Andre Norton - Star Soldiers

VIP免费

2024-12-07 0 0 524.97KB 197 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Star Soldiers

by Andre Norton

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.

thereof in any form.

A Baen Books Original Omnibus

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-671-31827-6

Cover art by Stephen Hickman

First printing, August 2001

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Norton, Andre.

Star soldiers / by Andre Norton.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-671-31827-6

1. Life on other planets-Fiction. 2. Space flight-Fiction. I. Title.

PS3527.O632 S72 2001

813'.52-dc21 2001025926

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

BAEN BOOKS BY ANDRE NORTON:

Time Traders

Time Traders II

Star Soldiers

Warlock (forthcoming)

STAR GUARD

INTRODUCTION: THE MERCENARIES

When the dominant species of a minor nine planet system revolving about a

yellow sun known as "Sol"-situated close to the fringe of the Galaxy-gained

knowledge of space flight and came out into our lanes of travel there arose a

problem which Central Control had to solve, and speedily. These "men," as they

called themselves, combined curiosity, daring, and technical skill with a

basic will-to-compete against other races and species, an in-born thrust to

conflict. Their answer to any problem was aggressive. Had this "will-to-

battle" not been recognized at once for what it was and channeled into proper

outlet, infinitesimal as their numbers were among us, we have been told that

their influence might have torn asunder the peace of the stellar lanes and

plunged whole sectors into war.

But the proper steps were taken at once and the Terrans were assigned a role

which not only suited their nature but also provided a safety valve for all

other belligerents among the systems which make up our great confederacy.

Having been studied and carefully evaluated by Central Control psycho-

techneers the Terrans were appointed to act as the mercenaries of the Galaxy-

until such a time as these too independent and aggressive creatures would

develop for themselves some less dangerous calling.

Thus there came into being the "Hordes" and "Legions" we find mentioned again

and again in the various solar histories of the period. These organizations,

manned by either "Archs" or "Mechs," carried on a formalized warfare for any

planetary ruler who desired to enhance his prestige by employing them to fight

his battles.

The Archs who comprised the Hordes were limited to service upon primitive

worlds, being equipped with hand weapons and fighting in personal combat. The

Mechs of the Legions followed technical warfare, indulging in it, however,

more as a game in which it was necessary to make one's opponent concede

victory, often without actual battle.

When still in the newly hatched stage "men" were selected to be either "Archs"

or "Mechs" by rigid aptitude tests. After a period of intensive schooling in

their trade they signed on for "enlistments" under field commanders. A portion

of each payment made to the individual Horde or Legion commander by his

employer was returned to their home world, Terra, as a tax. In other words,

this system exported fighting men and the materials for war and became

merchants of battle. Within a generation they accepted their role among us,

apparently without question.

Three hundred years later (all students turn, please, to folio six, column

two-the date of "3956 A.D." is a reckoning peculiar to Terra, we use it in

your source material for this section because all reading will be based upon

certain accounts written by the Terrans themselves) a minor Horde was employed

by a rebellious native ruler on Fronn. While so engaged this organization

uncovered a situation which changed history for their species, and perhaps for

the Galaxy as well. Whether this change will operate for the general good for

us all remains to be seen.

(From a lecture in "Galactic History XX" delivered by Hist-Techneer Zorzi at

the Galactic University of Zacan-Subject of the lecture: Minor Systems'

Contribution to Historic Changes-presented first on Zol-Day, 4130 A.D.-Terran

reckoning.)

1 - Swordsman, Third Class

Because he had never been in Prime before Kana Karr, Arch Swordsman, Third

Class, would have liked nothing better than to brace his lanky length against

the wall of the airport and stare up at those towers thrusting into the steely

blue of the morning sky. But to do that was to betray himself as a greenie, so

he had to be satisfied with glances skyward taking in as much of the awesome

sight as he could without becoming conspicuous. More than ever he resented the

fate which had delivered him at Combatant Headquarters a whole month later

than his recruit class, so that he would probably be the only newcomer among

those awaiting assignment in the Hiring Hall.

Actually to be at Prime itself was exciting. This was the goal toward which

ten years of intensive training had pointed him. He put down his war bag and

rubbed his damp hands surreptitiously against his tight breeches; though it

was a crisp early spring day he was sweating. The stiff collar of his new

green-gray tunic sawed at his throat and the cheek wings of his dress helmet

chafed his jaws. All his accouterments weighed more than they ever had before.

He was acutely conscious of the bare state of the belts crossing his

shoulders, of the fact that his helmet was still crestless. The men who had

shared the shuttle with him, scintillated with the gemmed loot of scores of

successful missions, veterans every one of them.

Well-to achieve that status was only a matter of time, he repeated silently

once more. Every one of these emblazoned figures now passing had stood there

once, just as bare of insignia, probably just as uncertain inside as he now

was-

Kana's attention was caught by another color, blazingly alive among the

familiar waves of green-gray and silver. As his lips made a narrow line, his

blue eyes, so startlingly vivid in his dark face, chilled.

A surface mobile had drawn up before the entrance of the very building to

which he had been directed. And climbing out of it was a squat man swathed in

a brilliant scarlet cloak, behind him two others in black and white. As if

their arrival had been signaled, the Terran Combatants on the steps melted to

right and left, making a wide path to the door.

But that was not in honor, Kana Karr reminded himself fiercely. Terrans on

their home planet paid no deference to Galactic Agents, except in a style so

exaggerated as to underline their dislike. There would surely come a time

when-

His fists balled as he watched the red cloak and his guardian Galactic

Patrolmen vanish inside the Hiring Hall. Kana had never had direct contact

with an Agent. The X-Tees, the non-human Extra-Terrestrials, who had been his

instructors after he had proved capable of absorbing X-Tee and Alien Liaison

training, were a different class altogether. Perhaps because they were non-

human he had never really ranked them among those rulers of Central Control

who had generations earlier so blithely termed the inhabitants of Sol's system

"barbarians," not eligible for Galactic citizenship except within the narrow

limits they defined.

He was conscious that not all his fellows were as resentful of that as he was.

Most of his classmates, for example, had been content enough to accept the

future so arbitrarily decided for them. Outright rebellion meant the labor

camps and no chance to ever go into space. Only a Combatant on military duty

had the privilege of visiting the stars. And when Kana had learned that early

in his career, he had set himself to acquire the shell of a model Arch,

discovering in X-Tee training enough solace to aid his control of the seething

hatred for the fact that he was not allowed to range the stars as he willed.

The sharp note of a military whistle proclaiming the hour brought him back to

earth and to the problem at hand. He shouldered his war bag and climbed the

steps up which the Agent had gone a few moments before. He left his bag in the

lockers by the door and took his place in the line of men winding into the

inner hall.

The Mechs in their blue-gray coveralls and bubble helmets outnumbered the

Archs in his particular section of that creeping line. And the few Archs near

him were veterans. Consequently even when surrounded by his kind Kana felt as

isolated here as he had in the street.

"They're trying to keep the lid on-but Falfa refused that assignment for his

Legion." The Mech to his left, a man in his thirties with ten enlistment

notches on his blade-of-honor, made no effort to keep his voice down.

"He'll face a board for refusing," returned his companion dubiously. "After

all there's such a thing as a run of hard luck-"

"Hard luck? Two different Legions don't return from the same job and you talk

about luck! I'd say that some investigating was called for. D'you know how

many Legions have been written off the rolls in the past five years-twenty!

Does that sound like bad luck?"

Kana almost echoed the other listener's gasp. Twenty Legions lost in battle

over a period of five years-that was pushing the luck theory too far. If the

modern, expertly armed Legions which operated only on civilized planets had

been so decimated, what of the Hordes that served on barbarian worlds? Had

their "luck" been equally bad? No wonder there had been a lot of undercover

talk lately, comment that the price Central Control set on space-the price

that Terra had paid for almost three hundred years-was too high.

The man before him moved suddenly and Kana hurried to close the gap between

them. They were at the enlistment barrier. Kana pulled at the lock on his

armlet to have it ready to hand to the Swordtan on duty there. That strip of

flexible metal, fed into the record block, would automatically flash on the

assignment rolls all the necessary information concerning one Kana Karr,

Australian-Malay-Hawaiian, age eighteen and four months, training: basic with

X-Tee specialization, previous service: none. And once that went into Hiring

there was no turning back. The Swordtan took the band, allowed it to rest on

the block for an instant, and handed it back with the lackluster boredom of

one condemned to a routine job.

Within there were plenty of empty seats-Mechs to the left, Archs to the right.

Kana slipped into the nearest seat and dared to stare about him. Facing the

tiers of seats was the assignment board, already blinking orange signals and,

although he knew his number could not possibly come up yet, he felt he must

watch that steady stream of calls. Most seemed to be for the Mechs-sometimes

four and five arose together and went through the door at the far end.

The Archs-Kana leaned forward in his seat to count the men on his side. At

least twenty Swordsmen First Class, with even two Swordtans among them, were

there. And fifty or more Second Class rankers. But-his eyes sought for other

crestless helmets-he was the only Third Class man present. The recruits who

had preceded him out of Training must have been hired before he came. Wait-red

light-

Two S-2 men got up, settled their tunics with a twitch and adjusted their

belts. But before they moved into the aisle there was an interruption. The

board flashed white and then off entirely as a small party of men tramped down

to ascend two steps to the announcement platform.

A Combatant, lacking the crossed shoulder belts of a field man, but with four

stars shining on the breast of his tunic, stepped out to face the murmuring

Swordsmen and Mechneers. He was flanked by the red-cloaked Galactic Agent and

the latter's Patrolmen. Kana identified the three swiftly-humanoid. The Agent

was a Sarmak native, the Patrolmen from Nyorai-the length of their slender

legs unmistakable.

"Combatants!" the Terran officer's parade ground trained voice snapped out, to

be followed by instant silence. "Certain recent events have made it necessary

to make this announcement. We have made a full investigation-with the able

assistance of Central Control facilities-into the trouble on Nevers. It is now

certified that our defeat there was the result of local circumstances. The

rumors concerning this episode are not to be repeated by any of the Corps-

under the rule of loyalty-general code."

What in Terra! Kana's amazement might not be openly registered on the masklike

face presented him by the blood of his Malay grandfather, but his mind raced.

To make such a statement as that was simply asking for trouble-didn't the

officer realize that? The Galactic Agent's frown proved that he wasn't

pleased. Trouble on Nevers-this was the first he'd heard of it. But he'd wager

half his first enlistment pay that within ten minutes every man in this hall

would be trying to find out what were the rumors being so vigorously denied.

It would spread like oil slick on a river.

The Agent stepped out, he appeared to be arguing with the officer. But here he

could only advise-he could not give direct orders. And it was too late to stop

the damage now anyway. If he had made this move to allay fear, the Combatant

officer had only given it fresh life.

With a decided shake of his head the officer started back down the aisle, the

three others having, perforce, to follow him. Once more the lights flickered

on the board. But the hum of talk rose to a gale of sound as soon as the door

closed behind the quartet.

Kana's attention went back to the board just in time. Three more veterans had

arisen on his own side of the hall, and, trailing their numbers, came the

familiar combination he had answered to for the past ten years, almost more

his name than the one his mixed island ancestry had given him.

Once through the other door he slackened pace, keeping modestly behind the

rankers who had answered the same call. Third Class was Third Class and ranked

nobody or nothing-except a cadet still in training. He was the lowest of the

low and dared not presume to tread upon the heels of the man who had just

stepped onto that lift.

The other was an Afro-Arab by his features-with maybe a dash of European blood

bequeathed by one of the handful of refugees fleeing south during the nuclear

wars. He was very tall, and the beardless, dark skin of his face was seamed

with an old scar. But the loot of many campaigns blazed from his helmet and

belts and-Kana squinted against the light to be sure-there were at least half

a dozen major notches on his rank sword, although he could not be very far

into his thirties.

They lined up in an upper hallway, the Archs who had responded to that last

call. And the veterans presented a brilliant array. Both Arch and Mech who

served in the field off Terra were accustomed to carry their personal savings

on their bodies. A successful mission meant another jewel added to the belt,

or inset in the helmet. A lean season and that could be sold for credits to

tide its owner over. It was a simple form of security which served on any

planet in the Galaxy.

It was two minutes after twelve before Kana came inside the assignment

officer's cubby. He was a badge Swordtan, with a plasta-flesh hand which

explained his present inactive status. Kana snapped to attention.

"Kana Karr, Swordsman, Third Class, first enlistment, sir," he identified

himself.

"No experience"-the plasta-flesh fingers beat an impatient tattoo on the desk

top-"but you have X-Tee training. How far did you go?"

"Fourth level, Alien contact, sir." Kana was a fraction proud of that. He had

been the only one in his training group to reach that level.

"Fourth level," the Swordtan repeated. From the tone he was not impressed at

all. "Well, that's something. We're hiring for Yorke Horde. Police action on

the planet Fronn. Usual rates. You embark for Secundus Base tonight, transship

from there to Fronn. Voyage about a month. Term of enlistment-duration of

action. You may refuse-this is a first choice." He repeated the last official

formula with the weary voice of one who has said it many times before.

He was allowed two refusals, Kana knew, but to exercise that privilege without

good reason gave one a black mark. And police action-while it covered a

multitude of different forms of service-was usually an excellent way to get

experience.

"I accept assignment, sir!" He pulled off his armlet for the second time and

watched the Swordtan insert it in the block before him, pressing the keys

which would enter on that band the terms of his first tour of duty. When he

checked out at the end of the enlistment, a star would signify satisfactory

service.

"Ship raises from Dock Five at seventeen hours. Dismissed!"

Kana saluted and left. He was hungry. The transients' mess was open and being

a combatant in service he was entitled to order more than just basic rations.

But a dislike of spending pay he had not yet earned kept him to the plain fare

he was allowed as long as he wore the Arch tunic. He lingered over the food,

listening to the scraps of shop talk and rumor flying back and forth across

the tables. As he had suspected the announcement made in the hiring hall had

given birth to some pretty wild stories.

"Lost fifty legions in five years-" proclaimed one Mechtan. "They don't tell

us the truth any more. I've heard that Longmead and Groth refused assignments-

"The High Brass is getting rattled," commented a Swordtan. "Did you see old

Poalkan giving us the fishy eye? He'd like to bring the Patrol in and mop up.

Tell you what we ought to do-planet for some quiet in-fighting at a place I

could name. That might help-"

There was a moment of silence. The speaker did not need to name his goal. All

mankind's festering resentment against Central Control lay behind that

outburst.

Kana could stall no longer. He left the hum of the mess hall. Yorke Horde was

a small outfit. Fitch Yorke, its Blademaster, was young. He'd only had a

command for about four years. But sometimes under young commanders you had

better advancement. Fronn-that was a world unknown to Kana. But the answer to

his ignorance was easy to find. He made his way through the corridors to a

quiet room with a row of booths lining one wall. At the back of the chamber

was a control board with banks of buttons. He pressed the proper combination

of those and waited for the record-pak.

The roll of wire was a very thin one. Not much known of Fronn. He ducked into

the nearest booth, inserted the wire in the machine there, and put aside his

helmet to adjust the impression band on his temples. A second later he drifted

off to sleep, the information in the pak being fed to his memory cells.

It was a quarter of an hour later when he roused. So that was Fronn-not a

particularly inviting world. And the pak had only sketched in meager details.

But he now possessed all the knowledge the archives listed.

Kana sighed ruefully-that climate meant a tour in the pressure chamber during

the voyage. The assignment officer had not mentioned that. Pressure chamber

and water acclimation both. Serve him right for not asking more questions

before he signed. He only hoped that he wasn't going to be sick for the whole

trip.

When he went up to return the pak he met a Mechneer standing by the selector-

an impatient Mech whistling tunelessly between his teeth, playing with the

buckle of his blaster belt. He was only slightly older than Kana but he

carried himself with the arrogant assurance of a man who had made at least two

missions, an arrogance few real veterans displayed.

Kana glanced back at the booths. He had been the only occupant, so what was

the Mech waiting there for? He dropped the pak on the return belt, but, as he

reached the door, its polished surface reflected a strange sight. The Mech had

scooped up the pak on Fronn before it vanished into the bin.

Fronn was a primitive world, a class five planet. Any Combatant force employed

there must be, by Central Control regulations, an Arch Horde, trained and

conditioned for so-called hand-to-hand fighting, their most modern weapon a

stat-rifle. No mechanized unit would be sent to Fronn where their blasters,

crawlers, spouters would be outlawed. So why should a Mech be interested in

learning about that world?

Idle curiosity about planets on which one could not serve was not indulged

among Combatants. It was about all one could do to absorb the information one

could actually use.

Now Kana wished that he had had a closer look at the thin face which had been

so shadowed by the bubble helmet. Puzzled and somewhat disturbed he went on to

the commissary to lay in the personal supplies his new knowledge of Fronn

suggested it wise to buy.

Wistfully he regarded and then refused a sleeping bag of Uzakian spider silk

lined with worstle temperature moss. And the gauntlets of karab skin which the

supply corpsman tried to sell him were as quickly pushed aside. Such luxuries

were for the veteran with enough treasure riding his belt to afford a buying

spree. Kana must thriftily settle for a second-hand Cambra bag-a short jacket

of sasti hide, fur-lined and with a parka hood and gloves attached, and some

odd medicament and toilet articles, in all a very modest outfit which could

easily be added to the contents of his war bag. And when he settled the bill

he still had left four credits of his muster allowance.

The corpsman deftly rolled his purchases into a bundle. "Looks like you're

heading to some cold place, fella," he commented.

"To Fronn."

The man grinned. "Never heard of the place. Back of nowhere-sounds like to me.

Look out they don't stick a spear in you from behind some bush. Those nowhere

guys play rough. But then you guys do too, don't you?" He stared knowingly at

Kana's Arch uniform. "Yessir, kinda rough, slugging it out the way you do. Me,

I'd rather have me a blaster and be a Mech-"

"Then you'd face another fighter with a blaster of his own," Kana pointed out

as he reached for the bundle.

"Have it your own way, fella." The corpsman lost interest as a be-jeweled

veteran approached.

Kana recognized in the newcomer the man who had preceded him to the assignment

officer's cubby. Was he, too, bound for Yorke Horde and Fronn? When the spider

silk sleeping bag was slapped down on the counter for his inspection, and

other supplies similar to Kana's modest selection piled on it, he was

reasonably sure that guess was correct.

At sixteen and a half hours the recruit stood beside his bag in the waiting

section of Dock Five. So far he was alone save for the corpsmen who had

business there and two spacer crewmen lounging at the far end. To have arrived

so early was the badge of a greenie, but he was too excited under his

impassive exterior to sit and wait elsewhere. It was twenty to seventeen

before his future teammates began to straggle in. And ten minutes later they

were swung up on the carry platform to the hatch of the troopship. Checking

his armlet against the muster roll, the ship's officer waved Kana on. Within

five minutes he entered a cabin for two, wondering which of the bunks was his

to strap down on.

"Well"-a voice behind him exploded in a boom-"either get in or get out! This

is no time to sleep on watch, recruit! Haven't you ever spaced before?"

Kana crowded back against the wall, snatching his bag away from the boots of

the newcomer.

"Up there!" With an impatient snort his cabin mate pitched the younger man's

bag up on the top bunk.

Kana swung up and investigated. Sure enough, a small knob twisted, and a

section of the wall opened to display a recess which would accommodate his

belongings. The rich note of a gong interrupted his exploration. At that

signal the veteran loosened his belts and his helmet, putting them aside. And

Kana hurriedly followed suit. One bong-first warning-

He stretched out on the bunk and fumbled for the straps which must be buckled.

Under the weight of his body the foam pad spread a little. He knew that he

could take acceleration-that was one of the first tests given a recruit in

training. And he had been on field maneuvers on Mars and the Moon-but this was

his first venture into deep space. Kana smoothed his tunic across his middle

and waited for the third warning to announce the actual blastoff.

It had been a long time since Terrans had first reached toward other worlds.

Three hundred years since the first recorded pioneer flight into the Galaxy.

And even before that there were legends of other ships fleeing the nuclear

wars and the ages of political and social confusion which followed. They must

have been either very desperate or very brave, those first explorers-sending

their ships out into the unknown while they were wrapped in cold sleep with

one chance in perhaps a thousand of waking as their craft approached another

planet. With the use of Galactic overdrive such drastic chances were no longer

necessary. But had his kind paid too high a price for their swifter passage

from star to star?

Though a Combatant did not openly question the dictates of authority or the

status quo, Kana knew that he was by no means alone in his discontent with

Terra's role. What would have happened to his species if, when they had made

that first historic flight, they had not met with the established, superior

force of Central Control? According to their Galactic masters the potentials

of the Terran mind, body and temperament fitted them for only one role in the

careful pattern of space. Born with an innate will to struggle, they were

ordered to supply mercenaries for the other planets. Because the C.C. psycho-

techneers believed that they were best suited to combat, their planet and

system had been arbitrarily geared to war. And Terrans accepted the situation

because of a promise C.C. had made-a promise the fulfillment of which seemed

farther in the future every year-that when they were ready for a more equal

citizenship it would be granted them.

But what if Central Control had not existed? Would the Agents' repeated

argument have proved true? Would the Terrans, unchecked, have pulled planet

after planet into a ruthless struggle for power? Kana was sure that was a lie.

But now if a Terran wanted the stars, if the desire for new and strange

knowledge burned in him-he could buy it only by putting on the Combatant's

sword.

A giant hand squeezed Kana's rib case against laboring lungs. He forgot

everything in a fight for breath. They had blasted off.

2 - FIRST TESTING

Kana must have blacked out, for when he was again aware of his surroundings he

saw that his cabin mate was maneuvering across their quarters, getting his

"space legs" in the weak gravity maintained in the living sections of the

ship. Lacking his helmet, his tunic open halfway down his broad chest, the

veteran had lost some of his awe-inspiring aura. He might now be one of the

hard-visaged instructors Kana had known for more than half his short life.

Space tan on a naturally dark skin made him almost black. His coarse hair had

been shaved and trimmed into the ridge scalp lock favored by most Terrans. He

moved with a tell-tale feline litheness and Kana decided that he would not

care to match swords with him in any point-free contest. Now he turned

suddenly as if sensing Kana's appraising stare.

"Your first enlistment?" he snapped.

Kana wormed free of the straps which imprisoned him and dangled his feet over

the edge of the bunk before he replied.

"Yes, sir. I'm just up from Training-"

"Lord, they send 'em out young these days," commented the other. "Name and

rank-"

"Kana Karr, sir, Swordsman, Third Class."

"I'm Trig Hansu." There was no reason for him to proclaim his rank, the double

star of a Swordtan was plain on his tunic. "You signed for Yorke?"

"Yes, sir."

"Believe in beginning the hard way, eh?" Hansu jerked a jump seat from its

wall hollow and sat down. "Fronn's no garden spot."

"It's a start, sir," Kana returned a bit stiffly and slipped down to the deck

without losing a one-hand hold on the bunk.

Hansu grinned sardonically. "Well, we're all heroes when we're first out of

Training. Yorke's a trail hitter and a jumper. You have to be con to keep up

in one of his teams."

Kana had a defense ready for that. "The assignment officer asked for a

recruit, sir."

"Which can mean several things, youngster, none of them complimentary. S-

Threes come cheaper on the payroll than Ones or Twos-for example. Far be it

from me to disillusion the young. There's mess call. Coming?"

Kana was glad that the veteran had given him that invitation, for the small

mess hall was crowded with what seemed to his bedazzled eyes nothing but high

ranks. There was gravity enough so that one could sit in a civilized fashion

and eat-but Kana's stomach did not enjoy the process any. And soon such

sensations would be worse, he thought grimly, when he had to go through

pressure conditioning before landing on Fronn. He regarded the noisy crowd

about him with a growing depression.

A Horde was divided into teams and teams into doubles. If a man didn't find a

double on his own but was arbitrarily paired by his commander with a stranger,

some of the few pleasures and comforts of Combat field service were

automatically endangered. Your double fought, played, and lived by your side.

Often your life depended upon his skill and courage-just as his might upon

yours. Doubles served years of enlistments together, moving in a firmly

cemented partnership from one Horde or Legion to another.

And who in this glittering gang would choose to double with a greenie? The

situation would probably end by his being assigned to a veteran who would

resent his inexperience and provide him with the makings of a tough jump right

from the start. Waugh-he was getting space blues tonight! Time to change

think-tracks for sure.

But that subtle unease which haunted him all that long and eventful day

lingered, coming to a head in a strange and horrifying dream in which he ran

breathlessly across a shadow landscape trying to avoid the red ray of a Mech

blaster. He awoke with a choked gasp and lay sweating in the darkened cabin.

Hunted by a Mech-but Mechs did not fight against Archs. Only-it was some time

before he was able to sleep again.

The beams of the ship's artificial day brought him to life much later. Hansu

was gone, the contents of his war bag spilled out on his empty bunk. A wicked

needle knife, its sheath polished smooth by long wear against the bare skin of

its owner's inner arm, caught Kana's eye. Its unadorned hilt was designed for

service. And its presence among the gear meant that Kana was now sharing the

quarters of a man practiced in the deadliest form of Combatant in-fighting.

The recruit longed to pick it up, test its perfect balance and spring for

himself. But he knew better than to touch another's personal weapons without

the express permission of the owner. To his fellows that act was a direct

insult which could lead only to a "meeting" from which one of them might never

return. Kana had heard enough tall tales from the instructors at Training to

make him familiar with the barracks code.

He was a late arrival at mess and ate with apologetic speed under the

impatient eye of the stewards. Afterwards he went on to the small lounge deck

where the Combatants sprawled at leisure. There was a card game in progress,

and the usual circle of intent players about a Yano board. But Trig Hansu was

a member of neither group. Instead he sat cross-legged on a mat pad, a

portable reader before him, watching the projection of a pak.

Curious, Kana edged between the gamesters to see the tiny screen. He caught

sight of a fraction of landscape, dark, gloomy, across which burden-bearing

creatures moved from left to right. Hansu spoke without turning his head.

"If you're so curious, greenie, squat."

Feeling as hot as a thruster tube Kana would have melted away but Hansu pushed

the machine to the right in real invitation.

"Our future." He jerked a thumb at the unwinding scene as the recruit dropped

to his knees to watch. "That's a pak view of Fronn."

The marchers on the Fronnian plain were quadrupeds, their stilt legs seemingly

only skin drawn tightly over bone. Packs rested on either side of their ridged

spines and knobby growths fringed their ungainly necks and made horn

excrescences on their skulls.

"Caravan of guen," Kana identified. "That must be the west coastal plains."

Hansu pressed a stud on the base of the reader and the screen blanked out.

"You asked for indoctrination on Fronn?"

"From the archives, sir."

"The enthusiasms of the young have their points. And you're just out of

Training. Specialization-knife-rifle-?"

"Basic in everything, sir. But specialization in X-Tee-Alien Liaison mostly-"

"Hmm. That would explain your being here." Hansu's comment seemed obscure. "X-

Tee-I wonder what they spring on you in that nowadays. What about-" He swung

sharply into a series of questions, delivered rapid fire, which were certainly

very close in their searching value to what Kana had faced back in Training

before he had been granted his mark of proficiency. When he had answered them

to the best of his ability-having to say frankly, far too many times, "I don't

know"-he saw Hansu nod.

"You'll do. Once you get a lot of that theory knocked out of your head, and

let experience teach you what you should really know about this game, you'll

be worth at least half your pay to a Blademaster."

"You said that X-Tee specialization explained my assignment, sir-?"

But the veteran appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. The Yano

game broke up in a noisy if good-natured argument, and Hansu was tapped on the

shoulder by one of his own rank and urged into the group reforming for a

second round.

And because he had not answered that question Kana began to note more

carefully the caliber of the men about him. These were not only veterans, but

long-service men with a high percentage of stars. The scraps of conversation

he overheard mentioned famed commanders, Hordes with long lists of successful

engagements. Yet Fitch Yorke was a comparative newcomer, with no fame to pull

in such men. Wouldn't it have been more normal for them to refuse enlistment

under him? Why the concentration of experience and skill in an obscure Horde

on an unknown planet? Kana was certain that Hansu, for one, was an outstanding

X-Tee expert-

But during the next few days he saw little of the veteran, and the landing on

Secundus after the boredom of the trip could not come soon enough.

The temporary quarters assigned to Yorke's men was a long hall, one end of

which was a mess station while the other was tiered with bunks. With a hundred

men dragging in supplies and personal equipment, greeting old comrades,

sharing Horde rumor and Combat news, the room was a hurricane of noise and

confusion. Kana, not knowing just where to go, followed Hansu down the length

of the room. But when the Swordtan turned to join a glittering circle of his

peers, the recruit was left to hunt a dim corner suitable to his inexperience

and general greenness.

There was not much choice. The S-Threes congregated in the least desirable

section by the door. And with a sense of relief Kana noted several whose

uniforms were as bare of ornament as was his own. He tramped over and claimed

a top bunk by tossing his war bag up on its pad.

"D'you see who just mustered in?" one of his neighbors demanded of the young

man beside him. "Trig Hansu-!"

A low whistle of astonishment became words. "But he's top brass! What's he

doing in this outfit? He could claim shares with Zagren Osmin or Franlan.

Yorke should be flattered to get the time of day from him."

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

StarSoldiersbyAndreNortonThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental.Copyright(c)2001byAndreNorton.StarGuardcopyright(c)1955byHarcourtBrace&Co.;StarRangerscopyright(c)1953byHarcourtBraceJovanovich.Allright...

展开>> 收起<<

Andre Norton - Star Soldiers.pdf

共197页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Andre Norton - Star Soldiers

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: