The Karasor Page 5

  “It’s just a symbol; it would be no more use in a war than a stone on a path. We do not have the numbers and it is only a matter of time before the other races realise we are weak enough for them to conquer us. In many ways, the Taira are right and our attempts to hold onto our empire in the Third Sphere will come to nothing.”

  “Do you believe we should withdraw?” Narikin asked.

  He shook his head, “That would not be honourable. But if you are to serve the Empire, you need to know the truth; we can still protect our people but we must not carry false delusions about our strength in Evigone. It is our duty to attack those that would harm us before they discover there is disunity between the clans, even if it leads to our defeat - that is the role of the ranger.”

  Subarsi led the way to the ramp at the stern. Inside, the Ishan engineers working on the lifting mechanism stopped what they were doing and bowed.

  The Kara Kum’s hangar was tiny compared to the bay outside. There was enough room for two fighters but only because one of them could be hung from the ceiling. Parts to repair of the ship lay stacked against the sides or in piles on the deck. Subarsi nodded to the engineers and led his visitors through the melee.

  “But do you know who our worst enemy is?” he asked.

  “No, Captain,” said Narikin.

  “Rust; with over two hundred crew, needing water and air, breathing, taking a leak, steam rising from the kitchens and the baths - in a ship made of iron - we cannot keep anything dry.”

  Narikin could taste the iron in the air and saw streaks of red down the walls. The deck was littered with metal leaves that crunched under their feet. He could smell sewage too and the sharp scent of ammonia where the pipes from the toilets had been torn from between the decks so they could be replaced. He wondered if it might have been easier and cheaper just to scrap the old ship and build a new one - but he said nothing to her captain.

  Ahead and above them, the double bulkhead doors were open into the ship. The higher set of doors led to the ordnance stores while the lower ones opened into a workshop where the crew could manufacture repairs on their long missions. The workshop was empty; the tools were in storage and just the benches were left.

  Subarsi took them through the ship, up the staircases, through each deck, until they reached the bridge at the top. Along the way, he pointed out important details, like the fire control systems, how the bulkhead doors worked, and where the small-arms were stored.

  “If the ship is boarded,” he said. “It is the duty of every crewman to defend it. You will need to learn where the Kyzyl Kum keeps all its weapons so no matter where you are you will know where to find a pistol or a rifle. And you will have to learn how to use them,” he added, with a grin.

  “That’s the part I’m least looking forward to,” Narikin admitted. “I’m not exactly built for combat and I have no experience in fighting of any kind, not even in play.”

  “Have you not been taught the martial arts?”

  “My father says he has soldiers for that kind of thing. All that has been required of me is to be able to write in the old style and to know the protocol for my duty as a prince. I can fold rice paper into interesting shapes, I know the names of the flowers in the gardens around the palace and I can fashion my robes in the correct manner. When it comes to ritual and tradition, I’ve been taught by the best teachers in Pentī. And none of them thought martial arts would be any use to me either. Apart from dancing, my only movements have been with a pen, a paintbrush or a pair of secateurs.”

  Subarsi tried not to smile, “That is very unfortunate...”

  “Perhaps I can prune the fingers of men climbing up the side of the ship?”

  “Or write them a strongly worded warning...”

  There was a pause and then they both started laughing. Fengtai stood beside them, not sure if he should join in.

  “I really am very useless,” Narikin added when they had calmed down.

  “But Lieutenant Nayaika will teach you how to defend yourself. And there is more to fighting than being able to wield a sword.”

  Compared to the bay outside, the bridge was a haven of peace and quiet. The thick glass between the iron pillars across the front and half-way down the sides kept out most of the noise. But the room was a mess of wires and open cabinets. New control rods for the Exarch disks shone brightly beside the pilot’s seat, like green shoots springing out of the ground. On the higher platform behind, the radar and Exarch detector had been removed and there were holes where the screens had been.

  There was a small dome set into the roof with a chair suspended beneath it. “This is one of ten observation posts around the ship,” said Subarsi. “The others are mounted on the turrets and are used by the weapons specialists but this one serves the captain and the navigator. Climb up and have a look...”

  Awkwardly, Narikin clambered up the short ladder and sat in the comfortable seat. He could turn it around 360 degrees. There was a brass ring with marks and numbers etched into the metal. There was an armature for holding a telescope or binoculars.

  Narikin looked out over the top of the bridge. The radar dish was on his right but he could see very little of the rest of the ship, just the mast behind the bridge and the tip of the prow with its crane and loading doors into the torpedo bay.

  “I wouldn’t want to be stuck up here in a fight,” he said. “I feel very vulnerable already.” A large iron plate passed over-head on its way to the starboard hull.

  “The dome is made of carbon crystal - it’s very strong.”

  “It wouldn’t stop a laser though, would it?”

  “The chances of a laser hitting you while the ship is in motion are extremely small. You would have to be very unlucky.”

  Narikin climbed down and Fengtai had a look. The big fisherman’s son had more difficulty getting into the chair and the frame creaked audibly under his weight. “I don’t think this seat was designed for the likes of me,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t break it.

  Subarsi chuckled, “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. In the old days, the observers were usually cadets or boys too young for other duties.” He looked at his prince, “But it’s an ideal position to learn how the ship is run. You would be able to hear everything that’s said on the bridge and listen to the captain’s conversations with the rest of the crew.”

  Narikin asked him, “What are the observers looking for that can’t be spotted by the radar or the Exarch detector?”

  Subarsi shrugged, “The stars, signal lamps, navigation beacons, the name on the hull of a ship, the face of the enemy on an opposing deck; we might spend most of our time travelling at speeds too fast for the eye to follow but there have been occasions when an observer’s warning has saved the ship. On the radar or Exarch screen, one vessel looks the same as another and it’s only when you’re close that you can see the outline of its shape or the colour of its hull.”

  Fengtai climbed down, “I’m not sure I could cope with that kind of responsibility.”

  But Narikin replied, “I would do my best. I have studied the silhouettes of the ships that sail across the Third Sphere and I’m confident I know the differences between them.”

  Subarsi smiled and opened the pressure door at the back of the room. They went out onto the open quarterdeck and back into the noise of the bay. They walked to the iron parapet around the edge and looked over the side.

  The bridge was above the main deck, on top of the cabins of the senior officers and the radio room. “That’s where the landing craft are usually kept,” he said, pointing to the platforms on top of the nacelles that ran along the sides of the main hull; extensions that held the air compressors at one end and jets for use in a vacuum at the other. The corridors that joined the main hull to the outer hulls came out along the top of the nacelles and doors in their sides allowed troops to board the boats.

  Below the bridge was one of the block-shaped turrets that Fengtai wanted to serve in. It had four launchers like barrels pointing towards th
e prow. There was another transparent dome on the top for the gunner to take aim from. Identical turrets stood on the portside hull, fore and aft, and there was one in the centre too, looking over the stubby wing that held a line of missiles underneath when the ship was armed; nine turrets in all but none of them were as powerful as the torpedoes that could be launched from the tubes in the prow.

  Subarsi took his students down to the torpedo bay and showed them the tubes. The missiles had been removed but they could see each one was nearly four feet across. “These are what gave our ships the advantage during the war; each one has a nuclear warhead capable of destroying a city in seconds. Even an Exarch field is no protection from the blast.”

  Fengtai didn’t understand but Narikin nodded, “You destroyed Apollyon’s Keep with such a device; my father says it brought the war closer to the end by years and saved tens of thousands of lives. My father also says they’re the reason nobody from the other empires dares cross our borders – including the Ulupans.”

  “That was true,” said Subarsi. “But we have very few warheads left and one day soon the other empires will realise it is an empty threat.”

  “Can’t we make some more?” said Fengtai.

  The captain smiled at him, “We don’t have the materials. When Pentī traded with the rest of the Third Sphere, it was possible to acquire them but since we closed our borders we have lost that ability.”

  “But the rangers can go anywhere...?”

  “We can’t ask for what we don’t have without admitting we don’t have it; that would be like asking an enemy for bullets when he knows we might want to shoot him.”

  He took them back through the ship, down the long rusty stairs, through empty store rooms and a bathhouse lined with tiles. It was as well Subarsi was there to guide them; Narikin was lost almost from the moment he stepped off the bridge.

  When they reached the hangar with its ramp again, he said to the captain, “You make our empire sound very vulnerable but is that really the case?”

  “I don’t want you to be under any illusions, Prince. When you leave Pentī Prime to join the Kyzyl Kum, you will be entering the sunset of our years as a power in Evigone. The Taira say we should abandon our colonies and our achievements in the Third Sphere entirely; you will find no support from them if you’re attacked by an outsider. But Kruvak and I believe we have still have a role to play; that a sunset can be followed by a sunrise if we, as a people, choose not to let our empire decay. You will have to make up your own mind as to whether the effort is worth it.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Subarsi shrugged, “You’ve heard the arguments: the empire is too expensive, it uses up too many resources, the colonies are not paying their fair share, the navy is too old and besides, there is no danger of invasion from outside...”

  “But if the Zarktek returned and wanted to start to start another hundred years of war...?”

  “The Taira believe that will never happen.”

  “Then it’s the Taira who are suffering from delusions. Everybody knows the tsars are out there somewhere - very few were captured or killed.”

  Fengtai looked embarrassed. “Really...?”

  Narikin nodded, “And if I was a Zarktek, I wouldn’t be content until I had my power back, my empire and my revenge on everybody who’d betrayed me, would you?”

  Fengtai nodded uncertainly but Subarsi agreed, “Their allies have had fifty years to prepare for their return – they might have to wait for another fifty to be strong enough to challenge the rest of us or they might be ready now. Either way, we must not be complacent.”

  Outside the ship, an Ishan engineer was waiting to speak to Subarsi. The captain turned to Fengtai, “I need to stay and speak to the foreman. Can you find your back to the training deck?”

  Fengtai nodded.

  “You’re useful for something then. Take our prince and listen to what he has to say – you won’t find anyone with a better understanding of our situation.”

  Fengtai was more shocked than Narikin to hear they were so weak. But Narikin had heard the stories, read about the debates between the leaders of the clans, and seen reports from the ranger commanders.

  “Pentī is ruled by its traditions rather innovation,” he said as they walked back. “Change is anathema to most of our people.”

  “But the songs and the stories in the newspapers...”

  “All an illusion,” he said, sadly.

  Fengtai shook his head, “I never knew...”

  “That’s the way my father has kept it. We sing about past glories rather than present reality. It will be interesting to discover if the situation in the Third Sphere is better or worse than the captain says it is.”

  Fengtai grunted, “I think ‘interesting’ isn’t quite how I would describe it.”

  “No - perhaps ‘terrifying’ would be closer to the mark.”

  “I have another confession,” Fengtai began. “You know I said I’d heard of the Zarktek...?”

  Narikin sighed, “Oh Fengtai, it’s only been fifty years since the end of the war...”

  “I recognise the name but I don’t know what they were...”

  “They were designed by the Quelchemon and made by the Genetric to rule the ultra-alien empires in the Third Sphere. For four hundred years, they kept the Tundra humans in slavery until one day they rebelled and with our help, and with the support of an alliance between us and the other free peoples, we defeated them and they disappeared. Some may have died in the land battles on Abaddon or the great naval battle over Variola but we don’t know how many or how few. The planet of Variola has been destroyed completely and the council of empires agreed it should never be visited again.”

  “But where might the Zarktek be hiding?”

  “Any that survived were either scattered across the Third Sphere or took refuge here in the Second with their ultra-alien masters.”

  “But they will come back one day...?”

  “That’s the biggest question of all, Fengtai, and one I can’t answer.”

  5 – Amah

  The next day, Narikin was told to report to Lieutenant Nayaika in the training hall. He had to change into his green training pyjamas first and that’s when he discovered the trousers were too big for him and the jacket flapped about like a sack in the wind. As he tightened the string around his waist as far as it would go, he said to Fengtai, “I look pathetic, don’t I?”

  “Yes,” agreed Fengtai, grinning. He had changed as well so he could practise while Narikin was having his first lesson. “I don’t think you’ll scare many Taira warriors looking like that. On the other hand, I don’t suppose they won’t be expecting the fury you’ll unleash on them after you’ve been trained by Lieutenant Nayaika.”

  “The fury of a kitten clawing a ball of silk,” said Narikin, managing a smile.

  “Let’s go and turn the kitten into a cat...”

  His heart was pounding in his chest and his mouth was dry as they descended to the training hall. They slid open the door and Narikin paused, awestruck by the size of the room. As befitted the scale of the Kyzylagash, it stretched into the distance, divided into squares by training mats and exercise areas, some hidden behind paper screens.

  Arms and armour lined the walls and surrounded the pillars; spears and swords of various sizes, shields and breastplates, helmets and grieves. None of them were unfamiliar to him; the palace was full of antique armour and weapons, but he had never worn or used any of it.

  “There’s Lieutenant Nayaika,” said Fengtai, pointing to one of the separate enclosures. “Good luck...”

  Narikin threaded his way across the hall until he reached Subarsi’s lieutenant. There was a stillness about him that Narikin found disconcerting, like a lion pretending to be asleep but with one eye open for a soft meal, like a prince, to come his way. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mat, meditating, surrounded on three sides by paper screens while the forth was partially open.

  “
Close the doors,” he told Narikin without looking up.

  Narikin pulled the screens shut and took off his slippers before walking across the mat. He wasn’t sure whether to sit or stand. Nayaika put out his hand and pointed to the spot in front of him, “Sit,” he said.

  Narikin sat and crossed his legs. He could feel the sweat building under his arms and his palms were moist. He bowed to the master and waited for him to speak.

  Nayaika didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry. He closed his eyes and went through several breathing exercises.

  “Copy me,” he said.

  After a few minutes, the lieutenant opened his eyes and asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Anxious,” Narikin replied.

  “What is it that you fear most?”

  “I don’t wish to be a disappointment.”

  “But if I was to walk over to that rack of spears, pick one and attack you, what would be your first reaction?”

  Narikin glanced at the naginata on their long poles and even though he could see the blades were made of wood, he didn’t fancy his chances. “I would run,” he admitted.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I have nothing to defend myself with.”

  “If I gave you a spear, what would you do with it?”

  “I would probably throw it at you and hope it would get in your way long enough for me to get away.”

  “Some would say that would be an act of cowardice.”

  “I have no skill with a spear and I suspect you have rather a lot so, from my point of view, it would be prudence.”

  Nayaika laughed quietly, “That is true,” he said. “And if you had given me a story about how you would valiantly defend yourself and save the honour of the clan by dying in its service, I might have taken one of those spears and proven your error by sending you back to your cabin with a dozen good bruises. However, you assessed the threat and assumed correctly it would be futile to try and resist an attack you had no hope of withstanding.”

  Narikin had no desire to die, least of all for an abstract concept like ‘honour’. He waited patiently for the next test.