[Preparer's note: This is the end of the main story. The material following this note is the supplementary material linked to from elsewhere in this file.]
It was the end of Test Week at the Academy, almost time for the results to be posted outside the cadet-candidates' dining hall, and all of them were there waiting. The results determined the incoming cadets' initial standings, so James Medart was as eager—and as apprehensive—about them as any of the others.
Promptly at 1300, the display board lit, and Medart skimmed the list for the M's. He was confident he'd made it through the grueling tests—though even at this point, about a quarter didn't—and he was hoping for a good ranking. In the planet-wide testing, he'd rated #1. That was good enough to get him to the main Academy at the Palace Complex but everyone here had scored high on their home worlds; he wouldn't be too disappointed, he told himself, as long as he made the top quarter.
When he found his name, though, it was all he could to to hold back a whoop of delight. He'd made #1 again, even in this picked group! It was Cadet Medart now, no longer Cadet-Candidate, #1 of the Class of 2516! At least, he cautioned himself, until regular academic rankings started coming out. Then he'd be working hard to keep his rating, with the rest working equally hard to take it over—but for today, coming through Test Week on top was plenty of grounds for satisfaction.
The new cadets spent some time congratulating each other and commiserating with those who'd be going to branch Academies instead, then the group broke up to pack. This afternoon was theoretically free time, but the new cadets were anxious to move to the Academy proper, the others to leave the scene of their disappointment, so within half an hour Medart was back in his room.
He packed automatically, his mind busy. He was relieved to have Test Week behind him, still excited by his ranking, and trying for what felt like the millionth time to decide on his third major when there was a knock on the door. He called, "Come in," expecting to see one of his classmates or an upperclasswen, when he finished closing his carryall and turned around.
The woman standing in front of the again-closed door was neither, and Medart couldn't help staring at her in shock. Outside the Palace Complex no ordinary Imperial citizen, and very few nobles or officers, could reasonably expect to see one of these people in the flesh. He tried to regain control, but when the woman said, "Cadet Medart?" all he could manage was a nod.
The woman smiled. "I'm sorry for the shock, Cadet. I'm Ranger Arlene Perry. Do you have a few minutes to spare?"
This time Medart managed to find his voice, though it was a little shaky. "Yes, sir, of course." Dear gods, he thought numbly, an Imperial Ranger. There were only ten in the entire Terran Empire, and one had come looking for him. That was astonishing in itself—and if cadet rumor was right about the reason for such a visit, it was also intimidating.
To his surprise, Perry chuckled. That wasn't the sort of thing he'd expected from one of His Majesty's personal representatives—it was too ordinary. So was her grin when she said, "I gather from your reaction that you've heard the rumors about a post-Test Week visit from one of us."
Medart nodded. From Perry's tone and expression, she was trying to give him time to adjust, but he wasn't sure that would help.
"The rumor's absolutely true," Perry said. "What do you think?"
His first impulse was to say she must be either joking or crazy, but he knew better, and that kept him from answering right away. Of course he'd had the usual daydreams of himself in the forest green uniform and platinum badge, but he'd never seriously thought of himself as one of this premier elite. He didn't feel qualified, and the idea of taking on a Ranger's tremendous responsibilities terrified him. The authority and prerogatives were tempting—dear gods, who wouldn't want to be Imperial royalty, with unlimited money and power?—but it was the responsibilities that were his primary concern. A military officer's mistake could endanger a ship, maybe a fleet at the worst; a Ranger's mistake could endanger anything from a world or system all the way to the Empire itself. That was easily intimidating enough for him to want to turn Perry down flat. It wasn't at all the sort of thing he cared to have on his conscience.
After several minutes, he shook his head. "That's very flattering, sir, but you have the wrong person. I don't think I have what it takes to handle that kind of power."
Perry chuckled. "The classic answer. Jim, all your test results were fed into the Empire Net and analyzed. The comps saw you had the kind of profile we're interested in, so the Net kicked your records up to the closest Ranger, who happened to be me. I agreed, so I brought them to His Majesty's attention. He agreed, so I'm here. Care to argue that combination?"
Medart took a deep breath. "With all due respect, sir, I don't have any choice, since I can't agree. I think I know myself pretty well; I'd make a good Navy officer, maybe even captain of a battle cruiser— but not a Ranger."
Perry sat down on Medart's bed, next to the carryall. "Good. Believe it or not, Jim, that's exactly the response we were hoping for. If you did want the job, thought right away you could handle it, you'd be an arrogant fool—and you'd have disqualified yourself, even this late. I know it's hard to understand that feeling unqualified is part of what makes you qualified, but history proves that in most cases, people who want power are the last ones who should have it. There are a few exceptions, of course, but we're talking about the vast majority.
"What we want are people who have the necessary ability and a reasonable amount of ambition, but who aren't interested in power for the sake of power itself. It's a delicate balance, and we may miss some who qualify because we prefer to take no chances on power-hunger— but you can be positive that if you are tapped, you do qualify."
Medart hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. He knew as well as anyone that the Empire was chronically short of Rangers. There were never enough, even when there were more than the average of ten. It was also common knowledge that however few there were, the selection criteria— whatever those were—were never lowered. They might be, and had been, raised; the opposite, never. So however unqualified he felt, he could be positive, as she said, that he was in fact fully qualified.
And he'd applied for the Academy because, as far back as he could remember, his goal in life had been to serve the Empire to the best of his ability. Until Perry had entered his life, he'd thought that meant the military, like the rest of his family. Now he was told there was a far more essential service the Empire wanted of him. That, he thought, had to take precedence over his fear of the responsibility—and they must have known he'd feel that way.
"In that case, sir—it scares me more than I want to admit, but if you and His Majesty want me for the job, I have to try." He hesitated, then said, "Which you probably knew, from my psych tests, before I did."
Perry's smile was relieved. "We hoped, and we thought the odds were good—but we didn't know. Good as the indicators are, we do have some refusals. Welcome to Imperial service, Ranger Medart."
Ranger Medart. The idea still scared him, but he had to admit he did like the way it sounded. "Thank you… uh, what do I call you now?"
"Arlene in private, Ranger Perry in public. And His Majesty is `sir' to you now, not `sire'." She grinned. "I think civvies would be more appropriate than probationary-cadet clothing, and I have a sidearm for you outside the door. His Majesty will give you your badge when we get to the Palace. Okay?"
"Uh, yes, of course. Isn't there some sort of oath or something?"
"You don't need it. There'll be a confirmation ceremony after your initial leave, emergencies permitting—but the fealty oath you'll take there is for the public, not for yourself."
Medart was a little disappointed that Perry's uniform was hidden by a cloak when he got changed and left his room, and that the trip to the Palace was in an unmarked car, but she explained that was simply to give him enough private time to notify his family of his selection personally before His Majesty made the official announcement. "Take advantage of privacy whenever you get the chance," she advised. "You won't get it often, especially at first—and you'll want to make arrangements for SecuDiv to protect your family from the more persistent newsies, at least until the novelty of your selection wears off."
"I hadn't thought about newsies," Medart admitted. "In fact, there's probably a lot I'm not thinking of right now."
"Very probably—and that's another reason for initial leave. Adaptable as we have to be, it's quite a shock going from cadet-candidate to Ranger; it'll take you a couple of days to get back to normal. So the routine is to meet the Sovereign, then go home until you're satisfied your family is taken care of and you're ready to face the media. Then you spend a year or two in OJT with another Ranger—me, in this case— and then you pick your ship and start your solo missions."
A year or two didn't sound like much, considering the variety of situations a Ranger got involved in, but Medart nodded. "I understand. And I'll have to do things like get a comm implant—take care of all that sort of detail before I go on duty officially."
"That's best," Perry agreed, "though if we were rushed, or you thought it best to go public right away, those could be handled later. If you want a comm implant, though, I can arrange for that as soon as your audience is over."
"I don't exactly want one, but I thought they were required."
Perry chuckled. "His Majesty leaves that up to us. The only surgery we're required to undergo is what's medically necessary. I think an implant is a good idea, and I'd strongly recommend it, but no, it's not required. There are a couple of us who chose not to have them."
"I think I'll take your recommendation," Medart said. "Though it may not be too much use outside the System, since I can't carry an ultrawave unit around with me."
"True, but it'll still provide you a direct link to your ship, or to any planetary comp or military base you're within radio range of, and if necessary you can link to the Empire Net through one of those— though it's usually easier, if you have to contact it, to just use the normal communicators. Want me to set up the implant for you?"
"Please."
They arrived at the Palace's private entrance not long after Perry finished making the arrangements, and she escorted Medart to Emperor Yasunon's working office, down a wide corridor to a door that was decorated with the Imperial Seal and flanked by two Palace Guard officers who came to attention as they approached. "Rangers Perry and Medart to see His Majesty," she told them.
"He's expecting you, sirs." The senior opened the door, and Perry, grinning, gestured Medart through first.
He had seen the Emperor's picture any number of times, on everything from holo-news to currency, so the chubby, balding man was no surprise—but His Majesty's obvious enthusiasm was. The Emperor came around his desk and grasped both of Medart's hands, smiling widely. "Ranger James Medart! You're the best thing that's happened to me in years."
"I'm flattered to hear that, Your Majesty." Almost as flattered as he was stunned by the unexpected greeting.
Yasunon released his hands and reached into a compartment on his belt—he was wearing a Ranger's uniform, with the Imperial Seal—and pinned the star-in-circle badge to Medart's tunic, then repeated Perry's greeting. "Welcome to Imperial service, Ranger Medart."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." Medart felt a surge of deep emotions he couldn't identify, except for the determination to do everything in his power to justify their faith in him. He still had doubts of his ability to do that, but the badge's weight on his chest left him with no doubts that he'd try. "As soon as I make the arrangements for my family that Ranger Perry suggested, I'd like to start work."
"Since you're from Terra, that shouldn't be too long," Yasunon said. "I should start preparations for your confirmation, since there don't seem to be any situations nearing the critical point; how long would you like?"
"A week should be more than enough," Medart said, after a moment's thought. "I'll need a ride to the airport near my home, then I'll have to borrow a car to get the rest of the way."
"No problem," the Emperor said, a smile starting to grow. "The arrangements have already been made; a lander's waiting to take you to the airport, and a Texas Ranger car will be waiting for you there."
Medart was surprised for a second, then he chuckled. "I like Your Majesty's sense of humor."
"What can you expect when Emperor Chang set it up this way?" Yasunon was smiling widely. "It's one of the requirements."
Back to main story
She was eighteen Standard, not quite fifteen Irschchan years old, basking in the sun beside a fountain as she considered the merits of various young males as mate potential. She wasn't really interested in being tied down that way, and hoped to avoid it by going to the Academy, but on such a nice day, why not indulge her parents' more conventional desires?
Loren of the Order was probably the best match genetically, and socially of course a mate in the Order was desirable. Still, though he was nice enough, he simply wasn't very bright. Lovad Koversa might be all right; he was quite intelligent, if no more Talented than she—
Suddenly she heard him talking to himself about the Academy, though she hadn't heard him approach. "Lovad?" she called, sitting up and looking around. As soon as she did that, the voice disappeared. He was nowhere in sight, and she wondered with some irritation what kind of stunt he was up to now.
That was Lovad's worst point: he was a joker, and liked to use his knowledge of electronics to play tricks. It was never anything harmful, though, just annoying. She got up, deciding to see if she could turn it against him. None of the trees near the fountain had trunks large enough to hide behind, so she wandered around, looking up through the silvery-green foliage to find him. No trace; he must have come up with a long-distance gadget and was trying it out on her.
She'd get back at him somehow, but meanwhile this day was too nice to waste worrying about him. She returned to the fountain and stretched out again, relaxing to the sound of the falling water. She thought idly of her mother, who owned a moderately prosperous kilt shop. An indignant Mother: *Trade vegetables for kilts indeed! This is no back-country village—*
She sat up again suddenly, and again the voice disappeared as she tensed. This couldn't be one of Lovad's jokes, not with her mother involved. It had to be telepathy… and that meant she did have Talent… and that meant…
Back to main story
As she explained, Nevan could feel himself beginning to smile. She was offering him a chance at real combat, at what he had trained for since his fifth birthday, and she thought he might refuse? He'd missed the war by less than two weeks, a disappointment made worse by his assignment to SecuDiv rather than the Combat Division. Now he would get to fight!
And he would be doing so beside one who had proven herself a warrior's equal, though her combat skills were of a different type. To his surprise, he found himself imagining as a real possibility something he'd thought of before only as a remote theoretical chance. It wasn't because of the demonstration, though the way she had defeated them had a bearing, and it wasn't because she'd become a Ranger. He couldn't pinpoint the reason; there was just something about this beautiful felinoid that convinced him she was worthy of the greatest service and gift a Sandeman warrior could offer.
The strength of that conviction would have made it easy for him to kneel to her and offer his personal fealty, but he wasn't sure he was the one who should do it. He was young and inexperienced, barely seven months out of the Academy; her thakur-na should be a veteran, with at least a few missions to his credit. Later, he might be qualified—but by then she might have another thakur-na. He could only wait, work, and hope.
Back to main story
[Preparer's note: the RENDAVI material is placed here because it does not seem to be referenced from elsewhere in this file.]
Thark landed the Prowler at the rendezvous on Rendavi slightly over eighteen hours after leaving Irschcha. He was well rested and in a cheerful mood as he, Kainor, and Valla left the ship for the improvised conference hall.
No other ships were there yet. Unfortunate, Thark thought. That meant the meeting—more accurately, war council—would be delayed, possibly for several hours.
Inside the hall, the trio from the Prowler seated themselves on cushions at the head of the low conference table, talking about nothing in particular while they waited for the rest of the Seniors and Crusade leaders to gather.
Those were trickling in slowly when, a little over five hours after Prowler's arrival, an orange-kilted messenger appeared at the door and tried to attract Thark's attention. He waved her to his side, listened attentively to the message she murmured in his ear, then dismissed her.
The last group of Seniors arrived and seated themselves. Thark went through the brief formalities of convening the Prime Chapter, then said, "It is my unpleasant duty to report to you that this Crusade has been betrayed by a young pre-initiate who discovered it existence by accident, from me."
A ripple of disturbance moved through the assembled Irschchans. Most of what Thark could pick out were expressions of disbelief that anyone with Talent could do such a monstrous thing.
Valla's clear voice penetrated the disturbance, silencing the Seniors. "So Losinj escaped both the Sanctioners and Entos."
There were more expressions of disbelief, stronger this time. Thark silenced them. "According to the message I just received, it is not only possible, it has happened, and worse. She made it past both, and into the Planetary Palace. Ranger Medart, who was unfortunately on Irschcha at the time, arrived two hours later. His lander, presumably with him and young Losinj aboard, left for his orbiting battle cruiser soon afterward."
He turned to his chief aide. "Valla—I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Medart also sentenced Entos to death for attempted murder on Imperial territory. The sentence has been carried out."
Valla growled with an intensity that should not have surprised him but did. "Entos was my best operative, and a friend. I claim Ranger James Medart as my personal prey."
"Granted," Thark agreed promptly. "But now to planning. With Losinj aboard Medart's ship, it is possible, even probable, that she will be helping him. Even if such is not the case, we must assume it is, and that means our first strike must be decisive. Valla, does this affect your plans for our assault on the Imperial Palace?"
"Possibly," his aide replied. "If Losinj is helping Medart, and they reach Terra in time, our assault team will be faced by a fairly strong Talent. She may be able to incapacitate one or more, and we need all our strength. Although there are enough Seniors to defeat her, she may introduce complications."
"Since she was my student, and it was my error which caused her to become a problem, she is my responsibility." Thark's ears went back briefly. He had seriously misjudged her; he could not honorably ask anyone else to correct his error, now that she was no longer his guest. But making that correction would not be a pleasant task.
He went on. "Kainor, what about your status report on the Rangers?"
"Crown Prince Forrest is at the Imperial Palace on Terra," Kainor said. "So are Kennard and Menshikov; all three are covered in Valla's assault plan. Fenn and Szolacz are in the new Traiti Sector, assisting in its integration; they must be disregarded for the present, since we have no Order members there. Ellman and Steinhauer are still in hospital, and my agents are in position to kill them as soon as the strike time is set. Wang has just been sent to Sector Twelve to take over its administration, since its Duke died with no heir; being aboard a battle cruiser, she is presently out of reach and will have to be dealt with later. Tarlac, of course, is already dead; we have all seen the tapes of his assassination. Medart is the only one in a position where he might be an immediate danger. If Losinj got this location when she probed you, Thark—"
"She did not," Thark assured him. "She did no real probing, in fact. She was far too upset by her simple discovery of the Crusade's existence to check any more deeply."
Kainor nodded. "Good. Despite that, our first strike will not only have to be decisive, it will have to be swift. The fact that a powerful Imperial officer has become aware of the Crusade means their forces will be mobilizing. We must act before they can be fully alerted and deployed. Even led by Rangers, that will take them a certain amount of time which we can put to good use."
Thark agreed. "Speed is certainly essential. I will adjourn this meeting shortly; I want the various operational group leaders to meet separately and determine exactly how soon you can be ready to move. Report to me as soon as you can. The Seniors will remain here with me. Are there any questions?"
"The Traiti, Master," a graying female said. "They have pledged loyalty to the Empire. What threat do they pose?"
"Little as yet," Thark replied. "Their casualties in the war were far heavier than the Empire's, and their military has barely begun the changeover to Imperial service; for the moment they are too disorganized to pose a true threat. Is there anything else?"
There was nothing. "One final detail before we adjourn," Thark said. "We will be operating on Palace Standard Time from this point on, so adjust your chronos accordingly. This meeting is adjourned until 1600 hours, that time."
By 1600, when the full council reconvened, Thark and the Seniors had received reports from all the operational groups and had finalized their plans. Thark rose and addressed the group.
"This is the most important turning point in both human and Irschchan history," he told them, trying to project his solemnity. "What we are planning here, what we will soon accomplish, will determine the course of civilization for centuries to come. We dare not fail, for if we do, the galaxy will continue under human rule, their lack of Talent causing them to stumble from crisis to crisis, a whisker's width from disaster and complete chaos at any moment. Worse, they will drag us along with them. It is symptomatic that except for Irschcha itself, our people have no voice in Imperial government.
"I am the highest Irschchan official, its Baron in their terms—the lowest of the Imperial nobility. All other nobles outside the Traiti Sector are human. There has never been an Irschchan Ranger, so we cannot hope for an Irschchan Sovereign unless we succeed."
He paused and scanned the group lightly, sensing their approval of his words. "If we succeed, however—when we succeed—we will bring the Empire the same peace and stability the White Order has brought Irschcha since its triumph. The humans may find it difficult to accept at first—they seem to actually enjoy disorder—but they will soon come to realize the superiority of rule by the Talented. The change may in fact be difficult for our own people as well, but in the long range, things will be better for all three races."
He paused again, then spoke in a more matter-of-fact tone. "These are the final plans. The last operational group can be in position by 0145 two days from now. Allowing an hour for the inevitable delays, I am setting the strike for 0245. It is vitally important that no warnings be given. Since Losinj got no details of the Crusade from me, any alert that Medart puts out will have to be a general one. Losinj may be able to make some guesses, since she does know me, but the Empire will not dare depend on those. Except for the Palace itself, then, our objectives should be no more heavily defended than any others unless we ourselves attract attention to them in some way.
"The Seniors and I, together with thirty-six Sanctioners, will take Prowler to Terra, leaving here in time to attack the Palace in coordination with the rest of you, at 0245. I wish the assault force could be larger, but anything more would certainly be stopped by the primary defense satellites. Therefore, we must use the strongest Talents available, and those Sanctioners who are most proficient with weapons, to compensate for the greater number of Palace Guards."
An elderly Irschchan in a dark blue plaid kilt rose. "Will that be sufficient if Losinj is there and opposes you?"
"Yes," Thark replied without hesitation. "Admittedly she is strong, but she is only one person; she will, at worst, slow me somewhat."
He returned to the original subject. "Once we eliminate the Emperor and any Rangers there, we should have no major problems. We will have enough telepaths on hand to screen any humans in positions to cause trouble, and any of those who plan to do so we will kill. Afterward, we can replace the nobility with our own initiates, on the basis of strength of Talent. That is far more logical, and will insure far more stability, than the hereditary system now in use."
"One more question, if I may, Master?" That came from a young male in scarlet.
"Go ahead," Thark said. "We have time."
"I have heard rumors that some humans have developed Talent."
Thark projected amusement, was joined by several others. "It has been rumored indeed," he said. "Stories from long ago, before the Empire, do hint at some, but the strongest of those legendary humans would be about equivalent to a first-year student. There are not even rumors from more recent times."
"With respect, Master, what of the Narvonese Dragon-Kindred and their ability to project emotion?"
"An intriguing novelty," Thark acknowledged, "but hardly either Talent or useful, except in a very limited sense."
"Still, if there are any—"
"We can worry about hypothetical situations later," Thark said in mild reproof. He didn't blame the youngster for asking, but facts were facts: humans just were not Talented!
"Enough discussion," he said finally. "You all have your assignments and you know the schedule." He briefly considered dismissing them with the final lines of an old battle chant, but decided against it. It translated poorly, and few of the younger ones here used anything but Imperial English. He settled for, "Go, and fight well."