The Harriers Book One: Of War and Honor Read online

  THE HARRIERS

  BOOK ONE:

  OF WAR AND HONOR

  Created by

  GORDON R. DICKSON

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1991 by Bill Fawcett and Associates

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, N.Y. 10471

  ISBN: 0-671-72048-1

  Cover art by Studio H

  First printing, April 1991

  Distributed by SIMON & SCHUSTER 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, N.Y. 10020

  Printed in the United States of America

  Of War and Codes and Honor

  Gordon R. Dickson and Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  1

  Four Katana-class Skimmers came slicing down out of the clouds in diamond formation at over twice the speed of sound, their very profiles lethal; bright sunlight glinted on their vanes and the red horse-head symbol of the Petit Harriers—not that any of them had ever seen a horse.

  In the lead ship, Line Commander Goren Haakogard watched the surveill screens display the terrain underneath the clouds. It was a rocky, forbidding place, this Neo Biscay, inhospitable: all he was seeing was canyons, gullies and occasional high, arid plateaus. Of the five main land masses, most were rugged, jagged upthrusts and abrupt defiles showing the struggles and pressures deep in the core of the place. The two colonies that had settled three of the small continents eighteen and sixteen generations back, respectively, had scratched and scrambled their way from barest survival to a civilization of sorts.

  "We got something coming in to port," said Line Commander Haakogard's Executive Officer, Mawson Tallis, a tall, angular kid from Buttress with an aristocratic accent and a threadbare uniform. "Coming very slow. Subsound speeds, in fact."

  "That slow?" Haakogard asked, still watching the surveills for signs of the capital city of the second-largest continent. They were expected to arrive there within the hour.

  "Subsound," Tallis confirmed as he read over the calculations. "No chance of being overtaken, but they could fire on us. Shells or lasers could catch us."

  "Why would they do that?" asked Haakogard. His eyebrows went up. "The Comes poMoend invited us here. This is his territory according to the documents at the Hub." The fretwork of lines at the corners of his eyes deepened in a quick, cynical smile. "They sent for us, didn't they? Maybe they're an escort?"

  "Doesn't act like an escort," said the navigator, a soft-spoken woman from the junior branch of the most ancient family on Xiaoqing. She brushed her dark-blue hair back from her brow. "No hailing, no sign of welcome or formal acknowledgment, and I don't think the heading we've been given will get us to Civuto poMoend."

  The youngest of the eight human crew members, she was going out of her way to show herself a real professional.

  "And the device on the wings doesn't match the one for poMoend," she added. "In fact, we don't have it on file anywhere."

  "How much doesn't match poMoend?" asked Haakogard, catching sight of a wide road on the ground. It was promising, very promising. He tapped his hailer. "Follow to starboard," he ordered the other three Katanas in the formation. "Dachnor, drop back five lengths, just in case." This last was to the ship directly behind him. "Check out the company."

  "Done," said Group Chief Eben Dachnor, who had been in the Petit Harriers for sixteen years, all of them active, and would sound just as laconic if they were under heavy fire from a superior foe and going down.

  "The device for poMoend is a four-leafed stem. That ship . . ." Navigator Zim looked toward the screen and revised her figure. "Those ships. There are six of them, Line Commander. They have five leaves on the stem."

  "Relatives!" It was an expletive and a question all at once. It always came down to relatives. Haakogard looked to his protocol officer. "Well? What now?"

  "Put on the poMoend hail. It can't hurt," she answered, not bothering to look at the screens. "If they have any questions about us, the hail will reassure them; they'll probably leave us alone. We're newcomers. Could be they don't recognize the Petits. But they know their own hailings. Everything we know about the place says they'll respect the hail. If they don't, then we're free to leave."

  "We return fire?" asked Tallis, not hiding his anticipation. He had been hankering for a battle since he came aboard the Yngmoto.

  "It's up to them to make the first move," said Haakogard, trying to curb Tallis' eagerness. "At the speed they're going we can outrun them; no contest."

  "What if they're faster than they've shown us? It could be a ploy, their coming up slowly to catch us off-guard," Tallis said.

  "We'll find out," Haakogard answered.

  He signed to the navigator to start the poMoend hailing on all frequencies. "Zim, keep an eye on them!"

  "Done," said Zim, concentrating on her screens. "How are we doing down below? Do you know where we are?"

  "No break in the cloud cover, but there's signs of civilization down there—I've got three roads now, and there's a town of sorts up ahead." Haakogard did not like to divide his attention between the unknown ships following them and the job of finding Civuto poMoend. Technically he didn't have to, but he did not like to delegate his command in tight situations.

  "I think we're on track," he said.

  "About time," said Section Leader Jarrick Riven. "I've got the other three Katanas in my screen. Group Chief Dachnor's holding further to the rear, as ordered. Fennin, number two, has more company. Three ships, by the look of it."

  "Same as the others?" Haakogard asked, glancing at his own screen to try to pick up the new ship.

  "A dozen of them now," said Zim, then added, "Straight poMoend devices on the newcomers; four leaves." Haakogard's hand hesitated over the alert button. If the new ships were a second part of an attack force . . .

  He looked toward the oddest member of his crew, the squat, eight-limbed, single-eyed Mromrosi. The only one of the crew who was not a Petit Harrier, he represented the Emerging Planet Fairness Court and was supposed to be an impartial observer. None of the humans knew and the Mromrosi would not accurately explain which of his species' six sexes he was; everyone referred to him as "he" for convenience. Luckily—and unlike the other nine species of the Emerging Planet Fairness Court—the Mromrosi thought humans and human descendents were quaint, while humans tended to regard the Mromrosi as cute.

  "What do you think, Advisor?" The Mromrosi tossed his enormous mop of curly pink hair. From time to time the Mromrosi changed color, though the reasons were not always apparent.

  "Things done in haste are definitionally unconsidered acts," he replied.

  "That they are," said Zim, who always got a kick out of the things the Mromrosi said, which she insisted were aphorisms.

  "The guys behind us are going home," reported the voice of Group Chief Dachnor from the rear Katana. "I don't know if it was the hail or the other guys showing up that did it."

  "We'll find out," said Haakogard, hoping he would. He-moved his hand from the alert button. He could not afford to let himself be pressured into a defensive position unless it absolutely could not be avoided.

  "So, no fight today," said Tallis, not entirely pleased it was so. He lifted his hand to the others; two answered his gesture and a couple others whispered a cheer.

  "Life's always interesting in the Petits," said
Riven, grinning at the relief on the faces of the crews of the other three Katanas. "You can say that about the service."

  "Better than the Grands." Zim knew mockery in Riven's words when she heard it. "You can have your parades and pomp and titles and gold braid; I'd rather be in the Petits any day. You do something worthwhile when you're a Petit."

  She shot a single, angry look at Riven.

  "And unlike you, I could qualify for the Grands, but I didn't want to."

  Riven leaned back and chuckled. "That's right; you're the forty-third cousin of some old First Fifty-Six Colonist, isn't that it? Just because we can't authenticate our patent of arms—" Zim said nothing, he knew she would not dignify his slight with an answer. "Say, look; those new guys are trying to form some kind of an escort. What do you know?"

  "They're sending out the poMoend hail," said Group Leader Viridis Perzda, the protocol officer, her very ordinary face showing no reaction at all; people often thought that meant she was not paying attention or did not care about what was going on, which was their first mistake.

  "Assessments are in order," said the Mromrosi, uncharacteristically direct.

  "We'd better slow down so they don't think we're trying to outrun them," said Haakogard, and thumbed the deceleration toggle. "And cancel the poMoend hail in case they have something they want to tell us." He signaled the fourth Katana at his rear. "Dachnor, close up as we slow down. I want diamond formation when we land."

  "Done," said Dachnor. "These guys are okay, you think?"

  "Apparently. They've got the password and the hail," said Haakogard, feeling the tension between his shoulders begin to ease; a decade ago the strain would not have bothered him. And a decade ago, he reminded himself, he was only a Minor Group Chief and did not have assignments like this one.

  He leaned back in his command couch and reviewed all the surveill screens.

  "There's a city down there, up ahead a little way," he said. "It's got to be Civuto poMoend. It fits the description. There's nothing else that big between here and the coast." He looked at the screen and did the calculations in his head. "Ten Standard Minutes out, I make it, fifteen to twenty if we go slow."

  Communications Leader Alrou Malise straightened up his own stiff back, at his station. So different from Gascoygne, the Harriers, he thought. He had fled the rigid, nightmarish society of his birth-world for the freedom of this, three years before he was technically permitted to join the force. But the habits of youth die hard—he knew most of the crew thought him sullen.

  "This is the Katana-class Skimmer Yngmoto of the Petit Harriers of the Magnicate Alliance, Line Commander Goren Haakogard commanding, and accompanied by the three Katana-class Skimmers Freyama, Sigjima, and Ubehoff. We are here at the behest of the Comes Riton poMoend and the orders of the Alliance.''

  The response came quickly, heard in all four Alliance ships. "Welcome, ships of the Magnicate Alliance. We will guide you to the Most Excellent Comes Riton. Be certain you always address him as 'Most Excellent.' All others are to be spoken of in his presence as Mere: as the True First, only he deserves the Most Excellent title."

  "What was that all about?" asked Haakogard when Group Leader Perzda had finished all the proper formalities. "That thing about being the True First?"

  "I don't know, but you can bet they do. They'll expect us to, as well. Be sure you pay attention when they talk about it." Perzda put her six-fingered hands together. "Well, I suppose you'll want me to figure it out as soon as possible."

  "Yes," said Haakogard. "And find out what the story is on those ships that moved in on us. Everything you can."

  "Done," said Perzda. She was amused, but she hid that in back of her ordinary brownish eyes; for in addition to being the protocol officer for the ship, she was also their spy.

  Civuto poMoend was an uneasy hybrid of a very new and advanced engineering and architecture, the kind that was found throughout the Alliance, and an ancient, convoluted series of hodge-podge, interconnected buildings dating back to the founding of the city.

  On the ride to the headquarters of the Most Excellent Comes Riton, Line Commander Haakogard observed the abrupt transition of styles. This puzzled him. Had there been fighting or a natural disaster that had destroyed part of the center of the city? Or was it simply result of the desires of the Comes Riton himself?

  "How did all this happen?" he asked, waving at the stylistic jungle to the leader of the delegation that met them at the travelport.

  "A war. There is always a war," answered Pangbar Thunghalis poTorMoend, a massive individual whose Pangbar rank had translated roughly as "gate breaker." "Of late, it has been worse."

  "Nuh-huh," said Haakogard. With any luck that remark would be interpreted as positive or negative, depending upon which Thunghalis found appropriate.

  "The last phase of the Most Excellent Comes was heartbroken by the tragedy that brought the war inside the gates. There are those who said it hurried his death. It is a dreadful thing when honor is forgotten," said Thunghalis. Haakogard heard strong emotion in his voice. "It would never have happened if Syclicis had not stolen the clone when she did."

  There had been something in their mission briefing about clones, but at the moment Haakogard could not call it to mind. It looked now as if his earlier lack of attention to this could be serious oversight. What else had he overlooked—or not been told?

  Clones, he said to himself, hoping that the word would jar the rest of the information loose. Clones. Clones. No luck.

  "How long ago was that? The theft, I mean," he asked Thunghalis.

  "Thirty-four years. Consider the omen in that!" Thunghalis rolled his eyes upward to acknowledge the enormity of the portent in the figure. "Thirty-four years."

  "Nuh-huh," said Haakogard again, keeping to safe ground.

  "You can hardly blame the Most Excellent Comes Riton for his fears, and with the conduct of the clone, he has reason for his actions." Thunghalis did something with his hands that Haakogard suspected was intended to counteract bad fortune.

  "It's that serious?" Haakogard probed blindly. He had to discover what he and his Harriers had got into. "After all, a clone—"

  "Exactly! Of the True First!" Thunghalis fairly pounced on the word. "We had to send for you, of course. You can see that. We cannot act honorably without your presence. What else would be acceptable? No matter which clone we oppose, we commit treason against the True First."

  Haakogard was still confused, but a little less so than when their conversation began.

  "Forgive the fact I don't quite follow you, Pangbar Thunghalis. Perhaps my briefing was incomplete."

  He was really getting angry at the lack of information he had been given.

  "As if such delicate questions could be explained in a briefing," scoffed Thunghalis, his expression dour. "No wonder you did not know the proper address for the Most Excellent Comes. I am disappointed in the Magnicate Alliance."

  "You have every right to be," said Haakogard. Time to start smoothing over relations now. "I share your disappointment. But knowing how vast the Alliance is, I'm not surprised that we didn't get full information concerning Neo Biscay."

  Thunghalis pouted, still unappeased.

  "I'm sure you are aware of the difficulty in obtaining accurate translations, even with the Series 81Vs. Often there's a slight shift in meaning between one language and another. This may be such a case, considering the differing status clones have throughout the Alliance. Many of the Alliance worlds do not permit cloning of humans. I come from such a planet myself. On Grunhavn all we're permitted to clone is trees."

  "Fools, then, if you trust to open breeding," said Thunghalis with scorn. "To disallow so natural and sensible a thing as a clone, and give favor to the caprice of the genetic code. When one being has proven satisfactory in every way, isn't it wiser to renew that being rather than take chances on another genetic shuffle?"

  He laughed at his own joke, though the sound was more of a honk than a laugh.

 
; "Is that your usual way of . . . reproducing? You don't appear to have the facilities for so ambitious—" Inwardly Haakogard was cursing the Commodore and administrators of the Petit Harriers for being so lax in their preparations for this mission. He had always suspected that the head of Alliance Intelligence Operations was more political than patriotic in his devotion to the Magnicate Alliance, but rarely had Knapp so blatantly revealed himself.

  "Not for most people, no. As you observe, the process is complex and requires more support than we are in a position to give. It is the aim of the Most Excellent Comes to make such a project possible, but that is still many phases away. Of course, our leaders are clones."

  He gestured toward the enormous building ahead of them, a collection of huge, jewel-like bubbles and shining curlicues. "The Comes' palace."

  As the vehicle stopped, Thunghalis gave Haakogard a quizzical look. "Well?"

  "Well?" Haakogard stared hard at it. "It's a very impressive palace." Especially, he added to himself, out in this desolate stretch of land on this remote planet.

  But Thunghalis was not appeased. He made an exasperated gesture. "Isn't it proof that it is best for leaders to continue as the being you know?" he said. "Beings who have proven themselves? Don't you think that cloning prevents all manner of conflicts and difficulties?"

  "I must say it sounds sensible," said Haakogard carefully. Inwardly, he was only further convinced it was idiotic. He followed Thunghalis down a wide corridor, thinking he would have preferred his crew to be with him. But he remembered that this was forbidden.

  "My people are being taken care of?" he asked.