Sword of the Lamb

by M. K. Wren

  Ussher crossed the room with long strides, his smile as contrived as Jobe’s, but more skillfully; a strong voice, rich and deep, that would be as facile as those foils.

  “Jobe, how are you?” Then an easy laugh. “As if that needs answering after watching you in action.”

  Jobe shrugged, and his smile wasn’t so forced now. “Well, I’m doing all right for an old man. You’re looking good.”

  “I’ll never keep up with you. Damn, I haven’t been down here for weeks, and I miss it. But everything keeps piling up in the office. You know how that goes.”

  Jobe nodded his sympathy. “They’re keeping the old in-file stacked up, huh?”

  Alex waited silently as Jobe took the foils and masks to the case. Jael recognized that almost indifferent expression; there was more here than met the eye.

  “We’re putting in some new equipment,” Ussher was saying. “SynchCom transmitters; a new model, as a matter of fact. Lord Woolf’s finest.”

  Jael frowned. Ussher had glanced at Alex with that. It was either a test, a challenge, or some kind of reminder. But he gave more than he got. Alex didn’t so much as blink, and Jael found the byplay informative. Ussher was lined in on Alex Ransom.

  Ussher still addressed himself to Jobe. “How are Laura and Davy? But I suppose it’s ‘Dave’ these days. He’s practically a young man by now. Seventeen, isn’t he?”

  Jael almost laughed. A tooth man, and gifted with a good memory, a prerequisite for the gim. But any inclination to laughter died when Jobe, his initial reserve dispelled, beamed proudly as he turned from the foil case.

  “Seventeen just last month. He and Laura are fine, Predis, and Dave’s half a head taller than I am already.”

  Ussher laughed appreciatively. “I’ll be damned. He’s a fine boy, Jobe. You’re a fortunate man.” He glanced around the gym, nearly losing his smile when he saw Jael. “I was looking for Jan Barret, but I got so fascinated with your display of fencing skill, I all but forgot my purpose. That’s something I never expected to see in Fina. Who’s your fencing partner, by the way?”

  “Oh—sorry, Predis,” Jobe said, “I forgot you hadn’t met my worthy opponent.”

  Alex took the initiative with a disarmingly open smile. “Councilor Ussher, isn’t it? I’ve encountered you in the memfiles.” He extended his hand. “I’m Alex Ransom.”

  Ussher hesitated only a split second before he reached out to give him a firm, vigorous handshake.

  “Well, Fer Ransom, I’d like to extend a personal welcome to Fina and the Phoenix. We need young men of your caliber. We’ve a long struggle ahead of us, but let me assure you we will win our battles. There’s a saying among the Bonds, you know: Might makes its Rightness. But I say, Rightness makes its Might.”

  Alex absorbed that without a flicker of expression, nor did he respond. He simply ignored it, leaving Ussher slightly off balance.

  “Fer Ussher, have you met our latest recruit?” He glanced at Jael, who took the cue and walked over to them, giving Ussher a straight eye. Ussher could only meet it for five seconds at once.

  “Councilor Predis Ussher,” Alex said, “this is Jael.”

  The broad smile snapped on again and the hand went out. A skin presser.

  “Welcome, Fer Jael. This is an unexpected pleasure; I don’t often get to meet our new members until they’ve completed GT. I can see the Phoenix is doubly fortunate in its two newest members. With young men like you in our ranks, we can’t fail.”

  Jael played to the gim with a self-conscious smile. “Thanks, Fer Ussher. I hope you’re right.”

  “I know I am. And, Jobe, you seem to have found a fencing partner at last. I’m sure Fer Ransom is especially welcome to you.”

  Jobe gave Alex a crooked grin. “Maybe too much of a partner for this old man. He really keeps me stepping.”

  “Now, Jobe, you make most of the young sprouts around here look pretty decrepit. But I’ll admit Fer Ransom seemed to be giving you a good run. Of course, I don’t know the first thing about the Sport of Lords.”

  Again, a test or a challenge. Jael caught a cold, hidden light behind Ussher’s eyes.

  Alex only smiled politely. “It’s a fine sport, Fer Ussher. Excellent for developing good reflexes.”

  “I’m sure it is. Well, Jobe, it’s late and high time for you to get on to your apartment. Oh—was Jan here this evening?”

  “Commander Barret? No, I didn’t see him, and I’ve been here since 19:00.”

  Ussher shrugged. “He said he was coming up for a workout tonight. Well, say hello to Laura and Dave for me.” He turned to Alex and Jael, offering each a handshake. “Fer Ransom, Fer Jael, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. If I can be of any assistance, don’t hesitate to call on me.” He emphasized that with a decisive nod, then started for the door. “Good night, Jobe. Keep up the good work.”

  “Thanks, Predis. Good night.”

  Jael was watching Jobe. There was still a hint of that initial reserve, but only a hint. His gaze shifted, meeting Alex’s. He read Ussher; he was no took.

  But Jobe Howe didn’t, and there were more of Jobe’s ilk in Fina than Alex Ransom’s.

  A tooth-gimmer, Jael thought bleakly; a second-rate charmgaffer who wouldn’t pull a look in the Outside, but here he had six thousand potential tooks.

  Alex started for the dressing room. “I’ll take a quick shower, Jael. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

  Jobe joined Alex in the dressing room; Jael heard their voices in a casual exchange. Alex was good at that, as he was good at camouflage and at calling other people’s paces.

  Power, Jael was thinking grimly. That was the gim Predis Ussher was running, and he wouldn’t be satisfied, like the tooth-gimmers in the Outside, just to pick the fruit and spook. He’d go after the whole damned tree.

  Jael sighed. There was a snake in every garden; he wasn’t surprised to find Ussher here. Now he had him sighted, and he intended to do some sniffing around, but he’d waste no time in the memfiles. Nor with Alex. He might read the toothgimmer, but he wouldn’t open up.

  But Jael wondered if Alex Ransom read Ussher all the way. Alex was a gentleman born, but Ussher wasn’t; he wouldn’t play by the rules.

  PERSONAL FILE: E. RADEK CASE NOTES: 23 AUGUS 3253

  SUBJECT: ALEX RANSOM

  If Alex were so inclined, he might celebrate an anniversary of sorts today: a full month in the Phoenix. I talked with him this afternoon, but only briefly; he was scheduled for fingerprint removal. He won’t have larynx alteration, and there’s some risk in that in the unlikely—I hope—event of his arrest, but the SSB is so accustomed to finding print removal accompanied by larynx alteration—and for that we can thank the Outsiders—they seldom bother to check VP once they see the print removal. At any rate, he must have some means of identifying himself beyond a doubt if the Lord Alexand can be resurrected.

  He’ll finish GT in five days and has been officially assigned to Fleet Operations. I’ve set up an appointment for him with Emeric Garris this evening and suggested to Emerie that Jan Barret give Alex a tour of FO’s facilities. Jan will respond to Alex, and perhaps Predis’s hold over him can be negated to some degree.

  I talked with Alex about Jael again today, and he’s still obviously impressed with our Outsider. Out of curiosity, I did a comparison overlay of their personality profiles and motivational matrix patterns, and they coincide to a remarkable degree. That would seem impossible in view of the difference in their formative experience, but the Outside is closer to the highest circles of the Elite than one might think, and they are, of course, both sons of Lords in one sense or another.

  5.

  Fleet Operations; Level 1, a cavern world a hundred meters below sea level.

  The builders of Fina had used the natural chambers, flooring them and coating the walls with plasment that left the rock contours still visible. The scale of the hangar
vaults was so vast, it made the black-hulled ships berthed within them look like miniatures.

  Commander Jan Barret took some pride in reeling off dimensions as he conducted this private tour. Hangar 1, the main hangar, was roughly rectangular, two hundred by three hundred meters, and eighty meters high at the apex where a bank of helions flooded the vault with light. The comcenter was set into one of the long walls, a semicircular chamber fronted with a sound-screened windowall and a narrow deck raised a meter above the hangar floor. From the deck, one had a clear view of the entire hangar and the lock tunnel across the vault.

  The other two hangars, which were each about half the size of the main one, but still impressive enough, were used for storage and maintenance. The tour included a survey of the maintenance, docking, and loading facilities, an inventory of the fleet—five Troop Carrier Corsairs, ten Corvets, and forty-two Falcons—as well as the comcenter and introductions to its staff. There were never fewer than thirty techs on duty, none rated under Grade 6, and FO’s comcenter would make the average Confleet equivalent look crude by comparison.

  Now they crossed Hangar I to the lock tunnel, their footfalls echoing in the quiet. It was the dinner hour; the hangars were nearly deserted.

  Jan Barret was one of five men in FO ranked leftant commander, but he wore no uniform; no one in Fina wore a uniform. The only indication of his rank was the insignia with the triangle-flame symbol above a single star on his collar. He wore it proudly. He was only thirty, and often enough people judged him to be even younger; he had a freckled, boyish face and sandy hair that defied a comb. But neither the men under him nor Commander Garris were put off by that, and he was well aware of the rumors that Garris might name him first commander when he retired.

  Barret frowned, watching Alex Ransom, and wondering why Predis seemed so uneasy about him. He might be a Confleet Academy graduate, but he wasn’t looking down his nose at the Society’s fleet; his questions were serious and pertinent.

  And there was something about him—Barret sighed, finding that special quality elusive. He had the feeling Ransom was used to uniforms and would wear them well. Boots. He’d probably worn boots most of his life. For Barret, a Second Gen, the life style associated with uniforms and boots was foreign and in no way attractive, but there were some aspects of it he could respect. Like training and discipline. Ransom’s carriage conveyed both.

  Ransom paused, looking up at a Falcon whose hull bore a long, scorched gash, the borasil coating blistered around it.

  “She’s acquired her battle scars.”

  Barret nodded. “Yes, and so did some of her crew. We lost two men aboard Imp.”

  Ransom was silent for a moment, black brows drawn, but he made no comment on the casualties.

  “Commander, your ships don’t carry the Phoenix symbol.” Barret shrugged as they continued down the row of Falcons. “I guess Commander Garris doesn’t think we should advertise ourselves. Why? Do you think we should carry insignia?” Ransom glanced at him and laughed. “I wouldn’t presume to say. For one thing, that isn’t the best way to get on good terms with your commanding officer. I was just thinking of it from Confleet’s point of view. The Phoenix gets blamed for a great deal of piracy we have nothing to do with. But perhaps that’s all to the good.”

  Barret nodded. “If the Concord knew what a small fleet we really have, they might not be at all impressed. Fortunately, size isn’t everything.”

  They walked on in silence for a while, Ransom examining the ships as they passed.

  “Your total manpower is about sixteen hundred, isn’t it? How is that divided between flight and ground crews?”

  “Very roughly, Captain. Most of our personnel are trained for both flight and ground duty.”

  Ransom’s pale eyes narrowed, and Barret realized he’d slipped, using his rank. Garris had introduced him as Fer Ransom. But Ransom only looked away as if he were embarrassed.

  “I’m not entitled to that rank here. That was my Confleet rank, and I don’t know where Commander Garris intends to start me in FO—probably base private. And I wouldn’t mind that. I want to make my own way here.”

  Barret paused, feeling out the tone of that, and he found himself pleased with it.

  “Look, we don’t put much stock in ranks or last names, except on duty. Call me Jan and, if it’s all right with you, I’ll call you Alex.”

  Ransom smiled at that. “Thanks, Jan.”

  Barret slowed his pace as they approached the mouth of the lock tunnel.

  “Anyway, I doubt you’ll be starting out at base private. That’d be a hell of a waste. I mean, you’re the only Confleet Academy graduate we’ve ever had. You have more training behind you than all the rest of us put together.”

  He laughed. “The Academy program isn’t that good, and I thought Commander Garris had Confleet training.”

  “He did, but he worked his way up through the ranks. Besides, that was a long time ago.”

  “Confleet hasn’t changed its methods that much.”

  “Maybe, but there’ve been a lot of technical changes.” He cocked his thumb over his shoulder. “Like those new Falcons we picked up a couple of weeks ago. They carry new guns—modified X6s—more firepower than any Falcon’s ever carried before. But you probably know all about those little cannons.”

  “Not really. I wasn’t a gunnery officer. What I know about the new X6s is out of the manuals or word of mouth.”

  “Well, you’ll get a chance to learn about them firsthand.I don’t think this is what Confleet had in mind for you, though.”

  Ransom was surveying the lock tunnel. “Confleet wouldn’t approve of the use I’ll be putting to any of their training. I’m only glad it will finally be put to good use.”

  “It will be, Alex, and we’ll put you to good, hard use. There’ll be times when you get used so hard, you won’t be able to put one foot in front of the other.”

  Ransom was still looking down the tunnel, his eyes veiled as if he were focusing on some bitter memory.

  “Jan, I’ve been searching all my life for a cause I could work at to the point of exhaustion; something I could believe in and care about that much.” He stopped abruptly, as if he’d said more than he intended, but there was a ring of conviction in those words that stirred some indefinable excitement in Barret.

  “You’ve found it here.” Then he laughed, feeling a need to dispel the sober mood. “Both a cause and an opportunity for exhaustion. We’re small, so we have to work damn hard to keep the enemy on his toes.”

  “The enemy?” Ransom looked directly at him, a probing gaze that made him vaguely uncomfortable.

  “Well, I mean the Concord.”

  “Oh. I guess I’ve been out of a military milieu too long. That’s the first time I’ve heard the Concord referred to as the enemy. But I suppose it’s a matter of habit for someone like Commander Garris with his military background.”

  Barret was silent, wondering about the word that came so easily to his lips. It wasn’t Emeric Garris who habitually referred to the Concord as the enemy.

  “What about the lock, Jan? How many ships will it accommodate?”

  He roused himself and looked down the tunnel toward the huge, segmented doors.

  “It’ll take one of the Corsairs, or three Corvets, or six Falcons. That’s the lock itself. We can stack quite a few ships in the outside approach tunnel.”

  “It’s ingenious, the underwater access.”

  “It works well enough. We’re screened against observation on any wavelength for five hundred kilometers around Fina. Our ships always surface or submerge at irregular intervals and at random points within the screened area. Of course, we have to do some structural reinforcement on the ships so they can take the inward pressure from the water.”

  Ransom nodded, turning as Barret did and keeping pace with him back across the hangar toward the corridor entrance.

  “Jan, are any of your ships equipped with MTs
?”

  “No, and we’re not really using the MT strategically yet. The equipment’s expensive and hard to come by, and they’re put together practically by hand; we’re not set up for heavy manufacturing. And they’re a big energy drain.” He sighed. “I’d like to see all the Corvets equipped with MTs, but John M’Kim says it just isn’t feasible now.” They reached the wide double doors at the corridor entrance, and Barret stopped. “Well, that about covers it. I’ll leave you here. I have to check with TacComm on a recon run I’m taking out tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for the tour, Jan.” Then Ransom gave him an easy smile. “Maybe I’ll end up in your command.”

  “I’ll put in a word with Garris, but with your training and experience, it may work out that I’ll end up in your command.”

  Ransom paused, his gaze direct. “Jan, if by any chance you did eventually end up in my command, would it bother you?”

  Barret’s inclination was to pass that off with a noncommittal reply, but he didn’t; he couldn’t. And again he was thinking that Predis was worrying too much about Alex Ransom.

  “No, it wouldn’t bother me; not as long as I was sure you were qualified.”

  Ransom smiled. “Well, I don’t think we need to worry about that contingency now. I’m sure Commander Garris will give me a hard run before he’s satisfied with my qualifications for anything.”

  “He knows how to give a man a run, too. TacComm is setting up a series of raids in the Solar System in a couple of weeks, so don’t count on much rest.”

  “I don’t need much. You don’t have a permanent FO base in the Solar System, do you?”

  “No.” Barret’s mouth tightened irritably. “It’d be handy for diversion, among other things. Besides, every time we move a ship in or out of here, there’s a risk; it could lead Confleet to Fina. Another good reason is that a lot of our missions take us into the Solar System, and that means SynchShift both ways. Takes a lot of power. But again, the problem is expense and matériel. We’re working toward it, though. We’ve had our eye on Rhea. That would put us near the middle of the Solar System in the Saturn orbit. Rhea’s only an overgrown rock, really, just big enough to hide a good-sized underground hangar, but too small to interest the Concord for mining or anything else.”