The Morcai Battalion

“You will eat,” he said, “or you will be fed forcibly. Do you understand? I will not allow you to commit suicide.”

“Allow?” She looked at him defiantly, with brown anger coloring her pupils. “And do you think to dictate to me?”

He smiled. A thin, self-confident smile that was disconcerting. “Until the war is over, at least. You are a political prisoner. As such, you will tolerate my ‘dictates.’”

“And the consequences?” she chided. “Shall you send me to Ahkmau?”

“If you continue to oppose me, you may be sent to my harem,” he warned mockingly.

Had she known how, she would have blushed. A mingling of color touched her eyes, and she hid them from him. Dtimun would teach this Rojok choapha manners. Among other lessons the Holconcom would provide.

Stern was still nursing hostility when he went into the mess hall with Madeline and Hahnson two “days” later. The tension in the room was so thick it could have been filleted.

The compartment was filled to capacity, with humans and Centaurians sitting uncomfortably integrated at the long tables. The close quarters bred tension.

The ship was still running from the oncoming net of Rojok ships, which it had managed to avoid with amazing tactical skill. Stern was beginning to believe the C.O.’s reputation for eluding superior forces. Apparently there was some sort of technology in use that was able to broadcast false ion trails to lead the Rojok ships astray. How long that would continue to work was anyone’s guess. Meanwhile, hope was growing that the vessel would make neutral Benaski Port in time.

The situation aboard the Morcai, however, was growing desperate. In the past twenty-four standard hours, disaster had been averted by seconds on every deck. The mixture of aliens and humans grew more explosive by the minute. Thanks to the translators, the humans understood enough Centaurian to realize that they were being chided, denigrated and insulted with every other breath. The Holconcom were eloquent about their distaste for having to share quarters with those they thought of as inferior beings. They abused the humans for being unable to meet the same physical challenges as the Centaurians. They chided them for their lack of stamina. The humans, on the other hand, knew that the Centaurians were clones, and treated them with contempt. Among human colonies, clones had no status, no rights, and were frequently kept in cooling tanks in suspended animation and used as spare parts for their originals.

Some of the Centaurians had to move out of their quarters to accommodate the unexpected guests aboard their vessel. The humans got in the way of routine. They didn’t understand Centaurian discipline, they didn’t follow the protocols, and they acted as if they owned the ship. Stern made no attempt to smooth things over. Hahnson had, but his misgivings grew when he noticed how careless Stern’s attitude was to the growing danger. He’d mentioned it to Komak, who frowned and commented that perhaps a word to Dtimun would be wise. The exec offered to speak to his commanding officer for Hahnson, and not mention it to Holt Stern. Hahnson dreaded having Stern find out that he’d gone behind his back. But something was different about his captain; something radical. He looked around him at the integrated mess hall and wondered how anyone could think combining the groups a good idea. The Centaurians had never known physical contact with other races except in war, and these humans knew nothing of how they fought on a battlefield. Hahnson had known humans to have nervous breakdowns just from seeing the Holconcom fight. Stern had never seen them in combat. Perhaps that helped explain his odd lack of concern for his men.

Madeline was watching a group of Centaurians and humans at another table with growing concern. The “accidental” elbowing by the humans was all too conspicuous, and the chiding tones were unmistakable despite the language barrier that even the rudimentary translators were working valiantly to correct.

“He might have left us segregated,” Madeline said angrily. “This forced integration is going to cause a riot before we ever reach Benaski Port.”

“Forced?” Hahnson eyed her. “Did Dtimun give orders to integrate at mess? I can’t believe he’d risk it.” He frowned as he studied the other diners. “This could result in a slaughter. Are you sure it was the C.O.?”

Madeline scowled. “Well, no. But if not him, then, who…?”

“I integrated our ship’s complement with the Centaurians,” Stern said carelessly. “They’ll have to learn to get along one way or the other, and the sooner the better.”

“Are you nuts?” Hahnson exclaimed. “Don’t you know what’s going to happen if one of our men lays hands on one of the Holconcom?”

“The Holconcom will sit there and take it, of course,” Stern replied smugly. “You yourself,” he added to Hahnson, “told me that the commander threatened to kill the first one of his men who fought back if there were any confrontations.”

“The commander still doesn’t realize just how physical humans are,” Hahnson protested. “I’m the only one he’s spent much time around, and we never came to blows!”

“Try the green jell,” Stern said casually, lifting a spoonful to his lips. “It tastes like anything you imagine it to be. It’s ingenious.”

“Holt…”

Hahnson never finished the sentence. Before he could, an ominous clatter of hyperplastic hitting the deck cut him off. A brief, stunned silence followed the commotion.

A Bellatrix crewman shot to his feet, glaring down at a Holconcom noncom beside him. “That’s it, you damned cat-eyes!” he roared, red in the face. “I’ve taken all the insults and all the sarcasm I’m goin’ to take from you!”

The Holconcom pointedly ignored the outburst and kept eating.

Confident now, the human grew bolder. “No guts,” he spat at the alien. “You guys are all talk. Come on, stand up and let’s see if you bleed!”

Hahnson gaped at the crewman. He knew the man. It was one of the engineers, Declan Muldoon, and he was one of the most levelheaded humans he’d ever known. It wasn’t like Muldoon to actually start a fight.

Just as Hahnson started to relay that opinion to his colleagues, Muldoon laid a heavy hand on the Centaurian he was baiting and, deftly turning him, threw a heavy-handed right cross to the alien’s jaw.

The Holconcom sat and stared at the human, unmoved by the blow, which would have felled any crewman at Stern’s table.

“Tough guy, huh?” Muldoon persisted, grinning. “Try this on for size!” He threw another punch, putting everything he had into it. The Holconcom absorbed it as easily as he had the first. But his eyes began to dilate. As he turned toward the human, Madeline saw the elongated cat-eyes slowly turn brown.

“Stern, do something while there’s still time,” Madeline said quickly.

But the Bellatrix’s captain only sat watching the byplay with oddly blank, dark eyes.

Suddenly a low, soft growl began to grow in the silence that followed the human engineer’s next deliberate blow. The sound built on itself, like a low roar that quickly took on the ferocity of a jungle cat’s warning cry. It exploded abruptly in a high-pitched inhuman scream that froze Stern’s heart in his chest with a terror that bordered on panic. The blank look left his eyes as his jaw dropped. He’d never heard such a nightmarish sound in his life, even in combat.

“My God!” Hahnson whispered. “The decaliphe!”

Before the soft words died on the air, the Holconcom regular was on his feet. He began to crouch, his eyes darker by the second, his hands slowly assuming the shape of a cat’s open paw. They flexed. Beneath the tips of the fingers, steel claws began to extend in gleaming sharp points. It was a form of bionic engineering that none of the humans had yet seen.

Madeline pushed Stern, but he didn’t react. He was frozen in place by the low growl that built again in the Centaurian’s throat.

Madeline grabbed for Stern’s Gresham and fired it at point-blank range, into the back of the Holconcom, with the setting on maximum burn. It should have killed the alien. It should have dropped him to his knees at least. It did neither. She fired again, cursing under her breath, with the same result.

“What in the seven netherworlds…!” Madeline exclaimed huskily.

The Holconcom group had risen in unison. They were standing, watching the other Holconcom who crouched in front of Muldoon.

Hahnson got to his feet. “Twenty Greshams wouldn’t stop him now!” he told Madeline. “He gave the decaliphe—the death cry. Only Dtimun can bring him down! Hold the other men back, no matter what the Holconcom do, if you can. I’ll get the C.O.”

He was out the door at a dead run. Madeline moved forward with the Gresham leveled, ignoring Stern, who still sat as if in a trance.

“Hold it!” Madeline barked at two human noncoms who were in the process of rising from their seats. “Move and I’ll drop both of you,” she added, her green eyes backing up the threat. They sat down.

But Lieutenant Higgins, the Bellatrix’s exec, rose from his chair despite the threat of Madeline’s Gresham. Across from her, the Holconcom regular was moving with a catlike stalking gait toward Muldoon, who had by now realized his peril and had begun to back away, his face mirroring his fear.

“He’ll kill Muldoon, if we don’t do something,” Higgins pleaded huskily. “He’s my friend. If we could just get Muldoon out of here…! You don’t know what they’ll do if the alien actually attacks Muldoon.” He nodded toward the Holconcom. “You haven’t seen them fight. I have.” He swallowed, hard. “There won’t be enough of Muldoon left to bury, and then they’ll go for the other humans in a solid mass. They can’t help it, Doctor, it’s the way they fight…!”

Another sharp, catlike cry from the Holconcom interrupted him.

The hairs on the back of Madeline’s neck stood up, but she held her ground. She had, after all, been an officer in the Amazon regiment, long before she became a doctor. “Move toward him again,” Madeline told Higgins, “and he’ll have company. It’s Hahnson’s show. He knows what he’s doing.”

The rest of the Holconcom were still standing, and when the humans began to stand, as well, the Centaurians’ eyes began to grow darker and the pupils dilate.

Hurry, Strick, she thought silently. She wasn’t certain what the outcome would be, but she was inclined to believe Higgins. She’d heard things about the way the Holconcom fought, as a unit. None of the Amazons had ever seen them in combat or been liaisoned with them. The Centaurians had no female military, due to their obviously backward culture, she thought wickedly. But she had a feeling that if any of the humans made a move toward Muldoon, the Holconcom would mass and there would be a massacre. Higgins meant well, but his interference could bring about the very situation he feared.

Muldoon was looking paler by the minute, but he stood firm. “Go ahead. Kill me. Or try to kill me,” he taunted the Holconcom.

“Shut up, Muldoon!” Madeline called to him, in a tone that demanded obedience.

He gave her an odd look. One of the other humans turned to the Centaurian next to him and put up his fists. There were more growls. The Holconcom began to merge into a mass of red uniforms.

God, Madeline thought in anguish. There was nothing else she could do. If Hahnson didn’t hurry…!

She heard the autodoor opening behind her with relief, and moved her eyes to it.

But it wasn’t the C.O. It was Hahnson, grimacing. “Komak’s going after him,” he told her.

“Think we have time?” she wondered with black humor, taking her eyes off Muldoon for an instant.

It was enough. Higgins sprang into action. He went for the Holconcom bracing Muldoon and clipped him at the knees.

Incredibly the Holconcom was like a solidly rooted tree. He didn’t move an inch. But his hand did. He caught Muldoon by the throat with one hand, flung the human away and slammed him to the deck, where he lay still, unmoving. Then he turned toward Higgins.

“Oh, God!” Madeline ground out when she saw the Centaurian’s eyes. They were black. Pitch-black. As black as death. She’d never seen that color, but she’d read about it…

She fired the Gresham, again and again and again, but the emerillium propelled plasma spray simply bounced off. She could hardly believe her eyes. Then, just as the Holconcom reached Higgins, there was a sound behind her.

“Mashcon!” The single word had the ring of steel hitting rock. It froze the humans in their stances, like action figures. It muted the building growls of the other Holconcom.

All eyes turned toward the doorway. Dtimun was standing just inside it, with Komak at his side. The alien’s eyes, as black as those of his Holconcom, looked and held on those of the Centaurian who had Muldoon in his grasp.

The soldier’s eyes suddenly calmed. The black death was gone from them, to be replaced by a color that Madeline’s whirling mind couldn’t classify. His face abruptly contorted, and he screamed—something unheard of in the ranks of the Holconcom.

The scream died. He stood there, facing his commanding officer with a fear so complete it seemed to radiate from him and touch every Centaurian in the mess hall.

“You were warned,” Dtimun said, very quietly, “of the consequences of conflict. You have seen the power of the Holconcom. Now see the power of their commander.”

He moved forward so quickly that he was a blur in the eyes of the humans. He had the Centaurian by the neck in a heartbeat. A split second later, his hand flexed and the alien flew completely across the mess hall, over the heads of the Centaurians and the humans, with lightning speed. The offending Centaurian hit the Plexiglas wall and bounced off onto the floor, to lie still with his huge eyes open, with his mouth open, as well. He arched, once, and then lay unmoving, like Muldoon.

Madeline swallowed hard. She was a doctor. Before that, she’d been an elite warrior. But in all her battles, she’d never seen anything like the commander in action. She’d never have believed that any humanoid could move that fast until she’d seen it. Beside her, she felt Hahnson’s arm tense like a coiled spring.

Dtimun’s black eyes calmed into a somber blue. He straightened regally, with barely noticeable effort, and turned to the others. His expression was so fierce that Higgins actually backed up. “There will be no further incidents,” he said quietly. “Or the perpetrators will answer to me. Am I understood?”

The entire complement of the mess hall stood at rigid attention, including the Holconcom.

“Who integrated the mess?” the alien added abruptly, and turned to Komak.

“Not I,” Komak replied.

“I did,” Stern said, finding his voice at last.

Dtimun moved toward him without seeming to move at all. He was a head taller than Stern. He stared down at the human with barely concealed rage. “Once, I would have killed you for such an infraction. Your rank in the Tri-Fleet prevents me from such discipline. However,” he added with cold eyes, “it will not spare your subordinate.” He whirled and shot an order in Centaurian. Two Holconcom went to the downed human, Muldoon, and dragged him to his feet. He was conscious, wide-eyed and visibly terrified.

“Captain Stern!” Muldoon called piteously. “Help me!”

Stern’s mind was a nexus of conflicting emotions. He stared at Muldoon blankly as he realized what he’d done, and what the consequences could have been. He couldn’t believe he’d put his men at risk like this!

“What will you do with him?” Stern asked the Holconcom commander.

Dtimun didn’t reply. He turned back to his officers. “Prepare him.” He glanced at Stern. “All officers will go immediately to the green section airlock,” he added. “Video monitors will be activated for the crew, so that they may watch, as well.”

He made a gesture with one lean hand, which prompted the Holconcom with Muldoon to act immediately, almost carrying a protesting Muldoon out of the canteen. The man’s sobs could be heard like echoes of fear.

Madeline gasped aloud. “You can’t mean to space him!” she exclaimed. “There are protocols…!”

Dtimun didn’t answer her. He looked straight at Stern. “Ask your captain the penalty for inciting intermilitary conflict in time of war.” He turned and followed his officers and Muldoon, expecting obedience.

The humans gave Stern shocked, angry looks as they filed by, too shaken by what they’d seen to risk the commander’s temper.

“Stern, for God’s sake, do something!” Madeline raged.

“It’s too late,” Hahnson said for him, his face set in hard lines. “No power in the galaxy will stop Dtimun when he thinks he’s right. Damn it, Stern! You’ve cost us one of our best engineers!”

He filed out behind the other humans. Madeline hesitated, but only for an instant. She was shocked at Stern’s unnatural behavior, at his instigation of the conflict. She turned her eyes forward and followed Hahnson.

Stern watched them go with wide, blank eyes. He was puzzled and vaguely frightened by his actions, but he couldn’t seem to stop doing insane things. Perhaps his concussion had prompted it. Regardless of the reason, Muldoon was about to be spaced, and Stern couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Not a single damned thing.

5

By the time Stern got to the airlock station, Muldoon was standing inside the closing doors. Dtimun’s third officer, a tall Centaurian named Btnu, was at the wall with his hand on a switch.

Madeline started to protest, but Hahnson kicked her boot. Hard. She swallowed her rage and glared at Stern instead.

Dtimun turned and looked straight at the human crewmen as he gave the order to Btnu. Inside the airlock, Muldoon was pounding at the transparent screen, yelling, his face red and swollen. He looked frantic.

Idly, Stern thought how out of character it was for Muldoon, who was one of the bravest engineers he’d ever served with, to behave in such a manner. He’d seen the Irishman beaten bloody and still struggling to his feet to give back the punches. He wasn’t the sort of soldier to beg and plead.

While he was thinking it, Btnu threw the switch and Muldoon was suddenly floating in space.

There was a muttered curse from beside him as the Irishman tumbled over and over and slowly became a speck in the deep black of star-sprinkled space.

“This is what you can expect if there are ever additional incidents of this sort,” Dtimun said in a deadly, soft tone as he turned to face the humans. “We are at war. Aboard this ship, we fight Rojoks, not fellow crewmen—even reluctant ones! Remember what you have just seen. Never forget it!” He glared at them. “Dismissed!”

The humans grouped together like defiant, belligerent insurgents and left the deck. The Holconcom showed no emotion whatsoever. They saluted their commander and followed out behind the humans.

Madeline’s fists were clenched at her sides. She said nothing, but her eyes spoke for her. She’d almost run out of vicious names to call him, mentally, when he suddenly turned on his heel and glared at her.

Dtimun abruptly walked to her side and stopped with his hands linked behind his back. His posture was threatening enough, without the dark anger of his elongated eyes. “I have no qualms about spacing women,” he pointed out, in deep tones without a trace of an accent. “Interfere again and I will prove it. You have duties, Doctor, none of which pertain to command of this vessel. Attend to them!”

She swallowed, her teeth clenched so hard that she thought they might break, and snapped the hateful alien a salute before she turned with perfect posture and marched off the deck.

Hahnson grimaced as he saw Stern’s expression, but he said nothing. He saluted and joined Madeline outside.

Dtimun’s expression never wavered when he looked at Stern. “The Holconcom fight as a unit,” he said. “If I had not intervened, you and your entire crew would be dead. Explain your behavior.”

Stern frowned. His hand went to his head. There was a terrible pain, a shattering pain. He could hardly bear it.

The alien’s eyes turned blue. He cocked his head. “This pain,” he said, “is it from the concussion?”

It didn’t occur to Stern to wonder how the alien knew he was in pain. He could barely think. “Pain,” he gritted. “So…much…pain…!”

He dropped to the deck, unconscious.

When he came to, he was in the makeshift human sick bay and Hahnson was bending over him, a concerned expression on his broad face as he checked Stern’s head with a small device that read through tissue and blood and bone.

“Will I live?” Stern husked.

“You may not want to, considering how much trouble you’re in,” Hahnson told him quietly.

“The commander was out of line, too,” Madeline muttered, standing just to the side of Hahnson. “I’m saving up infractions. When we port at HQ, I’m bringing him up on charges.”

Hahnson gave her a tongue-in-cheek glance. “Pay your burial fees first.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” she said curtly. But she didn’t push the issue. “How is he?” she asked Hahnson.

“No major damage that I can see,” Hahnson said absently, checking his scanners. “But there are some minor deviations in the endorphin levels, and there’s some foreign substance that I can’t even identify.”

“I have some memory loss,” Stern admitted at last. He winced. “And headaches that aren’t even describable.”

“Maybe the deviations are responsible,” Madeline interjected.

“That doesn’t explain them,” Hahnson replied. He handed Madeline a copy of his readings. “You’re better at exobiology than I am. Run those through your diagnostic computer, will you? Perhaps you can find something that my scanners can’t read.”

“My degrees are all in Cularian medicine,” she pointed out. “That’s Rojok and Altairian and Centaurian genetics.”

“There are some similarities to Rojok cell structure,” Hahnson said surprisingly.

Stern sat up too quickly, grabbed his head and groaned.

“Just lie back down, if you please,” Hahnson said, easing him onto the medical scanner array. “I’m not accusing you of being a Rojok spy. I said there were similarities, that’s all. You might have picked up some cellular residue left behind by the Rojoks when they attacked the colony. This equipment is sensitive enough to detect week-old skin cells.”

“Oh,” Stern murmured.

Madeline peered into the computer built into the examination array and frowned. She exchanged a glance with Hahnson that Stern didn’t see.

Hahnson read it very well. He patted Stern on the shoulder. “You just lie there and rest for a few minutes. I’m going to walk Madeline through the sensor workup. Okay?”

“Okay.” He opened his eyes and looked up at his comrades of many years with a worried frown. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked abruptly. “I let that cat-eyed terror blow up the Bellatrix without a protest. I let him space Muldoon. On Terramer, I was willing to sacrifice the Jebobs and Altairians. What the hell am I turning into?” he asked in anguish. “Why can’t I remember anything before we left the Peace Planet? Why didn’t I rush that cat-eyed terror when he spaced Muldoon?” He groaned, holding his head. “The pain…is terrible. I can’t…function…like this!”

“We’ll find the answers, Holt,” Madeline said quietly. “I promise.”

He drew in an unsteady breath. “Muldoon’s gone. It’s my fault.”

“It’s his,” Hahnson corrected shortly. “He could have gotten us all killed. If you’d ever seen the Holconcom fight, you wouldn’t be apologizing.” He shivered faintly. “It’s not a sight you ever forget.”

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