The Morcai Battalion. Diana Palmer
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as sound. The walls seemed made of the same amber glowing crystal.
Her hands were still tied. Groggily she pulled her aching body up and walked cautiously to the synthesizer. Leaning against the cool wall, she touched the button to the left of the oval housing with her chin. A contoured couch inched its way out of the curved wall and spread onto the floor. She dropped down onto it, noting that it was made of the same shock-absorbing material as the floor and walls. She worked at her bonds. They were tight, but perhaps they could be loosened with some careful meditation.
Her slender body relaxed on the soft couch. Her eyes closed. She drew inside herself, seeking the strength she would need for the task at hand. Slowly, gently, she focused her mind on the bonds. Concentrating, gently concentrating, she saw them loosen and fall to the soft material under them. Fall, she thought. Fall. Fall!
Her hands were suddenly free. She stood up gracefully, rubbing her sore wrists. Her hands reached up to the thick helmet still on her head. She wrenched it off and tossed it angrily against the wall.
In the dim light, a pale green colored the pupils of her large, elongated eyes. The door was next. Only a little more concentration, and…
Before she could finish the thought, the door shot up and two Rojok soldiers tramped into the compartment. One of them grabbed her roughly and held her down, while the other jammed a tiny cylinder against the bare flesh of her arm. There was a stabbing pain, followed by numbness.
“What…have you done?” she demanded, breathless.
“You will soon know,” one of them said, grinning down at her with pale slit eyes in a copper-colored face.
She felt a wave of nausea. Then the room began to grow dark around her. She pitched forward, her legs turning to jelly beneath her. The couch rising up to meet her was the last thing she saw.
Komak was busily directing the humans to their berths when Stern walked through the ship-to-ship elevator tube onto the main deck of the Morcai. It was noticeably colder and there was a smell to it that, while not unpleasant, was definitely alien.
Stern hadn’t expected the space he found. Twelve men could walk abreast in the corridor without touching shoulders. The bulkheads were curved and glowed with soft, white light. Centaurians dressed in the familiar red uniform trotted noiselessly past with a military precision and routine that was fascinating to watch.
“I know you, Captainholtstern!” Komak said in greeting, running the human’s name together as was his custom, because he had scant knowledge of human address protocol. His green eyes twinkled as he approximated an SSC salute. “As you see, I have studied your Terravegan protocols!”
Stern threw him a salute, too tired and angry to react well to the younger man’s banter. “Request permission to come aboard, sir,” he said formally.
The young alien’s eyes faded to a somber, questioning blue as he stared unnervingly at Stern. “Excuse me, is there some significance among your people to this question?” he asked politely.
Stern relaxed his military posture with a frown. “It’s military tradition in our branch of the space services to ask permission to board another ship,” he explained. “Like the salute, it’s a custom held over from seafaring days on ancient Earth, the home world of the Terravegan colonies. I’m a Terravegan,” he added when the alien looked puzzled.
“We do not salute one another,” Komak replied. “Only the commander is accorded such respect.” The boy’s eyes went suddenly green with mischief. “He has forbidden us to salute even the emperor, Tnurat Alamantimichar. I think it has caused the head of Clan Alamantimichar much discomfort at ceremonial occasions, which is one of the few things that cause the commander’s eyes to laugh.”
“I know another one,” Stern said resentfully, remembering the other alien’s amusement at the loss of Stern’s ship.
“Where can I set up my surgery?” Dr. Madeline Ruszel interrupted. She was flushed and furious. She’d just come aboard, heading a team of medics guiding ambulifts, and her drawn face showed not only the strain of the rushed evacuation, but of the loss of the Amazon unit, as well. “I’ve got people dying over here!”
“Follow me,” Komak told her at once. He led the medics into what appeared to be a mess hall, with Stern bringing up the rear. The ambulifts were quickly loaded onto the long, oval tables against the bulkheads while Madeline supervised the placing and energized the sterilization units on the cylinders. The young alien watched her with odd interest. Perhaps, she thought, it was her red hair that intrigued him. She was the only member of Stern’s crew with hair that color.
“Stern, I need morphadrenin,” she called over her shoulder. “Every gram I can lay hands on. And if the C.O. can spare some qualified help, I’d be in his debt.”
Stern glanced at Komak. “How about it?”
“The commander’s contempt for medics is second only to that which he holds for our emperor,” the alien replied somberly. “We carry no complement of medics aboard. But I will inform the commander of the need for additional medical stores. Shall you come with me, Captainholtstern?” he asked, apparently fascinated by Madeline. Odd, he looked at her as if he knew her, somehow…
“Lay on, McDuff,” Stern agreed with a grin at Madeline.
“My name is not McDuff,” Komak said, puzzled. “It is Komak, of the Clan Maltiche. You have heard of it, of course,” he added with faint arrogance.
“Oh, yeah,” Stern quipped. “It ranks along with the great Clans of Jones and Smith back home.”
“Jones and…?” Komak faltered.
“Never mind,” Stern said impatiently. “Let’s go. Maddie, I’ll see what I can do about your supplies,” he called over his shoulder as she went quickly back to work.
Komak started off at a fast trot. Stern increased his pace to keep up with the long legs of the Centaurian. “What’s the rush?” Stern asked. “Everybody on this ship seems to be on his way to battle stations all the time.”
“It is routine aboard the Morcai,” Komak informed him. “All personnel are required to run from post to post. Elevator tubes are strictly outlawed for crew use, as well,” he added, bounding onto a ladder that led to the upper deck.
“Uh-huh.” Stern got brief glimpses inside the various sectors they passed as they climbed access ladders up three decks. Nothing looked familiar. There was alien script on the walls, unreadable and unpronounceable, denoting departments. The temperature was at least ten degrees cooler than the Bellatrix. The alien, spicy smell of the corridors was overpowering. And the icy looks the human got from passing members of the Holconcom were uncomfortable. Stern began to feel like an invading disease. If his reception as an ally officer was this cool and resented, his people could expect even less. Madeline, of all his crew, was going to feel the pressure keenly, since the Centaurian empire did not allow females aboard its warships. He hoped the trip back to the Tri-Galaxy Fleet base on Trimerius would be quick.
Stern was winded by the time they got to the command deck of the enormous vessel. The oval, high-domed bridge made the Bellatrix’s bridge look cramped and primitive by comparison. Above his head, a second bridge circled the main sector like a smooth, white balcony. And both bridges seemed to be perfectly coordinated, as well as efficiently manned. The ten crewmen on the lower level maintained their posts with a silence that would have been impossible for a human crew.
Dtimun, noticing the approach of the human, rose from his spool-like command chair and joined Komak and Stern beside the communications banks. Stern saluted unconsciously, but Dtimun waved it aside without returning it.
“Your people are evacuated?” he asked formally.
“Every one,” Stern replied. “What about the Bellatrix?”
“Your ship?” Dtimun nodded at a crewman against the opposite bulkhead. A viewscreen was activated which covered the width and length