TheMorcaiBattalion:TheRecruit

by The Recruit (lit)

  Behind him and Madeline, the kehmatemer started to bow. The -old fellow, unseen, waved his hand behind his back and forced them back erect.

  Dtimun stopped in place. He did not salute, or smile. “Sir,” he said.

  The old fellow followed suit. “I will see you in my office,” he said. He glanced at Madeline, and his expression softened. “I will see you again before you leave, warwoman,” he said with something akin to affection.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, smiling. But she saluted, too. The salute was returned.

  “May we remain?” the leader of the kemahtemer asked hesitantly. “We wish to ask Ruszel about her command combat experiences.”

  The old fellow smiled, amused. “Very well.”

  They gathered around Madeline again.

  The old fellow led the way up the arching staircase and then into his office. He waved his hand over the controls, shutting the office in a stealth mode that denied access, either physically or electronically.

  He sat down behind his desk.

  “You sent for me?” Dtimun asked stiffly, and he remained standing in front of the freeform liquiform desk at which the elder Centaurian sat.

  “I did,” he replied tersely. “I am aware that Caneese has asked to see Ruszel. She senses a new danger, one which may place the warwoman at risk of death.”

  “Do not ask me to believe that the death of a human female would affect you,” the younger Centaurian said.

  “Ruszel’s would,” the old man replied quietly. “She is unique. I have not met her like in my lifetime, save once.”

  Dtimun’s eyes narrowed. They were cold. Ice-blue. “May I ask how you came to know her at all?” he asked.

  The old fellow cocked his head. “Some years ago, your tone of voice alone would have gained you living space in the brig,” he said softly. “I am still your superior.” The very softness of the old one’s voice carried the threat.

  Dtimun stood more respectfully, but did not speak. His eyes still rebelled.

  There was a soft sigh from across the desk. “I led the kemahtemer to Ondar. I had heard that there would be an attempt on Chacon, the Rojok field marshal. He was rumored to have been in the party that kidnapped the ambassadors,” he said surprisingly. “Also, Princess Lyceria had heard of this and we could not locate her. It was feared that she was en route to Ondar to warn the Rojok. We know that she still has contact with him, despite the war. I took a great chance leading the kemahtemer into hostile territory myself, but I thought it necessary, under the circumstances.

  Dtimun frowned. “We had no inkling of this.”

  “We informed no one. Nor was our information accurate,” the old one replied. “As it turned out, the intel was faulty. Chacon was not on Ondar; neither was the princess Lyceria. Like a rank private, I allowed myself to become separated from my unit. A Rojok spotted me, chasated me and would have killed me. Ruszel attacked him physically, brought him within reach of my boot and, when he was down, she tranquillized him.” He laughed. “She is a warrior of some skill.”

  Dtimun nodded. “I am aware of her combat abilities.”

  “My leg was broken, the bone shattered. She mended me—not, I add, without some show of anger and resentment on my part. I had never been in the company of a female human, and I had reason to dislike Ruszel before I met her,” he added pointedly. “You added her to the Holconcom, I expect, to cause such resentment in the Dectat, as well as the kehmatemer.”

  “I did,” Dtimun had to acknowledge.

  “Despite my bad temper, the fire-haired medic restored me at least to a less painful state, but she had not the tools to repair the damage. I could not walk, and our transport had been destroyed by the Rojoks.”

  Dtimun seemed to be less rigid. “Her wrist scanner is an emergency store only.”

  “So I realized. But we had to appropriate transport and I could not lead my men. Since Ruszel was the only serving Holconcom among us, she had to lead the kemahtemer into battle.”

  Dtimun scowled. “Until a few minutes ago, when I saw their reaction to her, I would not have believed that possible. They are notorious for their hatred of aliens, especially your captain Rhemun, and they have never seen a female in combat. I would not expect them to willingly follow a female of any species, but especially a human.”

  “Nor would I, so I ordered them to.” He chuckled, a very human sound. “It was unnecessary. They were eager for the experience. They said it would be a tale to be told around campfires.” He leaned forward. “As it has been. Ruszel has already become legend among them.”

  Dtimun’s face softened. “She is…a surprising sort of human.”

  “Surprising indeed. She not only led my men into battle, but she did it by subterfuge and stealth worthy of even you. She made it possible for the kemahtemer to wipe out a Rojok outpost and steal one of their transports. They came back for me. The rest you know.”

  Dtimun was quiet for a minute.

  “I am surprised,” the old one commented, “that you did not see this in her mind when she returned to you on Ondar.”

  Dtimun’s lips made a thin line. “I saw a great deal of it, but not all. She recites multiplication tables.”

  The old one’s white thick eyebrows arched. “Excuse me?”

  “When she wishes me not to read her thoughts, she recites mathematical formulae or tables. It is remarkably effective, especially when we are in dangerous straits and I have no time to penetrate the barriers.”

  The old one chuckled again. “Will you take her to the fortress, when you visit Caneese?”

  Dtimun was hesitant. “I have not set foot there in many years.”

  “It is time you did.” The old one stood up. “Introduce her to Rognan, too. I told her many things about Meg-Ravens. He will teach her more.”

  “Rognan is still there?” he asked.

  The old one nodded. “More abrasive than ever…it comes of having no mate, I think, an estate with which I can sympathize.” He studied the taller Centaurian closely. “Komak has told me many things that he dare not speak of to you.” His eyes narrowed. “You have some idea of who he is.”

  Dtimun nodded curtly. “There is no such Clan as Maltiche.”

  “Yet it is your second given name,” came the reply. “Yes. He has knowledge of things that have not yet occurred, like Caneese. But he is no seer. He knows the pattern of events, but not the details.”

  “You think he comes back from another period of time.”

  “Yes,” the old one replied. “He is careful not to say too much.”

  “But he betrays himself in many ways,” Dtimun agreed. His eyes narrowed. “He insisted that I take my bodyguard with me to Lagana, in the Dibella system, where we decimated a Rojok outpost. I would have died, had I not followed his advice. He knew that I would be wounded. My bodyguard found Ruszel and sent her to me.”

  The old one grimaced. “I regret that I opposed her assignment to you. Much time has passed. My ambition destroyed my family,” he said, shocking his companion. “I have many regrets and no way to mend the wounds I have perpetrated. Ruszel has caused me to do much soul-searching, as the humans call it.” He met the other Centaurian’s eyes. “I cannot change the past. But I am hopeful of securing a better future for my family, starting with the interspecies edicts.”

  Dtimun’s eyes reflected his inner turmoil. “I would be interested in knowing how you propose such a change in policy to be accomplished.”

  “With much gnashing of teeth and dissent,” he announced with a sigh. He glanced at Dtimun. “You are surely aware of Lyceria’s…affection…for the Rojok field marshal?”

  Dtimun moved restively. “It is unfortunate.”

  “Caneese does not think so.”

  Dtimun scowled. “And you?”

  The old one actually grinned. He got up from his desk and clapped Dtimun on the back. “Go and see Caneese with the warwoman. It will be a happy reunion for her. Tell her…tell her that I begin to see from her point of view,
many years too late. She will understand.”

  He led the way out the door and back down the staircase, which moved them eloquently to the first floor without seeming to move at all.

  The kemahtemer were on the floor, kneeling, around Madeline, who was sitting, bent over, her face animated as she explained a stealth tactic she had used with her unit to attack a much superior force during her time as an Amazon captain.

  Dtimun watched her with an expression to which he was oblivious. His companion noted it with amusement and approval.

  “She has them hypnotized,” Dtimun murmured.

  “They have never seen a woman in combat.” He made a face. “Now I am being asked to consider the organization of a female military component.”

  Dtimun stared at him, surprised.

  The old one lifted a shoulder. “I would have fought them even two standard months ago. Now, however…” He smiled with pure affection at the human female in the distance. “It is a great pity that she is not Cehn-Tahr,” he said softly. “A great pity.”

  Dtimun refused to rise to the bait, even if he was thinking the same thing.

  The old one saw it in his mind. His eyes narrowed. “They have no idea how different our species really are, have they?” he wondered.

  Dtimun sighed. “I considered it wiser to reveal as little as possible to the humans.”

  “Yes.” He glanced at the younger alien. “But I wonder how much difference it would make now? The humans revere you, I am told.”

  “That is an exaggeration.”

  The old one just smiled. “Perhaps our friend Komak knows of a way in the future to permit us to bond with humans,” he murmured dryly.

  Dtimun glared at him. “Ruszel is a member of my crew. Nothing more.”

  The old one’s eyes changed into an opaque, searching blue.

  “Stop that,” Dtimun muttered, resorting to Madeline’s use of mathematical tables to keep the old one out of his mind.

  He only laughed. “Kemahtemer!” he called.

  They jumped to their feet and rushed, like blue blurs, into formation immediately. Madeline followed suit, snapping to attention.

  The Old Fellow, delighted, returned the salute. “You must come back another time, Ruszel,” he told her. “I would hear some of these stories with my own ears.”

  She grinned. “Anytime, sir. It would be my pleasure to hear some of your stories, as well.”

  The Old Fellow looked at Dtimun. “She knows how to smooth egos,” he said in Centaurian. “Look to your own.”

  Dtimun gave him a glare.

  “Caneese will be waiting,” the Old Fellow added in standard.

  “Yes. We should go.” He motioned to Madeline, who moved toward the door.

  Dtimun stopped as they reached it. He straightened, as if deep in thought. Then, slowly, he turned. He stood at attention, and gave the Old Fellow a terse salute. He did not wait for it to be returned.

  As he went out the door, he missed the sudden wetness in an old pair of eyes. In sixty-five human years, it was the first time he’d saluted the old man.

  In minutes they were off again, this time to the rural province where the seer, Caneese lived with a group of religious Centaurians. Below, the terrain was hilly and green and beautiful. Madeline, who had lived for many years on the artificial military colony on Trimerius, hadn’t seen a blade of real grass or a mountain in her adult life.

  Dtimun reversed the engine and set the ship down with his usual astounding speed, landing it like a feather on the air.

  They stepped out onto a lush green plain with scant trees on the horizon and jagged, purple mountains in the distance. Closer, there was a small group of gray stone buildings with ancient carved runes, linked by towering stone walls that seemed endless. The air was crisp and fresh-smelling. Underneath was a faint musk scent, like the exotic perfumes one found on Dacerius. Overhead, there were two suns, a yellow one and a smaller blue one. The sky was an odd shade of blue, and there were puffy white clouds like the ones on Terravega itself. She recalled from her reading that Memcache also had two moons, the largest of which, reasonably close to the planet in its orbit, was colonized and contained a mining sector. She’d love to have seen them at night. Two moons in a night sky would have been beautiful. Trimerius had not a single one.

  She drew in a full breath, her eyes closed to savor the scents of exotic flowers that bloomed abundantly nearby. Among those scents was that of canolithe, which she knew only from textdiscs. The rare flowers were indigenous only to Memcache and were known for some legendary, and probably fictitious, abilities.

  The forest of trees, which resembled the bamboo forests she’d seen ancient depictions of from old Earth, were green from trunk to feathery leaves, and stretched off toward the mountainous horizon. Somewhere, there were faint violinlike tones. Wind chimes, she wondered, or insects?

  “Wind chimes,” Dtimun answered absently, watching as a metal gate slowly opened and a woman in blue silks moved toward them with such grace that Madeline couldn’t keep her eyes off the sight.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she said slowly.

  “I have always thought so,” he replied. “My own lands are here in this valley. My family inhabits another, larger, property across the mountain range.”

  It was the first time he’d spoken to her of his private life. She was flattered and even more curious, but she didn’t reply to the statement. “Is this the seer?” she asked instead as the elderly woman approached.

  He nodded, his hands linked behind his back as he walked toward the old woman.

  He made a slight bow and kept his eyes lowered as the woman approached him. She was Centaurian, Madeline noticed, but her hair was silver and fell to her waist in back, over the simple, long robes she wore. She smiled at Dtimun and reached up to touch his jet-black hair.

  “Mecaache,” she said softly as she smoothed his hair. “It has been far too long!”

  He smiled back, and touched her hair in a similar manner. They touched foreheads briefly. Ritual behavior, Madeline was certain, but she had scant knowledge of Centaurian behavior among their own people.

  The elderly woman spoke to him in their native tongue. He replied the same way.

  They both turned toward Madeline. She wished she knew more Centaurian. Sadly, except for basic military commands, what she’d picked up from Komak turned out to be the most awful swear words. Komak had been laughing uproariously until Dtimun heard Madeline using them and called her—and subsequently Komak—on the carpet for it.

  The woman, tall and elegant, stopped in front of Madeline and studied her curiously. “So you are Ruszel,” the woman said in her soft, quiet voice, and in perfect standard English. “Welcome.”

  Madeline smiled, surprised. “Thank you.”

  The woman nodded, returning the smile. She was taller than Madeline by a head, and her elongated eyes were a soft brownish color that the Morcai’s medical chief of staff had never noticed in other Centaurian eyes.

  “You are wondering how I know about you,” the old woman said gently, and smiled at Madeline’s reaction. “I have the gift of prophecy. I am the only one in my Clan to have received such a gift.”

  Madeline studied her curiously. “Should I ask you about my future?” she wondered aloud.

  The elderly woman laughed softly. “How interesting that you should connect it with me.”

  Madeline’s cheeks flushed and she smiled self-consciously. “Forgive me for making assumptions.”

  “Unnecessary,” the other woman replied. “You are intelligent and you have great courage.” She laughed when Madeline flushed even more. “Now you begin to wonder if I have been speaking with persons who know you. I must confess that I have. Not him,” she added when Madeline shot a suspicious glance at her companion.

  Dtimun chuckled softly. “You have spies everywhere,” he commented.

  “I do,” the woman replied without conceit. “And I use them.” She turned back to Madeline, and this time she
didn’t smile. Her eyes took on an odd, watery shade of blue that was reminiscent of Dtimun’s eyes when he was looking into her mind. The elderly woman closed her eyes and made an odd humming sound.

  Madeline, confused and fascinated, stood quietly, her eyes involuntarily darting to the tall alien at her side. Dtimun met her searching glance and his eyes narrowed faintly. A shock of pleasure rippled through her body as they looked at each other.

  “Yes.” The elderly woman was staring at Madeline, who hadn’t realized her own preoccupation with Dtimun.

  Madeline struggled to regain her composure.

  The old woman only smiled; a human trait that Madeline had often noticed in Komak. “I have been given a prophecy,” Caneese began softly. “It concerns a human female.”

  Madeline’s eyebrows arched.

  “Yes,” the woman replied, “a curious element, is it not? Especially considering that our culture has denied humans entrance here since the Cehn-Tahr race settled on Memcache. I saw the prophecy as a child, but I had put it aside. Then I heard of you. The prophecy is that in a time of great turbulence a human female will bring peace to a kingdom torn by tragedy.” She closed her eyes. “There will be signs when she comes among us…giant serpents which she will befriend…a great war with a former ally, days of torture ended by an unexpected alliance.” Her eyes opened. “There is also a description of the human female. She will be a healer, and veteran warriors will follow her into battle.”

  Madeline was trying to wrap her mind around all this. The part about warriors following the healer into battle was disturbing, and she thought of the kemahtemer. But, she’d said nothing about it to Caneese. The older woman knew anyway—her expression betrayed the knowledge. How?

  She smiled at Madeline. “You are the only female ever to serve with the Holconcom in its history,” she continued. “I have heard stories of your courage under fire. It was you who saved the Holconcom commander here from death during the dylete.”

  “Well, I did do that,” the medic agreed slowly. She glanced up at Dtimun. “Not that he ever takes that into consideration when I defend his honor…”