The Morcai Battalion (3 page)

Dtimun, sitting in his spoollike command chair, listened only halfheartedly. His mind was a galaxy away, on Enmehkmehk, home planet of the Rojok Dynasty. It was there that Chacon would surely take his captive—to
Ahkmau
, the infamous death camp on one of its moons where political prisoners were kept. The thought of Lyceria in such a place was torture, even to a career soldier’s trained mind.

“ETA Trimerius?” he asked the helmsman.

“Two mekkam, Commander,” was the reply.

Komak joined the older Centaurian, and the laughing green light left his eyes. They grew blue with concern. “Your eyes speak for you,” he told Dtimun, careful lest the others hear him. “I regret Lyceria’s capture. I know that the commander’s heart was soft for her.”

“My heart is soft for no one.” Dtimun’s darkened eyes belied the words. His gaze went to the main viewscreen. “
Maliche
, I could make more speed in a crippled scout! Are your gravs malfunctioning, helmsman?”

The pilot glanced at him. “I have not fired them, Commander,” he said, and his eyes went to Komak.

“I assumed,” Komak told the commander, “that you would wish a lesser speed to keep the Earth ship under surveillance. Should it encounter a Rojok patrol, its defense systems would render it incapable of a counterattack. Human ship designers make no allowance for stabilizing BEK gyros and reflectors such as ours.”

Dtimun glared at the younger Centaurian. “I will not play parent
to an inferior shipload of aliens. I have no more love for humans than does the Rojok tyrant Mangus Lo, or his field marshal, Chacon.”

“Were it our race that Mangus Lo persecuted in his death camps,” Komak said quietly, “instead of the humans, I think your sympathies might find more interest in them.”

“By
Simalichar
, you try my patience!” Dtimun stood up. His chameleon eyes faded from a concerned blue to a questioning gray. “What merit can there be in a race whose entire history is preoccupied with pride in cruelty and contempt for life?”

Komak’s eyes went green with mischief. “I had not known that the commander’s library included textdiscs on human history.”

Dtimun ignored him.

Komak studied the older alien with respectful eyes. In a society where Clan was life itself, the commander wore no Clan insignia and claimed no allegiances. He was as mysterious as he was feared and respected by his men. In his years of commanding the Holconcom, no challenge to his authority had ever been given. Not even by the emperor, whom Dtimun treated with utter disdain. His ongoing feud with old Tnurat Alamantimichar, head of the Dectat, was legendary in the space services. No one knew what had started it. No one dared ask. But Komak knew things about him that the other crewmen didn’t. Dtimun was aware that Komak’s odd outbursts of insight had a basis in fact. It had been disconcerting when he realized that Komak knew more about him than he’d anticipated. As he thought about it, Dtimun glared at Komak.

“Commander,” the comtech called out, “the Earth ship has disengaged her lightsteds and is slowing to a crawl. I show two Rojok destroyers trailing her.”

Dtimun turned his angry eyes from Komak to the viewscreen at his semicircle console. The Rojoks were already firing when he
engaged the video. The Earth ship hung as if dead in space, offering no resistance as salvo after salvo connected with her hull and sent her reeling to and fro. Then, with the suddenness of a cosmic storm, she turned slowly and began to pick up speed as she began a run that would take her on a collision course with the lead Rojok vessel.

“Is that black-eyed captain of theirs a madman?” Dtimun growled. “What use can this strategy serve? Komak, check the energy scanner.”

Komak’s hands flew over the scanner switches on the command console. “His weaponry is useless,” he reported. “His fuel output reads less than one-quarter capacity and his repulsers are almost gone. I estimate two more hits will finish him.”

Dtimun watched the sleek starship bear down on the Rojok, so quickly that the enemy ship couldn’t possibly get out of the way in time. “I understand his motive,” he said. “A laudable last resort, but a hollow victory. Helmsman, hard about and prime main batteries!”

“Aye, sir.”

Dtimun dropped into the command chair with his long fingers barely touching the master weaponry control panel. It was going to require precision timing, this maneuver. If he fired too soon, the second Rojok vessel would have time to destroy the Earth ship. If he fired too late, the spray pattern would destroy both ships.

The
Morcai
began to bear down on the Rojoks like a flash of light, and the stars around her seemed to be speeding in the opposite direction in her wake.

“I register a scan,” Komak said quickly. “The Rojok has spotted us.”

Dtimun’s fingers tensed on the firing switch. “If he changes course,” he said tightly, “I may cost the human his ship. Helmsman, take me in on a deflect pattern, close range. Time will allow me only one shot. I want the best I can manage.”

“Yes, Commander. Leaving over now on deflect course. Engines ahead, full-drive.”

Dtimun focused his huge eyes on the screen. His long fingers curled around the firing switch. Out in space, the Rojok grew like a suddenly inflated balloon, filling the viewscreen.

Holt Stern sat quietly in his chair, watching the Rojok flash toward the
Bellatrix
, with a deceptive numbness in his chest. The bridge already had the feel of a morgue as each crew member spent his last seconds in stonelike aloneness, untouching, unspeaking. Stern clenched his teeth to hold back the fear. At least, he thought ironically, the headache would die with him. And then, the Rojok ship filled the viewscreen…

The Rojok came screaming in toward the
Bellatrix
. There was a final surge of power as Higgins ordered the astrogator to throw the throttle wide-open. Then, quite suddenly, a ball of green mist enveloped the enemy ship.

It took Stern precious seconds to realize what was happening. In a mind yielded to death, thought came slowly.

“Full about!” he barked at the astrogator, praying the man would recover fast enough to make the maneuver. A split second’s delay, and the
Bellatrix
would go up in atoms along with the Rojok.

“Aye, sir!” The astrogator’s thin, trembling hands seemed to hit the switches in slow motion.

Stern felt the huge starship vibrate like a running heart with the sudden braking. She bolted under the pressure, as if torn apart between time and speed. Then, with a recovery that was nothing short of miraculous, she began to turn and inch away from the doomed Rojok ship. In seconds that were centuries to her crew, she pulled away with a rippling burst of speed just as the Rojok ship exploded in silent
fireworks out in the eternal night. The shock wave that came in her wake was enough to rattle the scanners on the bridge.

“God!” Stern breathed in mingled relief and gratitude.

“Sir, we’ve got the megatrons back in working order, now,” Higgins said quickly. “Not nearly up to par, but I think we’ve got enough charge to hit the other Rojok.”

“Lock on target and fire at will!” Stern told him.

“On target, Captain. Megas away!”

Stern watched the blue bolts fly into the second Rojok with boyish excitement. The resulting explosion was no less enjoyable than the first had been, and the colorful display produced nothing more than a light jar to the
Bellatrix
. Stern leaned back in his chair with a long, shuddering sigh.

“Good work, Higgins,” he told his exec. His eyes went to the astrogator and fished for a name, and was surprised when he couldn’t find it. “What’s your name, son?” he asked.

The astrogator gaped at him. “Why…it’s Crandall, sir.”

Stern nodded. “Crandall. Good man.”

“We’re lucky you spotted the first attack in time,” Higgins said with a grin at his commanding officer. “If you hadn’t, we’d be atoms by now.”

“Speaking of attacks,” Stern said, leaning forward, “where did that one come from?”

“Had to be the Centaurian,” Higgins replied. “But he’s…”

“Interspace comm coming in, sir,” the comtech broke in.

“Throw it over here, Jennings. Higgins, get me a damage report.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stern switched on the viewscreen, to be met with a pair of slightly amused pale green cat-eyes. “You present an interesting case for your race, Captain,” Dtimun said over the screen. “I had not credited it with such ingenuity. Status of your vessel?”

“Higgins?” Stern asked.

Higgins’s thin face seemed to grow longer. “Sir, we took a hit amidships. Damage control reports thirty injuries and fifty-five dead, including our Amazon unit,” he added, noting the specialized female attack squad that was regulation aboard all SSC vessels. Females served in combat, as well as in support units. Many former members of Amazon squads, like Madeline Ruszel, were now officers. A good many were assigned to SSC ships like the
Bellatrix
, although Stern had no female bridge crew on this particular mission due to rotation and R & R.

The Amazon units were the most well-known, the most respected of the SSC’s forward units. They were known even by outworlders like the misogynist Centaurians. Madeline Ruszel had started out in an Amazon unit before she felt an inexplicable urge to practice medicine and petitioned for the right to be sent to medical school. She had a soft spot for the Amazons, especially for the unit that served aboard the
Bellatrix
. Its commanding officer had gone through training with Madeline.

“Damn!” Stern cursed. Madeline was going to take the news hard. “All of them?”

“Yes, sir,” Higgins replied. “It gets worse. Our backup fuel units were destroyed, we have three crushed bulkheads, and our primary engine batteries are dead. We’ve also got grav holes that we have no means of plugging. We’re leaking atmosphere at a lethal rate. Unless that Centaurian ship has a repair deck, we’re…well, we’re finished, sir.”

Stern stared at him blankly. “In other words,” he said quietly, “we’re a dead ship.” He sighed and turned back to Dtimun’s image on the viewscreen. “Nice try, Commander, but you might as well have let the Rojoks take us out. We’d need two weeks in a shipyard just to begin repairs.”

“If you expect to find one this deep in captured territory, I
withdraw my former statement regarding your ingenuity,” Dtimun replied. “Prepare for ship-to-ship lock. I’m evacuating your crew and complement to the
Morcai
.”

“With all due respect,” Stern protested, “you could just as easily throw a towbeam on us and…”

“Such a rescue operation is beyond the capability of my vessel,” Dtimun replied. “Considering our normal cruising speed, your ship would be ripped in two by the pressure. You have your orders.” The screen went blank.

Stern glanced around the somber bridge crew. Their faces were mildly accusing. He almost understood the feeling. The
Bellatrix
had been home for six years, and her deck had a familiar feel. But what could he do with such a damaged vessel except scuttle her?

“Higgins,” he said, rising, “order abandon ship and tell the medics to start loading their patients into the port escape hatches. Prepare for ship-to-ship lock.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Higgins replied halfheartedly.

“Something on your mind, Higgins?” Stern asked.

The executive officer eyed him quietly. “Just one thing, sir. We’re damaged, sure, but couldn’t we call for help?”

Stern felt sick. “We’d be a sitting duck, with Rojoks everywhere and no weapons. Dream on, son.”

“Yes, sir. I guess you’re right. I just hate giving up our ship.”

He watched his exec as he walked away, with growing resentment. For the first time he could remember, he felt a vague distaste for the entire crew.

The darkness had already fallen on Enmehkmehk when Lyceria was taken from the Rojok ship with her head solidly encased in an opaque helmet. Except for the bonds on her slender wrists, she might have passed for a female Rojok soldier in the thin copper armor she wore.

She knew better than to make an outcry. Her captors had warned her of the consequences. She followed them meekly, gracefully, through the gemstone streets, past the glowing multidome architecture that housed the barracks of Enmehkmehk’s largest military base.
Maliche
, she thought, surely they wouldn’t imprison her in a common soldier’s barracks! She was a member of the Royal Clan. It would be an outrage that would reverberate all the way home to Memcache, the home planet of the Centaurian Empire and the emperor, her father, himself! No power in space would save Mangus Lo from the Holconcom if she were harmed.

But it seemed that the Rojoks had no fear of her people, because
the barracks were, indeed, her destination. She was taken into a small circular building adjacent to the main complex and thrown unceremoniously into a small compartment. A heavy door was lowered, and she found herself in complete darkness.

Her huge eyes dilated to let in the faint light, and she had her first look at her new surroundings.

There was nothing in the room except for a small synthesizer on the wall. But she could see two panels near it that would account for a retractable couch and toilet facilities. The floor under her was crystalline and cold, but it was spongy, too, and it broke her fall so that she didn’t even feel bruised. Perhaps its function was to absorb force, as well as sound. The walls seemed made of the same amber glowing crystal.

Her hands were still tied. Groggily she pulled her aching body up and walked cautiously to the synthesizer. Leaning against the cool wall, she touched the button to the left of the oval housing with her chin. A contoured couch inched its way out of the curved wall and spread onto the floor. She dropped down onto it, noting that it was made of the same shock-absorbing material as the floor and walls. She worked at her bonds. They were tight, but perhaps they could be loosened with some careful meditation.

Her slender body relaxed on the soft couch. Her eyes closed. She drew inside herself, seeking the strength she would need for the task at hand. Slowly, gently, she focused her mind on the bonds. Concentrating, gently concentrating, she saw them loosen and fall to the soft material under them. Fall, she thought. Fall. Fall!

Her hands were suddenly free. She stood up gracefully, rubbing her sore wrists. Her hands reached up to the thick helmet still on her head. She wrenched it off and tossed it angrily against the wall.

In the dim light, a pale green colored the pupils of her large, elongated eyes. The door was next. Only a little more concentration, and…

Before she could finish the thought, the door shot up and two Rojok soldiers tramped into the compartment. One of them grabbed her roughly and held her down, while the other jammed a tiny cylinder against the bare flesh of her arm. There was a stabbing pain, followed by numbness.

“What…have you done?” she demanded, breathless.

“You will soon know,” one of them said, grinning down at her with pale slit eyes in a copper-colored face.

She felt a wave of nausea. Then the room began to grow dark around her. She pitched forward, her legs turning to jelly beneath her. The couch rising up to meet her was the last thing she saw.

Komak was busily directing the humans to their berths when Stern walked through the ship-to-ship elevator tube onto the main deck of the
Morcai
. It was noticeably colder and there was a smell to it that, while not unpleasant, was definitely alien.

Stern hadn’t expected the space he found. Twelve men could walk abreast in the corridor without touching shoulders. The bulkheads were curved and glowed with soft, white light. Centaurians dressed in the familiar red uniform trotted noiselessly past with a military precision and routine that was fascinating to watch.

“I know you, Captainholtstern!” Komak said in greeting, running the human’s name together as was his custom, because he had scant knowledge of human address protocol. His green eyes twinkled as he approximated an SSC salute. “As you see, I have studied your Terravegan protocols!”

Stern threw him a salute, too tired and angry to react well to the younger man’s banter. “Request permission to come aboard, sir,” he said formally.

The young alien’s eyes faded to a somber, questioning blue as he
stared unnervingly at Stern. “Excuse me, is there some significance among your people to this question?” he asked politely.

Stern relaxed his military posture with a frown. “It’s military tradition in our branch of the space services to ask permission to board another ship,” he explained. “Like the salute, it’s a custom held over from seafaring days on ancient Earth, the home world of the Terravegan colonies. I’m a Terravegan,” he added when the alien looked puzzled.

“We do not salute one another,” Komak replied. “Only the commander is accorded such respect.” The boy’s eyes went suddenly green with mischief. “He has forbidden us to salute even the emperor, Tnurat Alamantimichar. I think it has caused the head of Clan Alamantimichar much discomfort at ceremonial occasions, which is one of the few things that cause the commander’s eyes to laugh.”

“I know another one,” Stern said resentfully, remembering the other alien’s amusement at the loss of Stern’s ship.

“Where can I set up my surgery?” Dr. Madeline Ruszel interrupted. She was flushed and furious. She’d just come aboard, heading a team of medics guiding ambulifts, and her drawn face showed not only the strain of the rushed evacuation, but of the loss of the Amazon unit, as well. “I’ve got people dying over here!”

“Follow me,” Komak told her at once. He led the medics into what appeared to be a mess hall, with Stern bringing up the rear. The ambulifts were quickly loaded onto the long, oval tables against the bulkheads while Madeline supervised the placing and energized the sterilization units on the cylinders. The young alien watched her with odd interest. Perhaps, she thought, it was her red hair that intrigued him. She was the only member of Stern’s crew with hair that color.

“Stern, I need
morphadrenin,
” she called over her shoulder. “Every gram I can lay hands on. And if the C.O. can spare some qualified help, I’d be in his debt.”

Stern glanced at Komak. “How about it?”

“The commander’s contempt for medics is second only to that which he holds for our emperor,” the alien replied somberly. “We carry no complement of medics aboard. But I will inform the commander of the need for additional medical stores. Shall you come with me, Captainholtstern?” he asked, apparently fascinated by Madeline. Odd, he looked at her as if he knew her, somehow…

“Lay on, McDuff,” Stern agreed with a grin at Madeline.

“My name is not McDuff,” Komak said, puzzled. “It is Komak, of the Clan Maltiche. You have heard of it, of course,” he added with faint arrogance.

“Oh, yeah,” Stern quipped. “It ranks along with the great Clans of Jones and Smith back home.”

“Jones and…?” Komak faltered.

“Never mind,” Stern said impatiently. “Let’s go. Maddie, I’ll see what I can do about your supplies,” he called over his shoulder as she went quickly back to work.

Komak started off at a fast trot. Stern increased his pace to keep up with the long legs of the Centaurian. “What’s the rush?” Stern asked. “Everybody on this ship seems to be on his way to battle stations all the time.”

“It is routine aboard the
Morcai
,” Komak informed him. “All personnel are required to run from post to post. Elevator tubes are strictly outlawed for crew use, as well,” he added, bounding onto a ladder that led to the upper deck.

“Uh-huh.” Stern got brief glimpses inside the various sectors they passed as they climbed access ladders up three decks. Nothing looked familiar. There was alien script on the walls, unreadable and unpronounceable, denoting departments. The temperature was at least ten degrees cooler than the
Bellatrix
. The alien, spicy smell of the corri
dors was overpowering. And the icy looks the human got from passing members of the Holconcom were uncomfortable. Stern began to feel like an invading disease. If his reception as an ally officer was this cool and resented, his people could expect even less. Madeline, of all his crew, was going to feel the pressure keenly, since the Centaurian empire did not allow females aboard its warships. He hoped the trip back to the Tri-Galaxy Fleet base on Trimerius would be quick.

Stern was winded by the time they got to the command deck of the enormous vessel. The oval, high-domed bridge made the
Bellatrix
’s bridge look cramped and primitive by comparison. Above his head, a second bridge circled the main sector like a smooth, white balcony. And both bridges seemed to be perfectly coordinated, as well as efficiently manned. The ten crewmen on the lower level maintained their posts with a silence that would have been impossible for a human crew.

Dtimun, noticing the approach of the human, rose from his spool-like command chair and joined Komak and Stern beside the communications banks. Stern saluted unconsciously, but Dtimun waved it aside without returning it.

“Your people are evacuated?” he asked formally.

“Every one,” Stern replied. “What about the
Bellatrix?
”

“Your ship?” Dtimun nodded at a crewman against the opposite bulkhead. A viewscreen was activated which covered the width and length of half the command sector. The
Bellatrix
hung there in black space like a charm suspended by a chain. A flash of bluish-green light shot out from the
Morcai
’s copper hull and enveloped the sleek star-cruiser. Then, there was a violent red explosion that came and passed without a sound. Only empty space was left.

“We leave no vessel behind where the enemy might salvage tech,” Komak explained.

Stern’s eyebrow jerked carelessly. “She was a good ship,” he said quietly, and wondered why he didn’t feel a sense of loss for his command vessel.

Komak drew to attention and jerked his head in a salute. “Commander, Dr. Madelineruszel,” he continued, running her names together again, “has requested supplies of
morphadrenin
and medical assistance. I informed her that we carry no medics, but…”

“Dr. who?” Dtimun asked, frowning slightly.

“The female with hair like sunfire,” Komak explained. “She is a medic among the humans. I have given her the mess hall on deck four for her surgery. Dr. Hahnson has the supply sector on deck four. The other crewmen of the
Bellatrix
await assignment. I did not know where to place them.”

“
Maliche
, can no one function without using my brain?” the alien exploded with darkening eyes. “Ascertain their specialties and place them in the appropriate departments!”

“The
morphadrenin?
” Komak persisted, apparently not put off by his superior’s bad humor.

Dtimun actually seemed to flush with anger. “I carry on my person nothing save the communicator ring you see on my forefinger,” he told the younger alien. “I am not a walking ordnance store! Show the mutinous female where the synthesizer is located and acquaint her with its use!”

“Yes, Commander.”

“And make the humans aware that they must not come in contact with the
kelekoms
,” he added at once. “They carry unknown bacteria that might harm the machines.”

Stern’s eyes almost popped. “Bacteria…”

“The
kelekoms
are our, how do you say, supercomputers,” Komak explained at once. “They are living, self-repairing biological entities,
and they are extremely sensitive to alien bacteria. If they become ill, they do not work.”

Stern blinked, only half understanding what he was being told. This technology was far in advance of anything the Tri-Fleet had.

“Tell Hahnson I will expect him to keep his medics in line, and out of the way of my crew,” Dtimun told Stern.

The comment almost flew by Stern. He frowned. “Hahnson?”

“He is chief of your medical staff, is he not?” Dtimun replied.

“No, sir,” Stern told him. “Dr. Ruszel is.”

Dtimun stared at him blankly. “The female? A female commands your medics?”

Stern cleared his throat. “Sir, I do understand that Centaurian social structure is far different from our own. We don’t differentiate between male and female in our military. We’re mentally neutered to the degree that ’relationships’ between enlisted personnel are impossible. Even if they weren’t, it’s the only death penalty left on our books.”

“Your military is mad,” Dtimun said flatly. “Women have no place in combat.”

“If you tell that to Madeline Ruszel, make sure you have a running head start,” Stern murmured, tongue-in-cheek. “She started out as a member of our Amazon Commandos. In fact, she captained a squad of them.”

Dtimun shook his head in disbelief. “How many other females do you have in your complement?”

“We had thirty-six, but our entire Amazon unit was wiped out during the Rojok encounter,” Stern said quietly. “Madeline’s taking it hard. She went through training with the unit’s commander.”