Now, suddenly, he was.
And in this case, there was no doubt as to what he had to do. If the fight continued, one of the boys could indeed die. But if he interfered, the whole village would be devastated.
As Henson had said, better a could than a would.
The drugged attacker made it back to his feet and lurched again for his opponent. But something now seemed to be happening to the boy. He was moving slower, more hesitantly, and a quick check of his facial infrareds showed that the rage or fear that had been driving him was receding into a pain-wracked bewilderment.
He tried another couple of steps. His opponent kept his distance, watching warily. The drugged boy took a final step forward and stumbled, going down on one knee.
And to Merrick’s surprise, the defender took a quick step forward and delivered a roundhouse punch to the side of his head that sent him once again sprawling flat on the ground.
Merrick caught his breath. What the hell kind of trick was that? The kid had been ready to fall over all by himself. He certainly hadn’t needed someone’s fist to help him along.
But at least the fight was over.
Maybe.
He looked over at Henson, wondering if he would step forward and slap the unconscious kid with another white patch. But apparently the Trofts had had enough of the Games for one day.
Possibly more than enough. The two aliens were chatting amiably with each other, like a pair of bored spectators waiting for the timer to run down so that they could go home.
For a moment Henson waited, probably making sure there would be no further orders. Then, turning to the other black-suited referee, he motioned him forward and gestured to the two boys.
“It’s over,” Anya murmured, sounding tiredly relieved.
“That’s for sure,” Merrick growled. “What the hell was that last punch—?”
“Keep your voice down,” she cut him off. “You have no idea.”
“Fine. Explain it to me.”
Anya’s lips compressed. “If the winner had simply let the loser collapse when the bersarkis had run its course, the Game would have been a draw,” she said. “There’s no gain in a draw.”
“But there’s gain in hitting someone when he’s already down?”
Anya turned away. “I said you wouldn’t understand,” she said over her shoulder. “Stay here until the masters leave. Henson will find you a bed for the night.”
“Anya Winghunter?”
Merrick turned. Henson was standing beside the Trofts, and all three were looking across the field at him and Anya. “Anya Winghunter, attend the masters.” Henson’s eyes shifted to Merrick. “And bring your companion.”
Merrick looked at Anya. Her anger at his naiveté had vanished, a quiet dread now in its place. She flashed Merrick a look, then headed across the field. Making his face as blank as he could, Merrick followed. They passed the two boys as the loser was beginning to show signs of returning consciousness and came to a halt in front of Henson and the aliens. [The masters, what is their wish?] Anya asked in cattertalk.
One of the Trofts’ membranes gave a brief fluff as he replied. Only this time, to Merrick’s surprise, his dialect wasn’t nearly as hard to understand as it usually was with members of the Drim’hco’plai demesne. In fact, aside from some strangely accented words, it was no worse than deciphering Anya’s own slightly off-plumb Anglic usage. [Your language skills, your captivity has harmed them,] the Troft said.
[My apologies, I offer them,] Anya said, bowing deeply. [My masters, this speech they used. My understanding of true speech, it has been affected.]
Which was, Merrick knew, a lie. Back on Qasama, she’d had no trouble conversing with the Troft doctor who used this same dialect. Why she would risk the aliens’ anger by forcing them to shift dialects he couldn’t imagine, unless it was for Merrick’s own benefit and ease of understanding.
[Slaves’ minds, they are all too easily affected,] the second Troft said scornfully. [Trof’te minds, they are stronger.]
[The difficulty, I apologize for it,] Henson said, flashing an angry look at Anya as he also bowed.
[The difficulty, there is none,] the first Troft said loftily. [The dialect of our friends and allies, we have no difficulty speaking it.] He pointed to Merrick. [This slave, he does not appear familiar. His identity and occupation, he will tell them to us.]
[The slave, his voice is damaged,] Anya spoke up quickly. [His voice, an accident robbed him of it. Merrick Hopekeeper, his name it is.]
[Merrick Hopekeeper, to the Games is he bred?] the first Troft asked.
[The Games, he is not bred to them,] Henson spoke up before Anya could answer. [His occupation, a winghunter assistant it is.]
[A winghunter assistant, he is too old to be one,] the first Troft said suspiciously. [A full winghunter, I believe he is one.]
Anya’s throat tightened as she looked at Merrick. Once again, there was clearly something going on that he wasn’t getting. [A full winghunter, he is one,] she confirmed reluctantly.
[Good news, that is some,] the second Troft said. [A hunt, the two winghunters will begin one at once. The delicacies, we will feast on them by moonlight.]
[And the hunt, we will observe its progress,] the first Troft said, his voice still suspicious as he eyed Merrick. [Their winghunting ability, we will evaluate it.]
[The hour, it is too late to scale the mountains,] Anya protested carefully. [The morning, we cannot leave until then.]
Merrick looked at the cliffs rising from the ground behind the aliens. The mountains were not only tall, but they were also steep and rugged, with quite a few places that were rocky enough to keep any trees or bushes from getting a foothold.
And winghunts started from somewhere up there?
[The hour, it is not too late,] the first Troft said firmly. [The dawn, we will not wait for it. The mountain, we will begin ascending it at once.]
[The mountain, you do not need to ascend with us,] Anya said quickly. [The way, it is very steep and difficult.]
[Fools, do you consider us them?] the first Troft demanded scornfully. [The mountain, we will not ascend it by foot. Your path, we will fly alongside it.]
[The decision, it has been made,] the second Troft said before Anya could say anything else. [The winghunter equipment, you will gather it.]
Anya looked at Henson, a quiet pleading in her eyes. But the other either didn’t notice or didn’t care. [The decision, it has been made,] he confirmed. [Their winghunting ability, with your own eyes you will see it.]
[That hope, you will nurture it,] the first Troft said ominously. He looked at Anya, his radiator membranes fluffing out from his arms. [The dark memory of years past, you still have it?]
Henson hissed between his teeth. [The dark memory, we still have it,] he confirmed. [The preparation, it will begin at once.]
He gestured to Anya. “The equipment’s in the hunters’ lodge,” he said. “You remember where that is?”
“I can find it.” Anya touched Merrick’s arm. “Come.”
She led the way from the combat field and onto a path leading toward the mountains. “I take it winghunting isn’t something you learn in an afternoon?” Merrick asked quietly.
“No,” she said grimly. “Especially not in an afternoon spent climbing a mountain after a long day of travel.” She made as if to say something else, apparently changed her mind, and fell silent.
Merrick looked behind him at the sun. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. It sounded like the rest of the day would be spent in climbing, with the actual hunt not beginning until tomorrow. That meant he theoretically had all night to examine the hunting equipment and learn whatever Anya could teach him. “We’ll be all right,” he said as encouragingly as he could. “Let’s get geared up.”
“And then what?” she countered with a sudden edge of bitterness. “Then what do we do?”
“We climb a mountain, of course,” Merrick promised. “Come on, relax. Let’s just take
it one step at a time.”
“You’re right,” she said. “I’d forgotten how special you are.” She gave him an uncertain smile. “Perhaps you can learn winghunting in one night.”
“Perhaps I can,” Merrick said. “Let’s find out.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jody had assumed that she would be taken to wherever Lieutenant Commander Tamu had gathered the rest of the Stronghold citizens he’d persuaded to come aboard his big fancy courier ship. It was clear that he wasn’t keeping them prisoner—on the aircar flight from Stronghold to the landing area she saw a few of the people already leaving, making their wary way across the wide path that the Marines had cleared to keep Caelian’s plants and animals away. Tamu had also put four pairs of Marines along the path, standing ready in case some gigger or screech tiger decided to give it a try anyway.
All probably part of Tamu’s plan, she decided as the aircar put down beside the open hatch: a visible demonstration that Dominion Marines could protect the people of Caelian as well as the Cobras could. In fact, they could probably do it even better, since the Cobras had other work to do around the planet and couldn’t simply stand around looking brave the way the Marines could.
Still, shows of force aside, the main thrust of Tamu’s plan had to be taking place inside the ship where Uy’s people couldn’t watch. Her whole point in letting herself be captured had been to get inside, listen to the Dominion’s propaganda or promises or bribes, and then get that information back to Uy.
Only it hadn’t worked that way. Sergeant Tapper had escorted her up the ramp along with a new line of people heading in, but instead of continuing up the nearby stairway toward the murmur of voices coming from the next deck up, he’d taken her past the stairs and down the same-deck corridor.
It was a short corridor, considerably shorter than the ship itself, with an open door at the far end that gave a glimpse into the heavy machinery and blinking status lights of the ship’s engineering section. Midway down the corridor, a crewer with a tool belt was kneeling in front of an open door. He stood up as Jody and Tapper approached, nodded, and gestured into the room. A minute later, Jody found herself locked inside.
And there she stayed.
For a day and a half.
It was six in the evening, local time, about the same time on the previous day that a taciturn Marine had brought her dinner, when Tamu himself finally showed up. “Good evening, Ms. Broom,” he greeted her politely as he stepped through the doorway into her cell. “I trust my men have been treating you well.”
“You mean your jailers?” Jody shot back, trying hard to hold onto her temper. She’d known this moment would eventually come, and she’d spent many of the long hours carefully rehearsing what she would say and how she would behave.
But now, with Tamu’s smirking condescending superior face actually hanging there in front of her, all the simmering anger and frustration and helplessness had come roaring back. “You have no right to do this.”
“On the contrary,” Tamu said calmly. “You’re a person of interest to the Dominion. I not only have a right to detain you, but a sworn duty.”
“You have a duty to keep me locked up for over a day without even charging me with a crime?” Jody countered, trying to salvage something from the stack of brilliant legal and moral arguments she’d worked up. “Here in this—in this—”
“I already said you aren’t being charged with any crimes,” Tamu said, still with that maddening patience of his. “Though depending on your behavior that could change.” He waved a hand around the tiny room. “And as to this, it happens to be my security officer’s quarters. If you Cobra Worlds people had more experience with star travel you’d know that space is at a premium in a ship this size.”
Jody took a deep breath, trying to come up with something else. But she could feel all her previous arguments melting away in the heat of one brutally simple fact.
Tamu had guns and a real spaceship and armed Marines. Caelian had a few Cobras and nothing else.
And despite the idealistic adages Jody had grown up with—the prattlings about democracy and the strength of public opinion—when it came to the final reckoning it was the people with the guns who called the tune that everyone else danced to.
“Personally, I thought you’d be more interested in why I was coming to see you now,” Tamu continued. “After all, as you already pointed out, it’s been over a day since you joined us.”
With an effort, Jody pushed back her frustration. She’d come here for information. It was time she focused her attention on getting some. “I was curious about that, yes,” she said, pitching her tone more politely. “I’m also curious about why you haven’t already headed back to Aventine.”
“Because truth to tell—and don’t take this personally—you’re a very small fish,” Tamu said. “I have my sights on bigger game.”
“Governor Uy?”
“The governor was in fact my assigned target,” Tamu confirmed. “But I’d be more than willing to pass him up in favor of bringing Shahni Omnathi back to Aventine.”
“Ah,” Jody said. Except that Omnathi didn’t know Qasama’s location any more than Uy did. She considered mentioning that, decided that Tamu probably wouldn’t believe her. “Is that why you’re working so hard to give ammunition to the governor’s political opponents? You’re hoping they can force Uy to give himself up?”
Tamu’s lips puckered. “That was the goal, yes. I thought that giving food and aid to people like Assemblyman Pivovarci and his allies would raise their stature enough to challenge the governor’s decisions.”
Jody nodded as the light finally dawned. “Only it isn’t working, is it? Pivovarci and the others are happy to take your food, but aren’t interested in taking your orders.”
“They’re fools,” Tamu growled. “All of them. Can’t they see that you can’t possibly win against us?”
“Just because you can’t win doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” Jody said. “The Caelians are a proud people, with a long history of us-versus-them philosophy.” She cocked her head. “For what it’s worth, I’d guess the Trofts who invaded didn’t think they could be beaten, either.”
Tamu snorted. “The Trofts are fools, too. They sit in their little demesnes, fighting their petty squabbles, when they could instead be uniting under a single authority.” Abruptly, he gestured. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
Jody had heard voices and periodic thuds and clangings outside her room during her isolation, and had spent some time puzzling over what it might be. Now, as she and Tamu headed down the corridor, she finally found out. One of the line of one-by-two-meter plates that ran down the center of the floor had been removed and propped up against the side wall, and two of the ship’s crewers were pulling cream-colored boxes from a meter-deep storage bin beneath it. “More bribes?” she asked as Tamu led the way along the narrow strip of flooring that ran alongside the open bin.
“Humanitarian aid,” he said stiffly. “The preliminary reports from Caelian said that their food supplies had been disrupted by the Troft invasion, so Commodore Santores had us bring extra food to pass out.”
“Like I said. Bribes.”
Tamu flashed her a glare and said nothing.
The murmur of conversation Jody had heard when she first came aboard the previous day was present again as the two of them climbed the stairway. An open door midway down the corridor seemed to be the source, and as they neared it Jody was able to start picking individual voices from the mix. Tamu reached the door, then stepped aside and gestured Jody to go in.
The room was larger than her prison downstairs, but still quite compact. It was apparently a mess room, with most of its floor space taken up by a long table and the fourteen chairs set around it. There were eight people at the table, all of them dressed in Caelian silliweave clothing, all of them eating earnestly from small bowls. At the far end of the room was a serving counter where a crewer stood ready with a stack of s
imilar bowls and a steaming tureen. Standing at various spots around the room were Sergeant Tapper and four of his Marines, all of them looking intensely bored as they watched the others eat.
“The latest group of hungry citizens here to accept Dominion generosity,” Tamu identified the diners. “I find it interesting that the numbers of people taking us up on our standing offer has been gradually diminishing since yesterday.”
“They know now that all you’ve got is a propaganda meeting with refreshments,” Jody said.
“Perhaps,” Tamu said. “Yet they aren’t boycotting us completely. I take that as a good sign.” He pointed over her shoulder at the three men hunched over their bowls at one end of the group. “But I didn’t bring you here to discuss crowd psychology. I simply thought you’d like to say hello to some old friends.”
And without warning, the five Marines suddenly seemed to come to life. They strode across the room, converging on the three men Tamu had pointed out, and came to a halt surrounding them.
Jody frowned in surprise. What in the Worlds—?
And then, belatedly, she focused on the men’s faces. They weren’t old friends at all. In fact, she’d never even met any of them. But their skin was deeply tanned, their hair dark, and their eyes were cool and calculating as they gazed up at the Marines.
Qasamans.
“Would you care to make the introductions, Ms. Broom?” Tamu asked.
The room had suddenly gone silent. The Caelians were still hunched over their bowls, some with spoons frozen halfway to their mouths, as they stared at the drama taking place at the end of their table. “Ms. Broom?” Tamu prompted.
The Qasaman in the middle stirred. “Leave her alone,” he said. “Jody Moreau has no hand in this.”
“I never thought she did,” Tamu assured him. “Your name?”
“Ifrit Kaml Ghushtre,” the man said, inclining his head slightly. “I command this squad of Djinn warriors.”
“Not anymore you don’t,” Tamu said. “And your companions?”