Lord of Janissaries (79 page)

Elliot gave him a significant look. So did Tylara.

Yeah, Rick thought: “Keep your pants on.” I can just see me sending her
that
message. Hah.

“You learn anything from him?” Elliot asked.

“Not much we don’t know,” Rick said. “The council or whatever it is that governs the Confederation is still divided over what to do about Earth, and doesn’t seem to know about Tran. Which means the
Shalnuksis
have a free hand, but we don’t have to worry about the council sending the galactic navy. Not just yet, anyway.”

He took Tylara’s hand for a moment. She gave an answering half smile. He’d spent three hours trying to explain what he knew about the millennia-old Galactic Confederation and its human Janissaries, but she still didn’t understand. That’s all right, Rick thought. I don’t either. And what the hell, Tylara has more experience unravelling plots than I do. Maybe she can understand a confederacy of a dozen or more star-faring races. According to Les, they haven’t changed in five thousand years, mostly because of human slave soldiers.

It sounds nutty. It would sound nuttier if I didn’t know the Turks used slave soldiers and administrators to run their empire. They called them Janissaries, and their empire stayed together for centuries.

“What about that Agzaral guy?” Elliot asked. “Is he on our side?”

“Don’t know. Les won’t say much about him. One thing’s sure, he’s playing a deep game,” Rick said. “
He
knows about Tran, but his bosses don’t. Yet he’s a cop. Or something like a cop, anyway.” Rick shrugged. “I don’t even know how much Les knows. Maybe he’ll tell us more.”

“Yeah, if he lives long enough,” Elliot said. “Christ, Cap’n, why’d it have to be
Caradoc
he’s gonna put horns on? Nobody else is near that popular with the army. Even the mercs like him.”

Tylara frowned. “Is it so certain that Lord Caradoc will be dishonored? Why do you think so ill of the Lady Gwen? Surely she knows what must be.”

How do I answer that? Rick wondered. No way to tell her how I
know
. “Girls on Earth do not think as the women on Tran do. Les was her first love, and he will be insistent. Yet, you may be right. It may be that Lady Gwen will refuse his advances, at least until the case can be heard by a court.”

“Fat bloody chance,” Elliot muttered.

“You have knowledge?” Tylara asked.

“Some,” Elliot said. “Look, I don’t want to tell tales, but before she married Caradoc—”

“Yeah?” Rick demanded.

“Well, one night I heard shots from her room,” Elliot said. “I came in to find Gwen breathing hard, Larry Warner with his hideout pistol, and Caradoc waving a bloody big knife. They straightened it all out, but—”

“But she is not a chaste woman,” Tylara said.

“It’s not that simple,” Rick protested. “Different cultures, different—”

“I am more concerned with consequences,” Tylara said coldly. “If the Lady Gwen cannot use proper judgement, then we must save her from her folly. And save the University, which is such a great part of what our children will inherit.”

Damn all Tran dynasts, Rick thought. But she’s right.

“My love, we both know Caradoc. He has always been quick to defend the right. Not his right alone. Ours as well. But my lord husband, my love, even now the Tamaerthan troops are returning. Caradoc will soon be here, and if he is wronged, if his wife has dishonored him, he must
act
! He will challenge Les.”

“He’d probably lose,” Elliot said. “I don’t know what Les carries, but it’s sure to be as effective as our pistols. Remember Art Masons’ story? The walls of the ship shot him when he threatened one of the
Shalnuksis
.”

“And Les and the others are human warriors,” Rick finished. “Janissaries for the Galactic Confederacy.” He laughed. “I don’t want to believe that.”

“Evidence is pretty convincing,” Elliot said.

“Didn’t say I
don’t
believe it,” Rick said.

Elliot laughed.

Tylara waited until there was silence. “It matters little whether Lord Caradoc wins or loses. He will insist upon his rights in this matter. He will insist that we come to his aid, or avenge him if he is killed.”

“Army’ll be on his side,” Elliot said. “Hell, Cap’n, suppose Les kills Caradoc. You know damn well what you’d have to do.”

“Yes.” Kill Les. Or be a lord who’s broken faith with his followers. My name will stink from the Westscarp to Rome. Caradoc’s relatives will want my blood—Padraic! My own bodyguard.

“Do you see difficulties I do not?” Tylara asked. “We are two. We both have pistols. Les is only one. I saw no weapon upon him, but suppose he has? He can be killed. At this moment he is guest under our roof, but that need not be forever.
We
swore no permanent oath to him.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying! You can’t know what his ship will do,” Rick said.

“There is no one in it,” Tylara said. “I asked him. It could be a lie, but I do not think it was.”

“Nor do I,” Rick said.

“Then he controls the ship with that box. When we have killed him, we will take the box and use it,” Tylara said.

“Won’t work,” Rick said. “There are—codes. One is obvious—he will not use English to speak with the ship. And smashing the box won’t work, since we don’t know what orders he gave the ship before he sent it up. He had plenty of time, after all.”

“But what can a ship do?” Tylara demanded. “A ship with no master?”

“A lot,” Rick said. “First, it will report to the next ship that comes. God knows what it’ll tell them, but it can watch everything we do. It’ll sit up there in the sky and watch us, and take pictures, and when the
Shalnuksis
come it’ll tell them everything.”

“And then comes
skyfire
,” Tylara said thoughtfully.

“Unless we can work with Les to prevent it,” Rick said. “One thing’s sure. We won’t learn anything from anybody else. Les is the
only
chance we have to talk the
Shalnuksis
out of bombing this place back to the Stone Age. Why would he try, except for Gwen? Yet, with his help, what we have built, the knowledge we will leave our children, might withstand even
skyfire
. The
Shalnuksis
might be induced to bomb the wrong places. But that’s only if Les helps.”

“And yet, all know what a debt we owe to Caradoc,” Tylara said. “His honor is ours. You speak of what we will give our children. Do you wish to give them an inheritance of dishonor?”

Yatar, Jehovah, Christ, somebody, tell me how to answer that. Please.

Tylara sighed. “You have no answer. Nor have I. It seems that now we are both called upon to do more than we can do. Lord Elliot, have you advice?”

“No, Lady,” Elliot said. “We need Caradoc, and we need Les. But it looks like one’s going to kill the other, no matter what. Hell, it wouldn’t settle anything if Gwen dropped dead! She’s the only thing Les cares about—”

“There is his child,” Tylara said thoughtfully. “If the lady Gwen were dead, there could be no quarrel—”

“Seems to me a man would be more likely to work for his wife than for a kid he’s never seen,” Elliot said.

“And we need Gwen if we’re going to have a University,” Rick said.

“You are certain?”

“Yes, I’m certain, dammit! And do you think I owe Gwen any less than we owe Caradoc?”

“I see.” Tylara sighed once more, than stood. “I will not swear to lay no hand on Les forever,” she said. “But I will swear to let him take us safely to the University, and stand apart from his first meeting with the Lady Gwen.” She gave a shaky smile. “I think if I did not swear this much, you would guard Les night and day with your
Colt
in your hand. Even against me.”

No answer to that, either. “That’s a good start.” And—Gwen didn’t get any messages from Les. Meaning what? Maybe her transceiver’s busted, but maybe she isn’t listening. Maybe she’s in one of her moods—“He done me wrong and then run off and left me.” When she’s like that, she wants his
cojones
on a spear, and if she stays that way long enough for Caradoc to come back and make her realize that she’s got to be sensible . . .

Maybe. It’s a slim chance.

But everything else looks like no chance at all.

* * *

This time the ship tilted slightly as it landed on a patch of softer ground. The whining sound grew louder and increased in pitch, and Les frantically manipulated dials on the box he carried. The ship righted itself.

Les inspected it critically, then seemed satisfied. “Okay, wait there,” he said. Then he seemed to catch himself. He turned to Tylara. “With your permission, my lady, I’ll go open a hatch.”

He disappeared around the stern.

Tylara glanced at Rick, then stared at the ship. They stood together in the field, with only the Firestealer to give light. Tylara’s lips were set in a grim line.

She’s scared of
skyfire
, Rick thought. Well, so am I. The interesting part is that Les is nervous. These ships must be vulnerable. Not likely I’ll learn how. Not likely the troops will see anything. But they might—

He had every merc with binoculars stationed around possible landing sites, and he’d been lucky. Elliot was out there watching this one.

After about ten minutes a hatch opened just in front of Rick and Tylara. A wide gangway lowered itself.

“Welcome aboard,” the ship’s voice said. It didn’t sound anything like Les.

Tylara took Rick’s hand. “Shall we go, my husband?”

He nodded, then grabbed her to kiss her. As he broke away he whispered, “Remember. Not only Les will hear everything we say while we are in that ship. Other—”

She smiled and nodded, and Rick wondered if she believed him. After all, she’d never seen a recording device, and describing one wasn’t the same as showing it—

Nothing he could do about that.

They went inside. The compartment was nearly bare. Rick looked closely. There were stains on the deck in one corner. This was the same ship that had brought them to Tran, no doubt about that.

In one corner of the compartment there were two piles of Japanese
futons
. On top of one of the piles was a package wrapped in brightly printed paper and tied with a scarlet bow. Tylara stared at it. The paper was printed with replicas of famous miniature portraits.

“It is lovely,” she said. “I have not seen—”

“Ah, my lady, it is a gift for you.” This time Les used his own voice, rather than the impersonal computer-generated one he’d used earlier. “Now, please be seated—”

Rick pushed the two piles of
futons
together and flopped into one of them. Tylara gingerly sat beside him. She clutched the package tightly.

“Will you not open it?” Les asked.

“I—it is so beautiful—”

“Let me, sweetheart,” Rick said. He took the package and carefully worked the bow so that it came off without damaging it. Tylara took it and held it experimentally to her hair. The ends of the package were sealed with Scotch tape. Rick took out his pocket knife and slit the tape so that he could remove the printed paper without tearing it. Tylara watched nervously.

“I should have brought more wrapping paper,” Les said. “I think I have some picture books. You can have those.”

“Thank you,” Tylara said. She sounded sincere.

The box contained a bracelet and necklace of Navajo turquoise and silver, elaborately gaudy. Tylara gasped with pleasure. “Marvelous!” she exclaimed. She put on the bracelet and admired it on her arm. “There is nothing like it in all of Tamaerthon. Or Drantos.”

That’s for sure, Rick thought. But of course she’d like it.

They settled onto the
futons
. “Thank you,” Tylara said.

A screen in the forward part of the compartment suddenly came to life. It showed Les in his command chair on the ship’s semi-darkened bridge. “There’s something for you, too, Colonel,” Les said. “Under your cushions there—”

Rick felt under the pile and found a wooden box, not wrapped. Inside was a bottle of Talisker Scotch and four crystal glasses packed in Styrofoam worms. There was also a bottle of Campari.

“Have a drink with me?” Les asked. “Sorry I can’t invite you up to the bridge. ‘Thees starship ees going to Havana, Señor,’ with those mini-grenades to make the point—well, the idea doesn’t quite appeal to me.”

“I don’t suppose it would,” Rick said. He tried to keep his voice calm. The grenades in his pockets suddenly seemed five times their size and weight.

“My lady might prefer Campari,” Les said.

“Fat chance,” Rick muttered. “She’s had Scotch.” He opened the Talisker and poured for himself and Tylara.

Les turned to the screen and lifted his own glass. “Cheers, then,” he said.

“Cheers,” Rick said. Tylara muttered something. They both drank.

Tylara grimaced slightly at the taste. Rick frowned a question at her.

“I recall the previous time,” she said. “I was pleased with your strong—
whisky
. But—”

But you’d just been raped by Sarakos, Rick thought. And this reminds you. Yeah. I should have insisted you have Campari.

“Ready?” Les asked.

“Yes,” Rick said.

A moment later they were pressed into the
futons
. The screen blurred, then showed the ground falling away. Tylara gasped and moved closer to him. The ship rose, and then they were high enough to see Castle Armagh with its blaze of bonfires. She shivered slightly.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Rick whispered. “We’re no higher than—than the highest mountains.” He’d almost mentioned Larry Warner and the balloon, but there was no point in telling the ship’s recorders about
that
.

The ship began to move, and Armagh slipped off the edge of the screen. The Firestealer gave enough light to recognize the major terrain features. They were going west, following the main road to Castle Dravan.

Coincidence or design? Rick wondered. After all, when they first came to Tran they’d been set down not far from Dravan, and this was the main road west . . .

Tylara pointed and looked afraid. “The children,” she whispered.

Yeah. Our kids are down there—He pointed and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right, that’s where we established the orphanages,” he said. “Not too far from where the ship first set us down. Les, are we sightseeing?”