Adapt and Overcome (The Maxwell Saga) (29 page)

The taxi halted outside the house, and Steve hurriedly paid the driver. Grabbing his carryall, he headed for the front door. As he approached, Abha opened it from inside, her face alight with
happiness.

“Steve! You’re early! I wasn’t expecting you until very late tonight.”

“Yes.” He kissed her fondly. “I managed to get everything wrapped up in time to catch a cutter that was heading planetside, rather than come down the Elevator as usual.”

“I’m glad. You can help me cook supper. Brooks will be here, and he’s bringing Major Ghale with him. He’s the XO of the Gurkha battalion. Apparently they’re planning a presentation of some kind, the day after the award ceremony. He’s going to tell us about it.”

Steve dropped his carryall in the room they now shared, and helped her prepare the food. The mouth-watering aroma of mutton
korma
filled the house. Because Steve and Brooks weren’t accustomed to native-strength Indian curries, Abha spiced it at a relatively mild level, and prepared an array of side dishes to accompany it.

Major Ghale proved to be a short, stocky man with an engaging smile. He praised Abha’s
korma
highly. “It’s a long time since I’ve had one this good. We don’t often serve it on Gandaki – our tastes run more to Nepalese dishes – but I learned to like it during exchange tours of duty with other planets of the Bihar Federation.”

“How did the Gurkhas arrive on Gandaki to begin with,
Sir, and why did you join the Federation?” Brooks asked.

“Our homeland was destroyed during the Third Indo-Chinese War several hundred years ago. Biological weapons killed everyone living there. Only five battalions of Gurkha mercenaries were off-planet at the time, and only three of them were on long-term contracts that permitted their families to accompany them. They were almost the sole survivors of the entire Gurkha nation, along with some battalions in Indian service and a few individuals scattered around Earth.

He sighed heavily. “It was a crushing blow to their spirits to realize they could never return home. That’s become a bitter cultural memory for us. The battalions sent emissaries to each other, and eventually convened a conference to discuss their future. Clearly, they’d have to intermarry with other cultures due to a shortage of Gurkha partners, but how could they preserve their own culture while doing so? They decided they had to have a planet of their own, where they could maintain their cultural independence without being swamped by others.

“T
he Bihar Federation was being formed at the time, and it offered them the planet we christened Gandaki. It was small and mountainous, without much in the way of mineral resources, not offering anything in particular to attract settlers; but it was available, and not unlike the terrain where most Gurkhas had been born and raised. The Federation also offered to allow us to seek partners among their member worlds. In exchange, Bihar required us to provide our mercenary services exclusively to their members; not to compete with other Federation planets in commercial or military space travel; and allow them to control our foreign policy. It was a very restrictive offer, but under the circumstances our ancestors didn’t have much choice. They accepted.”

“I was born on
Nasek, Sir,” Abha informed him as she reached for the rice bowl. “It’s also a member of the Bihar Federation.”

“So it is. How did you come to join the Lancastrian Commonwealth Marines?”

“That’s a long story. Let’s just say that, being of mixed race, I found Nasek very restrictive and the rest of the Federation not much better. When I had an opportunity to leave both behind me by joining the Marines, I jumped at it.”

Ghale’s face fell. “Yes, the Federation is very racially conscious. Even though it offered us a planet, its member worlds and peoples looked down on us. Our numbers have grown to the point that we’re now well established, and we’ve been able to wring some concessions out of them – such as offering our mercenary services outside the Federation – but we’re still chafing under most of the restrictions they initially imposed. They won’t let us have our own System Patrol Service, or allow us to operate merchant ships. We have to obtain all such services from them, which is a problem, because their prices are high and their quality isn’t very good. We know what it should be, thanks to our contact with the Commonwealth, but they don’t see why they should meet such high standards or charge lower prices.”

Abha asked, “If you’ve intermarried with other cultures over the centuries, have you been able to maintain your own, and your traditions, Sir?”

“I think so. Our genetic heritage has been diluted, of course – I doubt whether any of us are more than half Gurkha by blood now, with most less than that – but our ancestors bequeathed us an almost fanatical emphasis on our cultural heritage. We take great pains to maintain it, perhaps to the point of obsession: but when you consider that our forefathers were the sole survivors of an entire
culture and saw themselves as the guardians of its heritage, you can understand why that should be.”

“I sure can
, Sir,” Brooks assured him. “What’s more, you’ve done a great job of preserving your military heritage, judging by the reputation of Gurkhas to this day.”

They adjourned to the living-room for post-prandial coffee. As they sat down, Steve asked, “
Sir, Abha tells me your battalion wants to arrange a presentation to follow the investiture ceremony on Friday. What did you have in mind?”

The Major settled back in his chair.
“Let me tell you the story from the beginning. About twenty years ago, a transport was carrying a number of Gurkhas and their wives and families to Jashmur, where they were to join one of our battalions. There were about a hundred in all. Their ship was captured by de Bouff at the system boundary as soon as it arrived. His men secured the captives, then killed all our soldiers – they apparently believed it was too dangerous to keep military personnel as prisoners. They abused their wives and children in ways that I won’t describe.” His lips tightened in remembered fury. “Eventually, after they tired of them, they killed them as well. We didn’t know that at the time, of course, or who was responsible; only that their ship had been pirated, and they’d never been seen or heard from again.”

He looked around at his audience.
“We learned what had happened to them after de Bouff’s son Jan was captured by the Commonwealth. We tried to find his father, but without a Fleet of our own it was very difficult. After he attacked one of your communications frigates, your Fleet put a twenty-five-million credit reward on his head and searched for him throughout the settled galaxy, but even that didn’t produce any results. We kept our eyes open, hoping that one day we’d learn where he could be found. If we had, a raiding party of our troops would have paid him a visit, whether or not that contravened the restrictions imposed on us by the Bihar Federation.”

Ghale
paused and sipped his coffee. Setting down the cup, he continued, “As it turned out, you took care of the matter for us with your assault on
Blanco
a few months ago. My Commanding Officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Rana, informed Gandaki, and recommended that we acknowledge the service you’d rendered us. Our Council on Gandaki agreed. They’ve provided ceremonial
kukris
– that’s the curved knife worn by all trained Gurkha soldiers – for everyone aboard the three shuttles, all of whom were part of killing de Bouff. They asked us to present them to you at a suitable ceremony, to take place in conjunction with the investiture to be held by Rolla and the Commonwealth. I brought one with me to show you.”

He fetched his carryall, opened it, and took out a big knife in a leather sheath. Drawing it, he revealed an angled blade about thirty centimeters long, thick and heavy and brightly burnished, very sharp along its inner edge and at the point. The hilt was made of ornately carved horn, and the scabbard of wood covered in black leather. Two much smaller blades were sheathed at the top of the scabbard. “Those are the
chakmak,
a sharpening and burnishing steel, and the
karda,
a small utility knife,” he informed them, carefully handing the
kukri
to Abha hilt-first. “The inscription on the blade is in Gurkhali on one side, and in Galactic Standard English on the other.”

Abha turned it over slowly in her hands. “It’s very heavy compared to most knives I’ve handled before
, Sir.”

“Yes, the weight lends impetus to its cutting stroke.”

She nodded. “I see – and the angle of the blade automatically adds a slicing action to a slash, making it easier to cut deep.”

Steve accepted it from her, and held it at an angle to the light to study the inscription.

T
o the members of Task Force Maxwell

With thanks for avenging our honored dead

AYO GURKHALI!

He offered the
kukri
to Brooks. “That’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, Sir,” he observed. “I particularly like the fact that despite being a presentation blade, it’s clearly a working knife, not an ornament.”

“Yes,” the Major agreed. “Every
kukri
is made to be functional. These are more highly polished than usual, with better-quality hilts and scabbards to reflect their ceremonial nature; but they’re as practical a fighting knife as those on our uniform belts, if you should ever need to use one in that way.”

Brooks asked, “What does
‘Ayo Gurkhali’
mean, Sir?”

“
It’s our traditional battle cry. It means ‘The Gurkhas are coming’. Gurkhali is also the name of our language.”

“I see. You say you’ve made enough of these to give one to everybody
aboard the shuttles? That’s very generous of you, Sir.” Brooks handed the big knife to the Major. “What about those who died?”

“
Their
kukris
will go to their families,” Ghale assured him as he returned the knife to its sheath, then put it back in his briefcase. “As for being generous, we don’t see it that way. You did us all a favor by taking care of a long-standing obligation of honor on our behalf. We want – no, we
need
to acknowledge that. There’s another aspect, too. This particular model of
kukri
is never sold commercially. It’s conferred upon each Gurkha soldier when he graduates from basic training, to mark him as a military professional. By giving you military-issue
kukris,
we’re appointing you as honorary Gurkhas. If any of you ever need any assistance we can provide, individually or collectively, you have only to produce your
kukri
to receive it.”

“That’s a very great honor
, Sir,” Brooks acknowledged soberly. “Marines recognize Gurkhas as our equals in the field – something we do for no other armed force. The Fleet incorporates a lot of your standards in our training, too. To be regarded as an honorary Gurkha is something I’ll take very seriously.” Steve and Abha nodded their agreement.

“I’m glad you understand its significance. We want to honor all of you as our guests, the day after the medal award ceremony. We’d like to present your kukris at a parade during the afternoon,
then adjourn to a communal supper prepared by our families. That’ll be a social rather than a military occasion, of course, so we invite you to bring civilian clothing to change into after the parade. We have all sorts of games and entertainments during social occasions like this. I should warn you that some of our Sepoys and NCO’s will probably hold drinking contests involving
raksi,
our national liquor. It’s very strong, so you might want to caution your people about that.”

Abha grinned. “I think some of our Marines will look forward to the challenge
, Sir. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with Nepalese food, but you might ask your people to prepare a few less spicy dishes for the other Marines. If you don’t, some of your honorary Gurkhas might expire before they’ve had time to get used to their new status!”

As they watched Major Ghale drive away later that evening, Brooks asked, “Will you be able to stay for the Gurkha presentation, Steve?”

“I sure will. I’ve got the rest of the week off. Lieutenant-Commander Le Roux took
Nightingale
out on her current training patrol. I only have to be back at Syscon on Sunday night.”

“I’ll see about giving Abha the rest of the week off from her training duties, then. May as well let you two lovebirds spend some time together.”

Steve grinned as Abha laughed. “Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.”

“You’ll be spending more time with her in space in a few
months, too,” Brooks added. “Your suggestion about the armored battalion helping to secure the asteroid mining site has been well received. Looks like a platoon will go out there for a month at a time, using four shuttles that’ll be based there until the SPS has enough patrol craft to assign two to the mining project. The accommodation and refinery ships are due here in a few months, so the patrols will begin as soon as they start work. Either Abha or myself will go out there once a month to check them out.”