The Harriers Book One: Of War and Honor Read online

  "Of course!" said Thunghalis, stiffly. "You will meet them later. They are being properly entertained; you need not fear. The Most Excellent Comes Riton knows the correct way to receive guests and is always ready to make their stay memorable."

  Haakogard hated ceremony, display and courtly functions. It had been one of the reasons he had joined the Petits instead of the Grands—over strong family objections. Now, it seemed, he was having to endure them anyway.

  "No doubt," he said, reminding himself that "memorable" was not necessarily the same as "hideous." He attempted to appear respectful but nonchalant; a combination he had been working on for the last seventeen years and had yet to perfect.

  "It isn't fitting for them to come into his presence until you have been established as a First. Otherwise, who can say which among you might assume the position for himself?"

  Thunghalis made a sign, and two very tall, gold-studded doors swung open, revealing a reception room that would comfortably hold all four Katana Skimmers and a traveling circus besides without crowding.

  "Very impressive," said Haakogard, his admiration the first honest response he had been able to make since Thunghalis had picked him up. This time it was not an effort to put a better face on his response.

  "It is a tribute to the Most Excellent Comes Riton. He caused it to be built in his second phase and, naturally, it has suited him ever since." Thunghalis continued across the room, motioning for Haakogard to follow.

  "And was that long ago?" Haakogard asked as he tagged after the long-legged Thunghalis.

  "Well, the Most Excellent Comes Riton is in his eighth phase now, so it was over three hundred Standard Years since his second phase. Let me see . . . 348 Standard Years. But that is nothing to a True First." He clapped his tremendous hands twice, making a point definitely, and indicated a place on the patterned floor where he wanted Haakogard to stand. "He will be here very shortly."

  "Fine," said Haakogard, wondering what it was proper for him to do while he waited. Should he talk about something? Whistle? He needed Perzda here to work out the protocol. Well, there was still Thunghalis. "Before he gets here, would you help me out?" he improvised. "Can you fill me in about the current war? I don't think I know as much as I need to."

  "Small wonder you should say so. It is a terrible tale," he began with such enthusiasm that Haakogard stared at him. "The Comes Riton, being the True First, has many potential phases waiting for vivification, for all True Firsts come from a single budding of clones, so there will be no genetic drift possible. The proto-embryonic clones are kept viable and are vivified at the order of the current phase. The immediately previous phase of the Comes Riton ordered his next-phase clone vivified, all in accord with our scientific traditions, and ordered an alternate vivified at the same time, as is the practice. Of course, the alternate is—"

  "Wait a minute," said Haakogard. "An alternate? What do you mean? What alternate?"

  "I was about to explain. Every Comes has an alternate to take over the phase should anything befall him before he is given the flail and the reins. The alternate is trained as the Comes himself is, and in every way is like the Comes, except he is the alternate. Once the Comes is authenticated and is in possession of the flail and the reins, the alternate is devivified. As should have been the case for this phase—all perfectly proper, you see. But then!"

  He threw up his hands.

  "There was a rebellion?" Haakogard ventured, for that was what he had been told. Some of the earlier colonists had mounted a revolution and attempted to overthrow the later colonists.

  "Hardly anything so significant," said Thunghalis contemptuously. "But a group of malcontents from the Other Colonization managed to infiltrate the Comes' clonery. We believe they were trying to destroy all the clones, for they rely solely on open breeding—they make a religion of it, almost. You can imagine the chaos of their society, with no continuing leadership."

  He looked at Haakogard, expecting to see his horror shared. Haakogard did his best to comply.

  "But I gather they didn't succeed?" he asked. Since Civuto poMoend was still the headquarters of the Comes Riton, it seemed a safe bet.

  "They made off with the alternate. We were all outraged, as you may well imagine. With the current phase of the Most Excellent Comes Riton ruling now, there are hints that the Other Colonists will bring forth the alternate to challenge his authenticity. It is a dreadful predicament for all of us." Pangbar Thunghalis made a movement with his shoulders to indicate his perplexity. "The alternate is a True First, a viable clone of the Comes Riton, and he can be authenticated just as the Comes himself can. Those of us who are in the service of the Comes Riton have all taken a blood oath to defend the Comes Riton unto death, and to oppose all who come against him. Where does our duty lie, with two Comes Ritons? We cannot attack the Comes Riton in any phase, and we cannot attack his alternate: both are perfidious treason and would disgrace our families. If the men with the alternate attack us, we cannot act, for the alternate is . . ."

  He made a sound like a cough that Haakogard suspected was a sigh. "We cannot take any actions whatever." He slapped his hand to his wide forehead. "What else could we do but send for you? You, at least, can act."

  "Aha," said Haakogard, still baffled but now with a better notion of the stakes of the game, and its rule. "Are we to recover this alternate . . . uh, phase?" Was that the right way to discuss this other clone?

  "Of course, of course," said Thunghalis impatiently, but with every sign that he had something else in mind. "He must surely be recovered. That is necessary. But we must not betray honor in making the recovery."

  Haakogard was about to ask why such a recovery would compromise honor when a four-man escort entered the chamber to the sound of huge bells, so deep in tone that the room trembled at their sound. Another man in a gaudier version of what the others were wearing came forward and bowed to Thunghalis.

  Haakogard doubted this was the Comes Riton; and he turned out to be right. The man was some kind of herald, who in a high, loud voice began to rattle off the titles and virtues of the Comes Riton from the first phase until that very afternoon. The entire recitation required about ten Standard Minutes and Haakogard did his best to listen politely.

  Finally the Most Excellent Comes Riton himself came forward.

  Haakogard looked at him with real curiosity: he was a man just turning from youth to maturity; he was not much more than average height, but he had a massive chest and broad shoulders that more than made up for it. His hair was bronze and his eyes were the color of sand. When he spoke, his voice was soft and resonant, the kind that would carry without being raised, that would provide the illusion of profundity by its nature; a beautiful voice. Haakogard realized that the voice more than any other asset made the Comes Riton a leader.

  "They tell me your rank is Mere Line Commander," were his first words to Haakogard. He raised his hand to his shoulder to enable Haakogard to press his palm with his own.

  "That's correct, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard. He was cautious but did not want to appear hesitant. He used a standard greeting, knowing that it might not be entirely right, but it was also not entirely wrong. "It is an honor to meet you."

  "Most surely; one rarely granted to those not of poMoend," said the Comes Riton. "How worthy of you to acknowledge it." He gestured toward Thunghalis. "I trust my faithful Mere Pangbar has seen to your needs?"

  "He has brought me to you, Most Excellent Comes. It is my mission to see to your needs, I believe."

  Haakogard thought he handled that rather neatly and was pleased when Thunghalis smiled an approval.

  "If such a thing is possible." The Comes Riton scowled and spoke at a deeper, more mesmerizing pitch. "For what are my needs? Who can answer that, with the alternate clone still vivified and in the hands of the Other Colonists?"

  He stared at some point about six meters behind Haakogard's head.

  "I ought to sense him, because we are the same," he went on. "But I
don't, not that I am aware. But it may be that I sense him so naturally that I give no attention to it and do not recognize it for what it is."

  He shifted his eyes back to Haakogard.

  "What do you think?"

  "I haven't been here long enough to have an opinion, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard, carefully.

  Comes Riton considered the answer and made the spread-palm gesture of approval. "You are astute, Mere Line Commander. You give me a little hope. Hope! After so long a time and so many disappointments. My alternate must be rescued. How can I remain authenticated while the alternate continues to act against me? It must be resolved. That much is certain. My former phase demanded it of me, which, as he and I are one and the same, more than father and son, and the alternate and I are one and the same, more than twin brothers, I can do no less. Blood and gene call out, and blood and gene will answer."

  The ringing tones of his last words made them a battle cry. He looked expectantly toward Haakogard.

  It was tempting to applaud, but Haakogard only said, "We'll do what we can, Most Excellent Comes." He saw the fervid light come into Thunghalis' eyes. "As soon as you can present us with all the pertinent information, we'll set about . . . finding this alternate and working out a peace settlement."

  "Good. Good. A wonderful beginning. What a relief your coming here is, Mere Line Commander." The Comes Riton stood back but in no way gave ground. "I have asked for the pleasure of the company of your crew tonight. There will be a banquet for you where you will sit in places of favor. Does that please you?"

  Haakogard, seeing another endless official function before him, bowed in his best court form. "We're not used to such courtesy, Most Excellent Comes."

  "I know," said the Comes Riton complacently. "I understand it is left to the Grand Harriers, not the Petits; but under the circumstances there is no reason not to host you properly. We are not quite a backwater here."

  If Neo Biscay were not a backwater, thought Haakogard, the Grands would be here, not the Petits. As it was, the Commodore had not ruled out the possibility that the Grands might be needed on Neo Biscay if the poMoend succession were not straightened out.

  "We'll appreciate that, I'm sure," he said, now making a slightly different, complicated ritual bow he had just remembered was the one the Most Excellent Comes preferred, according to Haakogard's briefing. "You show us more favor than we deserve. Perhaps you should wait until we have done something before you honor us."

  The Comes Riton smiled a little. "A bit old-fashioned but well done, Mere Line Commander." His smile deepened. "But I am something of an old-fashioned fellow myself—it's in the genes." His chuckle was dutifully echoed by Haakogard and Thunghalis. "We are prepared to offer you some entertainment, of course. We do not expect you to dine with us and protect us without any acknowledgement of your service."

  "That would be dishonorable?" Haakogard guessed.

  "Very," said Thunghalis softly.

  "We have arranged for animal trainers to come with their beasts. On such short notice it is the best we can manage." The Comes Riton made a gesture that was as close to an apology as he could come. "They are reputed to be the best that can be had."

  "Your men?" asked Haakogard, anticipating the answer.

  "We do not sully ourselves with the training of wild beasts," said the Comes Riton, as if such sentiments were universal. "We leave that to the degenerates who came here earlier."

  Haakogard clenched his jaw. When he spoke, he made an effort not to sound upset. "What security measures are you taking?"

  "Security?" echoed the Comes Riton. "What do we need of security? If we were to mount a guard beyond those appointed to the honor of guarding this phase, we would show ourselves to be cowards, afraid that we could suffer at the hands of the Other Colonists. What man of honor would do that?"

  This announcement did not surprise Haakogard; he gave a fatalistic shrug. "You asked for the Petit Harriers to assist you, Most Excellent Comes. We can't do a very good job of it if you do nothing yourself."

  "We will do all that is necessary," said the Comes Riton. "It is not necessary to bring in our fighting men because a few of the Other Colonists come here with animals. Only cravens take such action, and no craven is entitled to rule when demonstrably without honor. We will not dishonor poMoend by arming ourselves against animal trainers. We are not wretches."

  "Certainly not," said Haakogard, thinking that the Comes Riton was an arrogant, pigheaded fool.

  "Well, then, we are in agreement," said the Comes Riton.

  "We understand each other," corrected Haakogard.

  The Comes Riton paid no attention to Haakogard's implication. "I will leave you to make your arrangements. You are welcome in Civuto poMoend, Mere Line Commander Petit Harrier."

  "You're most gracious, Most Excellent Comes," said Haakogard, convinced that there were other words he would rather use.

  Thunghalis motioned his approval once more as he turned to follow the Most Excellent Comes from his reception hall.

  In the end, all thirty-five Petit Harriers had to attend the banquet. The Mromrosi went along out of curiosity.

  The protocol officer was chewing on a Kleestick—one of her few indulgences—and leafing through a huge stack of documents just zapped in from the Magnicate Alliance Hub. "How'd it go?" she asked without formality as Haakogard stepped into the central cabin of the Yngmoto.

  "You tell me." He reached for the red horse-head insignia on his wide, shiny collar and removed it, handing the tiny spool concealed in it to her. "As required, O Protocol Officer. Where is everyone?"

  "Zim's asleep. She stood five watches straight, and so I told her to rest up." She leaned farther back in her chair, putting the documents aside. "Sometimes I wish you'd leave Riven in charge while you're gone, just for variety. It's beginning to pall on me. On the rest of us, too, I suspect."

  "You're Protocol, Perzda. It's your job and you know it." Haakogard no longer argued with her about this, but went through a ritual of affectionate bickering on every new mission.

  She took a deep breath, sighed, and took a second deep breath. "Tallis is working out again. He won't accept that he's always going to be skinny as a hoe-handle. Who knows what the Mromrosi is up to; he's in his quarters. The rest are out on local escort, taking in the sights of Civuto poMoend." The slight wrinkling of her nose expressed her opinion of the sightseeing opportunities on this desolate planet. "Dachnor's being leader on that." She reached out for the documents, but hesitated. "Goren, do you have any idea why this is so important?"

  He did not answer her promptly. "I thought you knew. You're Alliance Intelligence Operations; I thought you'd be better briefed than I am. Or is this some kind of test? Something the Grands have dreamed up?"

  "No test," she said with a single, decisive gesture. "It's just that, well . . . I don't know. I can't get rid of the nagging suspicion that something isn't . . . There's a piece missing, and it's missing on purpose. I always get nervous when that happens. I'm worried that the other piece is the Grands and they're up to something." She did her best to sound amused, then thought better of it. "I don't like it when I don't know the truth."

  "Neither do I, Viridis," said Haakogard, and left her to continue with her documents. "None of us do."

  In his quarters, he bathed and donned the most impressive uniform he had with him, the glistening one with the Petits' horse-head and the insignia of his rank picked out in jewels: the Senior Bunter had set it out for him, and Haakogard knew better than to argue with a Bunter. He studied himself in the mirror, thinking that age was starting—just starting, mind—to sink its claws into him. His dark-blond hair seemed lighter now that there were occasional strands of white through it. The lines around his eyes that lined to show only when he laughed or squinted were there all the time now, and his cheeks were a bit more hollow than they had been at this stage of his lust mission. There was no cure for it but dying young, Haakogard reminded himself, and smiled at his own vanity. />
  "Oh, no," exclaimed Jarrick Riven as he met Haakogard coming out of his quarters. "Not top dress."

  "It's formal, it's court, and it's only third-class top, no capes or swords." He made a what-can-you-do shrug.

  "And no stunners," said Riven, disgusted.

  "Technically we shouldn't," said Haakogard. "But we'd better carry them."

  "For effect?" Riven asked, startled.

  A frown flicked Haakogard's brow. "If that's what they want to think, fine. But make sure they're charged."

  Riven looked surprised. "Are you expecting trouble?"

  Haakogard shook his head slowly. "No. That's what's bothering me. Given the lax state of their security and their unconscionable pride, I ought to be." He took a step away. "I'll make sure the Bunters are on notice."

  But Riven wasn't quite through. "Is it true we all have to go?"

  "Every last one of us, with the Mromrosi as well." He gave Riven a quick, ironic salute. "We've been through worse than this together. You survived the collapse of Feddalsi Oasis Station. You can survive a banquet on Neo Biscay."

  "I could fight back at Feddalsi Oasis." Riven's snarl was not quite as humorous as he intended it to be, but he would not protest again.

  All the Petits were assembling, gathering for their briefing for the banquet. Most of them took advantage of their dress uniforms to poke fun at one another.

  In the full glory of her third-class top dress uniform, Group Leader Viridis Perzda still looked ordinary. Her hair was smartly arranged, her Bunter had applied the correct cosmetics for Neo Biscay, but she still looked unremarkable, which suited her very well.

  In contrast, Navigator Nola Zim was spectacular, her jeweled uniform dyed to match her dark-blue hair; from her shoes to the last coil of her coiffure, she was an example of what was most splendid about the Magnicate Alliance. Perzda and Zim smiled at each other, enjoying their private joke.

  "If you don't distract them," Perzda said wryly, "I can't think what will, short of the walls caving in." She looked at Communications Officer Alrou Malise. "You'll do for the rest." There was nothing in her expression to suggest that she was looking over each of the crew, but everything about them was etched into her mind. "Keep your translators handy and visible."