by Eric Thomson
At the evening meal, she introduced him formally to the others who would form the Fifth Orta’s command and staff team. They seemed like a hard, experienced bunch, dominated by people with the strange Nelvan accent though there were a few Commonwealth humans who’d likely been taken by slavers a long time ago.
“Do we get any nonhumans in the unit?” He asked Daran around a mouthful of bread.
“No.” She shook her head. “The Atabek prefers single species units for combat contracts. It enhances cohesion and simplifies logistics, and clients prefer human silahdars because our species, for some reason, is considered to be the most disciplined and martial in these parts.”
“Which is why slavers are willing to go as far as the Commonwealth for merchandise,” he replied knowingly. “Humans get a good price at market.”
“Just so.”
He noticed the others at the table didn’t rise above small talk and unit gossip, not even the ones who spoke Anglic with the accent of home, even though they had to be curious about Decker’s sudden appearance in their midst.
When they left the mess hall to return to their tactics discussion, he noticed that most of the silahdars had stayed in the large building, sipping drinks, playing games or talking.
“What do you guys do for fun around here?” He asked.
“The eating hall is the social center for this installation,” she replied. “There are various diversions. We also have an extensive library of books in many languages. You’ll find a reader among your issued kit. Our lifestyle is really quite simple.”
“Any place a human can have something alcoholic?”
Her delighted laughter pealed in the evening air.
“The Atabek is very desirous of keeping his silahdars in prime condition, so no. Mind-altering substances or alcohol are not permitted, and as you’ll have noticed today, the food is nourishing.”
“Damn.” Decker sighed. He’d just found the first big downside of this new life, after the whole matter of him being an alien’s property, of course. It was going to be a long wait until his next taste of Shrehari ale. He was beginning to think sex was off the list of permitted recreational activities as well when he saw Daran’s speculative gaze out of the corner of his eyes, and that lifted his spirits just a bit.
Later that evening, when he slipped into bed, he felt physically and mentally drained, but in a good way for once. The hours they’d spent wargaming had been a lot of fun. He’d forgotten how much he had enjoyed the intellectual part of leading troops: the planning, the debating, and the what-ifs. Sleep came quickly and for the first time since the fateful day of the reiver attack, it came without nightmares. When the morning chimes woke him, he felt refreshed and at greater peace with himself than he had ever since the reivers had taken his ship.
Over the next few weeks, his days alternated between physical training to rebuild his strength and working with Daran’s staff to build the battalion. The Atabek wanted the Fifth Orta to be closely modeled on a Commonwealth Marine light infantry unit, a key selling point as Daran noted, and Decker was the walking encyclopedia who’d make it happen. He began to spend more time with Lora Cyone as well. She’d been appointed battalion armorer with responsibility for all its ordnance. Though he was ordered to speak Danjori at all times so that he could learn faster, when the two of them were alone, they used Anglic.
“I know I’m not supposed to ask, but you’ve got the markings of someone who went to the same schools as I did,” he said one day after they revised the scale of issue for the heavy weapons platoons. “You got the distribution of automatic guns and mortars laid out as per doctrine for a light battalion in a standard line regiment.”
She sat back and examined him with her hard eyes. Zack met her gaze with a small, encouraging smile. He knew that under the tough shell, there was another, harder core, but he got the distinct impression she was warming to his sardonic charm.
“If I did, it would have been before your time, so there’s no point in singing auld lang syne. Let’s just say, for the sake of the Corps, that I was retired when the slavers nabbed me, on a private military company contract that went wrong.”
“So you were a filthy corporate merc before you became a slave merc,” he joked. “See much difference between the two?”
“Screw you, Decker,” she replied in mock disgust.
“Anytime you want, buddy.” He grinned. “Just not in the barracks. I’m not the kind to give a show.”
She shook her head, but he could see the hint of a smile on her thin lips.
“Trust a Marine to think with his personal weapon when he should be thinking of setting the basic combat load for a composite weapons platoon.”
Jase Resson, the battalion second-in-command, stuck his head into the small office, forestalling a retort that was sure to drag the conversation well away from small arms. A short, stocky, middle-aged man, he was another enigma in an outfit teeming with them. By his accent, he was clearly a Commonwealther but Decker hadn’t been able to figure out his background like he had Cyone’s. Resson had the well-worn look of a long service veteran, but in whose army?
“Time to wrap it up, folks. The Boss Lady wants all the staff to join her on the afternoon run around the perimeter.”
In the time it took Decker to shake off his idle thoughts, he realized Resson had spoken in Danjori, and he’d understood it without having to mentally translate. He couldn’t remember any other time he’d learned a new language that fast, let alone an alien one.
There was plenty of strange around the slave regiment, the Kashdushiya, starting with the fact he’d been so caught up in the work of designing a battalion along Marine lines that he’d been thinking less and less of his past and the debt he’d vowed to collect.
*
“The Atabek is stripping First and Second Ortas of their most experienced cadres,” Daran told the assembled staff, “seeing as how First is taking up the guard contract at the Ytrell mines on the southern continent and Second is going to regenerate after their latest off-world mission. That means we'll be getting the cream of the leadership. The ordinary silahdars will be coming mostly from the current crop of trainees finishing basic, with a leavening from other units.”
At the pained look on some of the faces, she smiled.
“It’ll be difficult enough to get our folks thinking in terms of the new organization, so be happy that over half the troops won't need re-training. We get fresh minds that we can mold as we wish.”
She glanced at Decker, who gave her his usual sardonic smile. He'd been invaluable in designing a light infantry battalion on more professional lines and developing tactics, techniques and procedures modeled on those of the human Marine Corps. That he'd been doing it enthusiastically, considering his brethren's stance on slavery, didn't even register with her, nor did Zack see anything wrong with it.
“It is the Atabek's desire that we create the most fearsome fighting unit within a hundred light years so that we have a wealth of contracts to choose from. If we need to rid ourselves of some of the old ways, then so be it.”
A few of the others looked surreptitiously at Decker, knowing full well from whence came the drive to shed methods and ideas that had served them for decades. His quick elevation to battalion adjutant had not pleased everyone. The silahdars may not have had rank, but they had a keen sense of status among themselves.
Cyone nudged him in the ribs and whispered, “You'll be having us pounding the square with close order drill next, you sad bugger.”
He chuckled.
“Give it time. I'll be having these sad sacks jumping out of perfectly good shuttles too.”
She shivered.
“Might be fun for some, boyo. Just leave me out of it, though you might want to mind young Norik.” She nodded towards the senior company commander. “He's not a big fan of these innovations, and he has a lot of the Nelvans listening to him.”
“If he’s as smart as he thinks he is, the bugger will go along quietly.
”
“Anything you'd like to share, Decker?” Mala Daran looked at him curiously.
“No commander. Just commenting to my colleague here that these are fun times.”
Daran narrowed her eyes, aware on some level that he was amusing himself at her expense, but she let it pass. Decker had proven invaluable in carrying out the Atabek's will and had become in fact, if not on the roster, the third in line in the Fifth Orta's chain of command, outstripping even Norik, who was first among the balukbashis and quite aware of his station.
The look of pure loathing the latter gave Zack as he replied to Daran's question was educational, to say the least.
“You've all seen the proposed table of organization and equipment I've submitted to the Atabek,” she continued, “and I'm pleased to announce that he's approved it. In fact, he's quite satisfied with our work and is looking forward to his first inspection of the new model battalion. The initial drafts from the First and Second Ortas will arrive over the next four days, and the first graduating class from basic training will be turned over to us in a week.”
She paused and let her eyes roam over the assembled senior silahdars. Decker's expression still held that mildly amused glint and she was pained to discover it infuriated her.
“I expect excellence from all of you and will accept nothing less. Dismissed.”
Zack walked out into the night air with Cyone, ignoring Norik and his clique chattering in low voices behind them.
“Hey, Decker,” the senior company commander called out in his thick Anglic accent before they’d had the chance to take more than a dozen steps, “you got some Commonwealth hand-to-hand magic to teach us too? Something that’ll beat old Ktek?”
Cyone put her hand on Zack’s arm as if to restrain him, but he ignored her.
“The Swordmaster stands in a class by himself,” he replied as he stopped and turned around. “I doubt anyone here is going to beat him anytime soon.”
“Are you afraid of the green-skinned bastard? I thought you Marines feared nothing.” Norik laughed.
“I’ve met the Swordmaster on the mats. Have you?”
When the other didn’t reply, Decker smiled cruelly.
“I guess not. Have a good evening.”
He was about to leave when Norik stopped him.
“You and me, Decker. On the mats. Show me how good you are without armor and heavy weapons.”
Zack glanced at Cyone. She scowled at him but didn’t otherwise comment.
“Now?” He asked.
“Now would be okay. Let’s change into appropriate clothing.” He muttered a few sentences in Danjori to his cronies and stalked off to First Company’s barracks. Decker shrugged and, Cyone in tow, headed in the other direction.
“You know what will happen if either of you damages the other?” She sounded worried, and that brought Zack up short.
“If you’re going to say juluk pit, then I might just decide to kill the arrogant little snot and really deserve the punishment.”
“Depending on the amount of damage, the penalty could be death, Zack.” For the first time, he saw something more than mere concern in her eyes.
“Norik’s aware of that, isn’t he?”
“No doubt. He was taken as a child and reared as a silahdar from a young age. He’s also very skilled at inflicting pain and humiliation without causing permanent harm. You, on the other hand, are trained to kill. I’m afraid Norik is going to goad you into doing something irreparable, perhaps even at the cost of injury to himself just so he can see you gone.”
Zack smiled tightly.
“If I didn’t know you were a dried-up, heartless old bitch, I’d think you cared about me.”
Her punch, when it came, left an impression on his right biceps.
“I may be many things, Zack, but I’m not always heartless. Not with some people. Losing the bout to Norik may not do wonders for your ego, but it might be the best course of action. No one will fault you for being bested, and you get to keep your position as adjutant, where you’re needed.”
“Are you coming?” He asked when he’d changed into his fighting singlet.
She shook her head.
“Challenges are fought privately.”
“No public loss of face for whoever gets the short end of the stick,” Decker replied approvingly. “Sensible rule. I’ve seen too many unscheduled grudge matches when someone gets his ass handed to him in front of his buddies.”
Cyone snorted.
“If you beat him, he’ll not forgive or forget.”
“Then I’d better lose the fight on a technicality if I want him off my back. See you later.”
*
The building was empty when Zack let himself through the doors and into the training room. He inhaled the pervasive smell of incense and polish with a strange feeling of nostalgia. The sound of bare feet on wood made him turn around.
“I was afraid you might have decided to forfeit the challenge,” malice glinted in Norik’s eyes, “but here you are, big as life and ugly as ever.”
“Freestyle?” Decker asked, ignoring the jibe.
“By all means, though where an oaf like you is going to find style, free or other, baffles me.” The man smiled at his own wit.
Zack shrugged dismissively and turned to take his place at the far edge of the mats. He was unprepared for Norik’s sudden rush, having expected the bout to start with the usual courtesies.
The Nelvan struck him hard. Decker went flying backward with the impact and just had time to tuck into a roll, to avoid getting rug burn on his face. A brief flare of rage lit in his gut, but he suppressed it, realizing that was what the other wanted: an angry opponent who’d make mistakes.
Norik was smaller than Zack but just as muscular, and he quickly established that he was faster. He kept the ex-Marine on the defensive through a flurry of leg and elbow attacks Decker immediately recognized as a form of capoeira. Each strike would leave a bruise, but so far Norik had been careful to avoid areas where even a bit too much force could do permanent harm. He seemed so well practiced that Zack had no doubt the man used martial arts training as a way to punish those who crossed him.
The Corps taught several fighting techniques, but as Cyone had reminded him, they were all geared to kill as quickly and with as much violence as possible. He saw the growing look of triumph in Norik’s eyes after the next blow made Zack stagger to the side, and that was what he’d been waiting for. Norik danced around to build momentum for what he clearly hoped would be the kick that would send Zack to the mats and end the bout, heedless of telegraphing his next move.
The silahdar’s foot lashed out, and Decker dropped into a crouch, hands shooting forward. He grabbed Norik’s ankle just as his heel was about to connect with Zack’s throat and pushed up, rising at the same time. It was enough to divert the man’s momentum onto a vector that threw him completely off balance.
Norik tumbled into a backward roll, rising fluidly to take up his fighting stance again. Surprise and anger had replaced the triumph, and Zack could see him gather his strength for what would be an even more forceful attack.
A loud smack of wood on wood broke the two opponents’ concentration, and their heads snapped around to look at the far end of the room, where Ktek had appeared, wearing a black robe and carrying a long staff.
“Enough,” he growled. “The challenge is complete.”
“We have no victor,” Norik objected.
“And if I allow this bout to continue, you still would have no victor, but the Atabek would have two valuable silahdar damaging each other. I rule that the contest is a draw.”
Decker bowed respectfully, accepting the Swordmaster’s decision. It was the best outcome he could hope for. Norik wasn’t quite as ready to let it go but eventually, under Ktek’s cold, black stare, he bowed as well.
“If you would spar with each other in future, you would do so under my supervision. Two men as evenly matched and skilled in dealing out death will eventually
forget restraint, and nothing good can ensue.”
They both bowed again, to signify acceptance of Ktek’s strictures.
When the Swordmaster had gone, Decker walked up to his opponent and stuck out his hand.
“No hard feelings, Norik. You’re a damned good fighter, and you might have taken me down, given time.”
The silahdar ignored the proffered hand.
“There is no ‘might,' Decker. I would have taken you down, and you would have remembered it for a long time.”
His face was hard, and his eyes were burning with a mixture of hatred and contempt.
“Take care that you don’t give me cause to forget the Swordmaster’s instructions and keep in mind that once our Mala Daran has squeezed every last bit of information from your memory, your usefulness won’t be much greater than that of any other ordinary soldier.”
“While you, on the other hand, are a proven leader with a lot of combat experience and well regarded by the Atabek,” Decker nodded, conceding the point, “got it. I’d offer to buy you a beer, but there’s none to be had within a few thousand kilometers if not a few hundred light years.”
“Just make sure you remember who I am,” the man sneered as he turned and left Zack standing alone on the mats, lost in thought.
He hadn’t considered that his advisory role might have a best before date, but it would make sense. Once he’d helped them create an effective light infantry battalion patterned on what the Corps fielded, he’d be of more use carrying a machine gun in one of the heavy platoons he’d designed.
“Norik is an excellent fighter,” Ktek’s raspy voice startled him. Decker turned and nodded politely at the Swordmaster. “But he has not yet learned what you already know instinctively: the only blow that counts is the final one. You did well to restrain yourself. I knew you showed promise when we first met.”
