The Karasor Read online

  “You are blessed, Narikin Karasor. But I will say nothing of this to anyone else.”

  “No, I suppose we did break the rules by taking off our veils in the parliament chamber and if our enemies were to find out, I expect they would use it against us. But still, it might explain why my father brings up the incident now and makes no comment on whether I’m to go home or not.”

  “Let us assume we have his blessing for the moment and continue with your studies. Have you finished reading the logbooks?”

  “Yes, Captain and I’m happy to say Fengtai has passed his history paper too. He asked so many questions about what he was reading we were able to cover almost the entire history of the Third Sphere, Pentī and lots more besides. They were a useful exercise.”

  “And have you committed the ordnances of the rangers to memory?”

  “I have – would you like me to recite them?”

  Subarsi shook his head, “I believe you. Let us continue with navigation and map-reading; I want to teach you about using a sextant to find your position...”

  Narikin always enjoyed his lessons with Subarsi. He was less enthusiastic about his time with Nayaika but he tried his best. The lieutenant pushed him until he collapsed and then made him do more – good for him, he knew, but not very comfortable. He said as much in his letters to Amah, which she shared with Chikutei, and then a parcel arrived with a jar of a foul-smelling ointment the gardener said would be good for the pain. He only had to try it once to understand why; the stink and Fengtai’s complaints made him forget about his aches instantly.

  Amah’s letters grew increasingly sentimental as the end of his basic training came closer. For herself, she hoped he would return to the palace where he would be safe. But she knew he could go great things if he was given a chance. He had such potential. He wanted to believe it was the warrior in her telling him this rather than the surrogate mother and if she could have seen him crawling into his bunk exhausted every night, she might have told him the truth. But he did feel encouraged. He put his picture of her on the wall by his bed and prayed he wouldn’t shame her by failing.

  His general fitness improved by tiny increments but his musculature was still pathetic; no matter how much he ate, he found it difficult to put on weight. When Nayaika tried to teach him how to fight with a sword, with a proper blade rather than a wooden one, his wrist became swollen and he had to rest it for days. It was a similar story with his knees: running up and down the stairs caused the joints to swell and become so painful he had to see a Qomal chemist. Fortunately, the supplements he was given soon cured the problem but not before he worried he would have to be carried home.

  Fengtai was sympathetic but he was so solid and enjoyed exercise so much that he found it difficult to understand why his friend hated it in equal measure. But he never experienced the humiliation of collapsing after a dozen push-ups or being unable to breathe during one of their longer runs down the corridors of the Kyzylagash.

  Narikin’s greatest challenge came with the armour he would have to wear if he was ever sent on a mission in a vacuum. The suits came in several sizes but even the smallest was too big for him. The thick under-layers were bad enough but the torso plates and limb-guards made him feel as though he was being fitted for a coffin rather than being protected from potential harm. The boots were like blocks of stone. When they put the inner helmet with the breathing apparatus over his head and then the final outer helmet on the top, his sense of claustrophobia nearly over-whelmed him. He tried to take a step, wobbled, fell onto his back and lay there until the quartermaster and Fengtai stopped laughing long enough to help him up.

  “I’ll never be able to wear this,” he moaned when they took the helmets off. “It weighs twice as much as I do!”

  “Don’t forget,” said the quartermaster, “if you have to wear this in a vacuum, it’s likely there will be no gravity too.”

  “But I’ll still have to get off the ship; they’ll be waiting for me for hours as I inch my way to the launches.”

  “I’m sure someone will help you.”

  “I should be able to do it myself. What good am I to the crew if I need help like an old man with a stick?”

  But Narikin did improve. He put the suit on every day and took a few more steps than the day before. He tried short runs in just the inner suit or pieces of the armour and eventually could walk a hundred feet with most of it on. He was never going to be a warrior but nobody expected him to be. And he was good at other things; his grasp of strategy and tactics was above average and he picked up navigation and engineering without difficulty. While Fengtai sweated over books, Narikin raced through them. When he was finished with the logs and guides, he went to the great library in the Kyzylagash to borrow more.

  Fengtai kept asking him, “Where do you get the patience to sit and read for hours?”

  “There was never anything else to do in the palace. I got into the habit of reading every day just to keep my mind active. Besides, look at what you can find out from books: look at these coloured prints of the clothes the humans wear…” He showed Fengtai figures from the four major human groups; the purples and lilacs of the traditional Tun costumes, red and white for Zamut, dark blue for Saron and orange for Xramarsis. “See how different they are and how that reflects their different heritages. See how the people of Tun wear thick clothes with furs and hats because they inhabit the northern latitudes of their worlds but the people of Zamut wear loose robes because they live in hotter climates. The people of Saron are traders and like to show their wealth in jewels and silks while the men and women of Xramarsis are miners and administrators so wear practical clothes…”

  “I’d rather see them for real,” was all Fengtai would say.

  When his wrist was better, Nayaika replaced the wooden tantō-blade with a real one. He took it out of its sheath and showed him double-edged blade.

  “This will be much easier for you to use,” he said. “It is much lighter than the full katana and in the confines of the corridors, it is just as deadly. It may not have the reach but if the fighting is hand-to-hand and you have run out of bullets or bombs, a blade like this might be your only hope. You already know the elements of sword-craft from the ‘Five Moons’ dance but we will need to adapt them for the weight of the blade.”

  As they practised, Narikin began to see the implications of what he was learning. The idea of slicing through flesh and bone to kill another creature made him feel sick and he doubted if he could do it in cold blood. But in the heat of battle, he supposed it was possible. If he could get over the fear and the urge to hide, perhaps his sense of self-preservation might help him.

  As Nayaika described twisting the blade to make sure a wound was fatal, Narikin winced.

  The lieutenant asked him, “Do you fear death?”

  “Of course,” Narikin replied.

  “Do you value your life and that of your friends?”

  “Yes; I understand why I must learn these skills but I find it difficult to imagine putting them into action. I have never killed an animal let alone another sentient creature.”

  “This is why we train; when you are confronted by an enemy, you must not hesitate to defend yourself or the ship. Your actions must be automatic and as unthinking as brushing an insect off your arm. Your enemy may have taken many lives or you might be his first but that’s of no importance; your duty is to drive him off the ship or kill him where he stands. Those are your only choices.”

  “I know,” said Narikin. “I hope I’m not a coward and let everyone down.”

  Nayaika shrugged, “That’s impossible to know until you have been tested. I have seen men ten times as strong as you flinch on the battlefield while others with no previous reputation for bravery have stood their ground against terrible odds. I cannot predict how you or anyone else will behave under the extreme stresses of a campaign. You have shown resilience to get this far without breaking and I believe you have spirit and strength of mind. Whether they will sustain
you in the long run is not a matter you should worry about before you’ve had a chance to get used to being in the Third Sphere.”

  “So, do you think I’m good enough to be a ranger?”

  There was a long pause and Narikin felt his heart fall. “It is not my decision,” the lieutenant replied eventually. “I think you could do with many more weeks of training but then I would say that about every volunteer. However, as a bridge officer, you have the basic qualities necessary. Your academic and technical knowledge is as good as can be without actual practical experience. But I think a more relevant question is: do you feel good enough?”

  “I don’t really know,” Narikin admitted. “I look at the other volunteers and I can see I’m not like them; I lack their confidence and I feel weak. I know they look up to me because I’m a prince but I don’t feel I deserve any special consideration. I’ve always been a disappointment to my father so I have no expectations at all. I didn’t even know I was capable of martial arts until you told me I was an expert. Perhaps I will surprise myself in other ways. But as to whether I feel good enough to be a ranger; I know I will try hard and hate the idea of letting my friends and crewmates down. Is that enough?”

  “It’s a start,” said Nayaika with a smile.

  8 – Shōgun Karasor

  Captain Subarsi’s steward came to him and told him to put on his formal robes; “Your father honours us with his presence today. He wishes to see you. When you are ready, I will escort you to his suite.”

  Dressed in green silk, Narikin arrived at the room where his father was waiting for him. It was the same place he had been interviewed in three weeks before.

  Along the corridor where his father was waiting, his bodyguards stood to attention, holding the traditional naginata. Among them was Captain Haku, dressed in his full armour and talking quietly to Lieutenant Nayaika. Narikin wondered if they were discussing his daughter, Amah, and the great service she had done by teaching her prince how to ‘dance’.

  Captain Subarsi was waiting outside the door. Before he opened it, he said to Narikin, “Do you remember all the articles of being a ranger?”

  “Of course; would you like me to recite them?” Anything to put off the meeting, he thought.

  “We have no time,” Subarsi replied, trying to smile. “You must enter alone and I will join you when I am called for.”

  Narikin wondered what was going on. Subarsi seemed unusually worried and Nayaika gave him a small nod and an encouraging smile as he passed-by.

  Shōgun Karasor was sat on the far side of the room, his face covered by the veil as before. His identity was always kept hidden when he left the palace but there was no mistaking the set of his shoulders, his posture and way he kept very still. He was dressed in the clan colours too and across his lap he carried the first sword of their ancestors, the silk on the scabbard and hilt faded with age.

  Narikin bowed, walked forward, bowed again and then knelt on the floor at his father’s feet. He would not speak until his father spoke first. He kept his eyes on the threads of the mat, head down.

  Eventually his father spoke, “Are you well, Narikin?”

  “I am, Father, thank you.” He heard a rustle of silk and looked up.

  His father had removed the veil and was looking down at him. There was no expression on his face or any sign of what was on his mind. But that was not unusual. Narikin had never seen his father display emotion of any kind, neither anger nor pleasure. Even when he was furious with his son, he had never raised his voice or changed the look in his eyes.

  Father and son regarded each other for several minutes. Narikin thought he saw a flicker of surprise in his father’s face but he made no comment. “You have your mother’s feeble body,” he said eventually. “Fortunately, you also have her sharp mind. You can imagine my surprise when your teachers told me this. I have always assumed you were an idiot.”

  Narikin stared at the floor again. His face felt hot with shame. He wanted to ask his father when he had ever bothered to find out more about his son but thought better of it. His father didn’t like being interrupted.

  “Look at me,” said the Shōgun.

  Narikin looked up again. The eyebrows were so pale they were almost invisible against the sallow skin. His thin moustache was like two tiny arrows pointing left and right across his face. His plum-coloured eyes glared down at him and Narikin could almost feel the darkness inside.

  “Are you ready to abandon this foolishness and return home?”

  “No, Father,” Narikin replied. He would not plead or beg. If his father ordered him home, he would go. It was his duty. But it would not be his decision.

  “Your teachers say you have shown tenacity despite your weaknesses. They say you have been quick to learn and have shown resilience where I thought there was none. Perhaps that is my fault. As a child, you seemed to prefer the company of women and showed no interest in politics or business. Before you were born, I had hoped for a strong successor and you have been a disappointment in that respect. You have shown no aptitude for leadership. You might have chosen to become a philosopher and that too may have proven useful to the future of the clan. Now, you volunteer to serve the rangers, against reason and logic. I find I am torn between an old dream and all that kneels before me.” He shook his head, “Narikin, you are full of contradictions. I have watched you stare at the beauty of a flower, forgetting the whole world around you, until I thought you must be quite mad or in the grip of a seizure. And yet your teachers tell me you are skilled at martial arts and have an aptitude for fighting. I have no idea how you came by this ability; perhaps you read it in a book or you watched the guards practising, but I suspect they exaggerate your proficiency for my sake.”

  Narikin was glad neither the captain nor Nayaika had mentioned Amah’s role and he was grateful for that. But it annoyed him that his father didn’t believe he was as good as the lieutenant had told him.

  “Do you really believe you will survive on board a ship when the decks are stained with blood and sweat? What will you do when shells start pounding the Exarch field and you hear the screams of men burnt by flames or caught in the blast of an exploding grenade? Your poetry will be no comfort then. If you have dreams of being a hero, they will shatter when the first salvo hits and you will realise the poets were lying after all. There is no glory or honour in fighting. They are words without meaning. War is an unnecessary evil but we endure it for the sake of our future. So, tell me, Narikin, what makes you believe you will not become a hindrance the first time you experience battle?”

  Narikin stared back at his father. He had never held his gaze for so long and he thought he saw another flicker of surprise in his father’s face. “Do you think so little of me, Father?” he said eventually. “How am I to prove I will do none of those things unless I am tested? Perhaps in the violence of that first battle, I will be as frightened as you say, but perhaps in the next I will not be so afraid. You may not be proud of me and you may not think I am worthy of my title, but that’s nothing compared to what I have thought of myself. I have always lived under your protection, privileged but cut-off from reality. I thought I was weak until I realised I was merely unworldly. I know I am not physically strong but I know I can contribute in other ways. I am not looking for your approval. If you order me back to the palace, I will do my duty and we will never know if I could have been more than what you see before you. But if you let me continue, I promise to serve the clan to the best of my ability.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Not for honour or glory but because they are my people too.”

  There was a long silence between them. Then the Shōgun pulled the veil back over his face and clapped his hands together.

  Captain Subarsi entered the room. He knelt down beside Narikin. Others followed him; captains of ships, lords of the Karasor clan, generals and their adjutants. They knelt behind and down the sides of the room.

  Shōgun Karasor stood up. “Bear witness,” he be
gan. “I formally charge Narikin Karasor, prince and son, to be a ranger; protector of Pentī and all her colonies, to go out into Evigone, to seek and destroy our enemies, protect our people and our allies, and advance the ideals of our society wherever he may find opportunity.

  “Who supports his application?”

  “I do, my lord,” said Subarsi.

  “Who seconds his application?”

  “I do, my lord,” said Nayaika, from the back of the room.

  “Does he meet the minimum requirements for an officer on board a ranger ship?”

  “He does, my lord,” said Subarsi.

  “Would you have him serve on board the Kara Kum, if you could choose?”

  “I would my lord, if that was his wish.”

  Shōgun Karasor shook his head as though he thought they were mad. “Do you believe Captain Kruvak and the crew of the Kyzyl Kum will find him adequate?”

  “More than adequate,” Subarsi insisted.

  “Very well,” he held up his sword in one hand. “As the lord and Shōgun of Karasor, I declare Narikin Karasor to be a provisional member of the Pentī Rangers.” He drew another blade from his belt, “Accept this tantō-blade; may it defend you and your fellow rangers in times of danger,” he held it out and added in a whisper, “And don’t cut your fingers off the first time you draw it.”

  Narikin knelt on one knee to accept the gift. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. “I accept your gift as a token of the promise I make to you and to the clan that I will do my duty to the best of my ability.”

  The lords and dignitaries clapped and Narikin felt Subarsi’s hand on his shoulder. “Stand up,” he said.

  The clapping was the signal for the left-hand wall of the room to slide back, revealing hundreds of rangers kneeling in the room beyond.

  “Now you must recite the articles,” said Subarsi, still on his knees beside him. “If you stumble, I will help you.”

  But the new ranger needed no help. He spoke the five promises: to Karasor, to Pentī, to the Lords, to Evigone and to the spirit of Urim, before his brothers; to behave with rectitude at all times, to have courage in the face of adversity, to be kind, to have respect for all cultures and civilisations, to be honest and loyal to his captain and crewmates. Above all, to use wisdom in his actions and never forget his sacred duty to protect the lives and liberty of those he served with.