by John Ringo
“And while that will potentially increase the security threat,” Captain MacDonald said, “it’s unlikely that there will be anything we can’t handle. As long as Miss Moon agrees to remain in her armor.”
“Then I have a suggestion,” Miriam said. She and the chief were back on videophone. “The first city we’ve spotted. I was looking for some of the same indicators and it gives evidence of recent growth.”
“Okay,” the CO said. “I’d say that’s our target. Captain MacDonald is in charge of determining the landing zone. Think ability to contact and security.”
“What do you got, Top?” MacDonald said, looking up from the computer screen.
“Interesting suggestion, sir,” the first sergeant said, laying a sheet of paper on the desk. “This spot is located about six klicks from the outer edge of the real metropolitan area. It’s a large manor that seems to be part castle. Broad lawns, so they apparently like the same sort of stuff we do, which is interesting. Most important…”
“Those look like defenses,” the CO said, pointing to spots. “Is that a trenchline?”
“That, sir, is a ha-ha,” Top corrected. “A deep ditch designed to keep the riff-raff out. This, in fact, looks very much like their version of Buckingham Palace, just when the duke of Buckingham still owned it. Some interesting indicators to be drawn from it. The fact that all serious defenses have been eradicated indicates that the area is free from external threats. Lots of ship traffic. I think Miss Moon hit the jackpot.”
“I was looking at this thing,” the CO said, pulling out a similar printout. It showed an open plain and a very large hill apparently composed entirely of granite.
“I saw that as well, sir,” the first sergeant said uncomfortably.
“And you have objections,” the CO said. “It’s certainly defensible. And if we need to make a quick getaway…”
“As you say, sir,” the first sergeant replied.
“Say it, Top.”
“First, sir, there’s the fact that there is no development,” the first sergeant said. “There’s no indication that even when this area was castellated, and there’s significant indicators of previous castellation, that any occurred on that hill. So they deliberately chose not to build defenses on it. That could indicate anything from instability to taboo to religious reasons. Second, sir, it’s a long damned walk. Communication with the ship will be difficult if we end up entering the city. And in the worst possible scenario, fighting our way back to the ship will be difficult or impossible. Those are my objections, sir.”
“And they’re good objections,” Captain MacDonald said, frowning. “I’d thought of the second one but not the first. Very well, First Sergeant, Buckingham Palace it is…”
“To arms! To arms!”
“What is my son shouting about, Sreen?” Lady Che-chee asked as her footman entered the room. The normally phlegmatic servant was showing clear signs of agitation in his demeanor, his ears twitching most distressingly.
“Mistress,” Sreen said, his nose flickering open and closed. “There is a… thing on the lawn. It appears to be a greater metal Demon.”
“The Demons are here?” Lady Che-chee said, rising to her full height of nearly two meters. “Bring my sword and have the pups evacuated immediately.”
“Yes, mistress,” Sreen said, backing out of the room.
“Nice reception,” Jaen said as he stepped out of the elevator.
The locals had lined up confronting the sub, which had landed on the broad lawn of the manor. The building had fewer windows than a similar structure on Earth, but otherwise was remarkably similar. There were two long wings centered on a main “hall” that had clear signs of having once been a small fort or castle.
Drawn up by the heavy front door were, apparently, the defenders. Two were in plate armor and holding swords. They also were standing on a pair of the golden surfboards. It descended from there to a local that had to be a young teen holding a butcher knife. Most of the locals were holding short spears. No firearms, no bows and sure as hell nothing that could penetrate Wyvern armor.
The threesome deployed then, as instructed; Jaen marched forward, halfway to the “reception committee,” laid a heavy casket on the ground, then backed up.
“Be interesting to see what they think of the bait,” Berg said just as one of the armored guys lifted off on his surfboard. The action apparently was not agreed upon by the other, larger, armored figure who raised an arm and squeaked at the other.
Despite the apparent imprecations, the figure swept down and took a spear from one of the retainers, then swept around to face Jaen.
“Oh, maulk,” the team leader muttered.
“Do not fire,” the CO said. “Just take it.”
The local hefted his short lance and then barreled forward, gaining speed rapidly until he could plunge the weapon, hard, into the team leader’s chest.
Jaen, who had planted one foot behind him, didn’t even rock from the blow. The spear shattered.
The local, clearly infuriated, came around for another run holding his sword.
“If that’s a monomolecular edge it’s gonna sting,” Berg noted.
It wasn’t. The local nearly lost his grip on the sword, which was clearly ringing like a bell in his hand, but he stayed in the fight, whaling away on Jaen’s armor as the team leader took the blows stolidly.
“Sir?” he said. “Any suggestions?”
“Cha-chai! Get back here this instant!” Lady Che-chee shouted. Her son had recently joined the cavalry regiment and thought himself quite the warrior. Given that Lady Che-chee had started life as an almost penniless ensign and risen to the peerage, she knew what “warrior” meant.
And the visitors were clearly uninterested in attacking. They had no obvious weapons, but those suits of armor alone made them a weapon. She could see no air gaps, no way for them to breathe. Just masses of metal, perhaps even metal things like the chak-chak. The legends spoke of such, but she had never expected to see the day. Of course, the legends also said that where the metal things went, there went the Demons.
Cha-chai had ignored her, as was too frequently the case lately, and now snatched a spear from the gamesman and charged the leader of the trio. Aware that it could mean war at any moment, Lady Che-chee took a stance and prepared to draw. But the spear shattered upon the armor and the armored figure didn’t even rock.
And now the young idiot was attacking with his sword!
“That was your grandmother’s!” Lady Che-chee shouted. “If you break it I will so shave your coat you young snot!”
“Sir,” the first sergeant said.
“Go,” Captain MacDonald said. “Diplomatically, please.”
“For values of diplomacy,” the first sergeant replied. “Miss Moon, I need your input. I’m reading the body language of the other armored figure as annoyance at the smaller one’s antics.”
“I agree, First Sergeant Powell,” Miriam said, grinning over the video link. “The younger one is acting a bit like, well, a headstrong young nobleman. And the larger would be either his father or a senior retainer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the first sergeant said. “That was my read as well. So. Two-Gun, can you get the sword away from that local? Without harming him?”
Lady Che-chee didn’t want to make the situation any worse by approaching. No matter how diplomatic you were about it, being approached by an armored Mother was intimidating. But she realized she was simply going to have to go over and stop the young idiot before he got someone killed.
Just as she was about to step off, one of the armored figures solved the situation for her. It reached over and first took Cha-chai’s wrist in its claw, firmly but not violently. It was apparent, however, from her son’s struggles that it was an immovable hold. Then the armored figure took away her son’s sword. He handed it to the leader, gently and carefully, then fumbled for a moment and removed her son’s helmet.
Afraid that he was going to kill her headstrong son,
Lady Che-chee drew her sword and lifted into the air. But before she could even approach, the figure simply held the helmet in one hand and closed the hand, turning the helm of finest Mee-reean steel into a lump.
Then he handed the lump back, respectfully. The sword followed.
“Mother,” Cha-chai yelled, hovering his chak-chak. “I believe they wish to speak to you.”
Berg watched as one of the servants stepped over to the case and, after fumbling with the closure, looked inside. His chittering was unintelligible but he was definitely excited and Berg noticed him slip one of the gems into the belt that was his only clothing.
The gems were “real.” They were manufactured gemstones, virtually worthless on Earth but indistinguishable from the real thing. There were also some small bars of gold. Gems and gold might or might not have local value. They’d have to see.
The helmetless local swooped down and reached into the case, removing one of the sapphires. He looked over at Jaen and chittered something, tossing the gem in the air.
“Mother,” Cha-chai called. “I do believe my promotion is paid for. As are my gambling debts.”
“What?” Lady Che-chee said. “All of them? Bring it over here.”
Cha-chai and the gamesman brought the chest over and she looked in it and nodded.
“Tribute,” she said. “But for what? Ruining my lawn? Or the endless trouble their presence is going to cause? Surely not to prevent us attacking them. Nothing we own could damage that ship; even rocks from a trebuchet would do nought much more than dent it.”
Two more of the suits of armor were descending in the glass room. How any glass, though, could support the weight of those suits was beyond her. However, they stepped out and walked over, passing the threesome who then redeployed to either side and slightly back. Bodyguards, then. She supposed it was wise to send guards first in a situation where you knew nothing of the locals. She could overlook the insult and it was not as if they were even beginning to treat with each other. Sumar knows she had done enough reconnaissance of enemy positions in her time.
The two new suits, which were colored a sky blue with a black dome on top, stopped a few paces from her. Then she got the shock of her life as the suits opened up along an nearly invisible seam and two of the occupants stepped out, causing a great shout amongst her retainers.
She, everyone, had been expecting Cheerick. But they were not! Except upon the head of one they were furless. Shiny black bodies, like sgraga that caught in the fur! No, those were clothes. Close fitting and showing odd lumps like large pustules on the chest of the smaller one! Their legs moved oddly. Their faces were so flat! They were revolting!
But she quelled her urge to vomit at the sight as the larger, nearly furless, one turned to the rear of the armor and began removing gear. She had thought it might be more presents, but it was not. A cuirass of some strange gray metal, a helmet of same, a harness. She caught a glimpse of ropy scars as the clothing moved aside. A warrior. So who was the smaller?
When the warrior was properly armed, the smaller came forward and made a strange arm movement. It was similar to one the island tribes used, a sign of parley.
“Lady Che-chee,” the smaller one said, her small nose twitching. “Know language not. Learn must.”
“You are the interpreter,” Lady Che-chee said, her ears twitching in agreement. “I would speak with your mistress.”
“Would speak…” The interpreter paused. “Understanding not.” The rest was an unintelligible squeak that had, yes, the lilt of the islands.
“I would speak to your leader,” Lady Che-chee said. “I would speak to your lord. I would speak to your master. I would speak to your mistress.”
“Lady Che-chee speak master,” the interpreter said, pointing to her head. “Master speak, I speak.”
“She has a demon in her!” Cha-chai shouted.
“Silence!” Lady Che-chee shouted. “You will not shame me by this display. All but my armsmen, return to your duties!
“Now, interpreter, what is your name?” Lady Che-chee asked.
“Miriam, Lady Che-chee.”
“Mrn-mreem,” Lady Che-chee said. “Your master here.”
“Master there,” Miriam said, pointing at the ship. “Speak me, speak him.”
“Why will he not come out and treat with us properly?” Cha-chai said angrily.
“Not know say,” Miriam said. “Master ship. Not come out.”
“I will not treat with an inferior,” Lady Che-chee said bluntly. “Get your ship off my lawn.”
“Wait,” Miriam said, holding her hand to her head. “Wait.”
“She refuses to talk to me,” Miriam said. “Very proper, seems to know what she’s doing, she’s negotiated before. But she’s unwilling to talk to an inferior. Probably because she’s negotiated before.”
“Try to get more language,” the CO said, looking around at the command staff. “Try to explain that I cannot exit the ship. I don’t even have a Wyvern, which is something that needs to be changed. Tell her that I will send a senior deputy.”
“I guess I’d better go get my Wyvern on,” Weaver said, standing up.
“Captain MacDonald, you go, too,” Spectre said. “Take Top as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lady Che-chee,” Miriam said. “Talk others? Language learn? Explain?”
“I will permit that,” she said, looking at her son. “Cha-chai… No. Sreen!”
“Madame?” the footman said imperturbably. As long as it wasn’t Demons, he was fine.
“Talk with this one,” she said imperiously. “And bring me a drink and a chair. I’m getting too old to stand around in armor all day. A solid chair.”
“So far, so good,” Jaen said. “Okay, let’s get 360 security here.”
“Got it,” Berg said, turning in position. “The only major emissions are from those flying board things and the ship. Nice place. I’d love to swim in that lake.”
“Probably got crabpus in it,” Hatt said. “How’s the pow-wow going?”
“Looks okay,” Jaen said. “I can almost follow the pantomime. That Miss Moon’s some actress.”
“She’s some lady,” Hatt said. “Nice voice, too.”
“I sure as hell can’t make some of those sounds,” Jaen said. “Squeak, eak! Rats. Why’d it have to be rats?”
“Chinchillas,” Berg corrected. “Miss Moon said they’re more like chinchillas. Think of them that way. Or giant hamsters.”
“Whatever.”
“Commander Weaver,” the CO said over the radio link. “You are not permitted out of armor.”
“Understood, sir,” Weaver said as the elevator opened. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Hey, Miller,” he added as he approached the pow-wow. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good, I think,” Miller said, standing stolidly. If he was noticing the chill he didn’t show it, but they’d brought coats for both him and Miriam. Miriam was definitely noticing it in the thin body suit. She was shivering and it was beginning to affect her speech.
Weaver handed over the coats, then stood by Miriam.
“Okay, I’ll see if this will work,” Miriam said, her teeth chattering. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Weaver said over the external speaker.
Miriam shrugged on the long, down coat, then turned up the heater.
“Sreee,” Miriam said in Cheerick. “Commander William Weaver. Commander Beeel, shiny. Third officer of ship. Only officer has armor.” Miriam tapped that.
“And must have armor to exit ship,” Sreee said. “You don’t have armor. Why?”
“Dangers,” Miriam said. “Law. Must have special cleaning if no armor. Commander Beeel no leave armor. Speak for commander. Friend to our queen. High lord.”
“This one no armor,” Sreee said, pointing at Miller.
“Crazy-brave warrior,” Miriam said. “Does cleaning, too. Cleaning very long. Many days.”
“I will speak to my
mistress.”
“They have a law that they cannot leave the ship without armor, mistress,” Sreee said. “Only the interpreter and her guard as I understand it may be without armor. And they must undergo special cleaning. One of the new people is their third officer, the highest officer who has armor. He sounds as if he is an officer from their court, a friend of their queen.”
“Their lord has no armor?” Cha-chai interjected. “Can he not afford it?”
“He has paid for his commission to this ship,” Lady Che-chee said. “I guess he sold it.”
“They somehow speak to their commander,” Sreee said. “I do not understand how. When I ask she points at her ear or her head, as if she hears voices. It may be they speak mind to mind.”
“No,” Lady Che-chee said, standing up. “The new one, he spoke aloud through the armor. It is their magic. Very well, I will speak to him and through him to their commander. Ask them, first, if their magic permits their commander’s voice to at least be heard.”
“Yeah, we can do that,” Weaver said, looking at his controls. “No, I can’t. This suit isn’t equipped for retrans! Jaen.”
“Sir?”
“I need one of your team over here, stat,” Weaver said. “Smart one.”
“Two-Gun,” Jaen said. “You’re up.”
Berg walked over quickly and took up a position by Miss Moon.
“Set your system to retrans to the ship,” Commander Weaver said. “Channel Four. The CO’s going to use it to speak.”
“Yes, sir,” Berg said, dropping his glove and hitting the controls rapidly. “Set, sir.”
