Ensign Flandry

16

Dragoika flowed to a couch, reclined on one elbow, and gestured at Flandry. “Don’t pace in that caged way, Domma-neek,” she urged. “Take ease by my side. We have scant time alone together, we two friends.”

Behind her throaty voice, up through the window, came the sounds of feet shuffling about, weapons rattling, a surflike growl. Flandry stared out. Shiv Alley was packed with armed Kursovikians. They spilled past sight, among gray walls, steep red roofs, carved beams: on into the Street Where They Fought, a cordon around this house. Spearheads and axes, helmets and byrnies flashed in the harsh light of Saxo; banners snapped to the wind, shields bore monsters and thunderbolts luridly colored. It was no mob. It was the fighting force of Ujanka, summoned by the Sisterhood. Warriors guarded the parapets on Seatraders’ Castle and the ships lay ready in Golden Bay.

Lucifer!

Flandry thought, half dismayed. Did I start this?

He looked back at Dragoika. Against the gloom of the chamber, the barbaric relics which crowded it, her ruby eyes and the striped orange-and-white fur seemed to glow, so that the curves of her body grew disturbingly rich. She tossed back her blonde mane, and the half-human face broke into a smile whose warmth was not lessened by the fangs. “We were too busy since you came,” she said. “Now, while we wait, we can talk. Come.”

He crossed the floor, strewn with aromatic leaves in his honor, and took the couch by hers. A small table in the shape of a flower stood between, bearing a ship model and a flagon. Dragoika sipped. “Will you not share my cup, Dom-maneek?”

“Well … thanks.” He couldn’t refuse, though Starkadian wine tasted grim on his palate. Besides, he’d better get used to native viands; he might be living off them for a long while. He fitted a tube to his chowlock and sucked up a bit.

It was good to wear a regular sea-level outfit again, air helmet, coverall, boots, after being penned in a spacesuit. The messenger Dragoika sent for him, to the Terran station in the High Housing, had insisted on taking back such a rig.

“How have you been?” Flandry asked lamely.

“As always. We missed you, I and Ferok and your other old comrades. How glad I am the Archer was in port.”

“Lucky for me!”

“No, no, anyone would have helped you. The folk down there, plain sailors, artisans, merchants, ranchers, they are as furious as I am.” Dragoika erected her tendrils. Her tail twitched, the winglike ears spread wide. “That those vaz-gira-dek would dare bite you!”

“Hoy,” Flandry said. “You have the wrong idea. I haven’t disowned Terra. My people are simply the victims of a lie and our task is to set matters right.”

“They outlawed you, did they not?”

“I don’t know what the situation is. I dare not communicate by radio. The vaz-Merseian could overhear. So I had your messenger give our men a note which they were asked to fly to Admiral Enriques. The note begged him to send a trustworthy man here.”

“You told me that already. I told you I would make quite plain to the vaz-Terran, they will not capture my Domma-neek. Not unless they want war.”

“But—”

“They don’t. They need us worse than we need them, the more so when they failed to reach an accord with the vaz-Siravo of the Zletovar.”

“They did?” Flandry’s spirit drooped.

“Yes, as I always said would happen. Oh, there have been no new Merseian submarines. A Terran force blasted the Siravo base, when we vaz-Kursovikian were unable to. The vaz-Merseian fought them in the air. Heaven burned that night. Since then, our ships often meet gunfire from swimmers, but most of them get through. They tell me combat between Terran and Merseian has become frequent—elsewhere in the world, however.”

Another step up the ladder, Flandry thought. More men killed, Tigeries, seafolk. By now, I suppose, daily. And in a doomed cause.

“But you have given me small word about your deeds,” Dragoika continued. “Only that you bear a great secret. What?”

“I’m sorry.” On an impulse, Flandry reached out and stroked her mane. She rubbed her head against his palm. “I may not tell even you.”

She sighed. “As you wish.” She picked up the model galley. Her fingers traced spars and rigging. “Let me fare with you a ways. Tell me of your journey.”

He tried. She struggled for comprehension. “Strange, that yonder,” she said. “The little stars become suns, this world of ours shrunk to a dustmote; the weirdness of other races, the terrible huge machines—” She clutched the model tight. “I did not know a story could frighten me.”

“You will learn to live with a whole heart in the universe.” You must.

“Speak on, Domma-neek.”

He did, censoring a trifle. Not that Dragoika would mind his having traveled with Persis; but she might think he preferred the woman to her as a friend, and be hurt.

“—trees on Merseia grow taller than here, bearing a different kind of leaf—”

His wristcom buzzed. He stabbed the transmitter button. “Ensign Flandry.” His voice sounded high in his ears. “Standing by.”

“Admiral Enriques,” from the speaker. “I am approaching in a Boudreau X-7 with two men. Where shall I land?”

Enriques in person? My God, have I gotten myself caught in the gears!

“A-a-aye, aye, sir.”

“I asked where to set down, Flandry.”

The ensign stammered out directions. A flitter, as his letter had suggested, could settle on the tower of Dragoika’s house. “You see, sir, the people here, they’re—well, sort of up in arms. Best avoid possible trouble, sir.”

“Your doing?”

“No, sir. I mean, not really. But, well, you’ll see everyone gathered. In combat order. They don’t want to surrender me to … uh … to anyone they think is hostile to me. They threaten, uh, attack on our station if—Honest, sir, I haven’t alienated an ally. I can explain.”

“You’d better,” Enriques said. “Very well, you are under arrest but we won’t take you into custody as yet. We’ll be there in about three minutes. Out.”

“What did he say?” Dragoika hissed. Her fur stood on end.

Flandry translated. She glided from her couch and took a sword off the wall. “I’ll call a few warriors to make sure he keeps his promise.”

“He will. I’m certain he will. Uh … the sight of his vehicle might cause excitement. Can we tell the city not to start fighting?”

“We can.” Dragoika operated a communicator she had lately acquired and spoke with the Sisterhood centrum across the river. Bells pealed forth, the Song of Truce. An uneasy mutter ran through the Tigeries, but they stayed where they were.

Flandry headed for the door. “I’ll meet them on the tower,” he said.

“You will not,” Dragoika answered. “They are coming to see you by your gracious permission. Lirjoz is there, he’ll escort them down.”

Flandry seated himself, shaking his head in a stunned fashion.

He rocketed up to salute when Enriques entered. The admiral was alone, must have left his men in the flitter. At a signal from Dragoika, Lirjoz returned to watch them. Slowly, she laid her sword on the table.

“At ease,” Enriques clipped. He was gray, bladenosed, scarecrow gaunt. His uniform hung flat as armor. “Kindly present me to my hostess.”

“Uh … Dragoika, captain-director of the Janjevar va-Radovik … Vice Admiral Juan Enriques of the Imperial Terrestrial Navy.”

The newcomer clicked his heels, but his bow could have been made to the Empress. Dragoika studied him a moment, then touched brow and breasts, the salute of honor.

“I feel more hope,” she said to Flandry.

“Translate,” Enriques ordered. That narrow skull held too much to leave room for many languages.

“She … uh … likes you, sir,” Flandry said.

Behind the helmet, a smile ghosted at one corner of Enriques’ mouth. “I suspect she is merely prepared to trust me to a clearly defined extent.”

“Won’t the Admiral be seated?”

Enriques glanced at Dragoika. She eased to her couch. He took the other one, sitting straight. Flandry remained on his feet. Sweat prickled him.

“Sir,” he blurted, “please, is Donna d’Io all right?”

“Yes, except for being in a bad nervous state. She landed soon after your message arrived. The Rieskessel’s captain had been making one excuse after another to stay in orbit. When we learned from you that Donna d’Io was aboard, we said we would loft a gig for her. He came down at once. What went on there?”

“Well, sir—I mean, I can’t say. I wasn’t around, sir. She told you about our escape from Merseia?”

“We had a private interview at her request. Her account was sketchy. But it does tend to bear out your claims.”

“Sir, I know what the Merseians are planning, and it’s monstrous. I can prove—”

“You will need considerable proof, Ensign,” Enriques said bleakly. “Lord Hauksberg’s communication laid capital charges against you.”

Flandry felt nervousness slide from him. He doubled his fists and cried, with tears of rage stinging his eyes: “Sir, I’m entitled to a court-martial. By my own people. And you’d have let the Merseians have me!”

The lean visage beneath his hardly stirred. The voice was flat. “Regulations provide that personnel under charges are to be handed over to their assigned superiors if this is demanded. The Empire is too big for any other rule to work. By virtue of being a nobleman, Lord Hauksberg holds a reserve commission, equivalent rank of captain, which was automatically activated when Commander Abrams was posted to him. Until you are detached from your assignment, he is your senior commanding officer. He declared in proper form that state secrets and his mission on behalf of the Imperium have been endangered by you. The Merseians will return you to him for examination. It is true that courts-martial must be held on an Imperial ship or planet, but the time for this may be set by him within a one-year limit.”

“Will be never! Sir, they’ll scrub my brain and kill me!”

“Restrain yourself, Ensign.”

Flandry gulped. Dragoika bared teeth but stayed put. “May I hear the exact charges against me, sir?” Flandry asked.

“High treason,” Enriques told him. “Mutiny. Desertion. Kidnapping. Threat and menace. Assault and battery. Theft. Insubordination. Shall I recite the entire bill? I thought not. You have subsequently added several items. Knowing that you were wanted, you did not surrender yourself. You created dissension between the Empire and an associated country. This, among other things, imperils his Majesty’s forces on Starkad. At the moment, you are resisting arrest. Ensign, you have a great deal to answer for.”

“I’ll answer to you, sir, not to … to those damned gatortails. Nor to a Terran who’s so busy toadying to them he doesn’t care what happens to his fellow human beings. My God, sir, you let Merseians search Imperial ships!”

“I had my orders,” Enriques replied.

“But Hauksberg, you rank him!”

“Formally and in certain procedural matters. He holds a direct Imperial mandate, though. It empowers him to negotiate temporary agreements with Merseia, which then become policy determinants.”

Flandry heard the least waver in those tones. He pounced. “You protested your orders, sir. Didn’t you?”

“I sent a report on my opinion to frontier HQ. No reply has yet been received. In any event, there are only six Merseian men-of-war here, none above Planet class, plus some unarmed cargo carriers told off to help them.” Enriques smacked hand on knee. “Why am I arguing with you? At the very least, if you wanted to see me, you could have stayed aboard the Rieskessel.”

“And afterward been given to the Merseians, sir?”

“Perhaps. The possibility should not have influenced you. Remember your oath.”

Flandry made a circle around the room. His hands writhed behind his back. Dragoika laid fingers on sword hilt. “No,” he said to her in Kursovikian. “No matter what happens.”

He spun on his heel and looked straight at Enriques. “Sir, I had another reason. What I brought from Merseia is a list of numbers. You’d undoubtedly have passed them on. But they do need a direct check, to make sure I’m right about what they mean. And if I am right, whoever goes to look may run into a fight. A space battle. Escalation, which you’re forbidden to practice. You couldn’t order such a mission the way things have been set up to bind you. You’d have to ask for the authority. And on what basis? On my say-so, me, a baby ex-cadet, a mutineer, a traitor. You can imagine how they’d buckpass. At best, a favorable decision wouldn’t come for weeks. Months, more likely. Meanwhile the war would drag on. Men would get killed. Men like my buddy, Jan van Zuyl, with his life hardly begun, with forty or fifty years of Imperial service in him.”

Enriques spoke so softly that one heard the wind whittering off the sea, through the ancient streets outside. “Ensign van Zuyl was killed in action four days ago.”

“Oh, no.” Flandry closed his eyes.

“Conflict has gotten to the point where—we and the Merseians respect each other’s base areas, but roving aircraft fight anyplace else they happen to meet.”

“And still you let them search us.” Flandry paused. “I’m sorry, sir. I know you hadn’t any choice. Please let me finish. It’s even possible my information would be discredited, never acted on. Hard to imagine, but … well, we have so many bureaucrats, so many people in high places like Lord Hauksberg who insists the enemy doesn’t really mean harm … and Brechdan Ironrede, God, but he’s clever … I couldn’t risk it. I had to work things so you, sir, would have a free choice.”

“You?” Enriques raised his brows. “Ensign Dominic Flandry, all by himself?”

“Yes, sir. You have discretionary power, don’t you? I mean, when extraordinary situations arise, you can take what measures are indicated, without asking HQ first. Can’t you?”

“Of course. As witness these atmospheric combats.” Enriques leaned forward, forgetting to stay sarcastic.

“Well, sir, this is an extraordinary situation. You’re supposed to stay friends with the Kursovikians. But you can see I’m the Terran they care about. Their minds work that way. They’re barbaric, used to personal leadership; to them, a distant government is no government; they feel a blood obligation to me—that sort of thing. So to preserve the alliance, you must deal with me. I’m a renegade, but you must.”

“And so?”

“So if you don’t dispatch a scout into space, I’ll tell the Sisterhood to dissolve the alliance.”

“What?” Enriques started. Dragoika bristled.

“I’ll sabotage the whole Terran effort,” Flandry said. “Terra has no business on Starkad. We’ve been trapped, conned, blued and tattooed. When you present physical evidence, photographs, measurements, we’ll all go home. Hell, I’ll give you eight to one the Merseians go home as soon as you tell old Runei what you’ve done. Get your courier off first, of course, to make sure he doesn’t use those warships to blast us into silence. But then call him and tell him.”

“There are no Terran space combat units in this system.”

Flandry grinned. The blood was running high in him. “Sir, I don’t believe the Imperium is that stupid. There has to be some provision against the Merseians suddenly marshaling strength. If nothing else, a few warcraft orbiting ’way outside. We can flit men to them. A roundabout course, so the enemy’ll think it’s only another homebound ship. Right?”

“Well—” Enriques got up. Dragoika stayed where she was, but closed hand on hilt. “You haven’t yet revealed your vast secret,” the admiral declared.

Flandry recited the figures.

Enriques stood totem-post erect. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, sir. Everything that was needed.”

“How do you interpret it?”

Flandry told him.

Enriques was still for a long moment. The Tigeries growled in Shiv Alley. He turned, went to the window, stared down and then out at the sky.

“Do you believe this?” he asked most quietly.

“Yes, sir,” Flandry said. “I can’t think of anything else that fits, and I had plenty of time to try. I’d bet my life on it.”

Enriques faced him again. “Would you?”

“I’m doing it, sir.”

“Maybe. Suppose I order a reconnaissance. As you say, it’s not unlikely to run into Merseian pickets. Will you come along?”

A roar went through Flandry’s head. “Yes, sir!” he yelled.

“Hm. You trust me that much, eh? And it would be advisable for you to go: a hostage for your claims, with special experience which might prove useful. Although if you didn’t return here, we could look for trouble.”

“You wouldn’t need Kursoviki any longer,” Flandry said. He was beginning to tremble.

“If you are truthful and correct in your assertion.” Enriques was motionless a while more. The silence grew and grew.

All at once the admiral said, “Very good, Ensign Flandry. The charges against you are held in abeyance and you are hereby re-attached temporarily to my command. You will return to Highport with me and await further orders.”

Flandry saluted. Joy sang in him. “Aye, aye, sir!”

Dragoika rose. “What were you saying, Domma-neek?” she asked anxiously.

“Excuse me, sir, I have to tell her.” In Kursovikian: “The misunderstanding has been dissolved, for the time being anyhow. I’m leaving with my skipper.”

“Hr-r-r.” She looked down. “And then what?”

“Well, uh, then we’ll go on a flying ship, to a battle which may end this whole war.”

“You have only his word,” she objected.

“Did you not judge him honorable?”

“Yes. I could be wrong. Surely there are those in the Sisterhood who will suspect a ruse, not to speak of the commons. Blood binds us to you. I think it would look best if I went along. Thus there is a living pledge.”

“But—but—”

“Also,” Dragoika said, “this is our war too. Shall none of us take part?” Her eyes went back to him. “On behalf of the Sisterhood and myself, I claim a right. You shall not leave without me.”

“Problems?” Enriques barked.

Helplessly, Flandry tried to explain.