not even in the right place. There was nothing that she could do about her immense eyes and tiny nose, but those features were not as noticeable as he thought they would be.
“When others look at Starwolves, all they ever see is the armor,” Mayelna explained. “Take away that and the second set of arms and they do not know what they are looking at.”
“Amazing,” Velmeran agreed as he handed back the photograph. “But I do not think I want to play such a game.”
Mayelna shrugged. “I was only suggesting a diversion. Once this battle is done, you will have all the rest you want. Valthyrra is taking herself into airdock for an overhaul.”
Velmeran paused a moment, and nodded slowly. “Yes, then I can rest. But Valthyrra will have no choice in the matter. After Trace is finished with her, she is going to need more than an overhaul.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“That is no prediction, but a statement of fact,” he said. “She cannot fight this thing without getting a few dents in her nose.
But I would not tell her that, since she will not refuse this fight.”
“No, I imagine not,” Mayelna agreed, and frowned. “Did Dyenlerra talk to you? About what you are?”
“Yes, she did.”
“And it does not bother you?” she asked cautiously.
“Bother me?” Velmeran asked. “It comes as something of a relief. Now I feel that I am exactly what I was supposed to be, rather than some type of freak. But I also feel very different from everyone I have ever known.”
“Not everyone,” Mayelna reminded him. “Do not forget that Consherra is like you, and she will always be with you.”
Velmeran smiled. “I do not believe that I could ever forget that. She will make certain of it.”
5
Among the most ancient legends of the Faldenneh there exists the story of the creation of life. In the earliest days there was just the universe itself, the stars and the empty worlds, and the gods knew a happy existence, free from worry and concern. But in time they came to think that they were lacking something, and so they created all life so that they might have something to worry and care for. It was not long before they realized their mistake.
Somehow that story came to mind while Velmeran was preparing for port leave. He was beginning to appreciate a few universal rules that governs all life. On the whole, life is a complicated, disagreeable, and largely disillusioning affair, not at all what it was made out to be. And yet all creatures cling desperately to life, perhaps because the alternative appears less attractive. Just now complication was the key feature in his own life. He had no real desire to take port leave, but he could not refuse.
Standing in his cabin, Velmeran moved his arms around to check the articulation of his new suit. Since he was also the leader of the Methryn’s resident special tactics team, Valthyrra had been very careful about the manufacture of his suit. Consherra, standing nearby, nodded thoughtfully.
“Good enough,” she said, and retrieved the helmet. “You recall the operation of the new features.”
Since the chestplate was still open, Velmeran looked down into the folded-down mirror at the controls. Valthyrra had incorporated two special features into his suit. One was a two-way system that allowed him to hear and speak with those outside while his helmet was on. The other was a control device that, when activated, gradually equalized pressure within the suit with that outside. Sudden pressure changes caused a temporary muffling of his acute hearing; during his last raid, he had nearly been shot by a mechanical sentry he should have heard.
“Everything works fine,” he assured her. “Are you certain that you will not come with me?”
Consherra shook her head sadly. “I cannot. We will be getting the Methryn battle-ready. Any advice?”
“Yes, two things. Do not take anything apart that will take more than an hour to put back together again. That is all the warning we will get.”
“That is understandable,” she agreed. “What else?”
“Make certain that the conversion cannon is ready for firing.” Consherra paused, startled. The Methryn’s conversion cannon possessed the destructive potential to reduce the planet below them to dust. Valthyrra had never fired the cannon in actual battle, since there was rarely any need for such power. If Velmeran planned to use this weapon, then he expected a battle such as the Starwolves had not seen since the ancient days.
“Yes, it will come to that.” Velmeran knew well enough what she was thinking. “We will be facing something quite capable of destroying us if we are careless or unlucky.”
“I will keep that in mind,” she promised. “And you watch out for yourself while you are down there.”
“I will. Without you to keep me company, I will probably be too bored and lonely to get into trouble.”
Velmeran hurried down to the landing bay, where he knew that his pack members would be waiting impatiently. They were already in their ships and ready to fly, and he dashed to his own. But he slowed as he neared the centermost of the nine fighters, savoring his first look at his new ship. It radiated newness in the deep matte black of its finish, unscratched by debris and handling and unfaded by cannon flash, hot engines, or the extremes of space.
Velmeran took his pack out of the bay and, without warning, led them on a wild chase as he tested out his new fighter, defying them to keep pace with him. They were real pilots now, far from the mere students they had been only two years earlier. They were the best pack on the Methryn by far, perhaps the best pack in the entire wolf fleet.
Although he knew that his days might well be short, this was not a time of sad reflection on what might have been. He was content with what he had accomplished; he would have said at peace, but that suggested a stoic but resigned surrender to one’s fate. He was by no means ready to surrender; his fate was not sealed and he meant to fight for his own life as hard as he fought for the Methryn But in his own order of priorities, the Methryn had to come first.
Velmeran knew that he could save his ship, but saving his own life in the process was problematical. He looked upon his apparent ability to glimpse the future as a method of forewarning, not a pronouncement of inescapable fate. There were always alternatives, and most of his forewarnings were self-defeating because they revealed those alternatives. Just because he had not yet seen those alternatives did not mean that they did not exist.
Such thoughts occupied his mind for the flight down to the port, but his first look at the mountainous landscape rising swiftly beneath him chased away such brooding thoughts. Kanis was a second home for the Starwolves. In terms of their balance of power, Kanis was Starwolf property, one of several worlds deep within Union space that enjoyed the freedom and independence that Starwolf protection brought. In practice, Kanis was an independent world, an empire self-contained in its own system, self-governed and free of the economic tyrrany of the trade companies. Its governing council did treat with the Union as one nation dealt with another, making trade concessions and treaties. Small allowances, but it kept the Union placated.
Still, no one doubted that the Union would arrive in force if the Starwolves relaxed their voluntary protection. In return for this service, Kanis was a strong supporter of the Starwolves. The Kelvessan enjoyed port leaves here such as they seldom knew, free from danger and at liberty to be their true selves, not their carefully maintained image of armored death.
Kanis itself obliged by being climatically ideal for the physical requirements of the Kelvessan. Most of its two major continents were extremely mountainous and situated in thick bands just below the polar seas. Thus the climate was cool at best, the summers short and pleasant and the winters long and harsh. The native population had been there long enough to adapt somewhat to the adverse climate, and they found it no hardship. For Starwolves, Kanis was something of a paradise, one of the very few inhabited worlds where it was both safe and practical for them to come out of their armored shells.
