A Matter of Honor

Irschcha, 2569 CE

Chaos take those Imperial schools anyway!

It was all their fault, Thark growled to himself, increasing his pace as the sleek lines of his ship came into view. Not even the prospect of flying the Prowler lightened his mood this time. The Chaos-loving schools had done too much! They were fine for the unTalented, like humans and now Traiti, but they had probably precipitated a disaster here on Irschcha. Their damnable stress on Imperial rather than planetary allegiance was to blame; it had deprived him of the strongest Talent to appear in many years, Corina Losinj-and it would cost Corina her life soon, if it hadn't already.

He was practically running toward his small ship now, dignity forgotten in the need for haste. "Dammit all to hell!" he burst out, the human curse seeming oddly appropriate under the circumstances. If the Terran Empire hadn't discovered Irschcha for another century, or if Chear hadn't chosen to affiliate with it, none of this would have had to happen.

As Thark neared the ship, he forced his thoughts and emotions under control, away from such useless speculations. He was High Adept of the White Order now, not Chear, and it was up to him to correct Chear's error. His calm voice did not betray his feelings when he returned the salute of the gray-kilted Sanctioner standing at the foot of the boarding ramp.

"Greetings, Master Thark," the Sanctioner said.

"Greetings, Underofficer Jamar. What is Prowler's status?"

"Senior Adepts Valla and Kainor are already on board, as is the rest of my squad. The ship is ready for takeoff."

"Excellent," Thark said. "Then we leave immediately. We have no time to waste." He hurried up the ramp into the ship.

Jamar followed, stopping to raise the ramp and close the lock. Thark went on to the cockpit and secured himself in the pilot's seat, scanning his instrumentation. He was an accomplished pilot, and rather to his surprise he found that the pre-liftoff routine did ease his mood, even under such unpleasant circumstances.

His ears went forward in satisfaction. Jamar had surpassed himself; the only thing left was to alert his crew and passengers for immediate takeoff. He did so, then fed full power to the null-gravs. There was no need to wait for clearance; this was a private field, one of his prerogatives as High Adept, and the Prowler, as his ship, had an automatic clearance superseding any other in this system save an Imperial Navy ship.

As soon as they were a safe ten diameters out from Irschcha he activated the hyperdrive, then unstrapped himself and rose. Prowler's course to Rendavi, the Crusade leaders' rendezvous, had been fed into the navigation computer several days ago and been updated automatically every hour since.

He started to leave the cockpit. Once the transition into hyperspace had been made, there was no need for a pilot until it was time to out-transition and land.

Still-at the moment, he really didn't feel like talking to his lieutenants. He returned to the controls and sat down, staring into the blank viewscreen and visualizing the morning's unexpected, perhaps disastrous, developments. Perhaps if he had handled things differently...

* * *

He had spent most of the week arranging things so he would be free all day today, knowing such things would not be possible for much longer. The weather had cooperated almost as if it were intelligent and sensed the importance of this meeting. Although it was still early spring, the day was a brilliant one, the temperature a comfortable fifteen degrees. He had taken advantage of that, deciding to have Corina's final lesson out on the sundeck.

He took several seating cushions outside and arranged them so the sun would warm them, yet not glare into his or Corina's eyes. Then he leaned back on one set of the cushions to wait for her. Relaxing almost totally, he watched a small cloud drifting in the clear green sky. The sun's gentle warmth on his fur was thoroughly enjoyable. It was indeed a pleasant change, he mused, to be able to relish such a day with no duties to interfere. His position as High Adept made such luxuries all too rare.

Corina's lessons were a self-imposed duty, one he was pleased he had assumed. He was looking forward to her initiation into the White Order, and the fact that he had trained her himself would make that doubly enjoyable.

It was fortunate that Corina was available to the Order at all. Her Talent had been deeply latent, not developing until quite late. Because of that, she had been missed by the Order's usual pre-school testing. That, Thark thought, still bitter, was one of the few things the Empire's very presence had not changed. Although the examiner had believed she had sensed something, Corina had been unable to receive even the simplest thoughts, and had not had even a trace of mental screen.

She had been seventeen, close to eighteen years old by the new Imperial Standard measure, when she had found herself beginning to pick up thoughts. She had gone, naturally enough, to a local Order chapter for help and possible training. The chapter had reported it to him, knowing he would be interested; when Talent appeared so late it was almost always minimal, usually only telepathy and a weak mind-screen, and the tester had been astonished at Corina's strength.

Thark had been surprised himself when he scanned her. It was then that he had decided to take her as his private student. Four years' training had brought out her potential, the power he had sensed she should be able to control, when they met. It would be formally recognized soon, when she was initiated; then Thark could bring her into the Prime Chapter, where the Order could make full use of her Talents. He had no intention whatever of letting them go to waste. Senior Adept Corina of the White Order, he thought-yes, it had a pleasant ring. He and the others of the Prime Chapter already thought of her that way, used her last name only when formality required it.

He caught sight of her then, and watched her come up the rubberoid walk to his raised sundeck. As usual, she was precisely on time. And she certainly wasn't difficult to spot; all her kilts were bright, but the red-and-gold one she favored and was wearing today was positively gaudy. Urr, perhaps her taste would improve as she matured. He looked down at his own kilt, a conservative dark blue that went well with the tawny shade of his fur. That, with its sporran, was one of the few human innovations he appreciated.

Corina purred softly in pleasure when she saw Thark out on the sundeck. Truly, this weather was too good to waste any of it indoors, especially at this time of year. He stood as she approached.

"Good day, Master Thark," she said with a slight bow, her hands open and raised to shoulder level.

Thark returned the formal bow. "Good day, Student Losinj. Be welcome."

Formalities were certainly briefer since Irschcha had joined the Empire, Thark thought. He wasn't sure yet whether he approved of that or not. They had been time-consuming, but they had also given life a certain grace that now seemed lacking, and had provided a social lubricant that Irschchans, in his opinion, needed. He could be wrong, though, he thought as he returned to his cushions.

Corina sat facing him. "What is today's lesson, Master?"

"At this stage, it is up to you to tell me. Further training will be directed to any area in which you feel deficient."

Her mind-shield was down, so he could sense, as well as hear, her surprise. "I do not understand."

"The only thing you truly require now is more confidence in yourself. Otherwise you are fully ready for initiation, and I would like to see that take place as soon as possible."

Corina shook her head slowly. "I do not feel ready to take on such responsibilities, Master. I have not had the psychological preparation of those who have attended Order schools."

"Your feelings are understandable," Thark said sympathetically. "You know, however, that you already have as much power and control as any Senior in the Prime Chapter."

"Urrr..." She hesitated. "You may be correct. I did stalemate Senior Valla in our last practice session."

"Yes, she told me about it. She was quite pleased. She and Kainor agree with me that you are ready, and if you are willing, they have asked to stand as your sponsors."

"I would be most honored to have them as sponsors," Corina said, inclining her head. "What do you plan for me after initiation?"

"I want to bring you into the Prime Chapter, where one with your amount of Talent belongs. As for a specific job, we think such Talent, in conjunction with your other abilities, can best be utilized as a roving supervisor in Valla's Intelligence Division."

Corina considered that. It would be a most interesting job, she had no doubt. The Intelligence Division got the most difficult cases the Sanctioners had to cope with, and since they were Irschcha's military, as well as its police, the variety of such cases was truly remarkable. It was tempting, though she questioned whether she would be able to do well at it. "I have not yet finished school," she objected.

"I have not forgotten. Until you graduate, you will work as Valla's assistant after class. She will train you for the job."

"Yes, Master, I believe I would like that. But the Prime Chapter..."

"You will not be expected to participate fully until you do graduate, Corina. By that time you should be sure enough of yourself to function properly as a Senior."

"Under those conditions, I can honorably agree."

"Excellent!" Thark let his pleasure show. "As part of your further development, I would like you to do some teaching. Through teaching others, you will learn more yourself-and more of yourself."

"That I will do gladly. I do not feel as fully qualified as I should be."

"Perhaps not, but your Talent is truly remarkable." Thark purred. By the time he was ready to step down, she should be capable of taking over leadership of the Order. By then, if his Crusade were successful, it would have taken over rule of the Empire from the unTalented humans. The end of the Traiti War made that a probability in the near future.

Humans weren't stupid, he thought. In fact, some were quite intelligent. And the Empire was, as far as it went, a fairly good basis for government. It was simply that those with Talent had superior abilities, thus were better qualified to rule. And to rule, the Order must rebel.

He had not been fully shielded, he realized when he saw the look on Corina's face. "What Crusade?" she asked curiously.

Thark felt her probing for more information, and reinforced his shield. "Do not concern yourself with that," he advised. "You should know nothing about it until after your initiation."

"Why not?"

"Because it is Order business, and you are not yet sworn to the Order."

"Oh." She seemed to accept that, but Thark was familiar with her curiosity, and it would be no surprise to him if she kept trying to find out. He would have to be careful to keep his shield up.

"All I can tell you now," he said, hoping to ease that curiosity, "is that it will bring proper symmetry to the Cosmos."

That statement served only to make Corina even more curious. Thark had seemed preoccupied for the last half year, and so had the other Seniors she knew. It was clear that something was going on; she had sensed it for some time. She had asked nothing about what she felt, knowing that Thark was reluctant to discuss it. Now, though, it appeared that whatever this "Crusade" was, it concerned her own future. That fact, she felt, gave her the right to know about it.

She probed at Thark's shield again, but he was too strong for her to penetrate it. All she knew was what she had overheard, and even then she had gotten little information. Only the term "Crusade," the fact that she was somehow involved, and a mixed feeling of obligation and impending triumph. But what kind of triumph, and over what? Or... who?

"Is it something that will affect the Empire?" she asked.

"Something that will improve it," Thark replied. "You must admit it is not perfect-"

He was interrupted by a mindcall from Valla, head of the Sanctioners and his chief lieutenant. *What is it, Thark? I felt your disturbance-*

*Not now, Valla!*

Her thought cut off, but too late; the momentary distraction had enabled Corina to break through his lowered shield. He could see, as well as feel, her reaction, and it was what he had feared.

Corina was both shocked and angry. Shocked that Thark would even plan such a rebellion, and angry that he had expected her to participate. Thark had not been raised as an Imperial citizen; she had, and could not understand his desire for change. Yet she liked him as a friend as well as respecting him as a teacher-she did not want to believe he would actually go through with such a thing.

Her thoughts were a turmoil of conflicting loyalties. The Empire, she had been taught and firmly believed, was what kept the peace between planets and systems, while allowing maximum freedom on-planet through the ruling nobility. Thark retained his title of High Adept, though he could have claimed the title of Planetary Baron, and was virtually as powerful as he would have been before the Empire.

Why, then, did he want change? Perhaps that should not concern her as much as the mere fact that he did. She was due for initiation; in honor, could she oppose him? Or was it her duty as an Imperial citizen to do so? She was bound by no oaths, and so free to choose. Blades! she thought angrily. Why did Thark put her in such a position?

Perhaps if she got more information she would know what to do. Keeping her voice steady, she asked, "Is such a rebellion not simple treason, Master Thark? Will it not destroy the Empire, rather than improve it?"

Thark looked closely at his student. It was natural for her to be concerned; he himself was not particularly fond of the idea of the bloodshed that now appeared necessary. At the very minimum, the Emperor, Rangers, and nobility would have to be eliminated, and he knew full well that there would be others.

"It might be so construed, but it is something that cannot be helped," he said calmly. "You should be able to understand that for yourself. Look at the peace and balance that rule by the Order has brought Irschcha since it was founded, then look at the constant unrest and controversy elsewhere in the Empire. Which is better?"

Corina shifted uncomfortably. "Peace, of course." She hesitated, then said, "But rebellion is no way to bring true peace. And there is a great difference between ruling one race on one planet and ruling an Empire of thousands of worlds."

"Less than you might think," Thark replied, pleased at her composure. A difference of opinion need not be disorderly, and her temper at times like this was uncertain. "We need only replace key people with our own most strongly Talented initiates. The bureaucracy and computers will, as they do now, handle day-to-day operations."

"And because you possess the strongest Talent, naturally you will become Emperor?" There was a distinct trace of sarcasm in that question.

"Of course," Thark said, mildly surprised and ignoring the tone of her voice. "It is not something I particularly want to do-" He broke off, looked at her sharply. "It is indeed unfortunate that you did not attend an Order school."

He probed gently. She was angry, of course; he could tell that even through her shield, but she seemed to be keeping her emotions under tight control. Good. She might still be amenable to reason.

"I have told you many times," he said patiently, "that possession of Talent carries with it a certain responsibility. We of the Order are able to use our Talent to govern better than do those who lack it. Honor demands that we do so. We cannot avoid our duty."

He could feel her rejection of that argument even before she spoke. "That may apply to Irschcha, but it is obviously not true of humans. They did quite well before MacLeod found us, despite their lack of Talent. You must agree that things have improved for Irschcha since we joined the Empire."

"Some things, yes," Thark admitted. "We have hyperships now, like my Prowler; we are benefitting from trade with other systems; we are starting out-system colonies ourselves; we have people in the Imperial Services-"

"And in the Emperor's own Palace Guard!" Corina interrupted.

"But that is not enough!"

"Is that not considerable progress since they found us only forty-three Standard years ago? Can you truly expect more so soon? We are only a small part of the Empire."

"I cannot accept that," Thark growled. "We are being humiliated! We must even use human units of measurement. Standard years? Terran years is what you mean!"

"Still-"

"We have no one in the nobility except for myself," Thark continued, ignoring her attempted protest. "No Irschchan is a Ranger, none command major military ships or bases. Does that seem equitable to you?"

"It does not seem inequitable, simply on the basis of numbers," Corina pointed out. "Humans occupy thousands of worlds, the Traiti hundreds, while we occupy only this one completely. And it is possible they have talents or abilities we lack."

Thark groaned inwardly. This was not going well, but she was too valuable to lose; he would have to keep trying.

"They do not," he told her. "I have scanned a large number of humans, tourists and administrative officials alike. They have no indication of Talent or anything else unusual, except perhaps an occasional trace of screen. They are exactly what they seem. All they have is a very sophisticated technology."

"Perhaps that is their talent," Corina said. "It was they who found us; we did not find them. Or perhaps their special ability is even rarer with them than Talent is with us."

"If that is the case," Thark replied, "it would seem they either cannot use it to govern properly, or refuse to do so. In either case, our duty is clear."

He was silent then, perceiving her need to think.

Corina was deeply disturbed. Thark's arguments were plausible, at least on the surface, but she found them unsatisfying. Tourists and administrative officials were not the Empire's best examples, especially the tourists. Thark claimed his motive was unselfish-duty-and she knew him well enough to believe he truly thought so. But what if he was wrong?

Chaos take it! Peace was important, and she could see it as a result-perhaps-of Thark's rebellion. But first there would be much death and destruction. With the Traiti War barely over, what Thark planned might as easily trigger a disaster as lead to the peace he expected.

It was a difficult decision; no matter what she did, people would be killed. Yet Thark himself had taught her that her responsibility to Irschcha ought to be paramount, and that meant she had no choice but to support the Empire that had done so much for it. In honor, that was the only way she could decide. Irschcha had made more progress in its forty-three years since joining the Empire than in any span ten times that long under the Order.

Once her decision was made, she did not hesitate. She stood, then said with a return to strict formality, "I can regard your Crusade as nothing but treason, Thark. I can no longer call you Master."

Thark also rose, nodding his acceptance. At least, he thought, she was acting as he had taught her, with honor and decorum. "Then we are enemies. I truly regret that, necessary as it is. Will you at least give me your word that you will not go to the Imperial authorities?" He knew the answer even as he asked the question, but it was a propriety he had to observe.

"I cannot do that," Corina said. "You have taught me too well. Failing to act now, on what I am positive is right, would be as dishonorable as treason itself."

"It would indeed," Thark replied with regret. "You leave me no choice. I cannot kill a guest in my home; to do that would bring only shame. However, I cannot let you live to reach the Imperials with this information, either. And I most certainly will not allow you to aid their cause."

Fear almost weakened Corina's resolve. She did not want to die, but death seemed unavoidable. If she thought about it too much, though, she might give in, and that would be worse. "I must try," she said steadily. "What of my family?"

"The decision was yours, not theirs," Thark replied. "It will not be held against them. If you wish, I will give them your soul-blade."

"I am not yet dead," Corina said, caressing the dagger's hilt. She turned and left.

"No," Thark said softly, watching her leave. "Not yet." As soon as she was out of sight, he mindcalled his lieutenant. *Valla? I have a job for you.*

*Yes?* came the calm reply.

*Corina Losinj must be eliminated. She broke through my shield when your call distracted me, and discovered the Crusade. She has just left, and is going to report to the Imperials.*

*Corina!* Valla's thought was surprised. *But I thought-* She hesitated. *Are you sure, Master? Why would she-*

*Apparently her lack of Order schooling. I cannot fault her; it is simply that her loyalties lie with the Empire rather than with us. Still, she is a danger which must be eliminated.*

*Understood, Master. She was a good friend, and most Talented.* Valla had felt the regret in Thark's mental touch, and shared it, but there was no time for emotion now. *This is an unfortunate happening. I will take care of it.*

*With your usual efficiency, of course. But not personally. Arrange it. Tell the Sanctioners she is wearing that red-and-gold kilt. Then bring Kainor and meet me at my ship. She is forcing me to speed up the timetable; the Prime Chapter and other Crusade leaders are to gather as soon as possible on Rendavi. Inform your people.*

*How do you wish her to die?*

*She has betrayed her Talent; let her be destroyed by Talent. Tell your executioner to use darlas.* Thark regretted that, in a way; death by telepathic attack was exquisitely painful. But it was just, and it was honorable.

*What of her family?* Valla asked.

*They are oathbound. Disregard them.*

*Yes, Master Thark. Are there further instructions?*

*No.*

Thark broke the contact, then made three more briefer ones before his general broadcast to the off-planet Crusade leaders. Once they had been informed of the accelerated schedule, he was free to leave for his private spacefield and the Prowler.

* * *

Thark's attention focused again on his immediate surroundings, the Prowler's control room. In retrospect, he was as sure of Corina's thoughts as if he had read them. He laid his ears back in a frown. No, he could see no way he might have changed the morning's events. It was most regrettable, both the loss of such a Talent and Corina's death. He was still quite fond of her.

But enough of these useless memories, Thark told himself sternly. What had happened could not be changed. He should join his passengers. He rose, giving his instrument panel an automatic scan as he rose. Urrr- the proximity alarm! He'd forgotten to turn it on, a mistake he'd not have made but for Corina's defection. He sat back down and corrected his error, wondering if there were any others he'd made in his chagrin over Corina's betrayal.

* * *

Corina was thinking in rapid, frightened bursts as she left Thark's home. She was certain he would lose no time in sending the executioners after her, probably Sanctioners. She was not particularly optimistic about making it safely to the Planetary Palace and the Imperial authorities.

Thark's home was ten kilometers north of the capital city, MacLeod's Landing. It would be a long, time-consuming walk, but what choice did she have? With Sanctioners on her trail, using her identification to call for public transportation at one of the hailing posts would be a fatal mistake.

The occasional clumps of bushes bordering the street's short-cropped grass gave her an idea. She was fairly conspicuous; there were few pedestrians this far from the city, and as Thark had told her often enough, she did dress rather gaudily. She made her way into one of the clumps, took off her kilt, turned it inside-out, and put it back on. It was a youngling's trick, but... She surveyed the results. Not good, she decided. Still, it might help; at least the solid maroon lining was a little less gaudy than red and gold plaid.

She returned to the street, glad for the soft grass that had replaced pavement when null-grav craft came into common use, and resumed her walk toward the city. As small as MacLeod's Landing was by human standards, it was already large by Irschchan, and still growing. If she made it that far, there was at least a chance she could avoid the Sanctioners in the crowds, and reach the Palace.

She had been walking for perhaps five minutes when a Sanctioner patrol cruiser sped past her, toward Thark's home. The wind of its passage ruffled her fur as well as her kilt, but they seemed to pay no attention to her, for which she was grateful.

Still, it was what she had hoped. If she were obvious enough, the Sanctioners should think she had nothing to hide. Between that and her kilt-flipping, unless she ran into a Sanctioner who knew her well enough to identify her by the pattern of her mind-shield, she might make it.

Bare minutes later, though, her hopes fell as she heard the patrol cruiser approaching again. It stopped in front of her and three gray-kilted Sanctioners got out.

Besides the usual sporran and soul-blade everyone carried, the Sanctioners wore their collars of office, gleaming gold bands snug at their throats. And their blasters, normally worn on belt clips, were all pointed in her direction. Pitting around the muzzles showed Corina, as if she had needed the confirmation, that the weapons had all seen use.

She made her body relax. These Sanctioners were big, and they were treating her as cautiously as they would a dangerous criminal. From the Order's point of view, though, that was now an accurate description.

"All right, Losinj," the oldest one said. "Hands on your head, and do not move."

Corina obeyed, moving slowly to give herself time to think. These three would have tight mind-shields, and anyway, the most she had been able to handle in practice was two-which Thark, of course knew. She was in no position to fight. Her only chance was to get them to relax, drop their shields voluntarily. Unless they were simply going to kill her here...

Which they were apparently not going to do. Two stood back, perhaps three meters from her and an equal distance from each other, their blasters steady on target. The leader, staying carefully out of their lines of fire, approached her. He unclipped the soul-blade, sheath and all, from her belt and attached it to his own.

"It will be returned intact to your family for their Hall of Memories after your execution, as Senior Valla has ordered," he told her.

"My thanks to Senior Valla," Corina said, her voice shaky. So Thark had turned her case over to Valla. That wasn't good news at all. She knew Valla well, had in fact gotten much training from her, and they were friends, though not close ones. But Valla didn't let friendship interfere with her work, and she had a well-earned reputation for thoroughness and efficiency. At least, Corina thought, Valla did not dishonor her by ordering her blade broken.

The Sanctioner moved behind her. "Put your hands down, behind your back."

She obeyed, felt cool metallic bands close around her wrists. The Sanctioner took hold of her arm just above the elbow.

"Into the cruiser, youngling."

She got in, was seated between him and another Sanctioner, both with blasters aimed at her. The third took his place at the controls, heading them toward MacLeod's Landing and Sanctioner headquarters. She put her sort-of-a-plan into action; as uncertain as it was, she had been unable to think of anything else.

Huddling up, she let her mind-shield relax slightly. As the cruiser picked up speed, she felt one of the Sanctioners try a probe. Don't fight it, she told herself, use it. Sanctioners were Talented, of course, but they didn't have the training or control she had gotten from Thark. They shouldn't be able to detect her attempt at deception.

She shivered, letting the shield drop even further and allowing her fear, only partially falsified, to seep through. If she could convince them she was terrified, too paralyzed with panic to be a danger, she might have a chance.

The Sanctioner leader looked at her for a moment, then said, with some sympathy, "You seem harmless enough, hardly a dangerous criminal. Why does Senior Valla want you dead, youngling?"

"I do not know," Corina lied, projecting more fright. "I mean... I have done nothing..." She let her voice trail off.

"Urrr, there is no need to worry," the officer said, apparently trying to reassure her. "The executioner here is good. He will give you a swift death, and it will be one with honor; she has ordered you killed with darlas."

It didn't reassure Corina, and she let that show in her expression. She looked up at the Sanctioner leader, shivering again. "But... I don't want to die! I have done nothing to die for!"

"Youngling, it is not for me to question Senior Valla's orders, but I admit I do no like this assignment. My own girl-child is about your age."

"Then-" Sudden hope dawned.

"No, youngling." The Sanctioner's voice was full of pity, but remained firm. "My honor lies in my duty, and that duty requires me to take you in."

Corina slumped, fear and a sense of hopelessness seeming worse after that surge of false hope. Her shield was almost all the way down. She dared not probe at the Sanctioners to see if they believed her; somehow that did not seem to be the sort of thing a frightened prisoner would do. She could only hope her plan was working, but the closer they got to the city and Sanctioner headquarters, the less confidence she had in it.

The trip ended in deep silence. By the time they pulled up in front of the large stone building that housed the capital's Sanctioners, Corina was on the ragged edge of desperation. It must have appeared more like sheer terror to the officer beside her, because he dismissed the other two. "Go on in. She will give me no trouble; she is too afraid."

They obeyed. As they entered the building, the leader climbed out of the cruiser, clipped his blaster to his belt, and extended a hand to help his trembling prisoner.

That was when Corina struck. He had relaxed his shield slightly, thinking her powerless, and she had no trouble stunning him with darlas. Awkwardly, hampered by the way her hands were fastened and by her need for haste, she dug through his sporran for the handcuff key and fumbled it into the lock. The cuffs opened after what seemed hours, but could have been only seconds. Then she retrieved her soul-blade from his belt, half tempted to use it on him. She refrained; he had pitied her, and the killing would not be justified. Self-defense was commendable, but she could not kill one who was unable to defend himself. She did, however, increase the mental pressure on him enough to insure he would remain unconscious for at least an hour. Then she sensed one of the other Sanctioners returning, wondering idly what was keeping Garal and the prisoner.

She straightened and left at a fast walk, was around the corner and out of sight before he spotted Garal's unconscious form. She tightened her shield, feeling probes as the Sanctioner alerted the others. Although she knew it would make her conspicuous, she broke into a run. She had to reach the park that encircled the Planetary Palace before the Sanctioners caught her again. That was Imperial territory; Irschchan jurisdiction ended at the park's edge. She just hoped that legality would stop the Sanctioner.

The park was in sight, less than a hundred meters away, but the Sanctioner who had found Garal was fast closing the distance between them. Corina risked a quick glance back, saw him stop, crouch, and draw his blaster. She increased her speed somehow and started dodging. It might take her a few seconds longer to reach the park, but she would be harder to hit.

She heard the frying noise of the blaster, felt heat as the bolt singed fur on her right arm. A second shot missed completely as she dove into the park and rolled into a stand of purple-leafed bushes. A third bolt went overhead, then the Sanctioner returned the blaster to his belt and called to her.

"You have made it to Imperial territory, Losinj, but you are not safe yet! Even if you manage to get past Entos and into the Palace, we can have you extradited as a common criminal, for assaulting a Sanctioner. Think about that!"

"Thank you for the information," Corina called back, shaken but not, she hoped, letting it show in her voice. Entos! Valla must have anticipated her escape from the Sanctioners, Corina thought, if she had sent her best killer to attempt an intercept in the park itself.

Then she realized that wasn't necessarily the case; more likely it was only Valla's thoroughness, her reluctance to leave anything she thought important to only one group. Still, using Entos against a student showed her how seriously Valla regarded this; it was rather like using a blaster to eliminate an annoying insect.

There was no point in being particularly cautious, she knew, so she hurried directly toward the Palace. She had met Entos several times, often enough that he knew her both by sight and by mind pattern, even when she was shielded.

She was almost at her objective-in sight of the main entrance, in fact-when the anticipated attack came. It started with a savage mental thrust, powerful enough to penetrate her shield and drive her to her knees. It didn't last; only Thark or another member of the Prime Chapter, which Entos wasn't, could maintain that level of intensity for long. But by the time she had recovered enough to stand, shaking her head to clear it, Entos was behind her. She sensed a physical threat, lunged to her left just in time to feel his dagger brush her fur rather than bury itself in her back.

She scrambled to her feet, drawing her own blade and attempting a mental counterattack. It slowed Entos' next slash, but had no other effect. She stabbed at his upper arm, trying to cripple him, but he parried skillfully.

"You fight well, youngling, even now," he said, then tried another intense mental thrust. It was less powerful than the first had been, and Corina managed to block it, though she was less successful parrying his simultaneous dagger thrust at her throat. She did avoid most, but it was enough to draw blood; she felt warmth seeping into the fur at the base of her neck.

Corina didn't reply, saving her breath for the fight. They were circling now, both looking for openings, when she saw a flicker of motion from the direction of the Palace entrance. She risked a quick glance, saw it was the Imperial Marine guards running toward them and drawing sidearms.

Entos obviously saw them as well, because he snarled and struck for her again. She was starting to parry when the Marines fired, and both Irschchans fell.

* * *

Thark finally came to the conclusion that if he had made any other errors in his chagrin, he couldn't remember them. And Prowler didn't need him, while it would probably be wise to brief his chief aides fully on Corina's defection, even though it was a strong probability she was dead by this time. He made his way to the ship's lounge, thinking about the mistakes he had made with her-mistakes that would have to be avoided in the future with others who had been taught in Imperial schools.

The lounge was small-Kanchatka-class vessels had originally been intended as couriers, not yachts-but it was quite comfortable, with deep-pile carpeting, and a large viewscreen now displaying a sunset landscape Valla was fond of. She and Kainor started to rise as Thark entered, but settled back at his gesture.

He paused at the service panel to dial three glasses of koril, the fermented milk Irschchans drank as humans drank wine. Carrying them, he joined his aides, seating himself on the third pile of cushions at the lounge's low table.

After the first silent, companionable sips, Thark began filling the other two in. It wasn't easy for any of them, though an outsider would have thought them discussing abstractions. Only Thark himself had been truly close to Corina, but Kainor and Valla had known and liked her for the four years since her Talent was discovered; her betrayal hurt.

When Thark was finished, Valla detailed the steps she'd taken to insure the traitor's death, for Kainor's benefit. That brought a trace of amusement to his voice. "Three Sanctioners, Valla? And Entos? I should think either more than adequate to deal with her."

"Either should be," Valla agreed, "but you know I like to take precautions, especially when it is so little trouble. Should she by some stroke of luck escape the Sanctioners, she will not escape Entos."

"True," Thark said. It was unfortunate, he thought, that it had seemed desirable to impose a communications blackout, including telepathy, except in a major emergency or by messenger, but at present security was more important than convenience-however good it would be to be able to make definite, rather than tentative, plans. Facts must be accepted, though; they had insufficient data, so they simply had to make do with what they did have. "Even so, we do not yet have confirmation. I think we must plan for the possibility, remote as it is, that she did escape both and make it to the Palace. If the Imperials are informed of even as little as she got from me, it could hinder us."

"If you plan for that," Kainor said, "you will also have to assume a Ranger will be involved within minutes, or at most hours."

"What-" "A Ranger!" Valla and Thark exclaimed as one.

"Yes. Ranger James Medart arrived yesterday aboard the battle cruiser Emperor Chang, and took a lander down to the Colvis Reserve."

"Why was I not informed?" Thark asked, forcing his voice to remain steady. A Ranger's interference, especially this early, could be disastrous!

"Ranger Medart's orders, Master. He is on convalescent leave, recuperating from the injuries he sustained just prior to the end of the war. He did not wish to be bothered by official functions."

"If he is injured," Thark said thoughtfully, "he should be no problem to eliminate."

"I said he is recuperating," Kainor corrected. "I understand he is still weak, but otherwise he is healthy enough. It is unlikely to affect him except to slow him in personal combat."

"And Rangers do not fight unless it cannot be avoided," Valla said. "Does he have anyone with him?"

"I was not told, but most probably he does. Since this is a peaceful world and the Reserve is a resort area, I would assume him to be accompanied by a token bodyguard-perhaps two to four Marines, not enough to stop a determined killer."

"True," Valla agreed. "Entos again, then, with four Sanctioners. The Sanctioners have enough Talent to take out two Marines each, so even if our estimate is low, they should have no difficulty. And whether Medart fights or not, Entos will be able to give him a swift death."

Kainor nodded. "After all, it is not their combat abilities that make them so valuable to the Empire, even though Menshikov is the Empire's greatest strategist. It is their personalities and the way they think."

"Yes," Thark said. "That much everyone knows. But exactly what is it about their personalities and thinking? What is so unusual about them that there are only ten Rangers, and none of those Irschchans?"

"Nine, since Tarlac's assassination," Kainor reminded him. His ears went back in a slight frown. "Despite my investigations since the Crusade was decided on, I have not been able to discover the actual selection criteria. All I can tell you is what I have been able to deduce from studying them and their accomplishments, and that certainly cannot be taken as conclusive."

"Go ahead," Thark told him. "I know you dislike making incomplete evaluations, but there is no more time to complete that project. An incomplete evaluation is better than none at all, you must agree."

"I do-but keep in mind that it is incomplete." Kainor shifted on his cushions, then continued.

"First, their selection is based on a combination of factors, not a single isolated characteristic. Genius-level intelligence is of course part of it, along with a generalist's wide range of interests and abilities, and greater adaptability than normally appears even in spacers. They are also able to analyze situations, develop a solution that seems improbable or impossible, and make it work-usually if not always to the Empire's benefit."

"I have had little opportunity to study them," Valla said. "Could you be more specific?"

"Easily," Kainor replied. "And Medart is a classic example, so I will use him. Among his other accomplishments, he was responsible for both the successful human-Irschchan settlement of Ondrian and the end of the Sandeman Incursion in Sector Five, which resulted in Subsector Sandeman's joining the Empire."

"Which in turn led to a high percentage of their warriors in the Imperial military or serving as contract police forces on various worlds," Thark said. "Extremely loyal military or police-but they are Elnar's problem. Continue."

"Yes, Master. Valla, do you remember anything about either incident?"

"Almost nothing," Valla admitted. "Until recently, I had very little interest in Imperial news."

"And I would appreciate hearing about both with the information you have that Imperial newscasts probably left out because humans would take it as a given," Thark said.

Kainor sighed, something a number of Irschchans had picked up since meeting humans. "Very well. The Ondrian situation, then. During the second year of the joint colony's existence, an Irschchan youngling was exploring in the mountains alone, contrary to all colony rules. He vanished, and search parties found no trace of him. He was presumed dead after a standard week, due to the bitterly cold weather.

"It surprised everyone, to put it mildly, when he showed up in excellent health a month after the search was abandoned. That was not all. He had one of the mountain cloudcats with him, and thanks to his Talent-so minimal the Order had not accepted him, but there-he had managed to establish communications with her. Very rudimentary ones, to be sure, but quite adequate to establish their intelligence.

"That was a severe blow to the colony. With the cloudcats proven to be intelligent, Imperial law required that the colony be abandoned. However, it is the only place that so-called 'miracle weed' can be grown successfully. It could not be obtained by trading, because the cloudcats have no hands and no interest in farming. Since miracle-weed is the only source of several valuable pharmaceuticals including rapid-heal, the Emperor sent Medart in to see if anything could be salvaged.

"He somehow got the idea that the cloudcats originated in a warmer climate than Ondrian's. Nobody believed it, of course; geological studies done when it was first discovered showed Ondrian's climate had never varied enough to produce such an evolutionary difference. And with their lack of hands, they could not possibly have built spaceships to bring them from another planet.

"It turned out, of course, that Medart was absolutely correct. The cloudcats-or perhaps I should say our young explorer's friend Starflower-had learned to understand English, and could indicate a yes or no answer to questions. Medart talked to Starflower for several days, and found out that they were in fact not only from a different planet, but from a different system entirely.

"They had been transported to Ondrian more than ten thousand years ago by beings they called simply the Others, who had discovered the cloudcats' sun was about to go nova. The cats elected to stay in the same stellar neighborhood, but according to them the Others were preparing to embark on a racial expedition of their own, one of considerable magnitude. From what Starflower told Medart, it seems they left this galaxy entirely.

"Medart went back into the mountains with Starflower, remaining there for two weeks. When he returned, he had somehow gotten the cloudcats to agree to let the colonists have free run of the equatorial zone, though they must stay out of the mountains unless they are invited. In return, he gave the cats the right to travel on Imperial Navy ships at any time. So the Empire got its pharmaceuticals, and the cloudcats seem more than pleased with the opportunity to indulge their curiosity. A most economical solution, though I regret he did not see fit to release the details of his negotiations."

Kainor rose and went to the service panel, returning with more koril for each of them. He handed out the glasses, sat back down, and took a deep swallow before continuing. "It is possible someone else could have accomplished the same thing, as it is possible someone else could have accomplished most things Rangers have. They are mortals, after all. With one of them, however, if a problem is soluble, it will be solved."

"And solved, as you say, to the Empire's benefit," Thark said. "But you give Medart credit for ending the Sandeman Incursion; I understood it took five Rangers."

Kainor's ears twitched in amusement. "Five were there, yes-but the other four were part of Medart's solution, to give the Sandemans an honorable reason to stop fighting rather than be annihilated. Much of this episode is either public record or not difficult to discover, though parts are still obscure.

"Medart was not sent in until the Duke of Sector Five admitted her inability to stop the Sandemans and requested Imperial assistance. Medart took a fleet to the one world the Sandemans had made a protectorate rather than conquering, stopping long enough en route to capture several for study." Kainor paused briefly. "You do know about the genetic engineering that was done to create the Sandemans, particularly their warriors?"

Both his listeners nodded.

"Good-but at the time, no one except the Sandemans themselves knew, and they had no intention of divulging that information, especially the weakness the engineers had intended as a control mechanism. They refused to cooperate, preferring to die of that weakness rather than reveal to the enemy the ways they needed to use to live with it.

"One did in fact die, and others were succumbing when Medart was able to deduce-a point I cannot make too strongly-that they were engineered to fight, both physically and psychologically, and that less than a week without some form of combat or lovemaking was enough to make them ill, then kill them. He took steps to prevent further deterioration in those who could still be helped, then granted a swift death to two who could not be.

"When he arrived at the protectorate-an obscure world called Mjolnir- he mindprobed a warrior who had sworn fealty to the Baron there, then defeated in single combat the Warleader who wanted to take the world, obliging him to protect it instead. That probe verified Medart's deductions and gave him enough more information on the Sandeman culture that he persuaded the Baron to declare Mjolnir a neutral zone, invited the Sandeman leaders to a conference-and called in the other four Rangers, also with battle fleets, to provide a show of force.

"He made no threats, simply had the leaders given tours of the fleets, and let them realize the alternatives: they could continue fighting, in which case the Empire would have no choice but to destroy them, or they could accept Imperial citizenship, in which case they would have to pay for the damage they had caused, but there would be no other penalty since they were doing what Terran engineers had created them to do. Instead, they would be offered a chance for combat for the Empire, using the ships and weapons they would otherwise have to fight. Being as intelligent as they are combat-loving, the Sandemans chose the second alternative.

"Again, you see, an economical solution of considerable benefit to the Empire. The brief use of four other Rangers and a total of five battle fleets saved months if not years of fighting, along with millions of lives."

"And gained them the willing service of the most dangerous fighters in the known universe," Thark added. "All right, those examples demonstrate the intelligence, adaptability, and problem-solving-but surely such qualities are not as rare as the low number of Rangers indicates!"

"In themselves, no," Kainor admitted. "But those are only the most obvious of the qualifications. Another is that they must have no close personal ties, including family; that eliminates many possible candidates. All have applied for and been accepted by the main Imperial Military Academy at the Palace Complex, though none has remained there much beyond Test Week. And all, needless to say, are intensely loyal." His ears twitched, this time in irritation. "I am positive there are other qualifications; as I said, I have been unable to discover the actual criteria, which are known perhaps only to the Sovereign and Rangers themselves."

Thark held back a growl. "I understand that-still, can you deduce from what data you do have why there are no Irschchan Rangers?"

Kainor shook his head slowly. "Not with any degree of confidence," he said. "The only possibility I find marginally sound is that Irschchans who have the requisite abilities also have Talent, meaning they join the Order rather than entering Imperial service."

"I suppose that is possible," Thark said thoughtfully. "If you are correct, the lack of Irschchan Rangers will soon be rectified. You will have to find out all the requirements as soon as possible, however. Important as Talent is to one in such a position, they will need the other, lesser, talents as well."

Corina woke with a splitting headache, the characteristic aftereffect of being hit with a neural stunner. Groaning, she opened her eyes and found herself in what, except for the straps holding her in place, was a fairly comfortable, if too large, armchair. A Terran in Marine black service dress uniform sat behind a large metal desk, holding a blaster aimed casually in her direction. Her soul-blade lay beside his left hand.

She suppressed the rage she dared not show at that sight. It had been bad enough earlier, when the Sanctioner had taken her blade, but at least he had been an Irschchan and understood its significance. To a Terran, it was nothing but a simple dagger, with no more personal meaning than a kitchen knife.

Not that they could understand, she thought, forcing herself to calm. They had no Talent, no way to sense the owner's mind-pattern, impressed on the blade at an Irschchan's coming-of-age ceremony.

She could retrieve it telekinetically-that part of her Talent was weak, but the blade was hers-then decided quickly against that idea. The man holding the blaster did not look like the type to tolerate any misbehavior from his prisoner, and she had no desire to test her estimate of his character.

He gave her a few seconds to evaluate the situation before he spoke. "Okay, you're awake. Now tell me what the hell that was all about."

"He was trying to kill me," Corina replied.

"We guessed that much," the Terran said. "I want to know why."

"May I know who you are?"

"Yeah, you people like formality, don't you?" The man shrugged. "Why not? I'm Major Patrick Dawson, Security Division of the Imperial Marines, on temporary duty from the Emperor Chang. You?"

Corina managed as much of a polite bow as she could. "Greetings, Major Dawson. I am Corina Losinj, until today a student of High Adept Thark. Entos was trying to kill me before I could report treason against the Empire, in the form of a rebellion by the White Order. Thark is leading it himself."

Dawson's expression looked to Corina like a combination of astonishment and disbelief. "Rebellion? The White Order against the whole Empire? That's impossible."

"I assure you, Major, it is quite possible. Or Thark believes it is, which is effectively the same thing."

"Um." Dawson was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Well, it sounds crazy to me, but it isn't something we can risk not checking out." He holstered the blaster. "The other one, Entos-is he in the Order?" When Corina nodded, he punched a number on the desk intercom.

"Interrogation, Captain Daley." Corina couldn't see the screen, but it sounded like a human female. "Oh, hi, Pat. What can I do for you?"

"You could run a mindprobe on the other Irschchan who was brought in. The one I'm interviewing claims the reason he was trying to kill her was that he's involved in a treason plot."

"You got it," the woman said grimly. "Do you want yours probed too?" Dawson thought for a moment, then shook his head. "By the time you're done, Ranger Medart should be here, and he can make that decision-she was the one being attacked, so the odds are she's innocent. If that's wrong, or if the Ranger wants her probed for more information, it can be done once he's here."

"I copy. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Appreciate it." Dawson broke that connection, immediately punched in another number.

"Communications, Commspec First Carlson, sir," came the reply.

"This is Major Dawson. Can you get me Ranger Medart, Security priority?"

"It'll take a couple of minutes, sir. I'll have to patch through the Chang to his lander."

"That's fine-just do your best."

* * *

Ranger James Medart was stretched out on a lawn lounger, basking in the warmth of Irschcha's sun only meters from the lander that was now serving him as a vacation cabin. Convalescent leave had its good points, he thought drowsily. He hadn't been this relaxed since before the war-and not often then. Laying here in swim trunks, it was hard to believe he'd been damn near torn in half not much more than two months ago.

But he had been, trying to help one of the then-enemy, a gray-skinned Traiti. Oh, well. The war was over, thanks to Steve Tarlac, and the Traiti were Imperial citizens, while he was supposed to be concentrating on recovering his strength. He stood, called to the lander. "I'm going for a swim."

A blond head looked around the edge of the lander's open hatch. "Right, sir. I just got my suit on; I'll play lifeguard."

"Whatever you say, Nevan." Medart sketched a salute, grinning at the young Sandeman warrior who was one of his bodyguard. Then he turned, taking a running dive into the Colvis Reserve's main attraction for humans, Clear Lake.

He swam straight out, with a leisurely sidestroke that took him in the direction of the resort across the lake. He had no intention of going that far, or of seeing anyone except his bodyguards; a week in a tank of rapid-heal, followed by over a month of therapy and constant attention, left him with a strong desire for some privacy.

He'd been swimming for perhaps half an hour, enjoying himself thoroughly, when he heard Nevan calling him. The warrior wouldn't interrupt his swim without good reason; he waved acknowledgement and headed for shore, wondering what was up.

Nevan didn't look too happy, the Ranger thought as he waded out of the lake, and that was a bad sign. "What is it?"

"A call from the Planetary Palace, sir, security priority. Major Dawson is on the screen."

"Damn. All right." Security priority was never good news; Medart wondered just how bad it was this time. He accepted the towel Nevan was holding out, began drying himself as he went to the lander and climbed in. Then he dropped the towel, grabbed his uniform shirt from a hanger by the door, and put it on before going to the lander's comscreen. "What's up, Major?"

Dawson repeated what Corina had told him, adding, "Sergeant Orloff said she was definitely the one being attacked, sir. I asked for a mindprobe to be run on the attacker."

Well, Medart thought with brief regret, there went his leave. Couldn't be helped, though. "Good work. Hold off on Losinj; I'd rather not probe someone trying to help us unless there's no other choice." He grinned, wolflike. "If somebody thinks she's worth killing to keep her from us, she's got to be valuable-I'll be there in about two hours, and I'll stop by Interrogation before I join you. Medart out."

* * *

Dawson switched off, looked at Corina. "I'm curious about one thing. Why didn't you call instead of coming in? If you're right, we'd have gotten the information sooner, and you'd have been safer; I could have sent a squad of Marines to escort you here for protection. You'd have been in no danger."

"I am afraid that is not the case, Major. In the first place, there was no place I could call from. In the second, if the Order wishes me dead, there is no safety for me anywhere on Irschcha."

"I don't know," Dawson said skeptically. "All I've really heard about the White Order is that they rule this planet with some sort of strange power they refuse to talk about. I think you're underestimating the Marines."

"Talent is not discussed outside the Order, except with potential initiates," Corina said. "At least it has not been until now; I must inform you of what they can do. It is you who underestimate them."

Dawson shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I don't have the authority to deal with a major rebellion; you might as well wait till Ranger Medart gets here, and tell him."

Corina nodded, and Dawson went back to the report he'd evidently been studying when she was brought in. She tried a probe of him, finding a weak, almost-nonexistent mind-screen. It was not a real barrier, and her reasons were compelling, so she probed deeper. Human mind patterns were too murky to make this sort of thing a pleasure, but she scanned anyway, for information about this Ranger Medart. She knew, as did everyone, about Rangers in general-that they were the Sovereign's representatives, wielding Imperial authority at need-but she had to know about this specific one.

Dawson, unfortunately, knew little. Although he did serve aboard Medart's cruiser, he was not very familiar with the Command Crew or Ranger. All she could get was his feeling of respect, bordering on awe-much, she thought, the way she had felt about Thark until this morning.

Dawson did not expect any trouble from the Order here inside the Palace, she noted, and found herself agreeing. Thark was not likely to risk compromising the Crusade by a frontal attack now. There would probably be an attempt, though, to have her returned as a criminal, as the Sanctioner had threatened.

Perhaps an hour passed before the intercom chimed. Dawson answered, and Corina overheard Captain Daley's report.

"Just finished that mind-probe you asked for, Pat. He was trying to kill Losinj, all right. His orders came from Senior Valla; she told him Losinj was betraying the Order. He also knows about the existence of a Crusade, which is what they call this rebellion. I couldn't get any details, though. And when he woke up, he somehow managed to knock out a couple of my technicians without even touching them. I had to hit him with another stunner, and I'm going to keep him under until I get orders to the contrary."

"Uh-huh, that confirms what she told me. He probably doesn't have enough rank to know any details. Was he the only one?"

There was a grim laugh from the intercom. "Hardly! From what I got, every Order member on Irschcha is either out to kill her themselves or report her whereabouts to the Sanctioners so one of them can do it."

"Thanks, Joanie, that's a big help." Dawson switched off the intercom and turned to Corina. "That exonerates you, Ms. Losinj. There's no more need to confine you." He touched a switch on the desk, and the restraining straps retracted into the armchair.

"Since I am proven innocent, may I have my blade back?" Corina couldn't keep a note of pleading out of her voice.

Dawson looked at her sharply. "It means that much to you? Well, I don't see why not; take it."

"I thank you." Corina retrieved the blade, ran her fingers gently along it before returning it to its sheath, and resumed her seat. She sensed the Marine's puzzlement, and decided she should try to explain. "It is a part of me, in a way. Having it in someone else's possession makes me quite uncomfortable."

Dawson shook his head. "I don't understand. I know it means you're an adult, but it's just a knife."

"It is more," Corina said, her ears twitching. "My mind pattern-" She broke off at Dawson's blank look. "It is an Irschchan thing," she said apologetically. "I fear I cannot explain it well."

"Or I don't have the background to understand." Dawson gave her a lopsided smile. "Ranger Medart will; whether or not I do isn't really important." He turned his attention back to his report.

Corina took that opportunity to think. She was, she had to admit to herself, still more than a little frightened. It was less fear for her life now, as it had been when the Sanctioners captured her; it was more nervous apprehension about her future. She could not remain on Irschcha, she knew. If she did, as she had told Dawson, she would be killed.

But then where could she go? What could she do? Her peaceful life had not prepared her for this kind of situation, suddenly caught in the midst of a rebellion. Things were happening too fast, overwhelming her. She wasn't sure what to expect from the Ranger, either. He'd said she had to be valuable; what had he meant?

Urr... there was nothing she could do now but wait, as patiently as she could, until he arrived.

* * *

The next hour went slowly. Corina's patience, not one of her strongest points at best, was almost exhausted when the door behind her slid open. Dawson stood, coming to attention; Corina turned, to see if she should stand as well. She hadn't quite made it around when a calm voice said, "As you were."

She sat back as Dawson resumed his seat. The newcomer was Ranger Medart; he propped himself on one corner of the desk, crossing his arms, and the two studied each other. Medart was good-looking for a human, Corina thought, though not really outstanding in any way but one: he moved with almost Irschchan grace, something unusual in a human male, especially considering this one's 180-cm height.

She'd seen pictures of him, of course; one Ranger or another was usually in the news. So his appearance was familiar: medium build, youthful-looking thanks to anti-agathics despite graying hair at the temples and an age-about 75, if she remembered correctly-when an Irschchan would be preparing for death. The plain forest-green uniform was familiar too, with pants bloused over black boots and the wide pouched gun-and-equipment belt, its only decoration the platinum star-in-circle badge of his rank.

He was more impressive in person than on the holos, Corina decided. His cool blue eyes seemed almost able to see into her, and even without trying, she could sense him; he seemed to radiate an aura of quiet competence like nothing she'd felt before. It surprised her momentarily, then she twitched an ear, amused at herself. He was a Ranger, after all, not an ordinary human. Her curiosity aroused, she tried a quick probe-to be stopped by a mind-shield that was clearly both unconscious and well above novice level. An unusual human indeed, she thought, intrigued.

Medart allowed her scrutiny, studying her at the same time. Despite their upright stance and lack of tails, Irschchans invariably reminded him of the Siamese cats he'd raised when he was a youngster in Texas. This one was no exception. Tawny fur, thick and soft, covered everything except her palms and the soles of her feet, though it was marred now by slight scorching on her right arm and a bloodstained area just below her throat. Her alert, pointed ears only increased her resemblance to the remembered Siamese, but he knew the brain which lay between those ears was fully equal to a human one. While it was hard to read Irschchan expressions, Medart liked the steady look in this one's jade-green eyes.

He did think they looked faintly ridiculous in kilt and sporran, but that had become the Irschchan mode of dress almost as soon as MacLeod, a man aggressively proud of his Scots heritage, appeared in one at the official welcoming ceremony. Too bad; it not only detracted from their graceful appearance, in his opinion, but it made telling male and female apart almost impossible. For humans, at least, he thought with a silent laugh. The Irschchans themselves seemed to have no difficulty.

Well, time for business, he decided. But he'd take it as easy on her as he could; she'd had a rough time. "How about some more information on this rebellion?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.

"I have already told Major Dawson what I am certain about," Corina said quietly.

"And the mind-probe of Entos confirmed all of it. But can you tell me why it's happening?"

"Thark is convinced that the White Order can rule the Empire much more effectively than you unTalented humans have been doing. They have, after all, ruled Irschcha for over five millennia, and according to Thark, brought about peace and order for most of it. He feels honor-bound to do the same for the rest of the galaxy."

"Looks to me more like stagnation," Medart commented. "You've had space travel for more than-what, two of those millennia?-but when MacLeod found you, you were still system-bound. Sorry for the interruption; go on."

"I could not agree with him, and came here," Corina said. "I have no physical proof, however, of anything I have said. I learned what I have reported when I broke through Thark's mind-shield this morning."

"Physical proof isn't necessary," Medart told her. "Your report, backed up by the probe of Entos, is enough. Learn anything else?"

"Not really. The whole Order is not taking part, of course, but those who are not active in the Crusade will also not actively oppose it."

"Oh? Why not?"

"They cannot honorably do so," Corina replied, surprised. "The oath of the Order forbids such opposition to its leaders, though of course it cannot compel any to follow orders which would lead them to death, as the Crusade will."

"You're not actually a member of the Order, then?"

"No. I was to be initiated soon; however, for now I am bound by no oaths. I am still free to follow my own paths."

"Uh-huh," Medart agreed. "Good thing for the Empire." Not as free as she believed, he thought but didn't say. She had chosen sides, and it was up to him to make use of that choice. Then he went on. "I still need your help. As secretive as the Order is, we don't know much of anything about this Talent you say they have, much less how to combat it."

The intercom chimed before he could go further. Dawson answered, and Medart joined him, looking into the screen.

"Lieutenant Edmonds, Duty Officer of the Watch," the caller identified herself. "The head of the district Sanctioners is here. He has extradition papers for Ms. Losinj, who is accused of assaulting a Sanctioner officer. He also demands we release Entos."

"Send him in," Medart said, the casualness he'd assumed for Corina's benefit vanishing. "I'll handle this myself."

"Yes, sir." The viewscreen went blank.

Medart turned to Corina. "Did you assault a Sanctioner officer?"

"That is a matter of interpretation," she replied. "I was on my way here when they stopped me. They were taking me to Headquarters for execution; I had to use Talent to knock one of them out so I could escape."

"Self-defense, then, since you were trying to prevent a crime by escaping." Medart took Dawson's place behind the desk, and the Marine took position slightly behind and to the Ranger's right, standing at parade rest. All three waited silently until the door slid open again, to admit the Sanctioner chief. He wasted no time getting to the point.

"You have no right to interfere in purely planetary matters," he said. "I must require the return of Losinj and Entos."

"You're wrong on two counts," Medart said coldly. "As a Ranger, it is not only my right to interfere, as you put it, anywhere and anywhen I see a threat to the Empire, it is my duty. Rebellion against the Empire is such a threat, not a `planetary matter'; Losinj was acting properly in defending herself to report that treason. She is guilty of no crimes, which is not true of the ones who obstructed her.

"I am not particularly concerned about the ones who arrested her," he continued. "They were obeying what they considered lawful orders from their Baron, on his world, so punishing them would be unjust. Entos, however, is guilty of attempted murder on Imperial territory. I have both eyewitness and mind-probe evidence, so there is no doubt of his guilt; he will be executed."

"But she betrayed the Order!" the Sanctioner chief objected. "For that, if nothing else, she deserves to die. Entos was acting properly."

"Not under Imperial law," Medart said. "The sentence stands. And I advise you not to get more deeply involved. Just carry out your peace-keeping functions."

"But-"

"No buts," Medart said coldly. "Losinj lives, Entos dies. If you interfere further, I will have to assume you are part of this Crusade, and take appropriate measures. Is that understood?"

The chief's ears twitched. "Yes, Ranger."

"Good. You may leave."

Corina watched the subdued Sanctioner chief do so, then she turned back to the Ranger, intrigued. His sudden change of manner had caught her by surprise, and it might have been frightening-except that he had defended her, even as he condemned Entos to death. Knowing what he was and seeing him in action were very different things. There was something decidedly attractive about this human, more than just his appearance-a something she was beginning to appreciate.

"I must ask asylum," she said quietly. "If I leave the Palace... urrr. You know what will happen. Most in the Order will feel as he does."

"But you say you're not a member of the Order," Dawson objected. "If you're not oath-bound, how can you betray them?"

"They do not see it that way," Corina said. "They expect anyone with Talent to feel bound to the Order even before formal initiation. It is-or was-inconceivable that anyone with any useful degree of Talent would refuse to join the Order. It is natural that they would see my opposition as betrayal. I would probably feel the same way myself if I had spent my childhood being indoctrinated in Order schools."

"That's all very interesting," Medart interrupted, "but not right now. Ms. Losinj, there's no asylum involved; I've said I need your help, so you'll be coming aboard the Emperor Chang with me."

"I have no desire to be killed, and you certainly need to know about Talent. I will give you what help I can."

Medart was careful to hide his amusement at that response; she'd made her choice already. But he couldn't help feeling a little regret at tearing her away from her home world, even though it meant saving her life; home meant a lot to most people, and losing it usually meant a serious blow. But at this point neither of them had much choice left. "Shall we leave, then? We do have a rebellion to stop."

Corina didn't pay much attention to her surroundings as the three went to the Palace roof where Medart's lander waited. Reaction had set in, now that she was safe, and for the moment she was numb.

It wasn't until they were inside the boxy little vehicle that she paid full attention again. Small as it was, this was a space-going vessel of the Imperial Navy, something she'd thought lost to her forever when her Talent made its belated appearance. Her ears went forward attentively; she didn't want to miss anything.

Medart noticed, and smiled. "Your first time aboard a spacecraft, Ms. Losinj?"

"Yes, Ranger."

"Take the right-hand seat forward, then. No co-pilot's necessary on a surface-to-orbit hop, and you'll get a good view from there." He turned to his bodyguard, who was also the lander's pilot. "Nevan, would you help Ms. Losinj strap in, please?"

"Aye, sir." Nevan, now in Marine black, bent over the young Irschchan. "Here... this goes across your lap, and these two over your shoulders, all to the same buckle. It's a quick-release type; to get out, just slap this button."

"Thank you." Corina accepted the help, though she didn't really need it. Her pre-Talent hopes of attending the Naval Academy had led her to study anything she could find about the Fleets, including such minor details as how to secure flight restraints.

She had given up those hopes, forced herself to repress them and think about her future in the Order instead. To suddenly have them back- once she'd given the Ranger what help she could, of course-was almost too much to believe. And to be making her first trip off-planet aboard a Navy craft, with a Ranger, was something beyond her wildest dreams.

It was truly no dream, though, she assured herself, and as they lifted off she was determined not to look foolish. That was easy at first; she had seen enough holoshows to be familiar with the green sky's darkening, becoming black as they left atmosphere. Soon she could see stars, now hard bright points of light rather than the soft twinkling she was used to.

One began showing a sunlit disk, and she realized that had to be Ranger Medart's ship. Tiny-seeming at first, it grew rapidly, filling the lander's window and continuing to grow.

Corina's determination faltered. She had seen innumerable pictures of such vessels, knew their immensity-a Sovereign-class battle cruiser was approximately spherical, a kilometer in diameter, and massed on the close order of eight hundred million tons. But pictures and statistics couldn't convey the emotional impact of actually seeing one at close range for the first time. Corina swallowed an exclamation of awe, trying to remain calm, but she could feel Medart's gaze, and felt certain he knew how the ship affected her.

The lander surged slightly as it was gripped by a tractor beam from one of the Chang's equatorial hangars. Nevan released the controls, allowing the beam operator to settle the lander to the deck while hangar doors closed behind them. As soon as his gauges showed Terra-normal atmosphere, he opened the airlock and the group disembarked, with Medart in the lead and Corina trailing behind.

The hangar deck was large, much bigger than necessary for the lander it now held, yet Corina had a feeling of things closing in on her. Precognition was no part of her Talent, though, so she attributed the sensation to her surroundings, familiar from pictures but strange in reality. She felt like a young, unbladed child again, everything around her seeming odd and alien in spite of her studies.

But this was her new reality, here aboard the Chang. She had no way to know how she would fit in yet, but she did know she would have to. This ship was going to be home for however long the Ranger wanted her help; she would have to adapt.

When they left the hangar, they were met by a stocky officer in Navy working khaki; from the eagle on his collar, Corina knew he was the ship's captain. There were several others, with different rank insignia, but it was the first man who saluted Medart.

The Ranger returned the salute, then introduced them. "Captain David Hobison, this is Ms. Corina Losinj. She will be accompanying us on this trip as my special assistant. She won't have any formal Navy rank, but I want her quartered in a senior officer's cabin, preferably near mine. Have someone see to that, bring the ship to Condition Yellow, then meet me in Briefing Room One. I have to call the Emperor, and I don't want to have to go through everything twice."

He started to leave, then turned to Corina. "Before I go, what's your ident code?"

"ISCCJ-1643-2048," she replied.

"Got it." Medart strode past the group and entered an intra-ship shuttle, one of several, partway down the passage.

Hobison gave Corina a thoughtful look, then turned to one of the officers standing nearby. "Ensign Yamata?"

A young female with a gold bar for collar insigne answered. "Yes, sir?"

"You're assigned to Ms. Losinj until further notice. Get her a cabin and anything else she needs. You're relieved of regular watch standing."

"Yes, sir!" Yamata said with a wide smile. "If you'll come with me, Ms. Losinj?"

Corina inclined her head. "I appear to be in your hands, Ensign."

"You might as well call me Sunbeam," Yamata said as they left the group. "Everyone else does, even Ranger Medart, except on watch. And you heard the Captain, I'm not standing watches any more, thanks to you. I really do mean thanks-I was supposed to go on rotating shifts tomorrow, instead of staying on first watch, and now I don't have to." She smiled again, even more widely.

Corina's ears twitched in surprise at the flood of words, but Sunbeam didn't seem to notice. "All right, Sunbeam. What do we do first?"

That was something else she would have to get used to, Corina told herself. Humans were, by Irschchan standards, quite informal, sometimes to the point of appearing rude. But they did not intend offense, and she really ought to adapt to their ways, so she added, "You may call me Corina."

"Great! We find you a cabin, that's first, then we can eat, if you're as hungry as I am. C'mon, let's get a shuttle."

That reminded Corina that she hadn't eaten since the previous night. "I am hungry," she agreed, as they entered one of the elevator-like cubicles that provided intra-ship transport. "But what if Ranger Medart wants me for something?"

"That's right, he called you his special assistant. Don't worry about it, Chang handles the intra-ship communications." The young Ensign spoke into thin air. "Emperor Chang?"

A pleasant baritone voice replied. "Yes, Ensign Yamata?"

"We have a VIP guest, Ms. Corina Losinj of Irschcha. Ranger Medart wants her assigned a cabin near his. What's available?"

"There is one next to his," the ship-comp replied. "3N-2-1-8 is free."

"Great! Take us there, will you?"

"Affirmative. Is there anything else?"

"No, thanks."

"Chang out."

The shuttle began to move, and Sunbeam turned to Corina. "You'll have to memorize those coordinates, I'm afraid. You're not a member of the ship's crew, so until Ranger Medart or Captain Hobison say otherwise, that and comm patches are the only commands of yours the Chang will obey, once you get its attention by using its full name. Security, you know."

"I understand," Corina said. "Deck Three North, Ring Two, Segment One, Cabin B."

"Very good!" Sunbeam exclaimed. "If this was the Academy, I'd make you explain the system."

"If I am fortunate, I will go to the Academy when this is over. May I practice?"

Sunbeam assumed a mock-fierce expression. "All right, plebe. Recite!"

A stern-looking Sunbeam Yamata seemed so incongruous, even on short acquaintance, that Corina purred briefly in amusement. "We came in on Deck Zero, known as the Equator. Other decks are numbered away from that, south being toward the drive pod, north toward the bow. The Bridge is at the center of Deck Zero, fully protected. The rings are numbered outward, toward the hull. There are twelve segments, numbered clockwise from an arbitrary beginning, and compartments in each segment are given alphabetic designations."

When she finished, Sunbeam was grinning again. "Not quite by the book, but you're close, and you've got all the facts right. Are you a Navy fan, or something?"

The shuttle door opened, and the two stepped out into a cool-looking green corridor before Corina replied. "I would not use that term, but you could say so."

"D... C... here we are." Sunbeam motioned Corina into the cabin. "So was I. It makes a lot of the first year easier. But don't get used to this-cadet quarters aren't anywhere near this nice, and neither are junior officers' quarters. Which you probably already know."

"Yes." Corina looked around. It was more like a small apartment than a cabin, with the part they were in both lounge and office. A panel labeled "Ship's Services" covered one wall above a table which had an L-shaped extension housing a computer terminal and viewscreen. Storage and display cabinets lined two other walls. The fourth was a translucent screen with a curtained-off opening.

She brushed past the curtain into the sleeping area. A standard bed covered in glimmercloth was the only furniture here; the clothing storage and fabricator were both built into the wall across from the bed. A door in the wall opposite the divider proved to lead to a small but well-designed 'fresher room-though Corina remembered that aboard Navy ships, for some obscure reason, they were called "heads".

She returned to the lounge area, testing one of the two armchairs it held-yes, as soft as it looked-glad that if she was to spend some appreciable amount of time on this ship, it would be in such pleasant surroundings. A yellow light flashing on a panel beside the door caught her attention, and she pointed to it. "What is-oh, I remember."

"Ship's status, right," Sunbeam said. "We're in Condition Yellow; what's General Quarters?"

"Red, with a wavering buzz. I do not have a battle station, so I would remain here unless told otherwise by a senior officer."

"Right again!" Sunbeam looked around. "I think that's all here. So unless you need something else..." Her voice trailed off, and she pointed to Corina's neck. "Is that blood?"

"Oh." Corina reached up and touched the spot. "I forgot, and I have had no chance to wash it off before now. Excuse me for a moment, please." She left, returning with her throat fur damp but clean, to face a thorough scrutiny by the young Ensign.

Sunbeam nodded at last. "And that's a blaster burn-"

Corina felt a curiosity as strong as her own, and hastened to say, "I do not think I should discuss it until Ranger Medart tells me I may."

Sunbeam looked dissatisfied, and Corina didn't really blame her. "You must be something pretty special," the Ensign said. "He comes back from convalescent leave early, brings you along-wounded-as his special assistant, puts the ship on Condition Yellow... and I bet you can't talk about any of that, either. Uh, do they hurt? I can take you to sickbay if they do."

"You cover many things at once," Corina said with amusement. "No, I cannot talk about it, but no, they do not hurt. The burn just singed my fur a little. It looks bad, but it is not a problem; I need no medical attention."

Sunbeam frowned briefly. "Whatever's going on must be big! But okay, I know about security. If you're sure you're all right, and there's nothing else, what say we go eat? You could have a meal right here, of course," she indicated the service panel, "but it's more fun to eat with others. I usually go to Mess Three; the food's the same everywhere, but Three's where junior officers mostly eat, Ensigns and Lieutenants, and it's usually lively. Want to?"

"You are the guide," Corina said, wondering how, if she always talked this much, Sunbeam managed to eat. Apparently she didn't manage much; she was quite slender.

* * *

Medart did some serious thinking about the young Irschchan while he waited in the briefing room for Hobison. Like most Rangers, he'd learned to follow his occasional hunches, and one had hit him on the way up to the Chang. Corina Losinj was important, both to the Empire and-on a very personal basis-to a certain James Medart. His hunches were seldom specific, so he didn't have any idea how or why she was important, but he was certain she was. That was part of the reason he'd called her his special assistant, and had her assigned quarters near his own.

He looked up as Hobison entered. "Everything set, Dave?"

"Yes, sir," Hobison replied. "And I had Communications call the Palace, your personal code. We should be getting a reply any time, and it'll be patched through to here."

"Thanks." Medart was appreciative, though he hadn't expected any less from the man who'd captained his ship for the past twenty years. "This is something I'm not looking forward to telling His Majesty."

The briefing room screen flickered blue, then cleared to show a lean, gray-haired man wearing a Ranger's uniform with the Imperial Seal in place of the badge. Both men on the Chang stood and saluted.

Emperor Charles Davis returned the salute. "What is it, Jim? You wouldn't be back on duty if it weren't critical."

"Rebellion, sir." Medart reported all he had learned, both from the probe of Entos and from Corina, watching the Emperor's expression become grim. And he reported his hunch.

Davis nodded. "Follow it up. Learn all you can about their Talent, too. The White Order's never given us any trouble before, so they were entitled to their privacy, but that's over now. We can't afford to keep depending on stories and rumors."

"She's agreed to give any help she can, sir, as I said, and that includes briefing me on Talent."

"Good. I'll alert the nobility, have them take extra precautions since they're bound to be targets. You're on-scene; do you think I should have a fleet cordon off Irschcha itself?"

"No, sir," Medart replied. "Thark's smart, we know that. If he and his people haven't left the planet already, they'll damnsure be gone by the time a cordon fleet could get here."

"All right. But I will have Earl Suitland take over planetary administration, and I'll send some extra troops to stand by in case she needs them." Davis scowled. "This isn't going to look good, especially to the Traiti. I promised them they'd keep their own government so they could stop fighting and join the Empire, and the White Order ruling Irschcha was one of the convincers. Only their Lords know how they'll react to this-they've only been part of the Empire for six weeks."

"It's touchy, all right," Medart agreed. "Having to take over one of the only two non-human governments-they may see it as evidence we don't really consider non-humans as equals."

"We'll have to convince them otherwise." Davis paused briefly. "Jim, do you think your hunch that Ms. Losinj is important could mean she's Ranger material?"

"No way to know yet, sir. She's got the loyalty, she's proven that, and she certainly acts intelligent enough, but I'll have to find out about the rest. Check her records, talk to her, see how she thinks- maybe give her the pre-Academy tests. I haven't noticed anything negative so far, but I haven't seen much of her, either."

"I know. Just keep me informed; we need a non-human Ranger. But even if she doesn't qualify, I think she deserves a title for having the courage and loyalty to warn us."

"Agreed, sir. A Life Nobility?"

Davis smiled slightly. "She deserves it, but I'm going to reserve that pleasure for myself-here at the Palace, in a full Grand Audience. Give her a knighthood for now."

"Yes, sir. I'll hold a Tribunal tomorrow morning."

"That's it, then. I've got to get moving on this mess. Out." The Emperor's image flickered blue, then disappeared.

Hobison gave the Ranger a long, silent look before he spoke. "Rebellion, hmm? From the timing, I'd say this Thark's just been waiting for the war to end. That doesn't strike me as typical behavior for a rebel."

"Same here," Medart said. "He's not typical at all, from what Losinj told me. Most rebels are greedy, out for nothing but power-according to her, Thark's convinced the Order can rule better than we poor unTalented can, so it's his duty to take over. Naturally, I don't agree."

Hobison snorted. "Good intentions don't make up for treason. What's next?"

"That depends on what we learn from Losinj," Medart replied. "At the moment, I just don't know enough to make realistic plans. Too much depends on how powerful this Talent of the Order's is."

Hobison nodded. "That makes sense. But would you really ask her to join the Rangers? She's so tiny, so..."

"Pettable?" Medart came close to smiling. "She looks it, yes, but you heard what she had to do to reach us. And you know size doesn't have anything to do with it. Sure I'll ask her, if I find she's qualified, even if I hate to wish this responsibility on anyone. His Majesty's right, we need a non-human Ranger badly. Especially now that we're integrating the Traiti."

"Uh-huh. Good politics, if nothing else."

Medart nodded. "Since that damn Firster backshot Steve in the Palace and Hovan took him, there's been sentiment growing for non-humans. It's a good thing, and it makes this an ideal time for that breakthrough. It'd probably tickle Steve to know that she'd take his place. I'm just sorry this means no shore leave for Chang's crew."

"So am I," Hobison agreed. "I could use a bit of vacation about now. It can't be helped, though."

"No." Medart sighed, changed the subject. "She might as well brief all of us at once; can you have the Command Crew here in, say, an hour?"

"Yes, sir. Do you want me to have her paged?"

"Don't bother." Medart grinned. "If I know our Sunbeam, she's found Losinj a cabin and taken her to Mess Three. I could use something to eat myself, so I'll go get her."

* * *

Medart spotted Yamata and his new assistant almost as soon as he entered Mess Three. Spotted where they must be sitting, rather; that noisy group on the far side of the room. He punched in his order- coffee and an egg salad sandwich-and when it slid from the dispenser, took it over to stand on the outskirts of the group.

"-like it's something you'd do every day before lunch!" a young Marine Lieutenant was saying. "Dig out a plot, escape from three cops, fight an assassin, then say it was nothing. That's incredible!"

So they'd succeeded in worming part of the story out of her, Medart thought. Just the basics, most likely, so they'd let her eat, and there was no harm in that; everyone would find out soon enough.

"You can't shrug it off that lightly, 'Rina," someone else said. "That'd get one of us a medal. Should get you a knighthood, maybe a Life Nobility."

Then Sunbeam spoke up, almost laughing. "Take it easy! Can't you see you're embarrassing her terribly?"

"Well, she should," the other retorted. "If I had enough rank, I'd call a Tribunal right now, and knight her."

Not a bad idea at all, Medart thought. It probably would be best, considering Greggson's attitude, for her to have that formal status when she met with the Command Crew. The man's competence as Security Chief couldn't be questioned, but Medart wondered at times how he'd ever passed the psych tests to become an Imperial officer, with his near-xenophobia. Hmm, this was getting interesting-the anonymous young officer was going through with it, speaking the formula of knighthood as solemnly as if this were indeed a real Tribunal. All Medart could see of the Irschchan was her eartips, erect and quivering as her admirer finished on a note of triumph: "-and do name you, Corina Losinj of Irschcha, a Knight of the Empire!"

"Confirmed," Medart said, pitching his voice so the entire group would hear.

"Wha-" The officer turned, flushing, as the group noticed the Ranger for the first time.

Medart smiled. "I said `confirmed', Ensign; you did that well enough I don't see any need to repeat the ceremony. Now may I join my assistant?"

"Uh... yes, sir. Of course."

Corina stared from Ranger to Ensign and back, confused. This was far too informal, even by human standards, to mean what it seemed to-and yet the Ranger was perfectly serious, no trace of humor in voice or aura. "I do not understand," she said at last. "I have done only my duty; I deserve no special recognition for that."

"His Majesty doesn't agree, Sir Corina," Medart said, stressing the title slightly, as he took a seat. "If you'd care to argue it with him-?"

Corina looked disbelievingly at the Ranger, who was smiling at her with one eyebrow raised. Was this what humans called "teasing"? She supposed it had to be; he couldn't seriously expect her to argue with the Emperor! "No, Ranger. If His Majesty wishes to so honor me, I must accept."

Typical exaggerated Irschchan respect for authority, Medart thought, but if she stayed around humans long, she'd get over that! "You'd best finish your lunch, Sir Corina. And get used to the title; I've called a Command Crew meeting for 1400, so you can brief them."

"Yes, Ranger." Corina turned her attention back to her meal, the milk and medium-rare steak Sunbeam had recommended.

* * *

The meeting began on schedule, in Briefing Room One, with Hobison introducing his senior officers. Corina took the opportunity to make a quick evaluation of each. There was no dishonor; she was not probing deeply enough to intrude.

Hobison himself was shielded, well enough she could read nothing of him . . . as he should be in his position, though it was surprising.

"My Executive Officer, Commander Sonia Pappas." She was a short brunette, four or five kilos overweight but not fat. No mind screen; Corina felt an aura of competence from her.

"Marine Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Greggson, Chief of Security." Tall and muscular, he wore Marine black with silver oak leaf rank insigne. Despite his strong mind shield, Corina sensed hostility.

"Commander Marie Sherman, Chief Medical Officer." A tall blonde who seemed uncomfortable outside her own medical center. No screen, but she wasn't radiating any particular emotion, either.

"And finally Commander Carl Jensen, Chief Engineer." Small and studious looking, he didn't really stand out. Like Sherman, he was unshielded and wanted nothing more than to return to his own domain.

Medart took over the meeting at that point, describing what little he knew of the White Order. "We're here to find out exactly how much of a threat the Order actually is to the Empire," he concluded. "Sir Corina has agreed to help us, so she's next."

Corina stood. "I do not know precisely what information you wish. Perhaps it would be best if you asked questions."

"All right. Just what can the Order do? Specifically, what is this Talent we hear stories about? I need facts, not rumors."

"You mean the individual members?"

"For a start, yes."

"Urrr... telepathy, of course, and-"

"Reliable telepathy?" Sherman broke in skeptically. "That's never been proven."

"Then I must do so, at least to your satisfaction." Corina turned to the Ranger. "If I may do so without dishonor?"

"There's no dishonor involved; that's what you're here for. Go ahead."

Corina turned back, probed gently into the Medical Officer's unscreened mind. "You are familiar with the Rhine reports some four centuries before the Empire?"

"Yes, but they're no more proof of telepathy than your guessing I'd read them."

"They should have convinced you. Since they do not, I must probe more deeply. I do not wish to distress you, but belief is essential. I have been aboard only a short time, not long enough to learn anything about you in the so-called `normal' way. Would you agree?"

Sherman nodded.

"Very well. Your middle name is Jean. Your hobby is pre-Empire science fiction." Corina paused, contemplating. "That appears interesting; I shall have to look into it. To continue, your favorite stories are the Lensman series, and your only regret is that-"

"That's enough!" Sherman interrupted in a near shout. "I'm convinced. You don't have to go on."

Corina, satisfied that she had made her point, continued to the entire group. "Telepathy is the most common aspect of Talent, and by far the easiest to develop; all of the Order has it, in varying degrees. A mind screen or shield is almost as common; it seems to go with the telepathy, in all but rare cases." She noticed a slightly raised hand. "Yes, Colonel Greggson?"

"That mind screen-does it occur without telepathy? It could be very useful, in my field."

"Not in Irschchans, but it apparently does in humans. I noticed earlier that you, Ranger Medart, and Captain Hobison all have excellent ones, among the best I have felt."

Greggson smiled grimly. "Thanks. That's good to know." He went on more softly, muttering to himself, but Corina's hearing made his words clearly audible. "All the most sensitive positions. Damn lucky... if the kitty's not lying."

Corina's ears flattened slightly at that uncalled-for slur, but she forced herself to say nothing about it, responding instead to the Chief Engineer's slight gesture. "You wish to ask something, Commander Jensen?"

"Please. Can a mind screen like that be generated electronically?"

"To the best of my knowledge, Commander, such a thing has never been attempted. There are those who would consider the electronic imitation of Talent an obscenity, and they have much influence."

"What else?" Medart asked.

"Direction sense would be included for humans, I believe," Corina said. "The Order does not consider it a true aspect of Talent, since it is something all Irschchans have, but I understand that is not true for you. Otherwise, aside from what I have already mentioned, there is anything one can imagine being done by mind power rather than physical means, though few people have more than one such aspect, and no one has been reported with more than three. The rarest is precognition; I have not heard of anyone having that in over fifty years. I myself am capable of weak telekinesis, finding, and darlas." She saw puzzled looks, and explained. "Finding is the ability to locate concealed-or simply misplaced-objects, and darlas is a form of telepathic attack."

"What's telekinesis?" Greggson asked.

"Moving objects by mind power alone." When the Security Chief looked doubtful, Corina decided she had best demonstrate that as well. But the conference table was bare, and she did not want to use anything of her own.

"Ranger Medart, do you have anything I could use to show the Colonel what I mean? It had best be light; as I said, that aspect of my Talent is not particularly powerful."

"I think so," Medart replied. He reached into a pouch on his belt, pulled out a small notepad. "Is this okay?"

"It is fine. Would you put it on the table, please?"

He did as she asked. She stared hard at it for perhaps five seconds, concentrating, then the pad rose from the table. Apparently on its own, it circled the room, then settled gently back to its starting place in front of the Ranger.

For long seconds, nobody spoke. Then Medart said softly, "If the Order can do all that, I'd say we have a bit worse of a problem than I thought."

"Not all can do everything," Corina reminded him, "any more than I can. Still, their abilities do combine to make a formidable power. The problem is a serious one."

"This Talent of yours is all very well," Greggson put in, "but I doubt if it would be any good against armed, trained Security Division Marines. I'd bet on my men any day."

"You would lose," Corina told him, then she looked at Medart. "It seems I must demonstrate this as well, since Colonel Greggson appears unable to accept my word. Although there are many who equal or surpass me, my Talent is above average; I can give you some idea of the opposition you will have to face."

Medart nodded. "Good suggestion. Greggson, get half a decade of your best troops together in the main gym as soon as you can."

"Yes, sir." Greggson left, scowling at Corina as he passed her. She wondered what she could have done to arouse the man's hostility; after all, she had barely met him.

"Give him a few minutes to get them together," Medart said, "then we can meet them in the gym. Do you really think you can defeat five top SecuDiv Marines?"

"I do not know," Corina replied quietly. "It has been some time since I worked with unTalented people, and last time I tried, I could defeat only two, neither of whom had a shield. On the other hand, I have been training with Thark and Valla. But defeating them is not as important as convincing Colonel Greggson of the danger he and his Marines face."

"Truthfully, I don't think you can do it," Hobison said. "All his people are top caliber, or they wouldn't be on this ship-and one of them, Ranger Medart's bodyguard, is a Sandeman warrior."

"Any selected for this vessel's Marine contingent would be formidable, I know," Corina said, "particularly one of that race's warriors. But I still believe the demonstration necessary; if one who is yet a student can make a respectable showing against such, then you will take more seriously those who are long-experienced in the use of their greater Talent."

"Can't argue that," Hobison said. "But I don't envy you the demonstration, Sir Corina."

All except the Ranger agreed aloud. He agreed privately as well, but wanted to give her the best chance possible, which meant not discouraging her before she even got started. And she was right; the demonstration, whatever its outcome, would be valuable. "Greggson's had time to call his people together," he said at last. "Let's get to the gym."

Medart spent the shuttle trip unobtrusively studying the young Irschchan. She'd certainly been handed a rough deal, he thought sympathetically. He might not share her telepathic Talent, but he could make an educated guess about how she felt. Betrayed by her teacher, attacked and almost killed, then drafted and hauled into a whole new kind of life... she couldn't be exactly comfortable about the whole thing, but she was reacting better than he could've expected-well enough that he'd rate her adaptability level the equal of a Ranger's, which was a promising sign. She'd make out all right, whether she met Ranger standards all the way or not.

Corina's self-evaluation was less optimistic. She was managing to keep up a good front somehow, she thought, since she didn't care to let strangers know just how overwhelmed she felt by the day's happenings. At the moment she was going strictly on stubbornness, and was just hoping that would last long enough for her to adapt to this totally unfamiliar existence.