct on or near Lytaxin, and in peril of all their lives. Mind-to-mind speaking, however, had claimed more of his attention than he had supposed. The larger pattern had matched the Val Con he had known, and he hadn’t leisure, then, to peruse its subtleties.

Now, as Commander Carmody spoke apart with Sub-Commander Kritoulkas while they awaited the arrival of Val Con’s lifemate, he had leisure.

Damage. With Healer’s eyes he traced a swath of devastation through memory, heart, and thought. That there had been enough of the essence of Val Con yos’Phelium left after the storm of destruction to effect a Healing was nothing short of miraculous.

For Healing there had been. Shan traced that, too, along the brutal path of ruin. Whole segments had been regrown, others were still in process. Still other segments had been patched, strengthened, and reintegrated into the whole—a whole that was recognizably and indisputably Val Con.

Only—different.

And just now beginning to show the colors of tension and distress.

Shan blinked, brought his brother’s face into focus, and reached out to touch his hand.

“Val Con. What befell you?”

The mobile mouth tightened and Shan heard anguish and something that tasted of—shame?—along the edge of his Inner Ear, but the green eyes did not falter.

“The Department of Interior befell me.” He took a hard breath. “I’m sorry, Shan.”

Sorry? Shan shook his head, extending Healer’s senses and once more tracing the scars, the damage, so very—much—damage.

“How?”

Val Con smiled, humorless. “You don’t want to know.”

“Then at least tell me—with intent?” But even as he asked, his inner eyes found the pattern, among the layers of scarring and repair. Not a Healer’s touch, no. But the touch of someone very certain of his effects, who had inflicted his tortures with foreknowing thoroughness.

He blinked and looked again into his brother’s eyes.

“Balance will be—difficult.”

“Balance by Code,” Val Con told him, “is not an option.”

Shan nodded, seeing that resonate through the darkness of the man who was now his brother. Formerly, Val Con’s pattern had—sparked, flaring here and there with excess energy and passion. This revised person showed no such exuberance, yet passion was not dead. Merely, it was—consolidated—a hot, bright glow from the deep center of him, from that place one might call his soul.

From that lambent center, from Val Con’s very soul, leapt a construct of living opalescent flame, arching strongly and entirely out of that which was Val Con, to find its equal and apposite root—in the scintillate, stubborn essence that was Miri Robertson.

“Hey, boss.” Her voice brought him out of a contemplation of that astonishing structure and into the world that was. She slid into the vacant seat at Val Con’s left hand and nodded cordially to Shan, her Yxtrang taking up guard behind her—No, Shan corrected himself, behind
them
.

“Found your brother, I see.”

“Cha’trez.” Val Con’s smile was so tender Shan felt his stomach wrench, even as he saw the flames of the lifemate bridge ripple and flow, back and forth, from soul to soul.

“Nelirikk.” Val Con had turned in his seat to address the Yxtrang. “I find you well?”

“Very well, Scout. We have won glory for the Troop on the field, and gained two flags which hang subservient to our own.”

Val Con lifted an eyebrow and looked to his lady. “Have we a battle standard, I wonder?”

She grinned at him. “Piece of quality merchandise, too. Cultivate a little respect and we’ll show it to you, after the jaw’s done.”

“When am I not respectful?”

“You want the whole list, or will a summary do?”

“OK, here she is.” Jason Carmody broke off his conversation with the sub-commander and the two of them approached the table. He grinned.

“Redhead. Kritoulkas tells me your bunch worked like pros.”

She shook her head. “We did OK,” she said seriously. “Lost a lot of people, though.”

“Happens, when you’re running with volunteers and tyros,” Jason said, matching her seriousness. “Important thing is, you seen action and got the job done. They’ll know what to expect next time, which is fine, because the scout’s brought news of a bigger party coming our way. Seems you and Kritoulkas have earned yourselves some admirers.”

“Not just that,” Kritoulkas said in her sour way. “This last bunch of ’em were after the captain’s lifeboat. Expect they might have thought he was sent from this battleship of his down to the house. House looks like a command post. Hell, a month ago, it
was
a command post.”

Jason Carmody nodded and looked over to Shan. “Want to bring me up to speed on that?”

So, for the second time in as many days, Shan told the story of the sabotaged pod, the Yxtrang attack, and his unplanned arrival on the planet surface.

“And I find since that I’ve made a rather serious error, Commander. I honestly did think it was best for everyone to detonate the lifeboat and stop the Yxtrang armor. However, the lifeboat contained a working space-link radio, which Sub-Commander Kritoulkas tells me is something of a local rarity at the moment.”

Jase nodded. “’trang took out the satellite net first off. Standard operating procedure, according to Beautiful. We’re gonna need to know what upstairs looked like, last you saw it. Grab you a computer outta—”

“That’s done,” Val Con’s—
Miri
—spoke up. “Had him working on it soon as we pulled back here.” She reached in her jacket pocket, removed a disk and passed it over. Jason grinned.

“One step ahead of me, which is what I should have expected, my small!” He looked back to Shan, who lifted his eyebrows.

“An outline of my ship’s capabilities and strengths is also on the disk.”

“Hah! Your idea?”

“It did seem the sort of information you might find helpful,” Shan said and Jason grinned again.

“Gonna retire and let the crowd of you run the war. Call me when it’s over.”

“Might want to reconsider,” Miri said, her shoulder nestled companionably against Val Con’s. “My experience is that retirement’s a good way to get yourself into more trouble than you know the name of.”

Jase nodded. “I’ll hold off a bit, then. Not any too fond of trouble, myself.” He looked around the table, abruptly serious.

“Here’s what, people. We’re as ready up the house as stubbornness and the scout’s ingenuity can make us. Kritoulkas and me’re gonna walk the area when we’re done here, to see if we’re missing anything the ’trang might want. But we’re at a bad disadvantage when it comes to air support and cover. As in, ’trang got it, and we don’t.” He looked at Shan.

“Think that ship of yours can provide any cover?”

“We carry one space-to-world gun,” Shan said slowly. “Which is good for offense, but not particularly outstanding for defense. Besides that, we have no radio . . .”

“Don’t give up so easy,” Jase advised him. “Very possible that we’ll capture us a ’trang radio for the scout to coax into honesty. You’re right, though, son. Space-to-world weapon’s nice to have on the side of the angels, but it’s no substitute for good local air cover, which is what we don’t have, Erob’s force having gone West when ’trang bombed the fields, coming in.”

Val Con stirred. “Air cover. But would a bombing run—several bombing runs—against Yxtrang strategic targets be of just as much utility?”

Jason shrugged. “Sure. While we’re wishing for pie-in-the-sky we might as well wish for ice cream, too.”

Val Con shook his head and leaned forward across the table. “There is nothing fantastic in such a bombing run, Jason. We have here—” he pointed to Shan, to Nelirikk, and touched himself lightly on the chest—“three pilots of Master quality. We have there—” a point off to the southwest—“many dozens of aircraft.”

Jason stared. “Yxtrang aircraft.”

“True enough. However, Nelirikk is in a unique position to coach my brother and me in the fine points of an Yxtrang board. I promise you, we are both able learners. And with three planes in the air, we might do real damage. With the luck beside us, we might just possibly convince the 14th Conquest Corps that the prudent course is strategic withdrawal.”

“Hmm.” Jason stroked his beard.

“Bad plan,” Miri said flatly. Val Con turned his head, both eyebrows up.

“Miri, if it lifts, we can fly it. Neither Shan nor I has yet found his limit in piloting.” He tipped his head. “Truth, Miri.”

“I don’t doubt it. But unless you’re planning on a real spurt of growth in the next half-hour or so, it ain’t gonna work.”

“I don’t under—”

“Simple.” She cut him off and pushed her chair back, motioning him to stand up with her. “Beautiful, plant yourself there. Boss, you stand right here.” When the two of them were side by side, she stepped back, arms crossed, and hitched a hip onto the edge of the table.

“If Beautiful is standard-issue, and from what we seen, he is, you’re about a foot-and-a-half shy of make-weight.”

Shan had to admit she had a point. One did not usually think of Val Con as small, but set against the Yxtrang, he appeared almost fragile. Viewed thus, it seemed even more fantastic that Val Con had fought hand-to-hand against this giant—and
prevailed
, as both Miri and Nelirikk insisted was true.

Miri shifted abruptly, leaning forward as if she had seen the steel overlay Val Con’s pattern—which, Shan thought suddenly, she might well have.

“Ain’t no use getting stubborn,” she snapped. “Won’t change the fact that
you’re too little
! Cockpit made to hold Beautiful is gonna have stuff set outta your reach.”

“If the captain pleases,” the Yxtrang said quietly. “There is some variation in height among the Troop. Cockpits of fighter craft are somewhat adjustable. A pilot the size of the scout’s brother can easily fly.”

Miri nodded. “That’s good. Any Yxtrang pilots measure down to the scout?”

Hesitation. “Captain. No. Occasionally an—undergrown—Troop survives to adulthood. But they are never pilots.”

“Hah.” Val Con lifted an eyebrow, catching his lifemate’s eye. “
Scruffy midget
?”

Her mouth twitched. “Point is—”

“The point
is
,” Val Con interrupted, “that, if the cockpit can be made to accommodate Shan, then it can be adapted only a little more to accommodate me. We can certainly fabricate adaptations.”

“Is that right, Beautiful?” Jason Carmody asked, across whatever might have been Miri’s answer.

“Commander. I—I believe it possible.”

“Then we go with it. Three in the sky, taking out the prime points, while the rest of us shred ’em on the ground. That should set ’em to re-thinking their position.”

Sub-Commander Kritoulkas nodded. “You and Redhead want to walk the line with me now and get a feel for the situation while the pilots work out their differences? I got a feeling sooner’s the way the smart money bets.”

“Right you are.” Jason loomed to his feet. “Meet us back here in a few hours, boyo,” he said to Val Con. “We’ll want to coordinate pretty close. Coming, Redhead?”

“In a sec.” She waited until they were alone before pinning each with a glare in turn. Shan felt her will strike his and ring, like a blade off of hull plate.

“OK. The three of you work out the best way to run this gig. I understand you gotta take risks.” She looked directly at Shan, which he hardly felt was fair. “What you ain’t gotta take is
stupid
risks. Val Con.”

“Captain.”

She eyed him. “Figure your adaptations and test ’em out. When you’ve got things to where you think you can fly, I want you to think if you’d let Shan or Nelirikk or me fly with those arrangements. And if the answer comes up ‘no,’ I want you to back away from it, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Captain.”

She shook her head. “For whatever that’s worth.” Once again, her eyes touched each of them in turn. “Nothing stupid, all right? It’s an order.”

“Captain,” Nelirikk said. “We will bring glory to the Troop.”

She sighed and slid from her perch on the edge of the table. “And here I thought you were listening to me.”

***

Ship’s archive
provided latitude and longitude of Erob’s clanhouse and Priscilla ordered the
Passage
into a synchronous mid-orbit above that location. It was the least they could do for Korval’s ally, she thought.

The very least.

Since the successful repulsion of the flea attack, the Yxtrang had offered them no more harm, though Lina reported a lively interest in the
Passage
, its heading and possible mission, in the messages she monitored. It was Rusty’s particular frustration that he had not yet been able to establish a link with the planet, while listening in on Yxtrang radio chatter remained absurdly easy.

As she approached the bridge to relieve Ren Zel, she considered the problem of communication. Erob possessed a pinbeam, but ship’s archive indicated that the in-house had simply been a booster station, by which messages were sent to a satellite-based transmitter/receiver. The Yxtrang destruction of Lytaxin’s satellite defense had also taken the pinbeam, which meant that a ’beam sent from the
Passage
to the address of Erob’s receiving station would never find its mark.

But, Erob’s
in-house
might still be capable of receiving, if there were some way to deduce an address. Ren Zel argued that a broadbeam call to any and all listeners imperiled more than it might aid, but she was beginning to reconsider that. If they were clever . . .