Zeta Exchange Part 4

"Yes. Have you been there?"

"To Alpha Prime's, yes--but that's a different world, in a different part of the galaxy. I'm looking forward to seeing yours."

"It is a beautiful one, particularly near the Vader clanhome," Kelly said. "As the first clan formed after Overthrow, we took the Shapers'

area--and they, of course, had chosen one of the best and most attractive parts of the planet."

"The same was true at home," Medart said. "I visited there a couple of years after Annexation, not long after they were granted the patent I suggested they try for, on the saber's controlled-length blade."

"What is a patent?"

"The exclusive right to market something you've invented. On something as useful as a controlled-length laser beam, that's quite an advantage--last I heard, Clan Vader was one of the richest groups in the Empire. And probably the only one that amount of money didn't change much."

"Why should it change?"

Medart laughed. "No reason, really, but most people who suddenly get a lot of money do change."

"In here--most people aren't Sandemans."

Medart followed her into the dining area and to Ryan's table; when the Warleader gestured them to sit, they did so. "I took the liberty of ordering breakfast for both of you," he told them. "It should be here very shortly."

"Thanks," Medart said. "And thanks for letting me keep my saber and gun, too. The gun I could replace if I ever get back; the saber's special." He paused, grinned. "Not that I'm any physical threat to a Sandeman, whether I'm armed or not. If I went for my gun, I'd be dead before I could get it halfway out of the holster."

"True," Ryan agreed. "That sounds like you've seen it tried."

"Close; I've demonstrated it. But I made sure the Sandeman was using a stun setting on his needler."

Ryan chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd care to let myself be used as a target that way. You must have trusted that warrior implicitly."

"No more or less than I trust any Sandeman," Medart said. "I've only known one who was capable of deliberate deception, and that was because his Intelligence field work for the Empire required it. Naturally, he was the best field agent we've had, though his successor as top agent came close."

"Naturally," Kelly said. Whatever she was going to say next, though, was interrupted by the arrival of their breakfast; all three concentrated on eating.

When they were done, they moved to a small lounge, and Ryan addressed Medart with an expression the Ranger couldn't quite identify. "I did not reveal my full rank yesterday, Highness; a foretelling spell said it would be in the clan's interest to use only my lesser one. Besides Warleader, I am the chief of Clan Vader."

Medart nodded, grinning. "I know. I can read clan arms, and you either forgot or didn't bother to change yours. But if you wanted to claim a lesser rank, I couldn't see any harm in playing along."

"My arms?" Ryan looked chagrined. "I never even thought of them--I did a lot at first, when I added the chief, but I've gotten so used to them since that I no longer really notice the difference."

"And you're not used to deception, so it's easy to understand how you'd miss that." Medart sobered. "But since you are clan-chief, I need to know whether the life-debt your clan owes me at home is valid here."

It couldn't be, was Ryan's automatic reaction. The debt had been incurred in a distant alternate, involving an enemy and a warrior who had, in this one, lived a long and adventurous life.

On the other hand, a life-debt was sacrosanct, and the one owed it was ent.i.tled to repayment whenever and wherever that repayment was asked.

The crucial question, then, was whether a change in universes by the one owed it voided that obligation.

Ryan studied the Prince's carefully-impa.s.sive expression. The personalities involved should have no bearing on his judgement as the Vader in a matter of honor, but the human's courage and integrity had earned his respect; it would be difficult to ignore those, though he would have to try.

Restrict himself to the basic facts, then. James had done a warrior of Clan Vader the ultimate service, sparing him the horrors of death in need. That meant the clan owed him a comparable service. James was the person owed, no question about that. Was this universe's Clan Vader close enough to his universe's to be considered obligated, then?

The warrior Leigh had lived at the proper time, and Wylie had been clan-chief then. Those were indicators that it was, but he'd like more. "May I see your saber?" he asked, using High War Speech.

"Yes," Medart said in the same language, handing it over. "I've added the improved power pack, but otherwise it's the same one I was given."

So he did know the warrior caste's language, another point of similarity in his favor. Ryan examined the saber, checking for the small traces of workmans.h.i.+p that distinguished Vader-made lightsabers from those of other clans. They were there, including Leigh's engraved signature inside the powerpack cover. That made four points--five, if he counted the signature as extra verification of the saber's provenance.

Since the Prince had no other physical evidence, and couldn't be expected to know the clan as well as one of its members--wait, there was one more detail. "Did you recognize the complete arms, or just the chief?"

"The complete arms. They were a main clue to me, at home, of that part of your culture. The clan name, combined with arms of a scarlet-bladed light-saber, led me to study the Black Lord's part of the Saga. I'd seen it as a child, of course, but as entertainment, not cultural study."

"That's enough, then," Ryan decided. "As clan-chief of Vader, I judge the similarity between the Clans Vader in the two universes to be sufficient that we are liable for the life-debt. What repayment do you require, James?"

Medart sighed, letting his relief show. "I want you or someone you choose to teach me Sandeman magic, clan-chief. The only way I can see for an outsider like myself to end this war is to challenge whoever the clans designate to single combat, and I'd have no chance in a conventional battle. I was told shortly after I arrived that I have strong magical powers, though, and that you were the only ones who could train me to use them at their maximum. I have had no training whatsoever, so I have no bad habits to unlearn."

Ryan frowned. "I can testify to your power, Prince; that was obvious in the strength of your automatic defense against my compulsion spell.

But magic training is started young, as soon as the . . . I suppose you could call them magical-energy channels . . . begin to develop. With respect, you are no longer young; such training would be both painful and dangerous. And fighting a magical duel would be even more so. I would prefer not to pay our debt in such a negative way."

"I was under the impression the choice was mine," Medart said quietly.

"It is, Highness, and if you insist I will begin your training myself as soon as proper preparations can be made. But honor also requires that I point out the drawbacks and possibility of injury."

Medart frowned. "The Imperials didn't want to teach me because their training would limit my powers, not because the training itself was dangerous."

"They also told you, I'm sure, that there are great differences in methodology. Terran magic operates primarily through symbols, tools, and ceremony; ours operates through personal mana. There's very little danger in their method, but as they admit, it costs them power. We accept the risks in return for that extra edge."

Medart chuckled. "Exactly the reaction I'd expect. Since I need that edge too, I have to accept the dangers as well. How long will it take for me to learn enough to fight a duel?"

Ryan shrugged. "We have very little information on training adults, none on training Terrans, so I have no way to give you an estimate.

Why?"

"I want to end this war, and end it as soon as possible. It's as simple as that."

"In that case, I'd suggest you issue challenge right away. That will bring an immediate truce, which will last until after the duel. And the duel cannot be fought until Clan Vader has finished discharging its life-debt, now that we've begun."

"How do I do that?"

"Since you're leaving the choice of opponent to us, you inform a Warleader or clan-chief. You've already told me, and I'm willing to pa.s.s it along as a formal challenge if you want me to."

"I'd appreciate that. You do realize the Empire'll use the truce to regroup and rebuild?"

"I certainly hope so; they haven't been doing too well the last several weeks."

As he had for the last month, Medart woke feeling like he hadn't slept for a year. If anything, Ryan had understated what he'd be going through, starting Sandeman-style magical training so late. He hurt all the time, and was usually on the edge of nausea, making it difficult to eat. That, in turn, meant he'd lost weight he could ill afford.

On the whole, he knew, he was in lousy shape--probably his worst since the early part of his recuperation from that Traiti almost tearing him in half. He'd been having doubts, the last couple of days, whether or not he'd be able to make it through the training, much less be able to fight and win a duel with someone who'd been using magic all his life.

He couldn't quit now, though; at the very worst, he was buying the Empire some time. And there was always a chance he'd win the duel; pure dumb luck had been known to come to the rescue before.

He sighed, then forced himself to get out of bed, bathe, and dress.