"You'll do. Once you get a lot of that theory knocked out of your head, and let experience teach you what you should really know about this game, you'll be worth at least half your pay to a Blademaster."
"You said that X-Tee specialization explained my assignment, sir — ?"
But the veteran appeared to have lost interest in the conversation. The Yano game broke up in a noisy if good-natured argument, and Hansu was tapped on the shoulder by one of his own rank and urged into the group reforming for a second round.
And because he had not answered that question Kana began to note more carefully the caliber of the men about him. These were not only veterans, but long-service men with a high percentage of stars. The scraps of conversation he overheard mentioned famed commanders, Hordes with long lists of successful engagements. Yet Fitch Yorke was a comparative newcomer, with no fame to pull in such men. Wouldn't it have been more normal for them to refuse enlistment under him? Why the concentration of experience and skill in an obscure Horde on an unknown planet? Kana was certain that Hansu, for one, was an outstanding X-Tee expert —
But during the next few days he saw little of the veteran, and the landing on Secundus after the boredom of the trip could not come soon enough.
The temporary quarters assigned to Yorke's men was a long hall, one end of which was a mess station while the other was tiered with bunks. With a hundred men dragging in supplies and personal equipment, greeting old comrades, sharing Horde rumor and Combat news, the room was a hurricane of noise and confusion. Kana, not knowing just where to go, followed Hansu down the length of the room. But when the Swordtan turned to join a glittering circle of his peers, the recruit was left to hunt a dim corner suitable to his inexperience and general greenness.
There was not much choice. The S-Threes congregated in the least desirable section by the door. And with a sense of relief Kana noted several whose uniforms were as bare of ornament as was his own. He tramped over and claimed a top bunk by tossing his war bag up on its pad.
"D'you see who just mustered in?" one of his neighbors demanded of the young man beside him. "Trig Hansu — !"
A low whistle of astonishment became words. "But he's top brass! What's he doing in this outfit? He could claim shares with Zagren Osmin or Franlan. Yorke should be flattered to get the time of day from him."
"Yeah? Well, I've heard he's strange in some ways. He'll cut a top outfit any time to get off the regular travel lanes and visit a new world. He's space whirly over exploring. Could have had a Horde of his own long ago if he hadn't always been jumping off into the black. And, besides, brother, haven't you noticed something else about this particular crowd? Yorke's snaffled himself more than one big name in this pull-out. Hello — " He noticed Kana's bag and now he turned smartly to survey its owner.
"So — something new here. A nice greenie out to make his fortune or die on the field of glory. What's your name and condition, greenie?"
There was no bite of sarcasm in that demand and the speaker did not outrank Kana very far in either years or service.
"Kana Karr, S-Three — "
"Mic Hamet, S-Three — that clay-clawer resting his sore feet over there is Rey Nalassie, also of our lowly rank. First assignment?"
Kana nodded. Mic Hamet's dark red hair was roached in the scalp ridge, but his unusually fair skin was reddened rather than tanned by exposure and there was a spattering of freckles across his somewhat flat nose. His friend uncoiled long legs and rose to a gangling six-foot-two, his lantern-jawed face solemn, though his sleepy gray eyes displayed humor and interest.
"They scraped us out of a rotation depot. We had bad luck a while back. Rey got bit by a bug during our last stretch and we had to default out of Oosterbeg's Horde four months short. So we were flat enough in the purse to sign on here when the assign officer looked at us as if we were slightly better than muck worms."
"You doubled yet, Karr?" asked Nalassie in a husky voice.
"No, I was delayed in leaving Training. And all the fellows who shipped out of Prime with me were vets — "
Mic lost his half grin. "That's tough luck. Most of us Threes are paired already and you wouldn't want to double with either Krosof or the rest — "
"Heard tell that if you come in solo, Yorke puts you with a vet," Rey volunteered. "Got a theory youth should be tamed by age — or something of the sort."
"And that's worse than tough," broke in his partner. "You shouldn't team up with anyone until you know him. I'd play it single as long as I could, if I were you, Karr. You might be lucky enough to find some good fella who's lost his partner. Stick with us until you do double if you want to — "
"And a very good way to stay out of trouble with the jeweled ones" — Rey nodded toward the rankers' side of the hall — "is to get out of here." He put on his helmet and buckled the chin strap. "They aren't going to muster until morning, we can still have a night on the town. And, fella, you haven't seen excitement until you've seen the leave section of Secundus."
Kana was enthusiastic until he thought of the leanness of his purse. Four credits wouldn't even pay for a meal in a base town — he was sure of that. But, as he shook his head, Mic's fingers closed on his arm.
"No quibbling, fella. We'll be a long time in the back country and we aren't comfortable, shipping out with credits sticking to our fingers. We'll stand you — then when you get your first star, you can repay in kind — that's fair enough. Now, quick about it, before someone gets the idea of putting the younger generation to labor for the good of their souls!"
Beyond the walls of the Combat area a typical leave town had grown up. Taverns, cafes, gambling establishments catered for all ranks and purses, from Bladermasters and Mechmasters to recruits. It was certainly no place to visit with only four credits, Kana thought again as he blinked at the light of the gaudy signs lining the street before them.
And, to his discomfort, the ideas of his guides were not modest. They steered him by the cafes he would have chosen and dragged him through a wide door where Terran gold-leaf was overlaid with the sea-green shimmer of Trafian scale lac. Their boots pressed flat the four-inch pile of carpets which could only have been woven on Caq, and the walls were cloaked with the tapestries of Sansifar. Kana balked.
"This is strictly a glitter boy's shop," he protested. But Mic's hold on him did not relax and Rey chuckled.
"No rank off field," Mic reminded him sardonically. "S-Threes and Blademasters — we're all the same in our skins. Only civilians worry about artificial distinctions — "
"Sure. In Combat you go where you please. And we please to come here." Rey sniffed the scented air which stirred the shining arras, shaking the figures on them to quivering life. "By the Forked Tail of Blamand, what I wouldn't give to be in on the sacking of this! And here comes mine host's assistant."
The figure loping toward them was one of the skeleton-lean, big-headed natives of Lupa. He greeted them with a professional smile, disclosing the double row of fangs which tended to make Terrans slightly nervous, and inquired their pleasure in a series of ear-taxing growls.
"Nothing big," Mic returned. "We have muster tomorrow. Suppose you let us trot around by ourselves, Feenhalt. We won't get into trouble — "
The Lupan's pointed grin widened as he waved them on. When they passed through a slit in the curtain to the next room Kana commented: