Lunch was good, and the tour was interesting, if tiring. The ship had more machinery of more differing types than Corina had ever seen in one place before, and they covered a lot of territory. Despite extensive use of the intraship shuttles, that meant a lot of walking. Normally that would have caused Corina no problems, but hard metal decks instead of grass or rubberoid sidewalks made her feet hurt. That made their arrival at the Security section a relief, since Sunbeam had promised it would be their last stop.
It was obvious to Corina that Colonel Greggson wasn't particularly glad to see them, but he was polite, clearly on his best behavior—until Major Dawson entered.
"Good afternoon, Sir Corina," Dawson said with a grin. "That's quite a wallop you pack—almost like getting hit by a Traiti. I don't suppose you could teach me how to do it?"
"I am afraid not," Corina replied, remembering their earlier meetings and his weak screen. "You simply do not have the right mental pattern."
"Oh." Dawson looked disappointed for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, I never could sing, either."
"I am sorry. But at least Lieutenant DarLeras told me you would not be shamed by what happened in the exercise."
"Not at all," Dawson said cheerfully. "We got a little teasing, of course, but that's no problem any more. I just reminded a couple of the more persistent kidders why we'd been picked for SecuDiv in the first place."
"Oh? May I ask how?" Corina could have probed, but satisfying her curiosity wasn't a valid reason for using Talent against one who had none.
"Telepathy's part of your Talent; why not take a look?"
"Thank you." Invited, there was no breach of honor, so Corina scanned him. From his point of view, she saw him working out in a gym with a couple of his kidders. Either of the two, from their relative sizes, should have been able to defeat Dawson—but that wasn't the case. Using close-combat techniques distilled from the most effective of Terra's many martial arts, he had both "disabled" or "killed" in less than thirty seconds.
"Elegant!" she said in real admiration. "I should get you to teach me instead."
"Telepathy?" Sunbeam asked in amazement. "I heard, but I didn't really believe—"
"Yes, dammit, telepathy!" Greggson snapped. "That's how she managed to humiliate my men!"
"I do not understand your anger," Corina said quietly. "It was simply a demonstration of Talent, the way it can be used against the unTalented, as Thark plans to do. I did not intend to humiliate anyone, and they have said they do not feel humiliated."
"Damn your intentions!" Greggson rasped. "No oversized kitty is going to make fools of my men and get away with it!"
"Hey, Colonel," Dawson said, "it's okay, we—"
Greggson glared at him. "Keep out of this, Major. Get back to your post. And keep your mouth shut."
"As the Colonel orders," Dawson said with icy correctness, and left.
"That goes for you, too, Ensign. Wait outside."
"But I'm supposed to—" Sunbeam objected.
"Wait outside."
Sunbeam hesitated, looked at Corina. "Sir Corina—"
"Go ahead. I will be fine."
The young ensign left, but her hesitation seemed to inflame Greggson still further. "You don't give orders aboard this ship, Sir Corina," he said coldly. "Not even if you are Ranger Medart's special assistant. You have no military authority."
"I merely reassured Ensign Yamata of my welfare," Corina retorted, controlling her own anger. "Ranger Medart did assign her to me; from what I have read, that places her under my command, despite my lack of military rank. She is a most conscientious officer, and—"
She fell silent when Greggson stepped toward her, his right hand closing into a fist. Surely he would not strike her… but he was angry, and a Marine, and shielded— Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, went to the hilt of her soul-blade as she felt a surge of fear.
"No." Greggson shook his head, backed off a step with visible reluctance. "I won't give you the satisfaction, you little—"
Corina interrupted, fear suddenly overcome by exasperation. "It is not your men's pride that concerns you, Colonel; they felt no shame, as they should not. It is your own. You ought to be pleased to have accurate knowledge of your enemy's abilities. Should I have let your men defeat me, merely to save your pride, then allow them to go against Thark believing him to be as easy a target? I merely stunned them; he will be trying to kill them."
She turned and stalked out under Greggson's furious glare, shaking inwardly at her defiance of him despite its necessity. What was it about her that made him loathe her so? She was not human, granted, but that seemed too minor a reason for such disturbance. It was out of proportion for him to take offense at her very existence. That made his presence discomforting, and it was a definite relief to walk through the door and rejoin Sunbeam.
"He really hates you, Sir Corina," Sunbeam said as they left the Security area. "It isn't just not liking you any more. He's awfully proud of his work—I think it's all he has—and it looks like he took your demonstration personally." The young ensign was clearly worried. "He may try to cause you serious trouble. I ought to tell Ranger Medart."
"I see no need to bother him with it," Corina said. "I appreciate your concern, but I believe you worry too much. Colonel Greggson knows my status here; he will not harm me."
She didn't have to probe to feel Sunbeam's doubt, but all her escort said was, "You're probably right." Then Sunbeam glanced at her chrono. "Uh-oh, better get you to the briefing room; it's 1545 already!"
They arrived at Briefing Room One with a few minutes to spare, and Sunbeam left while Corina entered. She was looking forward to the meeting, if only for the chance to sit down and rest her feet.
The briefing room, she saw at once, had been completely rearranged. The standard conference table and the holo stage were gone, replaced by a semi-circular table. Its flat side had been put against the wall, just under a screen that was normally used to display graphic aids. Chairs lined the curved edge, already occupied by the officers who had been at the earlier meeting. Greggson had somehow arrived before her, and was seated two places to Medart's left. The Ranger was in the middle of the semi-circle, one empty chair at his right. He motioned Corina to it, then stood and called the group to attention as the screen flickered with scrambler blue, and cleared.
Corina recognized both men on the screen at once, from innumerable photos and holograms. The one on the right, in civilian clothes, was Emperor Charles Davis. He looked rather tired, she thought, but between the Traiti War and Thark's Crusade, she thought, he had every reason to be fatigued.
The one on the left, in Ranger uniform, was Crown Prince Rick Forrest. He didn't look quite as tired, she thought, but there was still strain on his face.
"As you were," the Emperor said. The conferees sat, and Davis continued. "This is a war council, not an Audience, so we'll skip the ceremony and get to work. Sir Corina, you have the Empire's thanks for your courageous and timely warning. Can you give us any further idea of when this rebellion will start, or where?"
Corina took a deep mental breath, feeling badly out of her depth. "Not with any degree of certainty, Your Majesty."
"Any guesses?" Forrest asked.
"Guesses? Yes, sir. If Thark reacts as usual, I would expect the Order to strike as soon as possible, perhaps within five or ten days. He tends, as he admits, to be somewhat impatient, and that will be even more true since his treason has been revealed before he was ready. The location is more difficult, since the Order will undoubtedly have multiple targets. He himself will take the center of power, of course—"
"He'd try for the Palace?" Davis interrupted. "He'd know better than that. It's much too heavily defended, especially after Tarlac's assassination."
Blades! Corina thought nervously. How to contradict the Emperor? Not easily, not if you were a youngling with a strong desire to crawl under the table and hide! Being teased about arguing with him was one thing, actually having to do it something far different. She had no choice, though. "Its guards, however numerous, are humans and unTalented Irschchans, perhaps a few Traiti. They will be little or no defense against Thark and the Seniors of the Prime Chapter, even if some few have mind-screens or shields. Nor can you count on mechanical defenses; they are operated by your Palace Guard, which renders them as vulnerable as the guards themselves. If compelling a Guardswen is not possible, controls can be operated by TK."
Davis frowned, while Medart sent her encouragement. *Good going. He won't bite you. And don't think about hiding under the table; you're doing fine.*
*I think otherwise,* she sent back, though she was grateful for his support. *I am frightened!*
*So?* Medart replied. *You're functioning just fine anyway.*
"Aren't you perhaps overestimating their abilities?" the Emperor asked quietly.
"No, sir, she's not," Medart answered for her. "You saw the tape of yesterday's demonstration; if a young student could take out this ship's top five Security people, including a mind-shielded Sandeman warrior, I find it very easy to believe that a group, all of whom have the degree of experienced Talent she describes, could take even the Palace. She says her Talent is above average, but so are theirs."
"How would you rate them by comparison, Sir Corina?" Forrest asked.
"Thark is stronger, of course; the High Adept, by definition, has the strongest Talent in the Order. The Seniors have approximately my strength, but are better trained since they were raised in Order schools and I was not. They also have far more experience than I do, as Ranger Medart pointed out."
"You're the only expert we have on the Order," Davis said. "How would you recommend we defend the Palace?"
"As it stands, Your Majesty, the Palace cannot be defended from such an attack." Corina hesitated, unwilling to go on.
*Finish it,* Medart urged her.
*They will not like it,* Corina thought nervously, but she said, "My recommendation, under these circumstances, is that Your Majesty and Prince Forrest leave Terra in a ship crewed fully by humans, its destination unknown to anyone not aboard, and remain there until Thark and the Order are no longer a threat."
A murmur around the conference table was disapproving.
"I don't like the idea of running," the Emperor said, "but I can't deny it's the logical thing to do. Ranger Medart?"
"How sure are you that it'll be Thark himself and the Prime Chapter after the Palace?" Medart asked Corina.
"I am positive," she said. "He will not risk failure by using less than the best against his most important target."
Medart nodded, then returned his attention to the screen. "In that case, I'd say to follow her recommendation, sir. Your safety's a lot more important than the Palace Complex—and if he does move against the Palace itself, we'll have unarguable proof of his and the Order's treason."
"Very well." Davis didn't look happy, Corina thought, but he did look decisive. "We will leave on the Empress Lindner as soon as this conference is over, then. Kennard and Menshikov are here; I'll leave them in charge. Anything else?"
"Leaving them will place them at hazard, sire," Corina ventured.
"I'm aware of that," Davis said. "I'd prefer not to, but there are other things I have to consider. The Sovereign is prohibited from risking @'s life if there's any choice, and the Successor should not except in a critical emergency when no other Ranger is available, so Rick and I are expected to think of our own safety first. But—give me your opinion as an ordinary citizen, Sir Corina. How would you feel if all four of us fled to safety, leaving the Palace Guards to face a rebellion alone?"
Corina thought about that, then inclined her head. "I see, Your Majesty. While it would be the sensible thing to do, it would give the impression of not caring about those who serve you."
"Which is precisely why they'll be staying. Ranger Medart, you look like you have something on your mind."
"Yes, sir." Medart looked up, at nothing in particular. "Unless they're intercepted and destroyed, which isn't very likely," he said quietly, "someone is going to have to face Thark and the Seniors. Sir Corina says the Guards won't have a chance, and Kennard and Menshikov are no more qualified to do it than I am."
Corina suddenly felt completely exposed and completely alone. At his words, everyone except Medart himself had turned to stare at her.
"No!" She shook her head, keeping herself from yowling by sheer force of will. "I cannot—I am not good enough—"
"Wrong," Davis said. "I'd hoped Ranger Medart could persuade you, but he obviously hasn't been able to; may I ask why?"
"I have just said, sire. I will do everything I can to help—I am doing it—but I am not qualified for that."
Davis shook his head. "You're the only one who has even a chance against Thark, and you're as qualified as any of the rest of us to be a Ranger—maybe more so, as Ranger Medart told me, with that Talent of yours. None of us asked for this job, and none of us felt capable of handling it at first. You can do what we cannot. Will you face Thark for us, as a Ranger?"
Corina remained silent, overwhelmed by his intensity.
"Let me," Medart said quietly. "Corina, you came to us originally because your honor—the part of it we call loyalty—demanded it. It wouldn't let you permit Thark to destroy the Empire. Right?"
"Yes." Her answer was almost inaudible.
"Will that same honor let you stop now, when you know you're the only chance the Empire has?" That might be putting it a bit strongly, Medart thought—but after her demonstration, it might also be the precise truth.
She stared down at the table for what seemed like eons before she was able to answer. "No."
Looking up, she continued. "You are correct. I will face Thark. But I see no need to do so as a Ranger."
Tension built in the silent room as Corina thought. It wasn't fair, she felt. They were trying to… perhaps force was not the right word, but urge her into something she did not feel capable of. It was almost impossible for her to accept the idea that feeling unqualified was part of what made her qualified. It did not seem reasonable. And it was just too much!
Medart answered her unspoken thoughts. "No, it isn't fair. And the reasoning may not be obvious, but from our experience, it is logical."
"This is just as much a war as the one we fought with the Traiti," Forrest added, with a curious glance at Medart. "Even though the Empire tries to be fair, Sir Corina, we can't always manage, especially in this kind of emergency."
"Take some more time, Sir Corina," Emperor Davis said suddenly, sounding sympathetic. Forrest threw him a quick glance, so Davis continued. "It was a hard enough decision for us. She's already had to go through one drastic change; we can't expect her to accept the idea of an even more drastic one so easily or quickly."
Corina felt a flood of relief. "Thank you, Your Majesty!"
"So the little kitten can't take it," came a familiar voice.
Corina was shocked by the venom in the Security Chief's tone. So were others; everyone, from the Emperor on down, stared at the defiant Greggson.
"That was totally uncalled-for, Colonel," Davis said coldly. "One more such outburst and you will be replaced. You will apologize to Sir Corina at once."
Corina thought for a moment that Greggson would refuse, but he finally said, "Please forgive me, Sir Corina." His tone was full of distaste, but it was an apology; the Emperor looked unsatisfied, but said nothing. Corina wondered why.
*He doesn't want to have to relieve him, especially at this point,* Medart sent. *I don't know how he made it past the psych tests with what I'd class as xenophobia and paranoia, but he did, and he's one of the best Security Chiefs in the Fleet. Still, it looks to me like he's gone over the edge this time; once this rebellion's over, I'm going to have him retested.*
She glanced at him and nodded. Davis saw it, traded glances with Forrest, then said, "That seems to conclude the council as such, Captain Hobison. You and your people are dismissed; please return to your stations, and set course for Terra. Ranger Medart, Sir Corina, I would like you to remain."
All rose, Hobison and the Command Crew bowing before they left. The Emperor and Crown Prince reseated themselves, and Davis motioned the two aboard Chang to do the same. Then he leaned forward, looking at them intently. "It's obvious the two of you are holding something back, something important. Tell us about it."
*You tell them,* Medart sent. *It's your field of expertise, after all, not mine.*
*Yes, Ranger.* At least, Corina thought, she had no reason to be nervous about this. "I have discovered that Ranger Medart has a high degree of Talent, sire. I have begun training him in its use, and we have been `speaking'—primarily, he has been reassuring me— telepathically throughout the conference."
"Controlled, reliable telepathy?" Davis asked, his expression intent.
"Fully, sire. He also has the potential for strong darlas, and another Talent aspect we have not yet been able to identify."
"Does that mean he'll be able to help you against Thark?" Forrest asked.
"It is barely possible," Corina replied, "if we have the time to develop them. Telepathy is by far the easiest and fastest part of Talent to train. I would estimate it will take at least eight to twelve days before he will be able to use his other abilities with even a novice's degree of skill and reliability."
Davis frowned. "Will that be enough to help at all?"
"Any assistance against Thark will be of help, Your Majesty," Corina said.
"That's cutting it pretty fine, though," Forrest said. "You only give Thark five to ten days before he attacks."
"They'll just have to do the best they can," Davis said, then turned to Corina. "Can you teach that to anyone else?"
"I can if the latent ability is present, sire. And although I have no really firm grounds to base it on, I am beginning to suspect, from what I am learning from Ranger Medart, that most if not all Rangers do have such ability latent. There may be others as well; it appears that humans do use what you call paranormal powers, hunches for example, though not consciously and very weakly."
"When things get back to normal, I'd like you to check on that, and train any who do have it. For now, though, unless you have any more stunbursts for us, we'd better finish up here and get back to work."
"That's all we have, sir," Medart replied. He signalled Corina and the two stood, bowing. The men on the screen returned the courtesy, and the screen cleared.
"I'm sorry, Corina," Medart said. "It was a dirty trick to pull on you, making you agree to face Thark the way I did, but can you accept the fact that I had to do it?"
"I should be the one to apologize," she replied, continuing when she sensed his surprise. "It should not have been necessary for you to point out what honor requires of me. I suppose I knew, but was unwilling to face it."
"Don't let that bother you. It's not going to be either easy or fun, and none of us blame you for being reluctant."
"No, it will not be either," she agreed. "Thark is quite powerful. It is entirely possible that he will kill both of us."
"What're the odds?"
"Not good. I estimate I have perhaps one chance in five of defeating him, perhaps less."
Medart whistled. "That's bad. It doesn't change things, though; I'd have done the same thing even if I'd known the odds earlier."
"Having been in your mind, I am sure of that." Corina attempted a purr, with little success. "Nor would I expect otherwise from one in your position. You may phrase it differently, but honor compels you, also."
As soon as they left the briefing room and were going toward one of the intraship shuttles, Medart said, "I'd like to start that other training you mentioned as soon as possible. When can we do it, and is there anything special you need?"
Once they were inside the shuttle, Corina answered. "We can begin as soon as you like. We need quiet at first, as relaxation will speed your learning of the basic techniques. Afterward, you will need volunteers for practice. I do not like the idea of using unTalented for that, but I see no choice; I can teach you only so much with myself as your target. The techniques are not difficult; you should be able to learn them in an hour or less. It is the practice, for control and power, which will take most of your training time."
"Right. Emperor Chang, take us to Sherwood Forest, please."
"Yes, Ranger," the ship replied, and the shuttle began moving.
Medart turned back to his assistant. "Since you say relaxation's so important, at least for basic training, we're going to what I think is the most soothing part of the ship. I like trees."
"So do I, but what is Sherwood Forest? I do not remember seeing any trees when Sunbeam was showing me the ship."
"Not likely you would, with her for a guide," Medart said, grinning. "She's a city girl, all the way through. Except for orientation, I don't think she's ever been there. If she thinks of trees at all, it's probably just as potential furniture."
"It seems strange," Corina said, "that you, a Ranger, would take such an interest in a young ensign."
"Not this one," Medart replied. "It isn't just that she's impossible to ignore, either. I first heard about her when she was in her third year at the Academy. Her teachers were predicting that she'd end up either getting herself kicked out of the Navy in disgrace, or as Chief of Naval Operations, and I'd tend to agree. She doesn't know it, but I asked to have her assigned to my ship to give her the best chance at the second; if anyone can keep her on the right heading without breaking her spirit, it's David Hobison." He laughed. "As if just running the Chang wasn't enough of a headache for him!"
The shuttle door slid open and they stepped out into a pleasant, open-wooded area which, from all appearances, was on the surface of a planet rather than inside the hull of a warship. It was impossible, Corina knew, but it certainly looked like the parkland was lit by a brilliant yellow sun, while clouds drifted slowly across a blue sky. Except for the odd sky color, it reminded her, with a sudden pang of homesickness, of a small glade she used to visit almost daily. Only the fountain was missing.
She managed to bring her voice under control before speaking. "It is beautiful! But how is it done? And why?"
"It is, isn't it?" Medart agreed. "The sky is simply glowpanels. Clouds are Type II holograms, the sun's a Type IV. If you want the technical details, I'll have to refer you to Engineering; it's something I've never had the occasion to go into deeply.
"As for why—Sovereign-class cruisers are the long-tour ones, sometimes staying away from their home ports for years. Even near a planet, only a small part of the crew can be allowed shore leave at any one time. If everyone were city-bred, like Sunbeam, that wouldn't be a problem, but most aren't. We had some pretty serious morale problems until Ranger Ellman suggested this idea about five years ago. It's proven quite effective, well worth the investment in power and space. Chang, Lindner, and Yasunon are the only ones with them so far, though. The rest'll get them as soon as they go into Luna Base for a major refit."
They had been walking while he talked, and came to a halt beneath a wide-spreading, though not very tall, tree. Corina didn't recognize the species, but liked its smell.
"Is this all right?" Medart asked.
"Fine," Corina said approvingly. She glanced around, saw several off-duty crewmembers strolling around, either singly or in pairs. "If you are certain we will not be disturbed, that is."
"I'm sure," Medart said with a chuckle. He sat cross-legged, his back against the treetrunk. Corina also sat, facing him.
"You had best practice defense first," she said. "If you cannot protect yourself, nothing else I can teach you will be of any use."
Medart nodded, and she tried a gentle probe. *You are wide open, Ranger,* she told him. *You will have to bring your shield under voluntary control. An automatic shield is adequate under most circumstances; if you intend to attempt stopping Thark as you said at the conference, it is not.*
*I understand that, but how?*
*If you can remember the way you felt, your mind pattern when we worked this morning—* She caught a sudden picture of herself holding the sheathed blade at DarLeras' throat, then nothing. "Very good, you have it. Now down again."
Seconds passed, then, *How's that?*
*Excellent,* she complimented him. *You learn quickly. Now I must test you, to find your shield's present strength. Prepare yourself.*
*Right.* Medart's shield went back up, and Corina began probing, gradually increasing the strength and intensity of her attack while the Ranger fought to hold his shield. His eyes closed, his fists clenched with his effort. He was starting to break out in a sweat when Corina felt the shield waver and instantly released her pressure.
"Are you all right, Ranger?"
"I think so," Medart said, shaking his head experimentally. "That was . . . it was like nothing I've ever felt, ever even imagined." He took several deep breaths, relaxing, then asked, "Just how much force were you using?"
"About half my maximum."
"How's that compare to Thark?"
"That is difficult to say." Corina's ears went back slowly, a thoughtful frown. "I would estimate he has half again my strength, so that would be perhaps a third of his maximum."
The Ranger looked grim. "One chance in five? Looks to me more like one in fifty."
"You forget he trained me. I know his patterns, can anticipate how and where he is most likely to strike me, and strengthen my shield accordingly. There is the added factor that this practice will benefit me almost as much as it will you. My estimate remains one in five."
"You know more about it than I do." Despite his words, Medart was doubtful. "Do we try that again, or what?"
"That would be unwise now; it is more of a strain than you realize. No more than two, or at most three brief sessions like that per day, until you gain strength. It would be as well to begin teaching you to use darlas, however. It means going much faster than is usual for this type of training, but our time is limited."
"It is that," Medart agreed. "How do I go about darlas?"
"It is similar to telepathy, which you already know, but is projected directly rather than through the TP center, and is much more powerful. You must try to force a feeling of pressure, of constriction, on your opponent."
She raised her shield, holding it at half strength so she could feel any success he might have. "All right, go ahead."
She waited patiently, but felt nothing, so she lowered her shield slightly. Still nothing. She dropped it even further, finally managed to detect an extremely faint, almost nonexistent, touch.
Even that faded, and Medart looked at her with a frown. "That didn't seem to be working too well, did it? What am I doing wrong?"
"It was indeed weak," Corina admitted, "but with my shield at minimum I was able to detect something. Each individual is different, even among Irschchans, and though it is far clearer than most, your pattern remains human. You will simply have to keep trying until you find what works for you. The potential is there."
"Okay, let's try it again." Medart closed his eyes, and Corina set her shield at about a third of its full strength.
After perhaps a minute, she felt a faint tingle. It got stronger for a moment, peaking at what felt like a gentle nudge before fading again. She studied the Ranger's expression of concentration, and decided to keep her shield up at the same intensity. She would give him another five minutes; that should not strain him unduly, and then she would end the session.
The next thing she knew, she was flat on her back in the grass, looking up at Medart's worried face. "Are you all right, Sir Corina?" he demanded.
She struggled to sit up, dazed, and felt him supporting her.
"Are you all right?" he asked again.
She took a quick self-inventory, decided she was well if uncomfortable, and reassured him. "I am unharmed, though I will have a headache for some time. What did you do?"
He hesitated for a moment, looking her over carefully. "I'm not certain. Nothing seemed to be working, so I tried picturing a giant anaconda—that's a Terran snake—wrapped around you, contracting. I finally got it good and clear, and you collapsed. Are you sure you're all right?"
Corina growled softly, disgusted at herself. "Blades! I should have thought of that. Unless you concentrate on words, I keep getting pictures from you. I should have realized your primary orientation was visual, and guided you—"
"Oh, no, you don't," Medart interrupted. "If there's any chewing out to be done around here, I'll take care of it. You said it yourself: everyone's different, and you're not that familiar with human patterns. And you've never taught before. You can't be expected to anticipate everything at once."
He gave her a quizzical look that reminded her of their first meeting. "I hadn't realized how different in some ways, and how similar in others, Irschchans and humans are until your shield fell. I seemed to almost be you for a couple of seconds, just before you blacked out. I glimpsed a lot of things, but I couldn't understand more than half of them."
Corina was sitting unsupported now, with Medart squatting on his heels facing her. She stared at him, then started searching intensively through her memories of the last few minutes. Her shield was still down, and Medart followed her thoughts with no difficulty.
*Eyes closed… five minutes, then… picture… What's he—* Then an image of herself tangled in an exaggeration of Medart's visualization, a confused jumble that reminded the Ranger of multi-colored spaghetti. She started probing at it, using his actual visualization to guide her as she finally tugged at what appeared to be a key strand. That made the `spaghetti' disappear, releasing a flood of concept/imagery/experience into her mind, understandable only in fragments that seemed to flow past and through her.
"Pattern rapport," she breathed in wonder.
"Right, I got that much," Medart said. "But what is it? I'm not sure I understand anything about it but its name."
"It is an extremely unusual stress phenomenon," Corina said, picking her words with care. "It occurs when two very similar mind patterns are in close physical proximity and under considerable stress. Something—the Order is not sure what, but the most respected theory is both underminds acting as one—apparently `decides' to relieve the stress by combining whatever memories can be used to accomplish that purpose."
"But aren't human and Irschchan patterns too different for that to happen?" Medart objected. "That's what you seemed to think earlier, at least."
"I believed so, yes," Corina said slowly. "Yet the Order's millennia of experience cannot be totally wrong. It had to be pattern rapport."
"Then either human and Irschchan patterns are closer than anyone's ever suspected…"
"Or it is our own two basic patterns which are in phase."
"Uh-huh, that could— Hey! Remember, I told you I had more trouble reading Sunbeam than I did reading you?"
"That must be the case, then, but I would like to know—" Corina cut that thought off before it could go somewhere she didn't want to follow.
Medart, though he wasn't about to broadcast it, had a pretty good idea what the pattern rapport might mean. He wasn't at all familiar yet with Talent, granted, but he did know what his problem was. Apparently so did what she called her undermind, and it agreed with him. "I'd suggest a hearty meal and a good night's sleep," he said. "That was a shock to both of us, and we'll solve our problems better in the morning, when we've rested and steadied down."
Corina nodded agreement. "That sounds most reasonable. We do both need time to integrate the… new experiences. I would say you in particular; I at least knew of the possibility, though I never thought it would happen to me."
Medart chuckled. "Don't be too sure who needs it more. I've been through something similar—you studied the Sandeman Annexation, of course."
"Of course," Corina agreed, puzzled.
"I needed to learn as much as I could about them, as quickly as possible, and Gaelan DarShona, who had sworn personal fealty to Baron Klaes, agreed to a mind-probe. You know about those?"
"I have heard of them," Corina said. "An artificial form of telepathy the Order considers repugnant."
"Close enough. At any rate, I had Gaelan given a deep, full-experience probe, with myself hooked up as the receiver. So I've already `been' one other person. You haven't."
"That may indeed make a difference," Corina agreed. "I wonder if I will experience that part, or if it was bypassed as unnecessary."
"I imagine you'll find out. If you do, I'm sure you'll find it both interesting and different. For now, though, let's go eat."
Corina followed him to the shuttle, conscientiously trying not to think about the rapport, but with only moderate success. It was less the contents of the transfer that concerned her, than the reason for it. Her undermind must be trying to tell her something, but what? And . . . did she really want to know?
The shuttle, at Medart's instructions, took them to Mess Three. "With Sunbeam assigned to you, she's probably staying on the day-shift schedule, so she'd be going to eat about now. She should be able to keep our minds off anything too serious, as long as we don't start talking shop."
"Do you eat there often?" Corina asked, glad of the change of subject.
"Fairly often," Medart replied. "I like the relaxed atmosphere, even if it is a bit on the noisy side occasionally. It was stiff the first few times, right after I took over Chang, until they adapted. It wouldn't be quite acceptable for me to join in the horseplay, but nobody minds as long as I just watch and listen."
Sunbeam was indeed in the mess, standing at the row of autochefs with Major Dawson. Medart and Corina got in line behind them and, when Sunbeam turned around, were invited to join the pair. They agreed; it was, after all, what they had hoped for. Corina decided on hellbeast steak again; it was becoming one of her staples, since Sunbeam had introduced her to it. Besides that, she ordered two things she hadn't yet tried—a taco and tapioca pudding—and her usual milk.
Medart looked at her tray. "That's quite an assortment you've got there. What're you trying to do, sample everything on board?"
"Not quite, though I am trying a number of things. It appears I will be aboard for some time, and I prefer variety. The tastes are strange, but some are quite good."
They were carrying their orders to the table when Medart noticed something seemed to be missing. "No coffee?"
Corina shook her head. "No. I cannot understand how you can drink something so corrosive, much less appear to enjoy it."
"It's an acquired taste," the Ranger agreed. They sat down as he continued, "But the Navy seems to run on it, and I'll admit to drinking more than I should."
"Drink what?" Sunbeam asked, having missed the first part of the conversation.
"Coffee," Medart replied. "Sir Corina thinks we're crazy to drink it."
Sunbeam giggled. "If she thinks coffee's bad, she should try tea!"
"I did!" Corina said emphatically, trying to imitate Sunbeam's gaiety. "The things you humans ingest and claim to enjoy, it is a wonder that you survive at all."
"It's not that bad," Sunbeam said, still amazing Corina with her ability to eat and talk simultaneously—and neatly. "You remember Major Dawson, don't you, Sir Corina? His name's Pat; we got to talking while you were hassling with Colonel Greggson. He's going to coach me in unarmed combat—he's the ship's men's champion, since Lieutenant DarLeras says it wouldn't be proper for him to compete with non-warriors—and he thinks I may have a chance at the women's championship next month."
"You must be quite good, then," Corina said.
"What hassle with Greggson?" Medart demanded.
"It was nothing serious," Corina said, and summarized the incident for him. "I was nervous, but not badly upset."
"That's good," Medart said, then continued silently. *Maybe it doesn't bother you, but it does me. I'll let it go for now, since His Majesty's already warned him and I have a feeling we may need his shield, but if he tries anything else, I want to know about it right away.*
Corina was impressed by his seriousness. *Yes, Ranger.*
The spoken conversation continued on a light tone, with Sunbeam as usual carrying most of it. Corina was almost silent, content merely to absorb the alien atmosphere and continue accustoming herself to it. She felt occasional twinges of familiarity which she knew must come from the Medart-pattern that was becoming a part of her mind. Most of the integration, of course, would be done by her undermind while she slept that night—but she could feel it beginning already.
As she had known it would be, Corina's sleep that night was restless, disturbed by her undermind's attempt to fit those alien memories into a pattern that would allow her to grasp and use them. She might never fully understand them, but when the process was complete, she would have more feeling for humans than was possible for an Irschchan who hadn't experienced pattern rapport with one.
The integration process worked mostly in the form of dreams, some fragmentary, some less so. She/Jim was laying in a bed with bars, a huge pink face framed in white looking down at her/him and radiating a feeling of peace.
Then Corina-as-Jim was sitting beside a wicker basket, stroking a Siamese cat who was giving birth to her first litter of kittens and wouldn't let him leave. There were three already, tiny white-furred things blindly nursing. The mother stared up at him, butting his hand with her head, and purred as only a Siamese could, seeming to be proud of her accomplishment.
A nude swim in a warm blue sea—the memory a pleasant one for the human, but one that made Corina's sleeping body tremble with distaste.
But it was Jim's invitation to the Rangers that claimed most of her attention, from Perry appearing in his room after the Test Week results were posted, through his first meeting with the Emperor soon after—it had been Yasunon then, not Davis, who was still Crown Prince—to his brief visit home before starting his new duties.
Working with other Rangers, then alone: the massive flood that almost wiped out the Yonar colony, and proved to be sabotage. Taking over the Chang when Rick was elected Successor, and renewing his acquaintance with Dave when Captain Hobison took command. The Ondrian affair, with his new friend Star-flower playing a large part, and a wry thought that he kept getting involved with cats in one form or another.
The crisis in Sector Five when Sandeman erupted, conquering half that Sector before its Duke realized she couldn't handle them and called for Imperial help. The mind-probe of Gaelan, giving her a new insight into the small warriors, and added respect for their integrity and ability. Glimpses of many planets, from space and surface. That one spotting of a huge white ship that disappeared into hyperspace and couldn't be traced.
The memory of his sorrow at Yasunon's death was enough to make Corina toss restlessly in bed. She seemed to see the funeral from two viewpoints at once: her own, the film in history class, and Jim's being there. Then came the Conclave that elected Forrest as Crown Prince when Davis became Emperor.
Then war struck. Fragmentary memories of battle flickered by, then came a chance to capture a Traiti ship. Ray Kennard had come up with an idea that might keep imprisoned Traiti alive, at least long enough to be questioned before they succumbed to the prisoner psychosis that so inevitably killed the ones who could be kept from suicide.
He'd gone with the boarding party despite Hobison's objections. He'd seen his first live Traiti then, with its leathery gray skin and sharklike face. Not attractive at all to Medart's way of thinking— then—but the big male was hurt and in obvious pain; he'd knelt, intending to help, only to be torn almost in two by the Traiti's claws and teeth.
And, he found out when he was allowed to regain consciousness after that week of immersion in rapid-heal, it had been for nothing. The two prisoners the boarding party did manage to take had lived to reach Terra before the psychosis set in, no longer.
It was a memory that reeked of failure and self-accusation. He should've expected that trick; although it wasn't common, it was known. His carelessness and stupidity could have cost them the ship, cost the Empire a Ranger it could ill afford to lose, wasted even more lives.
Corina shifted, unable to accept that even in a dream. He was a Ranger, he had been doing the only thing honor would allow…
Then came the interrupted recovery leave on Irschcha, and his meeting with the young Losinj. In Medart's memory, Corina watched herself defeat the Marines, studied her own records, discussed them with the Emperor. Again came the invitation to join the Rangers, but from his side this time, and the intensity of his emotion was enough to bring her awake shivering.
She rose and automatically went through her morning routine, then went to the service panel and got a glass of milk. She sat at the desk, then, taking occasional sips and thinking. Did she still have a choice, or did the Empire's need of her make this a matter of honor? Jim—no, Ranger Medart, though it was now difficult to think of him that way—would, she knew, leave that question to her. And she was terribly afraid she knew how she would eventually have to answer.