The City Who Fought
- Автор: Маккефри Энн, Стирлинг Стивен Майкл
- Серия: brainship #4
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The City Who Fought». Краткое содержание книги:
Simeon's love of wargaming would find unexpected uses when the brutal Kolnari attack the nearby colony planet, Bethel. Sheltering the colony's refugee's brought the city an invitation to serious trouble with Kolnari pirates.
She opened her eyes again. Amos and Joseph were rocking back on their heels as if they'd been ready to spring.
"He queried the big boss," Simeon ghost-spoke through her implant. "Belazir's telling him to check the inspection records."
The Kolnari did, snapping away her notescreen, then going over to check the injured technician. Nobody had attended to her. Despite her being an enemy, Channa felt a little squeamish looking at the white splinters and the quivers of pain that ran across the fine-boned oval face.
"She's saying it was a regulation medium-heavy lifter, when she looked it over," he said. "He's checking. Belazir says it's not your fault."
Sweat was running down Channa's back. She began to relax, then swore under her breath as the warrior drew a knife. The technician closed her eyes and tilted her head; a quick stab in the back of the neck and she was still.
"Well, that worked," she said to Simeon.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not quite sure."
The fabricator would have to go back to the machine-shop, two levels up, to be repaired. The machines required to produce replacements for the damaged parts could not be disassembled until the work was done.
Belazir moved a squadron of light cruisers to a new quadrant and sat back. So, he thought.
Amazing. Channahap was fighting him to a standstill in this strategy game. She had actually won one of the earlier rounds. A very, very good player; few Kolnari senior officers could have done better, and war-game tournaments were one of the main ways they filled their leisure.
"The Channahap does well?" Serig said. He looked over his commander's shoulder into the Bride's display tank, then reran the opening moves on a smaller screen nearby. "Well, indeed."
Belazir nodded. What a woman! he thought enthusiastically. He had stopped referring to her as scumvermin to himself some time ago. The battle of delay and lies she had waged against him was just as skillful and tricky as the war games. It was a true pity she was not of the Divine Seed; an even greater pity that she would not live very many years in the environment of the Clan's ships. Outsiders rarely found the air, food, and water of Kolnar life-supporting. Certainly the Kolnari's own ancestors had not, until they adapted.
But I will enjoy her greatly while she lives.
"Now, these reports," he went on to Serig. "They read like the ravings of the insane. What do they mean?"
"An excellent question, my lord. One that I should like to ask some of these scumvermin."
"You consider this to be the result of enemy action?"
"It seems reasonable to me, my lord. Drugs to the troops affected. Or, they may know something about these phenomena."
Belazir considered his second. "Or they may know nothing. It could even be some sabotage scheme of Aragiz, difficult though that is to believe. Or a side-effect of this… illness."
"Bad for morale either way, my lord. And the illness itself may be a weapon."
He nodded. "Very well. Take five slaves, chosen at random, none critical to the station's function, and torture them."
"Only five, my lord?" Serig's soft voice expressed astonishment.
"These are an unusually soft and sensitive people," Belazir answered. "Five will be quite sufficient. More would cause panic. For now, let the scumvermin as a whole remain calm and complacent and cooperative. Let them panic later at a time of our choosing. Hmm? Torture the five for the information we need on this-phenomenon. If they know nothing, take others."
"Shall I broadcast that?"
"No, no, Serig. If we broadcast our ignorance, we make plain that there is something our warriors fear. If it is enemy action, they will know what we seek-or the next five."
Serig bowed from the waist. "Very good, my lord."
Belazir returned his attention to the game.
"Why?" Channa asked.
"You will take your hands from my desk and you will stand straight," Belazir told her calmly, pointing a slender dagger at her. He stared at Channa until she complied.
"Two of those people are probably going to die," she whispered, breathing hard. "Lord and God. They were tortured."
"Of course they were. I ordered it so."
"But why?"
He stood and walked slowly around the desk to stand close behind her, then spoke softly into her ear. "We are conquerors. We do not explain our actions. This is not a game such as we play in your quarters, lovely Channa, this is reality."
She carefully folded her hands before her and lowered her eyes.
"I apologize for my impetuousness," she said humbly. "I was trained to take my duties seriously, and sometimes this makes me rash. It's why I must ask about this terrible matter. I can't believe that you enjoy doing such things." She looked at him appealingly over her shoulder. "Please don't hurt my people."
"And you lie so badly," he said. He studied her face for a moment. "My troops," he went on thoughtfully, "spoke of 'things' flickering at the corners of their eyes, of 'voices' murmuring things not quite heard."
"What has that got to do with us?"
He walked around her and sat on a corner of his desk. "Perhaps nothing, perhaps everything. That is what we wanted to know."
"And it never occurred to you that perhaps something in the mixture of gases that we breathe might cause this effect in your people? Or that these 'things' flickering just out of sight might be an infestation of insects…"
"Oh no, they were, according to the reports, much too large to be mere insects."
"Some other vermin, then."
"Doubtful."
"Well, what about my first suggestion, perhaps our atmosphere requires adjustment?"
"Possible."
"Then perhaps you could send some volunteers to our medical center for tests."
Belazir laughed. "No. We know that a virus is loose. However, we have no interest in a cure for it. If it causes troops to become nonfunctional, we will kill them ourselves. Unless it endangers this mission, we will take no countermeasures."
Channa gaped for a moment.
"We did not become the Divine Seed," he continued, "by pampering weakness. After investing so much capital and time in training, it is, however, inconvenient to have adults die. When we return, we will spread the virus ourselves, quite deliberately, among the children of the High Clan. If this sickness is your doing, you do us a service-as do those who ambush our troops in the corridors. It reduces the ranks of imperfect Seeds."
"Ah, she is magnificent," he quoted softly to himself in his own language. "Her stride is the lightning striking. In her right hand is a sword of flame, in her left the goad of pain. Her voice is the shriek of the north wind. In her eyes flash comets, portents of wonder, and her hair is a storm at midnight. Between her thighs is the road to Paradise. I look upon her and my strength rises, yet I rage without fulfillment." He leaned closer and Channa could feel his breath on her lips.
Well, Simeon thought, that last bit rather neatly sums up my relationship with Channa. He relayed a running translation.
"You've made a real conquest, Happy."
"That-is-not-funny," Channa subvocalized.
The Kolnari touched her lightly with the point of the dagger, then returned to his chair, leaving her shivering where she stood. He touched his tongue to the bead of blood on the steel.
"Perhaps," Belazir said, his voice amused, "I should take you with me when we go. I would give you something to fight besides boredom. You deserve the challenge." Then he smiled. "You may go."