TheMorcaiBattalion:TheRecruit

by The Recruit (lit)

  “I will detach the Holconcom from the Tri-Fleet and go after her myself,” he said shortly.

  “That’s what I expected you to do.” Lawson managed a smile. “Bring her home,” he said, almost choking on the words.

  Dtimun couldn’t answer. He wasn’t certain of his own ability to speak normally.

  He moved quickly. He sent the Cehn-Tahr ambassador to the Tri-Galaxy Council with the formal announcement of the Holconcom’s removal from the Tri-Galaxy Fleet. Then he called a shipwide meeting in the main mess hall. Once every crewman was in place, he spoke.

  “The Terravegan ambassador has issued an immediate recall for all Terravegan personnel to report to Lawson for reassignment.”

  There were shocked murmurs.

  “I must ask you to pack your gear and leave as quickly as possible, for the time being. Dr. Madeline Ruszel was reassigned to the Amazon front lines without my knowledge. Now her ship has gone down behind enemy lines and Ambassador Taylor has refused Tri-Fleet permission to mount a rescue. I have just formally detached the Holconcom from the Tri-Galaxy Fleet and I am going after Ruszel myself, with my Holconcom…”

  “Begging the hell your pardon, sir, but we are Holconcom, too, and we’re not leaving the ship,” Holt Stern said curtly.

  “You can pour syrup on that,” Hahnson agreed, stepping up beside his friend.

  “My men and I am not leaving,” engineering officer Higgins said curtly.

  “My men and I are absolutely the hell not leaving,” Communications officer Jennings added firmly.

  “Neither am I,” Edris Mallory chimed in with unusual firmness, her blue eyes flashing. “Dr. Ruszel is my colleague, and my friend. They can court-martial me if they like.”

  “Our whole departments are at your command, sir,” Higgins, the engineering officer said shortly.

  “Both our whole damned departments, sir,” Jennings seconded.

  “Ambassador Taylor can hang us—we’re going with you!” another officer called out.

  “Every man!”

  “And woman!” Mallory ventured, a little shyly because she was the only female aboard.

  “You bet!” Strick Hahnson chuckled, smiling reassuringly at her.

  “Ruszel is Holconcom,” Abemon, another of the Cehn-Tahr spoke up. “We will not leave her to be killed because the politicians deem her expendable.”

  There were loud murmurs of agreement, from both human and Cehn-Tahr.

  Dtimun relaxed a little. “It could mean court-martial, even execution, for all of you Terravegans,” he said gently.

  “In that case, sir, wouldn’t you just have to bring the Holconcom and break us out of the brig in the nick of time?” Stern asked with a grin.

  “Hear, hear!” Hahnson seconded.

  Dtimun actually laughed. “Yes, I would. Very well, then. Battle stations! I expect to find a squadron of Lawson’s best fighters facing us down the minute we lift. Ambassador Taylor will not take the loss of his nationals lightly.”

  “We can shoot better than his guys, sir,” Higgins assured him.

  “And straighter,” Jennings agreed.

  “Posts, then.”

  Everybody scrambled for positions.

  Komak glanced at Dtimun. The C.O. was putting on a front. He was uncertain about Ruszel, and worried sick for her.

  Komak placed a hand on his arm. “I am still here.”

  Dtimun nodded and started to turn.

  Komak detained him. “You do not understand. I am still here. If she were dead,” he added enigmatically, “I would not be.”

  Dtimun scowled in confusion.

  “It does not matter. We must hurry.”

  “I agree.”

  They ran side by side for the access ladder.

  The old one made contact with Dtimun’s mind.

  Dtimun was in his quarters, brooding in front of a bust of Cashto, the galot pack leader from whose DNA the Cehn-Tahr were transformed. The great black head sat on a table with holocandles, its huge green eyes gleaming in the subdued light. He was still debating his next move. He had detached the Holconcom without the authorization of the Dectat, and he was still uncertain about contacting the old one for help through channels because of that. The Morcai was en route to Akaashe, but although he knew that Madeline’s ship had gone down there, he didn’t know where. The Nagaashe planet was large and had many continents. Nor did they have diplomatic ties with the Nagaashe, which could cause grave problems if they landed there without permission. There was also the question of Madeline’s survival. Even with their best sensors, it would take time to locate her. In that time, she could die. If she wasn’t already dead.

  He felt a burst of anguish, a darkening. He did not want to be vulnerable again. He thought his reaction to Ruszel had been exactly as he told her, a purely physical need. His mind was telling him something quite different, and he did not want to listen.

  Could she be dead? Lawson thought so. Her father thought so. He closed his eyes on the anguish of that thought. Komak seemed to believe she was alive, but Dtimun had known too many disappointments to feel much hope. He pictured the rest of his long life without the occasional sight of Ruszel’s laughing green eyes to sustain it. The light would go out of the galaxies…

  Suddenly, he was aware of an intrusion on his thoughts. He felt the old one there, in his mind. “Why are you here?” he asked abruptly.

  “I have found Ruszel,” he replied solemnly. “You must come to Memcache, at once.”

  His heart jumped. “Is she alive?”

  “She is gravely wounded, on the island colony of Kanah, on Akaashe,” the old one told him. “The Nagaashe cannot heal her.”

  Dtimun sat down in the chair at his desk, heavily. The depression he had felt since he spoke with Lawson had worsened. The old one would see that, and he no longer cared.

  “Lawson said she had asked for reassignment to the Amazon Division,” Dtimun said harshly.

  “Yes. I found the reason, in Ambassador Taylor’s mind. She asked the Terravegan ambassador to reassign her to the Amazon Division, to spare you.”

  “From what?” Dtimun demanded.

  “Taylor knows that you attempted to attack a crewman who touched Ruszel,” he said. “He said this to Ruszel. In order to allay his suspicions, Ruszel told him that an insult Flannegan made was responsible for your anger, and that she was tired of serving in an alien unit. She asked for reassignment, to protect you.”

  The anguish was even worse. The enormity of her sacrifice made him feel humble. “She is gravely injured, you said,” he commented, still shaken.

  “Yes. The Nagaashe were contacted by Taylor and told that an attack on their settlement was imminent. The Amazon unit, commanded by Ruszel, was sent on a false mission to rescue a downed Jebob ship. He hoped to kill her that way, in revenge for the loss of Ruszel’s grants to his Jebob candidate.”

  “The Jebob would never go near Akaashe,” Dtimun said angrily. “They are terrified of serpents.”

  “Ruszel did as she was ordered. The Nagaashe caused the ship’s engines to overload. All were killed, except for Ruszel and two women under her command. The explosion did…much damage.”

  “I have already set course for Akaashe. Hahnson can heal her…”

  “You will take me to Akaashe,” the old one commanded imperiously. “Memcache is on the way, you will lose very little time. The kehmatemer and I are coming with you.”

  “You take a great risk,” Dtimun said.

  “I have been known to do that,” the old one said with faint humor. “It is possible that Hahnson can mend her. But if he cannot, I can.”

  The younger alien didn’t ask how. He knew from years past the power in that old mind. It had healed many Cehn-Tahr on the point of death. Dtimun had the ability as well, but his was less formidable. The old one might be Ruszel’s only chance to live. It would never be possible for Dtimun to have a life with the red-haired medic, but he could not face the possibility of a life without her presence
somewhere in the galaxies.

  “Komak is still there, is he not?” the old one asked gently. “If he lives, so does Ruszel.”

  “Komak said the same thing. What does this mean?” Dtimun asked.

  “There are things I must not yet reveal to you. I have contacted a negotiator who can bargain for Ruszel with the Nagaashe. They have diplomatic relations with them. A Dacerian is bringing him to rendezvous with us. Throw all the lightsteds,” the old one commanded. “It does not matter now if the humans of the Holconcom see our true tech. They are part of us.”

  Dtimun smiled in his mind. “Yes. They are.”

  The old one left him.

  Dtimun made the announcement to a packed audience in the galley. “We are en route to Memcache to pick up a…representative of our government, to assist in negotiations for Ruszel and her crew. This will require me to disclose secret tech, which we have not before used in connection with our missions. If any of you have second thoughts about defying your military, you may have access to skimmers to return you to Trimerius before we employ acceleration.”

  “I’m still not leaving,” Lieutenant Mallory said. Hahnson and Stern only nodded, agreeing.

  “My whole department is still staying here,” Lieutenant Higgins said.

  “So is my whole damned department, sir,” Lieutenant Jennings seconded.

  “Shouldn’t we get going?” Hahnson spoke for all of them.

  Dtimun managed a smile. “Combining you humans with my command was one of my wisest moves. You will see more things that we have not revealed to you before. You will not speak of them to outworlders.”

  Several of the humans grinned, because the C.O. apparently now thought of them all as Cehn-Tahr.

  “Stations,” he said. “And if Taylor attempts to court-martial any of you, he will have to go through me.”

  That brought laughter, and more smiles, as his crew rushed to their posts.

  “Throw all lightsteds,” Dtimun commanded the bridge crew. He looked around at the remaining crewmen. “Hold on to something,” he advised.

  Even as he spoke, the great ship wavered, wobbled and suddenly accelerated in a burst of speed that left the humans gasping.

  Edris Mallory was sick all over the deck. But this time Dtimun didn’t say a word.

  The old one and the kehmatemer came aboard the Morcai in tight formation. Several of the human members of the crew, including Edris Mallory, were present when they entered the airlock.

  Dtimun and Komak met them, with Holt Stern. The old one gave the humans a curious appraisal from amused green eyes.

  “It has been many decades since I saw so many humans,” the old one remarked.

  Rhemun, captain of the kehmatemer, glared at Edris Mallory. “Is this the one who took Ruszel’s place?” he asked haughtily.

  Edris, the mild-mannered, gave him back the glare, her blue eyes sparking. “I am Dr. Edris Mallory,” she said coldly.

  “Another warwoman?” the old one mused.

  “A Cularian combat surgeon,” Dtimun corrected. “Like Ruszel.”

  “There is no other female like Ruszel,” Rhemun said shortly. “She is a warwoman. We have no need of physicians.” He made of the word an insult.

  Mallory drew herself up to her full height, which was far shy of the captain’s. “If you ever have need of one, sir,” she said in a biting tone, “pray that it isn’t me.”

  “Mallory,” Dtimun said shortly. “Captain Rhemun is a visitor. We do not insult visitors.”

  She saluted Dtimun. “Sorry, sir, he looked like a Rojok to me, sir.” She turned and beat a path out of the sector before she could be reprimanded.

  Stern and Hahnson were struggling not to laugh. They saluted and followed her.

  “At ease, Captain,” the old one told the ruffled captain of his guard. “We are fighting one war already. Settle your men.”

  “Yes, sir!” He saluted. So did his squad. He dismissed them.

  Dtimun and Komak and the old one dashed up the ladders to the bridge.

  The bridge crew saluted smartly before they went back to their positions.

  “It is an honor to have you here, sir,” Komak told the old one with something like awe.

  The elderly alien gave him a penetrating opaque blue stare. His eyes suddenly went green. Dtimun, watching, was blocked out by both their minds at once. His surprise was visible.

  “One day, we will explain it to you,” the old one said. He sobered. “But for now, Ruszel is our priority. Leave orbit at once.”

  Dtimun nodded and gave the command. For the first time, he felt a flutter of hope.

  The Nagaashe planet was a contrast in colors and climate. The island continent on which the Morcai put down was lush and green. Under other circumstances, Dtimun might have taken the opportunity to enjoy it. Now, his only thought was to find Ruszel in time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dtimun was out the airlock of the Morcai ahead of the old one and the kehmatemer as soon as the ship’s massive engines whispered to a stop. His mind searched for Madeline’s and could not find it. Anguish washed over him.

  The Nagaashe approached the Cehn-Tahr warily. The humans in the Holconcom started backing up at just the sight of the giant serpents. Weapons Specialist Jones raised the barrel of his nanomissile launcher. Dtimun caught the barrel and threw it up without even looking at him.

  “Put yourself on report, Jones,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Jones groaned. “Sorry, sir.”

  The old one came outside with two robed figures, both of whom had joined the ship from a skimmer as they passed Dacerius. Everyone stood back to let the robed figures approach the giant serpents. They bowed and hissed. The robed figures hissed back.

  So began the long and arduous process of negotiation for Ruszel’s release. But Dtimun was losing his mind as he stood beside the Cehn-Tahr contingent, tormented by the slowness of the process.

  The eldest of the Nagaashe, who had spoken with Madeline, approached him. “You fear for her, so you are impatient,” he thought to Dtimun. “Go to her, with your medics. It will be proper. We will continue the negotiations in your absence.”

  “Thank you,” Dtimun thought back.

  “She is just inside the cave there. She is quite unique,” the serpent replied. He turned and undulated back to the others.

  Dtimun motioned to Hahnson and they darted toward the cave. Madeline was just coming around, swamped with pain and barely lucid. When she saw the commander, her eyes burst with helpless delight. He rushed to her and made an odd sound when Hahnson bent over her.

  Hahnson sent the medic to check the two survivors of Madeline’s company. “I wasn’t going to touch her,” he assured Dtimun, tongue-in-cheek, as he pressed a sensor from his wrist unit against Madeline’s abdomen. “Death was very unpleasant and I have no wish to repeat it.”

  Dtimun didn’t look at him. He was watching Madeline, whose own eyes were open and staring at him.

  “You came…after us,” she whispered, astonished.

  “Yes.” He fought to keep emotion from escaping his control. His big hand slid to her cheek. She caught it and cradled it against her face. Dtimun leaned toward her with a low growl.

  Hahnson hit him with a laserdot of tranquillizer in his neck artery.

  Dtimun growled louder.

  Hahnson added another large dose, checked the monitor and muttered, “Stop that,” to Dtimun.

  Dtimun didn’t ask what he meant. Madeline was too foggy to notice the byplay.

  “What happened here?” Dtimun asked after a minute, slowly calming from the effects of the sedative he’d been given.

  Madeline caught a breath. It hurt, but not as much. “We were sent here on a rescue mission.” She nodded toward the outside of the smooth rock cavern. “They,” she said, meaning the Nagaashe, “were told that an invasion force was coming. We…didn’t know. Message said…a Tri-Fleet ship, a Jebob ship, went down here. We were sent in…to rescue them.” She managed a laugh
. “No crashed ship. Just furious Nagaashe.”

  “They didn’t kill you,” Hahnson said as he examined his instruments, shaking his head. “Amazing. They have a reputation for aggression.”

  She drew in another painful breath, aware of Dtimun’s stillness. “They’re telepaths,” she said. “Knew…I saved one of them…on Memcache.”

  Hahnson’s eyebrows rose. He stared at her expectantly.

  Dtimun’s eyes laughed for the first time since the ordeal began. “She called a flock of Meg-Ravens to deter a pursuing galot who was intent on killing a Nagaashe child.”

  Hahnson let out a laugh. “You can communicate with Meg-Ravens?” he exclaimed. “You should be teaching bird speech at the Medical Academy! Better yet, at the Military Academy!”

  “Shut up, Hahnson,” Dtimun said easily. “She belongs to the Holconcom.”

  “I’d love to know how you…got around Ambassador Taylor to come and get us,” Madeline told him.

  He studied her smudged, weary face, her tangle of red-gold hair, her cracked and missing copper armor plate. “I broke a few laws.”

  She managed a weak laugh. “Typical.” She drew in a quick breath. “Thanks.”

  “You are Holconcom,” Dtimun said curtly. “We do not desert our own.”

  She blinked. Hahnson had given her something for pain and she was suddenly drowsy. “How bad?” she asked him. “I can’t diagnose—my wrist unit is in need of repair.”

  Hahnson looked at his readouts. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked at Dtimun, who seemed to pale as he read the medic’s mind. “Nothing major,” he told Madeline. He gave her a dose of sedative. “Rest, now.” Her head leaned back against the wall. Her eyes closed.

  Hahnson tugged Dtimun to one side. He was solemn. “I can’t fix her,” he said stiffly.