Crisis

by David Drake

  Stone entered the room. Imani shut the door and used the outside controls to set the strikers. He kept the setting at full, potentially lethal power; to do less would be to show disrespect for one who was obviously in control of himself. He might fail and die, but he would want to be tested fully. Certainly Imani would in his place.

  Even through the closed door, Imani could hear the hum of the first striker as it drew near its release.

  Whatever else the human was, he was brave. In a strange test chamber with only the light of a single biolume, no doubt on the floor by this time, even the slightest mistake would prove fatal. Imani hoped that whatever gods the man spoke to would take an interest in him. Or that his skill was very sharp indeed.

  11.

  The first thing Berq did was climb to the top of the hill upon which she had crashed. This was natural to her, to go up to see what she could, and as the rain dropped off, the going became a lot easier. A half hour’s slippery hike brought her to the hill’s peak, and from there she could see things under the thick starlight.

  First and most obvious was the ship. This was a squat craft, the grayish hull rainbowed with annealing friction marks from dozens of atmospheric entries. Wisps of steam still rose from the cooked ground. The ship was dark, no running lights or hull lamps lit. She didn’t recognize the configuration. It seemed like a military hopper, company-sized, but there were no navy markings on it she could see. No markings at all.

  There seemed to be glimmerings and movement on the far side of the ship, but she couldn’t see who was there from her perch.

  The damned thing was partly responsible for her being here. The Ieast they could do was give her some help.

  One did not get to be a top assassin, however, by putting one’s hand into an occupied detz nest. Better she should check this out a little before she went tromping down the hill waving her arms at whoever was rattling around in the dark. Maybe they had lost power, but surely there’d be some kind of emergency backup for lights? They should have flashlamps, at least.

  Berq circled her way down, angling across the wet hillside until she was well aslant to the ship and able to move in the cover of a copse of evergreen trees. It took maybe another half hour, and along the way she began to be able to hear the passengers. They spoke in a language she was not familiar with, and while she didn’t understand the words, the tone sounded military. A deep voice would cut into the chatter every now and then, and it sure sounded like a non-com’s “Shut the fuck up!” to her.

  Finally, she managed to creep along a ragged line of dark bushes. The bushes still held a lot of water that fell on her at every slight touch against the damned things. She put her bag down, and crawled under one of the bushes until she could see the gathered passengers.

  Under the starlight, things were not as clear as they would be in daylight, of course, but there was enough illumination to reveal creatures unlike any Berq had eyer seen.

  They were quadrupeds. The front legs were relatively thick, almost like a big Nedge’s or a skinny Terran’s in size. Looked to be three toes, big pads on each. The rear legs were curved, resembling a springbok’s or maybe a craftdeer’s. But where a deer would have a neck, these things had an extension of the torso, widening to another set of shoulders and thick arms. Their necks were short, almost invisible, and the heads were heavy, roundish blocks. The skin color was hard to determine in the starlight; it looked dark gray or black, and the skin itself was loose, hung in a number of folds that effectively hid facial features, save for beady eyes and a thin slash of a mouth. Whatever they were, they weren’t native to any world about which Berq knew. Some of them were obviously male. Some seemed to be female.

  And she was right about them being soldiers, too.

  All of the things wore a long knife or a short sword on a strap around the upright torso. Some of them had laser rifles on shoulder slings. A few wore packs over the horizontal body section. Some carried handguns in holsters. There were patches of cloth or paint-bearing insignia on some of them. There were thirty or so trampling around in the mud, and from the way they sank into the ground in the one g, Berq estimated that the larger ones would probably go about two hundred kilos, maybe a little less. She couldn’t tell if there were more on the ship.

  Whoever–whatever–they were, she was pretty certain they didn’t belong here. Invited company generally didn’t come down hidden in a storm and bearing arms.

  Berq didn’t think she’d be asking these creatures for a ride to the spaceport. In fact, it was a good idea for her to leave before maybe one of them saw or smelled her or whatever.

  Using great care, Berq slid back from the scene. If they were military–and sure as dungbirds ate shit they were–then they would put out some kind of perimeter guards. Maybe she was outside the sentries, maybe not. She could deal with them if need be, but better they never knew she was here. Whatever they wanted, it was not her business, and the sooner she could get to the port and off-planet, the better.

  She worked her way back to the trees cautiously, using all her stealth techniques. When she was two hundred meters away, she relaxed a little. Probably outside their guards, if they’d had time to post any.

  She was nearing a large boulder when she heard something behind her. She spun. There was a Khalian; he was nearly on top of her, moving in fast. And he had friends, too, three of them.

  “Get him!” one of them yelled.

  She’d never get her gun out fast enough.

  Suddenly out of time, Berq did the only thing possible: she wrapped herself in the Amaji trance.

  Named after the mythical raptor, the Amaji fighting flight was designed to bypass the slowness of conscious thought. The twelve major katas combined covered virtually every possible attack, ranging from a single opponent to six; unarmed, armed with knives or sticks or swords or spears. Once wrapped in the trance, a fully fledged expert would not return to ordinary consciousness until the fight was won–or the master was dead. There was no in-between. The power of the response was dictated by the force of the attack. A killing strike upon one in Amaji would draw a like response.

  Not all higher consciousness fled. Berq saw, as if from a great distance, that the Weasel leading the charge had not extruded his claws or drawn a weapon, which he certainly would have done had he intended to maim or kill her. Lucky for him.

  Berq twirled, laid a hand almost gently on the back of the charging attacker’s head as she danced from his path; and gave him the Eagle at Sunrise.

  The Khalian did a half flip and hit the boulder.

  She cast Wren-in-Nest, and sent the second one flying. She dropped to Low Perch, and the third one tripped over her outstretched leg and pinwheeled into startled unconsciousness against the unyielding rock.

  She spun once again, in the classic helicopter strike Dying Dervish. The impact of her hammer-fist against the last one’s skull was most satisfying. He hit the wet ground with a great splash.

  The Amaji scanned the skies for danger. Seeing none, the raptor took wing. The trance was broken.

  Berq regarded her work. Not bad, especially, considering that these particular Weasels, given their moves, were passing adept at some fighting art.

  She drew her small pistol and approached the first attacker, who was conscious and moaning. Probably would have a sore back for a few days, that one.

  Berq spoke upward of twenty languages and all three of the common militaryspeaks. “Let’s talk, you and I,” she said to the groaning Panya.

  12.

  When Stone pushed the chamber door open, the old Khalian stood there, wrinkles gathered at the corners of his eyes and nostrils dilated. It was what passed for a broad smile among the Khalia.

  “Surprised?”

  Imani said, “No. I did not hear your body thump the floor, nor any major impacts from the strikers. How did you fare?”

  “The fourth one hit me here”–he touched his right shoulder with a finger–“but only a glancing blow. The twelfth brushed me here.
” He touched his hip.

  Imani smiled again. “Very good.”

  “How often do you engage the chamber?”

  “Daily.”

  “And how do you fare?”

  “One touch in the last fifty tests.”

  Stone was impressed. It had taken all his skill to keep from getting beaten to pieces in there. He offered Imani a bow of respect. This old Khalian had powerful ki, a blind man could not fail to see it.

  Imani returned the gesture. “I currently have no students able to train in the spring-chamber.”

  “You have now.”

  Wrinkle. Dilate. “Ah. I am honored.”

  “The honor is mine, Master.”

  “Let us call each other ‘Teacher.’ I can see that you have things to show me, as well. Can I assume you had nothing to do with the ship that has recently put down near here?”

  “I watched it from the stables. It landed on rocket power and the configuration of the engines did not look like one with which I am familiar.”

  “Have you any personal electronic devices?”

  “A timer. A musical tone generator.”

  “Would you see if they remain operative?”

  Stone picked up his pack and removed the two items. The blue glow of the biolumes was more than enough to show that both devices were inoperative. He looked at Imani, puzzled.

  “Our friends in the ship have laid an EMP upon us.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know. It is an interesting puzzle. But I am afraid it is also a bad omen.”

  Stone thought about it for a moment. “Are you at war with anyone?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  ”I heard rumors. . .”

  “Explain.”

  “On my way to Khalia I sometimes traveled with the military. Before he died, my uncle was highly regarded among our Fleet. There were rumblings of some kind of action around Khalia, of battleships being moved to this sector. Nothing official.”

  “Ah. There is nothing of military value around here, but such a place would be ideal to land a small force for fifth-column activities. The nearest village is some distance away. Our two vehicles will have been damaged by the pulse and our communications have been wiped out. I have sent some of my students to check on the ship, but this was before I knew about the EMP strike. They could be in danger. I must go and see to them.”

  “I’Il go with you.”

  “It is not your problem.”

  “It has just become mine, Sensei.”

  “I have an old hunting rifle somewhere. I’ll get it for you Sensei.”

  Stone followed his new teacher down the dark hall.

  13.

  The night skies had cleared almost completely; and there was more than enough light to see as Imani and his new friend Stone moved through the grounds in the direction of the distant ship. They were armed: Imani with his rocket pistol and Stone with the air rifle, but they would hardly be a match for troops, if indeed there were any such.

  And whose troops would they be?

  As they walked over the familiar grounds, Imani stopped suddenly near the outbuildings. Someone was coming.

  “Take cover,” he said quietly to Stone. “We have company. Shoot only if I do.”

  The human nodded and moved quickly and silently to a tartfruit bush, where he slid into the dark foliage.

  Imani drew his pistol and flattened himself against the toolshed.

  Several sets of footsteps. Slogging across the muddy ground. He recognized the sounds of his students and started to relax. No, wait. They were accompanied by another, one with a lighter tread. Not a Khalian. Nor a human. Imani felt something else, some strength in the Flow, emanating from this unseen presence. Another swimmer? He sniffed the air, caught the scents of his students, but did not recognize the ginger-spice odor of the alien. It seemed almost familiar, but he could not put a name to it.

  The first of the four students came into view, passing Imani where he pressed against the wood of the shed. He let his tension flow out with his exhalation, and shifted his weapon slightly.

  “Hold up,” came a command from the still-unseen alien.

  The two students stopped. Because Imani had willed himself into the technique of no-mind, neither had seen him, though he was plainly in view were they only to look.

  “I’ve got a dartgun painted at these four,” came the alien voice, “Unless you want to see them drop like cut wheat, best you come out and act peacefully.”

  Imani grinned, in spite of the problem. She–it was definitely a female of some kind, he felt–knew he and Stone were here in hiding. Yes. Another swimmer for certain. Imani did not believe in coincidence. She, like Stone, had been sent for some purpose. He holstered his weapon. If this alien meant his students fatal harm, they’d already be dead. So she might be dangerous, but she was reasonable. Besides, the Flow had sent her.

  Imani said, “Stone.”

  The two Khalian students jumped.

  “Master!” one of them said, relieved.

  Stone emerged from the bush, airgun still held ready, until he saw Imani wave it down. He lowered the weapon.

  Imani moved into view.

  It was one of the Nedge. He hadn’t seen one in years, not since his liberty at the Circleworld station, and only briefly then. And this one was another equal. The Flow must have major reasons for this.

  His students looked as if they had been in a battle, holding themselves stiffly, but obviously wearing new bruises and maybe even a fracture or two.

  “I am Imani, master of this place. This is Stone. I see you have already met my four students.”

  The female Nedge nodded. “You should teach them to think before they move.”

  Imani shrugged. “They are young. We were all young, once.”

  The Nedge chuckled. “You’re right, I forget that sometimes.” With that, she tucked the small gun into her belt.

  “I’m called Berq,” she said.

  14.

  Berq followed the old Khalian and the Terran to the main building. At first she had wondered what a human was doing out here, but when she drew closer, she understood. These were adepts, anybody with her own skills could hardly miss the way they moved and stood. She had spent more than two thirds of her life training to learn the moves that would allow the Amaji to function properly; and she understood well the desire to attain perfection. They worked in different systems, but past a certain point, all systems flew to the same end. These two were like her.

  Inside the temple Imani turned to his students. “What of the ship?”

  The first one who had attacked Berq lowered his gaze and spoke softly. “We did not get to it, Master.”

  Imani looked at Berq.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “It is my fault,” Imani said. “I am a poor teacher.”

  “I can tell you about the ship. I was leaving the area next to it when I–ah–met your students.”

  “And taught them a humility I have failed to teach them, honored lady.”

  “Female?” the senior student said. “She is female?”

  “You are dismissed,” Imani said to the four. “Go and find a way to lessen the darkness in here. Rig torches or biolumes.”

  The four scurried away quickly.

  “Our electronics have been disrupted by an EMP.”

  “Damn! That must be why my flitter went dead. Those ugly quads blew me out of the air!”

  “Quads?” Imani said.

  Berq described the ship and its occupants. It was obvious that Imani did not recognize the creatures from her description, but the man’s reaction said that he did. Imani noticed this, as well.

  “Stone?”

  “When I was on the last leg of my journey here, I heard stories about such creatures. An officer got drunk and said maybe more than he should. They sound like the Kosantzu. A young race involved with the Syndicate, according to my source.”

  “Why would they be here?”

 
; Stone shook his head. “I don’t know. But if the Syndicate has anything to do with it, it’s grief. And if the other rumors I heard have anything to them, then Khalia may be in trouble.”

  Berq said, “How so?”

  “It sounds to me like the planet is about to be attacked. And maybe the invasion has already started.”

  15.

  Daybreak was still more than three hours away when Berq had arrived with her news. Stone knew that she was made of the same stuff as he and Imani; more, she had an edge sharper than his own. He had recently been forced to kill three Khalian attackers; she had defeated four of the same opponents–but without seriously damaging them, a much more difficult task. Killing was easier by far than controlling.

  Stone and Berq sat at a table in a small room alone, Imani having gone to speak to his students. Shortly, he returned; by the light of several biolumes, the Nedge drew them pictures. It was obvious she did not want to be here, that this was not her business. But as she sketched the layout of the ship’s landing site, and then the Kosantzu–if that’s who they were–Stone realized too that she had a grasp of military strategy and tactics at least equal to his own. The temple was isolated, without communications, and a too-obvious target for the invaders. Certainly Berq could escape on her own in the dark, but she did not know what kind of sensor equipment the Kosantzu could field, and come sunrise, she would be in strange country, at a decided disadvantage against an unknown number of faster, probably stronger, and certainly better armed enemies.

  That they were enemies none of them doubted for a moment.

  Berq pointed at the drawing of the Kosantzu. It was well rendered, using the tight lines of a skilled draftsman. The Kosantzu were ugly brutes.

  “The legs are thick, and the upper body appears to be fairly powerful. Here is the scale.”