IronStar (56 page)

“Of course,” he continued, “we
would then expect the same protection from
Reg’num
law for
our
ideas, any small novelties or creation
we
may have to trade, yes?”

“Well naturally,” Madam Taggart
replied, waving her hand dismissively. “D.R. protection,
mutual
D.R.
protection, would be an essential part of our trade agreement, is that not so,
Dr. Pennington?”

“It would be challenged as unjust
in Regnum courts, otherwise,” he replied. “Probably successfully.”

“Then we are agreed on this
matter?” The chorus of ‘yes, absolutely’ replies was duly recorded on
Elizabeth’s RegNet pickups as well as every wristcomp in the room. Lord Tsano
turned to look at Kirrah, and Dr. Pennington and Admiral Dunning, who had both
played their fair share of poker hands, looked up alertly as Kirrah accepted
the ball.

“Now that that’s clearly
understood, Madame Taggart, there is another item we would like to offer for
your consideration as trade, as ‘fruit not seed’.
Specifically
not
seed.” Now the entire Regnum contingent was fully alert to the ‘simple people
in a primitive economy’.

“Admiral Dunning, would you please
give your best estimate of this woman’s age and general health?” Kirrah rose
and stood behind Delima. “No need to underestimate for politeness’ sake, age is
not a stigma.” The Admiral considered a moment, and replied:

“I would say first, I have no idea
how quickly humans age on this world. Her health appears quite good. If I were
to meet her on a non-tech human world I might estimate sixty Standard, that
would be …forty-three local years? If we met on Trailway where Regnum health
care extends lives, I might say one-fifty Standard, say one-ten local years.
I’m sure we are all now very curious, Kirrah Warmaster, why you make a point of
this.”

“Delima Guildmaster, would you
please tell our
Reg’num
guests your age?”

“Of course, Kirrah Warmaster. I am
one hundred five winters. We live to about one hundred fifty.”

Madame Taggart tapped her wristcomp
and turned to Kirrah. “And I suppose you are now going to tell me, Ms. Roehl,
that this incredible two hundred eight Standard year lifespan is due to the
salutary effects of some agricultural product, whose gene-rights I have just
unwittingly negotiated away?”

“If such a thing exists, Marissa,”
interjected Dr. Pennington, “you know you could never have gotten away with it.
I would have taken the Talamae case myself, and the negative publicity alone
would have cost UniDom rather more than they would choose to bear.
And
they
would have lost.”

“I
know
, Garth, and for that
reason and more, the United Dominion Board would never have tried it. But I’m
just not expecting to be outmaneuvered so
easily
. Was I, Ms. Roehl?”

“I confess,” Kirrah replied with a
grin. “Not knowing exactly how Regnum law would handle it, when I discovered
this plant’s effects, I advised my new friends to play it a little close. My
field analyzer was unable to solve the biochemistry of the phenomenon, but the
benefits are undeniable, epidemiologically. You just don’t see sick people
here. What do you suppose the right to this product would be worth, after your
teams have had a chance to study and enhance its effects?”

“Assuming it’s relatively
straightforward to synthesize, and passes Dee-of-Ag approvals, I should think
you could buy your own Navy and fund a fully-owned asteroid mining company,
just for starters. My, my! What, may I ask, is the source of this marvelous
effect? A local herb? A rare fungus? Some obscure single-celled organism?”

Now it was Kirrah’s turn to look
sheepish. “Even easier, Madam Taggart, it’s a simple, prolific, locally grown
fruit. Um, you know those fruit pastries everyone likes so much? They’re called
glatha
-buns…”

“Why… you mean you… right under
our…” spluttered the other woman.

Admiral Dunning broke in, “I hereby
declare the official First Contact scores now stand at ‘Military: win-win’, and
‘Trade: Local planet One, Regnum No Score’. By the way, Ms. Roehl, what
is
the name of this planet? The local name, I mean - we can’t keep calling it
‘S22041-II’, you won’t get any tourists with a name like that.”

The floor seemed to drop out from
under Kirrah at the question. It felt like reaching to scratch her nose and
finding her arm missing.
The
name
! How could I have spent five month
here and not asked what the
name
is!
She looked helplessly at the
puzzled Talamae beside her.

“Lucinda Fleetmaster compliments
our negotiations, and asks the
name
of this world. I never thought to
ask! I feel like an idiot! Would someone please tell me the
being-name
,
not the
object-name
of this world?” More mystified looks, then Slaetra
said:

“Why would we name our world? We
only know of the one…” Into the awkward silence, somewhat to everyone’s
surprise Ensign Auracotta spoke up tentatively.

“To a Contact Specialist, many
races name their world after the name for soil, or rock. Sometimes water. Does
that help?” Issthe, for the first time, spoke at the meeting:

“It would seem strange to be known
to the rest of the
Civi’lium
as ‘sand’ or ‘dirt’, a thing to be removed
in washing. But during the training of a priest, we learn to align our
ath'la
with the sky-
ath'la
, which we call
shu’kaetha
,
‘one-whose-father-is-strength’, and with the earth-
ath'la
, called
sho’ito
,
‘whose-mother-is-wisdom’. Does that suggest a
Reg’num
name to Kirrah,
who knows us best?”

Kirrah paused, a few fingers in
front of her mouth, cocked her head to one side. “Then it would seem as though
‘
Sho’ito
’ is the natural name. When a Regnum citizen hears this name and
learns that it means ‘child of wisdom’, they may think of Athena, a human goddess
who was old before the
Reg’num
, before we humans rose from our
cradle-world. Her mother was Metis, the original goddess of wisdom for that
ancient people. Athena herself was known for her wisdom as well as her success
in battle, and her ability to repel unwanted attention. Does this association
seem acceptable?” Cautious nods of approval followed, from both sides of the
table.

“Both images seem appropriate,”
Issthe replied.

“
Sho’ito
. I like it. Any
problems, Garth?”

“None I can see, Admiral. It is,
after all, a native term.”

“Good, I shall instruct our
Navigator to make the entry. Well, since everyone seems to be getting along
nicely, I believe I shall excuse myself and return to my taskforce where duties
await. Kirrah, you have my comm-ident, let me know of any developments.
Starting from dawn tomorrow, Warmaster, my shuttle is yours for the transfer of
the O’dai wounded, conditions as specified. And
good work
, Lieutenant!”
Kirrah returned the crisp Navy salute with one of her own, then on impulse
replied with the Talamae fist-to-throat equivalent. Which, rather to her
surprise, the Admiral returned as well.
Well, that pretty much expresses my
divided roles
, she concluded wryly.
Ok, back to business
…

“Now let’s see if we can’t find
agreement about some other trade areas. For example, I believe RegNet News
would profit from 3V rights on the planet’s surface. I’m sure Ms. Einarson
appreciates how valuable the first close-up images of a new manhome would be,
back in RegNet. RNN’s ratings would absolutely
spike
, don’t you agree?
What do you propose would be a reasonable royalty if, for example, we were to
give you sixty-day exclusive video rights on the planet?”

"To have a right to do a
thing is not at all the same as to be right in doing it." - G. K.
Chesterton,
op. cit.

“I imagine this is not so
impressive in daylight, after you’ve seen it a few times,” Kirrah commented to
no one in particular. Although it appeared nothing could keep her companions
away from the shuttle’s windows, even for this short hop across the river to
pick up the O’dai wounded. The eight Talamae and three Wrth allies were glued
to the view outside, and even Issthe was looking raptly out one of the side
windows as the shuttle drifted across the two-kilometer-long jaunt on its belly
thrusters. All passengers were wearing the light, flexible Regnum combat armor
and, except for Issthe and another healer, armed with Marine field knives.
Kirrah also wore the same beamer she had transferred from her old survival
suit, and Peetha carried her prized Kruss blade.

A supply of longbows and various
arrows for the Talamae archers made a bizarre contrast with the heavy beamers
and sidearms carried by the eleven-strong Marine guard under Lieutenant Warden.
The Marines were lounging in the center seats, indulgently leaving the windows
to the ‘tourists’. Closely watched in a right-side window seat was an unarmed
and unarmored Fleet-Captain Schmado, the O’dai Admiral who had lost his fleet
on the river to Kirrah’s new weapons. He was present as backup translator and
guide through the culture and city streets of the O’dai capital.

Peetha and Captain Og’drai had
begged jump seats in the cockpit from a sympathetic flight crew.
Especially
the pilot, Ensign Piersall
, Kirrah grumbled slightly.
Margaret was ‘way
too eager to please, although she had certainly done a good job two nights ago,
and seemed to be a skilled pilot
.

In just a few moments, they settled
to a noisy but feather-light landing inside the Marines' perimeter-post fence,
beside the field hospital set up for the O’dai casualties. Kirrah, Irshe,
Peetha, Captain Og’drai, Kirrah’s bodyguard Corporal Mastha’cha, and four of
the archers trooped down the ramp following six of the Marine squad, and began
arranging for the most severely injured POW’s to be transferred to the
shuttle’s forward compartment. The others remained aboard to reconfigure the
shuttle’s forward seats to accommodate the injured, or went into the hospital
tent to prepare the casualties for transport.

A few enquiries revealed that
Prince Paedako was likely in the largest, brightest-colored tent a hundred
meters to their east.
It figures
, she thought with growing distaste.
Signaling Irshe, Peetha, Captain Og’drai and four of the largest Marines to
follow her, she strode up to the tent and stopped before the unarmed O’dai
guard there.

“Tell Prince Paedako his ride home
is here. Kirrah Warmaster requests his immediate presence.” As Og’drai repeated
the words in the O’dai tongue, the man started, but bowed and disappeared into
the tent. In a moment the blond man who had spoken for the Prince at their
earlier meeting, came out. He too bowed, and said:

“His Exalted Personage Prince
Paedako regrets to inform that he is presently indisposed.” Kirrah replied:

“Tell His Exalted Personage that
Kirrah Warmaster allows him one half
bhrakka
to
become
‘disposed’
and appear, without being disgraced before his men. By mid-morning, all O’dai
who can walk will be on their way home. I will tolerate no argument in this.”
The blond man, looking very uneasily at the Marines, disappeared back into the
tent.

A minute passed. At ninety seconds,
Kirrah drew her sidearm and set it to a low-power cutting beam. At two minutes
ten seconds, with no Prince apparent, she thumbed the beam on, and lowered the
thin incandescent line in a vertical arc onto the top of the tent canopy, which
promptly split down the middle in a trace of smoking fabric. The guy ropes
pulled the two halves of tenting, roof, walls and all, in opposite directions.
Between two heaps of collapsed tent was revealed a litter of still-damp
carpets, cushions and camp chairs, a rather startled coterie of sycophants and
officers, and to one side on a heap of cushions, her objective. The young man
leaped to his feet, calmed himself with an effort, and stood while his blond
spokesman hurried to intervene.

“
You!
” Kirrah barked at the
hapless blond mouthpiece. “
You’re fired
! Out of my way!” A
combat-armored Marine stepped in front of the man, his heavy beamer across the
O’dai’s chest.

Kirrah rounded on the Prince.
“Prince Paedako. Because you do not understand the seriousness of your crime,
your ‘curse of heaven’ trick has not resulted in your immediate execution,
although it would be fully justified. My patience with your childishness,
however, is past its end. I am placing some of your wounded on that shuttle. In
a few
bhrakka
, I shall transport them to O’dakai. You will accompany
us.” Wrapping his largely imaginary dignity around him, the young man pulled himself
to his full height and said disdainfully:

“
I
am not wounded.
I
do not travel with wounded.”

“Peetha!” Even in the combat-armor
fabric, the Wrth girl moved like a gymnast, or a coiled snake. “This fool
complains he cannot travel with us because he is not wounded. Remedy that for
me, nothing incapacitating.” Before her words were fully out, Peetha’s Kruss
blade was in her hand. Glaring at them,
daring
them to touch him,
Paedako crossed his arms and stood, feet planted. Marines moved to block any of
the other O’dai from approaching, although none appeared especially eager to do
so.

Peetha stepped up to the Prince
like a lover cutting in on a dance floor, her blade low in her right hand.
Chest to chest, her left arm reached around the man’s lower back, almost like
an embrace, and her right hand moved closer. Her right wrist twisted, just a
little, and the Prince’s face lost all its color. She twisted a little more.
His lower jaw started to tremble. More twisting. Suddenly he shrieked, throwing
himself backward and landing spread-eagled across several cushions, blood
staining his groin and running down his leg, sobbing like a baby. Kirrah felt
nothing but contempt for the pride-driven bravery and poor judgement the youth
was displaying.