Lenna’s tour ended in the Methryn’s school complex. When she was told that the first level consisted of ages from three months to three years, she had envisioned infants. That was hardly the case. Young Kelvessan, even at only three months, were perfect miniatures of the adults, long-limbed, wiry, and strong, well able to walk, run, and talk. They were also, in Lenna’s opinion, irresistibly cute.
There were only twenty-one students in this age group, fewer than she had expected. She calculated that to be about one hundred and thirty children out of a population of two thousand, a very small percentage, although, because of their long life expectancy, it did represent a very modest population growth. In this first level the young were taught reading, writing, and simple mathematics, and an introduction to Terran, their second language. By the time they ‘graduated’ at the age of eighteen, every Kelvessan had a surprisingly broad and extensive education, and they had yet to receive special training in their chosen fields.
Consherra left Lenna with the students, explaining that she did have duties of her own to attend to, and departed with the instructions for where she could be found during the next meal period. She managed to get lost navigating the corridors on her own. But it was a simple matter to find a lift, and she set the section and level coordinates that Consherra had given her.
“Late again, I see,” she remarked as she seated herself at the large table where Consherra and Velmeran were seated with at least a dozen Kelvessan she did not know.
“Treg, you were going back for more,” Velmeran said. “Will you take Lenna up and help her find something to eat?”
“Right away, Captain,” Tregloran answered promptly.
“Do you have children’s plates?” Lenna asked as she hurried after him. “I’ll be getting fat like this.”
Consherra smiled and shook her head slowly. “If she could take a few more G’s, I would be tempted to keep her. She is entertaining.”
“Sure, and it must be her odd way of speaking,” Velmeran agreed. “I cannot imagine what the Traders are going to do with her.”
“The Kanians are of Irish descent, are they not?” Baress asked.
“Mainly, but with a great many Scots thrown in,” he explained. “Makayen — McCain — is a Scottish name, unless I am mistaken. Of course, Lenna would not know a Scotsman if he bit her on the leg.”
Consherra laughed in mischievous delight. It was hard to say if she found his odd choice of terms amusing, or if she simply liked the idea of anyone biting Lenna Makayen on the leg.
“Of course, she told me once that her Kanian accent is a pure act, and I have heard her drop it,” Velmeran continued. “I suspect that she is just using it to beguile us.”
“There is no question of that,” Consherra agreed. “When she is talking about ships, she acquires a definite Trader’s accent. And she uses their terms. She calls a transport a ‘lift’, and a launch a ‘roundabout’. And she really knows her business, too. I quizzed her about navigation for some time, and not only does she know it, but she actually understands what she is doing.”
“Well, for a human, that is something new,” Baress remarked.
“You know what I mean,” Consherra snapped. “Most human navigators learn their formulas by rote, but they have only a vague understanding of the actual mathematics involved.”
“The Traders are not a degenerate race,” Baressa pointed out. “And their mathematical ability is very strong. Lenna may sound like a Kanian, perhaps because it suits her. Do none of your know your genetics? Traders are nearly a separate species from true humans. The offspring of a Trader and a human is what is known by the vulgar term of a mule, a sterile, invariably female offspring that is essentially a smaller, stronger version of a true Trader. If they know, they might not want her back.”
“She seems amorous enough to me,” Velmeran remarked. “Sterile hardly means sexless.”
“Well, at least we have a replacement for Consherra,” Velmeran remarked, then looked up. “Sherry, could you teach her to fly this ship?”
Consherra was plainly astonished. “Lenna? Varth! She has only two hands, Meran.”
“A distressing handicap, I do admit,” Velmeran agreed blandly. “But then, humans have done quite well in spite of it. I did not mean to put her on direct manuals in battle.”
Consherra considered that for a moment and shrugged. “How should I know? I have always said that the Methryn is, for her size, a remarkably easy ship to fly.”
They glanced up as Tregloran and Lenna returned, each balancing a plate. She seemed to be adjusting very well to life among the Starwolves, although ‘making herself at home’ was probably the best way to describe it. But then, for all Velmeran knew, she had already forgotten that she was not a Starwolf.
He quickly introduced the members of his pack, forgetting that humans did not have a memory like a disk drive. And yet, Lenna never forgot the name of a single Kelvessa she was introduced to. The problem lay in identifying names with the proper owner, since she could not easily tell most Starwolves apart.
“And then there are the members of my special tactics team,” he continued. “Baress and Tregloran are subsets of both groups. They are about tied as the best pilots on this ship.”
“Second best,” Baress corrected him, pointing to the one who actually deserved that honor.
“Trel and Marlena are the pilots of our modified transport. This is senior pack leader Baressa, and the quiet old gentleman at the end is Keth. He gets our students ready to fly with the packs.”
Lenna stared for a moment, since this was the first old Starwolf she had met. Or at least the first she was aware of as being old, since there was nothing about elderly Starwolves to indicate the fact. As she looked closer, she could detect the tiniest creases about his eyes, such as she had also noticed on Mayelna. And both had a few black hairs among their brown; they apparently did not get gray.
“Did you teach Velmeran to fly?” she asked hesitantly.
“No, indeed,” Keth replied. “In fact, I flew in his pack for a short time before I retired. I could no longer take the high G’s.”
“I know how that is,” Lenna muttered.
“In fact, Velmeran’s first grand adventure was to rescue me when I was captured,” the older Kelvessa continued. “If Valthyrra and the Commander were here, you would see gathered at this table all the people that Union High Command hates most. The Methryn’s Magnificent Maniacs.”
“Which reminds me,” Lenna said turning to Velmeran. “Where have you been all day?”
Velmeran shrugged. “Making battle talk.”
“The whole time?”
“Yes, actually,” he said, frowning with consternation. “Life was easier when we were secure in the belief that the Union could not throw anything at us that we cannot handle. Don has found himself a really first-rate toy this time. I hardly know what to make of it.”
“That sounds ominous,” Tregloran remarked. “And we are going to fight it?”
“If it is at all possible, then we must. And if we do fight, this is going to be our most difficult one yet.”
“Great Stars, I would not miss this one for anything!” Lenna was practically shaking with excitement.
Velmeran regarded her blandly. “If you see this fight at all, it will be from a distance. You will be transferred to the Kalvyn with the rest of the nonessential personnel.”
“Nonessential?” she demanded indignantly.
“That seems like an adequate description for a stowaway.”
Lenna let the matter drop, seeing perhaps that there was no argument she could make that would keep her on this ship. Or perhaps she simply had ideas of her own.
9
After half an hour of cautious deceleration, the Methryn left starflight as gently as if her hull was porcelain and likely to break. Although she was still moving fast in terms of ordinary ships, her gentle approach was so unlike the sudden, darting movements of Starwolf carriers as to be remarkable. The system that
was her destination lay well ahead; she had stopped short for a final meeting with the Kalvyn before going into battle. Valthyrra quickly cast about for her sister ship and altered her course in a long, lazy turn.
“Methryn?” a voice called out questioningly over com. “Valthyrra Methryn? Is that you sliding in?”
“Why, so it is,” she answered. “Who were you expecting, Schayressa?”
“Well, the last time I saw anything move that way, it was one of our own freighters with her hold so packed that she could barely move,” the Kalvyn answered. “Is there something wrong with you, Val? Have you hurt yourself?”
“You might describe my problem as a pain,” Valthyrra said. “Actually, I have a passenger.”
“A passenger?” Schayressa was incredulous. “A paying passenger? Great Spirit of space, Valthyrra, this is hardly the time for you to consider converting yourself to a luxury liner. Starwolf Express! A human passenger?”
“A stowaway, to tell the truth.”
“A stowaway? On a Starwolf carrier? I have never heard of such a thing. What did you keep it for?”
“To give to you,” Valthyrra snapped.
“Oh. I had to ask.”
“If you will hold your diodes for a moment, I am trying to get myself slowed down. Do you have any idea how hard it is to move our ancient bulks like we were hauling breakables?”
“Tell me about it,” Schayressa answered. “I lost a forward engine, and that means cutting the corresponding engine to maintain balance. Suddenly I have half the deceleration power I used to. I hate the thought of trying to put myself into airdock for repairs.”
“You could be towed in,” Valthyrra suggested.
“Towed? That would give me nervous fits. Have you ever been towed?”
Mayelna glanced up, then returned to her monitor, shaking her head slowly. “Aval den tras etrenon. They are all crazy.”
“What?” Velmeran asked, glancing up from where he had been watching the monitors over Consherra’s shoulder.
Mayelna regarded him blandly. “Someday, my boy, all this will be yours. One aging, know-it-all, gossiping starship.”
Valthyrra rotated her camera pod at the end of its boom, as if looking over her shoulder. “All the world is a stage, and everyone is a critic.”
Everyone looked up expectantly as Lenna Makayen entered the left wing of the bridge, staggering under the strain of G’s that would have left most humans unconscious. Traders had developed remarkable strength and resilience from thousands of years of such conditions; Iyan Makayen had always been embarrassed by the fact that his rangy half sister was considerably stronger than himself.
“The last time I saw her walk like that was near the end of that first night in Kanis,” Velmeran remarked. He hurried to her assistance, half carrying her up the steps. “You should have stayed in your room.”
“And miss all the fun?” Lenna demanded, and bowed her head respectfully to the Commander. “Val edesson, Mayelna.”
“Val treron,” Mayelna corrected her; Lenna still had her days and nights reversed. “That, I suppose is your way of informing me that I am in your seat?”
“Sure, I’ll not be asking you for your seat,” Lenna insisted, spreading her accent thickly. “If it’s all the same, I would be happy with Consherra’s seat.”
“Varth! Schon il vessa!” Valthyrra exclaimed softly, calling their attention to the main viewscreen. Just then she jerked herself to a sudden stop with a final blast of reverse thrust, disturbing no one except Lenna. She executed an interesting forward flip and would have broken her neck except that she landed on Consherra, who was coming up the steps at that moment, and they tumbled all the way down to the main bridge. For a moment they provided a more interesting diversion than anything that could have been happening outside, and everyone stared in speechless astonishment, then calmly applauded the acrobatics.
Lenna picked herself up, bruised and swearing, and turned to the main viewscreen. The Kalvyn sat motionless perhaps seven kilometers away, and turned almost directly toward them so that her forward hull was in plain view. Cannon blast had ripped round and oval craters intermixed with long, narrow tears in the thick armor.
“Are you finished staring yet?” Schayressa asked in mild irritation as the silence continued, unaware that most of the time had been taken up with Lenna’s amazing distraction.
“I suspect that I will look much the same before this is over,” Valthyrra replied.
“Perhaps, but you will have something to show for it. All I was able to do was run,” the other ship pointed out. “If you will open a bay, the Commander and I are on the way over.”
Valthyrra laughed softly. “So soon? You are anxious to see me blast that monster. We will be down to meet you.”
“Bring that passenger of yours as well, if you can trust it,” Schayressa added. “When dealing with humans and the deceptions of humans, we might profit from the opinion of a human.”
Valthyrra glanced at Lenna, who was checking herself for broken bones. The Trader girl was learning Tresdyland at an astonishing pace, but she could hardly follow a conversation after three days. Lenna would not believe her good fortune when she discovered what she was going to do now.
The delegation from the Kalvyn stepped off the right bridge lift, where Mayelna, Velmeran, and Consherra were waiting to meet them, their unexpected guest standing to one side. And everyone stopped short to stare in disbelief. Even Lenna could see clearly that Velmeran was almost a exact duplicate of Commander Tryn, nearly three hundred years his senior. Everyone was amazed. Everyone, that was, but Mayelna, the only one who had known both Velmeran and Tryn before this meeting. Tryn was himself as surprised as anyone.
“Hello, Mayelna,” Tryn said at last, turning to her. There was a curious look of both fear and satisfaction in his eyes. “It has been a long time.”
“Eighteen years,” she agreed, then turned to her son. “You know Velmeran, I suppose. He runs this ship now, although he still keeps me around to handle the trivialities.”
“Do you remember me?” Tryn asked. “I met you once, a long time ago.”
“I had forgotten,” Velmeran replied uncertainly.
“Well, I do recall this girl,” Tryn continued briskly. “Consherra, if I remember correctly. I know that you are the Helm.”
Consherra smiled and nodded. “Yes, I do remember you. Velmeran is my mate now.”
“Is that so?” Tryn replied to that rather odd admission, then glanced over at Lenna. “Your passenger, I suppose?”
“Hello,” Lenna said in one of her rare self-conscious moments.
“Lenna Makayen, our artist in residence and expert Starwolf impersonator,” Mayelna said.
“Well, I can see how she could get away with it,” Tryn said, smiling reassuringly in the mistaken belief that Lenna was shy. If he had not been distracted by other thoughts, he would have realized that shy people did not sneak aboard Starwolf carriers. He glanced around quickly. “Oh, this is our Helm Keldryn and our Commander-designate Denlayk.”
“Hello,” the pair said in unison.
Mayelna frowned, deciding that matters had deteriorated from bad to ridiculous and that she had better put a quick end to this before the conversation drifted into areas she had no wish to explore. “I suppose that we should get down to the business that brought us here. Valthyrra is waiting.”
They retreated quickly to the third and smallest of the council rooms behind the bridge. Valthyrra was indeed waiting, the camera on its short boom above the oval table glaring as they took their seats.
“Were you aware that Daelyn has been made Commander-designate of the Karvand?” Mayelna asked suddenly. “The Karvand fought with us at Vannkarn, and again a few months later.”
“I had heard that she had been made Commander-designate,” Tryn replied. “And Velmeran’s raid into Vannkarn is a matter of legend. But then, everything Velmeran does assumes legendary proportions.”
“Then I suppose that we have the maki
ng of another here,” she said, and turned to Velmeran. “Tryn is Daelyn’s father.”
“Is that a fact?” Velmeran answered guardedly.
Valthyrra, who had missed the previous conversation out in the hall, glanced about in complete mystification. Her gaze passed over Commander Tryn and she did a quick double take, then looked at Velmeran and back again. Several of the others, observing her, were trying not to laugh.
“Ah… if we could get on with the business at hand,” she began uncertainly, her camera pod rotating around to center on the Kalvyn’s probe, seated astride the arms of the chair beside Lenna. “If you will begin.”
“Yes, we will start with an analysis of this machine that Donalt Trace has built himself,” Schayressa said, and employed a video link with Valthyrra to project her intricate scans of the Challenger on the large viewscreen beside the table. Using this to illustrate her explanations, she began a very careful accounting of the Fortress and how its various systems functioned… and why it was so invulnerable.
Lenna, watching from the edge of the discussion, noticed that Schayressa was directing her explanation at Velmeran, and that there was some unspoken consent among everyone present that he was very much in command. As she watched, he seemed to grow in character, evolving from the little boy she had met in Kallenes to become the person that legend argued he must be. Perhaps not the daring, devil-may-care hero of her romanticized image but the capable and responsible Commander-designate that his fellow Starwolves trusted and respected.
Schayressa concluded with a step-by-step analysis of her battle with the Challenger, the complex nature of the trap that she had wandered into, and how the Union Commander had quickly and effectively blocked her every move.
“Meran, what do you think?” Mayelna asked as Velmeran sat in thoughtful silence for a long moment.
“Somehow that does not sound to me like the Donald Trace I knew two years ago,” he explained. “Weapons design is his strength, but his idea of strategy is a strong, straightforward drive that either succeeds or fails in its initial thrust. Such subtlety and refinement of strategy simply is not his style.”
Battle of the Ring s-2 Page 13
