Empire Of Man 3 - March to the Stars (32 page)

“Agreed,” the prince replied, and turned back to the local leaders. They were showing signs of impatience, and he smiled much more calmly than he felt.

“We need to discuss this with the other members of our party, and we seem to be having a problem with our translation system. Could we perhaps call a recess, and resume the discussion tomorrow?”

“It is with regret that I must decline that suggestion,” Sor Teb replied. “The God speaks to us now. He sends His darkness upon His people now. Now is when we must gather our Servant, and you are the leader, the decision maker, of your people. If you would prefer that the Servant come from one of your lesser minions at your headquarters rather than from those here with you, we can send a runner. But the decision must be made now.”

“Pardon me for a moment longer, then,” Roger said slowly, and turned back to the others.

“Oh, shit,” Despreaux said quietly.

“Did he just say what I think he said?” Cord asked.

“So much for 'minor functionaries,' ” Kosutic said with a snort. “Marshad time.”

“Stop talking,” Roger said, pointing a finger directly at Pedi. As soon as she froze, he sent a command to his toot, “dumping” the entire Krath language and everything they had determined of Shin. Then he locked out the “kernel” that had come with the system, as well. It was now as if he had never heard of Shin or Krath, and any biases would be erased, as long as he concentrated on ignoring them. He also locked out the low-level interplay between the systems, so that his own would not be corrupted by the Marines' and O'Casey's. Taking a guess, based upon O'Casey's idea of a migratory connection between the Shin and Cord's people, he loaded the language of “the People” as a potential kernel.

“Okay,” he said, crooking the petrifiying finger. “Now talk.”

At first, what the benan was saying was only a low, unintelligible gabble. But after a moment, bits and pieces began to join together.

“ . . . temple . . . priests . . . death . . . serve . . . sacrifice . . . serve the worshipers . . . feast.”

“Oh, shit.”

Roger pulled up the two translations, and the difference was immediately apparent. In the kernel, the word “sadak,” when used in the context of the priests, was translated as “Servant.” When the kernel was dumped, though, it translated as “sacrifice.” In fact, there was an entire series of synonym and thematic biases built into the system, but changing a few words around and removing a syntactic bias made everything clear.

Including why the Lemmar refused to be captured.

He punched the changes into his toot with the flashing speed of direct neural interfacing, then reloaded the corrected kernel and turned slowly back to the Scourge and the High Priest.

“We have determined the problem with our translator. What you want is a human sacrifice. Which will then be shared as a feast among your worshipers. The body and blood, so to speak.”

“Oh, shit,” Kosutic whispered, and grimaced as she took another look at the guards. “I knew I didn't like these guys. They're Papists! Man, I hate fanatics!”

“We recognize that certain lesser peoples refuse to accept this rite,” Sor Teb replied, with a gesture of contempt at Cord and the swathed Pedi. “But humans are, after all, civilized.”

“Civilized,” Despreaux whispered. She was too well-trained to actually check a weapon, and she could feel the stillness that had descended over the troopers behind her. Each of them was very carefully not reaching for a weapon. They were carefully not counting their rounds, or ensuring that their bayonets were loose in the sheaths. Not, at least, on the outside.

Roger reached slowly into a pouch and extracted a thin leather band. Then he tossed his hair behind him and bound it slowly into a ponytail.

“And if we politely decline this invitation?” he asked, pulling his locks into place one by one as he smoothed the hair on the top of his head. Behind him, O'Casey drew a surreptitious breath and made sure her weight was balanced on her toes.

Sor Teb glanced at the High Priest, now apparently asleep on his stool, then back at the humans.

“My guards in this room outnumber you, and I have over a hundred in the corridors. At a word, you are all Servants. And then I will take all of the rest of you at the docks, and the people will know that it was the Scourge which brought humans to the God at last.”

His false-hands moved in a complicated shrug which signified total confidence.

“Or,” he continued, “you may surrender a single sacrifice of your choice. That will suffice for my purposes . . . and the God's, of course. But either way, I will have the Servant I require, and the people will know it. Those are your only alternatives.”

“Really?” Roger said quietly, calmly, as he tugged one last time on his ponytail to tighten it down. “Hmmm. A binary solution set. Just one problem with your plans.”

“What?” Teb's eyes narrowed, and Roger smiled gently.

“You've never seen me move.”

The prince and his bodyguards had blasted their way through half a dozen city-states on their bloody march across Marduk. Roger knew he could depend upon them to do their job and back him up. So as his hands descended to the pistols holstered at his side, he concentrated solely on what was in his own field of view.

The local arquebuses weren't particularly accurate, and the Marines' uniforms were designed to protect against high-velocity projectiles by hardening to spread the impact over a wide area. Neither Roger nor O'Casey, however, were wearing helmets, so an unlucky hit from one of the arquebuses would be fatal. And Cord and Pedi were completely unarmored.

The first target, therefore, was the arquebusier to the left of the throne. The High Priest was no threat, and hitting the target to the left would permit Roger to track right and take Sor Teb with the next shot.

But by the time Roger had shifted targets, before the headless body had even had time to start to fall, Sor Teb had just moved. Roger had heard the Marines comment on his own speed, often in hushed tones. Now he understood why. When you see someone who is preternaturally fast—Rastar was one such—it is awe-inspiring. and Sor Teb, it turned out, was preternaturally fast at surviving. The councilor was behind the throne and out a side door before anyone besides the prince could target him.

But that didn't mean people were sitting on their hands.

Kosutic dropped the muzzle of her bead rifle and took down the arquebusier to the right of the throne even as the Scourge guards along the walls flung themselves forward. Their primary weapon seemed to be double sticks. The long rods were nearly as thick as a human's forearm, and the guards wielded them with precision. One of them descended towards the sergeant major's forearm, obviously intending to disarm her, but it was abruptly blocked by a short sword.

“Mudh Hemh!” Pedi screamed like a damnbeast and spun in place, flinging off her sumei as both swords appeared. She chopped down, to take all of the fingers off one of the guard's hands, then swept upward to gut him like a fish.

“The vales!!”

The astonished guards recoiled at the sight of the blades and frosted horns. Humans were unknown bogeymen from beyond even the farthest reaches of the valley, but the Shin were always there. And never underestimated. Even the females.

“Shin!!!” 

The Mardukan female spun again, blocking another blow directed at her from behind and back-kicking the guard in the groin. She turned towards the throne, where the majority of the surviving guards had clustered in defense of the High Priest, and spat.

“TIME TO MEET THE FIRE, BOYS!” 

* * *

“Boots and saddles!”

Pahner shot to his feet, rubbing an ear as the shout over his helmet commo systems rocketed him upright.

“Your Highness?” he called, heading for the door of his office while the sudden icy calm of a man who's seen too many emergencies—and has just heard the unmistakable sound of rifle volleys in the background of a truncated radio call—flooded through him.

“To all units, Bravo Company relay! Terminate all Krath guards in view with extreme prejudice. Do this NOW!”

Pahner heard screams from the warehouse, and firing broke out as he hit the door. Two Krath guards were attacking one of the Diaspran infantry by the main doors, but two shots took them down before the captain could even draw his sidearm. All the others in sight had already been dealt with.

“Prince Roger, this is Captain Pahner,” he said calmly as he strode towards the piles of gear that were half ready for loading. “What's happening?”

“Servants are human sacrifices,” Kosutic cut in on the command circuit, panting. In the background, Pahner heard a knife-hitting-a-melon sound with which the entire company had become all too familiar. “We're trying to fight our way out of the Temple. For some reason, they're just a bit ticked with us.”

“That might be because Pedi Karuse cut her way through to the High Priest on our way out of the room,” Roger said with a grunt against the background of a fading scream. “Fortunately, all the guards have been unarmored so far. We're conserving ammo by quite literally cutting our way out. But Sor Teb got away, dammit! He set us up.”

“We're on our way,” Pahner said, gesturing for the teams to drop what they were doing. The most vital equipment had already been packed for a run, most of it loaded into large, hard-sided leather trunks with multiple carrying rings, so that they could be easily on-loaded and off-loaded from pack animals. The remainder was food and other similar nonvital items that could be seized on the way. It was cold, but if you had bullets, you could always get beans.

“Negative!” Roger snapped. “We're heading for the city's main gate. You know the drill—Vashin to take the gate, flying columns to secure the intersections and block response, tell the ships to head for K'Vaern's Cove, and the rest all run like hell for the gates. We're going to join up in that vicinity. If you try to cut your way into the Temple, we'll never make it. Follow the plan, Captain. That's an order.”

“Tell me you can fight your way out, Your Highness,” the captain grated. “Tell me that.”

“Hold one,” Roger responded. Behind his voice, someone else bellowed in rage. The bellow grew louder, as if the throat from whence it sprang was charging towards Roger, but then the sound was cut abruptly short, and Pahner heard a thump, and a spraying sound.

“Pthah! Just make sure you bring a pocking towel.”

Temu Jin strode up to the last few meters of path and nodded to the Mardukan waiting for him. The Shin chieftain was middle-aged for one of the locals, calm and closed faced. He propped himself on the long ax which was his symbol of office—the symbol which had permitted him to pass more or less unmolested through the intervening tribes.

Now the chieftain leaned forward and fixed the human with a glare.

“I have traveled two weeks from my home for you, Temu Jin,” he growled. “I have done this while my people are in jeopardy, when the young warriors are questioning my utility. I have done this because you indicated that it was vital that we meet. All I can say is that it had better be important.”

“Decide for yourself,” Jin said. “Humans have landed in Kirsti.”

“That is not important!” the chieftain snapped. “Everything passes through Kirsti sooner or later, as I know all too well.”

“Ah, but what humans?” Jim replied. “These humans did not travel to Kirsti from our base here. They arrived aboard ships—ships built here on Marduk, which crossed the sea to reach this continent.”

“And what of that?” the chieftain demanded. “Why should the fact that they floated across the water rather than flew through the air excite me?”

“As I've told you, the Empire is not going to look kindly upon the Krath when I finally get word to my superiors. But I don't know when that will be. These humans could help in getting the word out.”

“Why? Why these humans and not the waifs you have already dumped upon us?”

“These humans are . . . important,” Jin temporized. “But they'll need some support.”

“Of course. Don't they always?” the chief grumped. “What now?”

“I'll send you some packages. Ammunition and some essential spare parts they could probably use. Also some modern weapons. If you can make contact with them, it will greatly benefit us. It would be even better if you could woo them away from the Krath and into the Shin lands.”

“What? No blankets? No 'sleeping bags'? No insect repellent?” the chief gave a Mardukan snort. “I hope that your superiors come to your aid soon—all these visitors are becoming tiring. As to 'wooing them away from the Krath,' I can send out the word to the clan-Chiefs, but it will be up to them individually. And they don't think much of humans. Only if they come directly to my lands will it be possible for me to ensure their safety.”

“I think you'll find these folk a bit different,” Jin said grimly. “And I doubt they'll need much looking after. Among other things, at least some of them are Marines.”

“Marines?” the chief scoffed. “These are your space warriors, yes? Warriors we have aplenty.”

“You don't have Imperial Marines,” Jin cautioned. “And if they're the Marines I think they are, you don't have anything close.”

The chieftain regarded him balefully for moment, then rubbed his horns in thought.

* * *

“Anybody have any idea where we are?” Roger asked. His stripped-down command group stood at the intersection of five dome-roofed corridors. A single oil lamp gave miserly illumination, and the prince idly wiped blood from his sword blade as he looked about himself.

They had lost their pursuers, mostly by leaving field expedient booby traps behind. After the first few explosions, the Scourge guards had become remarkably circumspect in their chasing. But that didn't help the fugitives find their way out of the palace. Or to the gates. Their helmet systems could tell them where they were in reference to their starting point and the gates their bug-out plans specified as their way out of the city, as well as which direction they were headed, but that was of strictly limited utility. The temple had backed onto the outer wall of the city, so there was probably a connection between where they stood and the walls' defenses—like the gates they needed. But they couldn't tell which of the myriad corridors would get them there.