Elemental Affinity: Cortii series, #3

By J C Steel

The Cortii are mercenaries, for hire to anyone who can afford their services. Every government uses them; no single government can destroy them.

A newly discovered world. An opportunity for the Cortiian rebels. And a mission for Wildcat Cortia...

 The Federated Planets Alliance scouts have discovered a new human civilisation; a civilisation not suited to their usual contact protocol. They want a Cortiian to test the waters, and the rebel faction has a very specific commander in mind for the mission – Ilan of Wildcat.

To Ilan, the orders are a convenient pretext. To an ancient feudal culture about to join an intergalactic civilisation, the leaping wildcat and a rider all in black are symbols long foretold - heralding cataclysmic change.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J C Steel
• Release date: Sep 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781999504656

Book preview

Prologue

THE ELECTRIC TREMOR of adrenalin alone almost made the confrontation worthwhile. Khyria, well aware of her own addictions, let the darkness flavour her smile.

Kill me now, and you still need an envoy able to interact with humans—badly enough to risk a face-to-face meeting with the most junior of your recruits, she said. The even tone was surprisingly hard to maintain with artificial Ability disruptors shutting down telepathy and empathy to the merest, seductive whisper of power. Harder with the blindfold swathed over her eyes, harder still with the acid burn of the forcer cuffs underscoring exactly how helpless she really was to do anything about the icy line of metal stinging against her throat.

The silence that followed was stifling, freighted with threat. It might have been more effective without the artificial shields damping her Abilities, and that irony lent an edge to her expression. She doubted the influential leaders of Corina’s rebel faction appreciated it any more than they appreciated her refusal to follow orders as given.

Warmth trickled down her neck, the blade biting in, and she let her smile widen. Someone had passed a signal to make that happen, and that was telling. If they were trying to make her sweat, they were out of arguments, and if they were out of arguments and she was still alive, they were convinced they needed her. Her command, saddled with a human hostage for the duration of their Crossing, had both survived the Crossing and kept the human alive, which in the eyes of the rebel leaders apparently made her the best candidate they had to prejudice a newly-discovered humanoid population in favour of the Cortii.

There is no assignment available at your level for a partial Cortia, the female voice said ahead of her. Where do you expect them to be sent, since you seem so concerned for their welfare on Base? That dig was carefully deliberate, the phrases dripping acid. Unfortunately, it was also true. Wildcat Cortia, the most recent unit to join the active rankings on Corina Base, had acquired all their commander’s enemies and none of her allies in the few months since they’d emerged from basic training. Since the fact was as unavoidable as it was unpalatable, Khyria ignored the barb.

I expect them to be assigned to a training rotation on the orbital station for the full duration of my assignment. Their training priorities will be combat piloting and zero-gee operations, with all authorisations and their departure to be complete before mine.

You seem to imagine we have a great deal more authority over training rotations than we have. This time it was the male voice. So far, those two had done all the talking, but with a blindfold deliberately secured to also blur her hearing, there could be others present besides the woman currently holding a knife to her throat. That woman was the only one whose identity she was certain of; a Cortiora a few orbits her senior in rank, Verali Quha.

I imagine nothing. Those are my terms. If you can’t meet them, then a slit throat now is undoubtedly a cleaner death than the Councils will give me as part of your following.

The sharp intake of breath by her side was the most overt reaction her flat statement garnered, but the silence rang. Quha, unlike Khyria, had the advantage of knowing who she was dealing with, and also unlike Khyria, she presumably wasn’t blindfolded or shielded. Apparently the unsubtle implication that the rebel cause was facing a short and unpleasant future had had some effect.

The knife abruptly withdrew, and the slight, stinging impact of a hypospray was the last thing Khyria felt before the darkness swallowed her whole.

Chapter 1

‘Having trust in the unknown is one of the quickest ways to commit suicide.’

Quoting ‘Training of a Cortiian’, by Nadhiri Longar

...NO SERIOUS INJURIES.

That was reassuring, Khyria thought, trying to clear her head. Certainly preferable to several other awakenings in the past orbit. A moment later, returning consciousness brought with it the identity of the voice: Taiva Zarlan. Wildcat’s Cortertia, her second in command, and Cortia medic by virtue of being ridiculously overqualified. Khyria kept her eyes closed and her breathing slow, letting the reports from her other senses trickle in. Since Taiva was here, most likely there was nothing to gained by deception, but instincts and training died hard.

I think she’s awake. That was Anst an Nabat, her most junior sub-commander, and unlike whoever else might or might not be present, her very clandestine research indicated that he would most likely know for certain, even if he himself might not know how he knew. Entertainment and chagrin mingled, and she opened her eyes.

The brilliant, standard-issue lighting of her own quarters momentarily turned Taiva’s white-blonde hair into a halo, and then her pupils adapted, showing her Taiva, Anst, and several other familiar faces crowded into her sleeping room.

Awake, aware, and apparently uncharacteristically popular, she confirmed, swinging her legs off the bunk, and forcing her second to take a long step back. The movement corroborated Taiva’s diagnosis; forcer burns and a slice under her chin, which was a lot less damage than she’d expected for outright defiance of the rebel leaders’ wishes. That was interesting in itself, even if she didn’t have time to analyse it. It took more of an effort to keep her hands resting calmly on her legs, and not reflexively making sure that the Ability disruptors were in fact gone from her temples.

Beyond Anst and Taiva, several other people had stirred at her comment but not actually made any moves for the door. Curiosity apparently trumped survival instincts, especially in this Cortia. Behind those two, she made out Nasra Meili—no surprise there—as well as Misan Pereti and Ranai Yanis. It was a decidedly odd collection, given Cortia politics.

Khyria stood, the half-suppressed surge of reluctance from Taiva at her movement pressing against her awareness as she did so, a welcome confirmation that her Abilities were back online. Taiva was one of the strongest telepaths in the Cortia, and she strengthened her defences. Neither Taiva nor anyone else needed to know the details of her most recent encounter—what few there were of them. Sedatives, shields, and a blindfold worked as well on a Cortiian as any other humanoid, at least short-term.

She walked out into the main room of her quarters, heading for the dispenser. Faran might help to dispel the lingering effects of whatever sedative Quha had used, and heading straight for her console would be more of a giveaway than the assembly in her quarters needed. A brief glance as she passed confirmed the steady flash of a waiting priority message, and the surge of relief was unexpectedly strong. Given the near-disaster following her involuntary absence from Corina Base a few months ago, leaving her command alone here again had been more of a risk than she was willing to take.

The spicy, familiar scent of the faran wreathed around her face, and she turned from the dispenser to face the silence of her riders.

Cortertia, report, she requested calmly. Given that lack of damage, odds were that Quha had had her dropped in or near the Wildcat corridor, and one or more of the group gathered in her quarters had come across her and raised the alarm, but having Taiva fill in the blanks would buy her some time to think.

Cantara quequai found you unconscious in the entry to the corridor, Cortiora, Taiva said flatly.

Again, no surprise that it had been Anst. Taiva had been within days of irreversible damage to her sanity and her Ability on that last mission, before Khyria had more or less blackmailed her junior Cantara into a risky Ability merge to try and reverse the progression of the illness. That merge had resulted in an Ability link with a range of interesting side-effects, and what little data there was to be found indicated they were likely to continue unless the link could be broken. Khyria shut that line of thought down hard. Mental defences or no, there were safer places to think about that highly illegal link than within arm’s reach of Taiva.

He raised the alarm and we brought you here. Lelzia is checking corridor security to see if we can identify who left you.

Khyria inclined her head. Most likely riders from Quha’s Cortia, but Lelzia, the person in the Cortia best-qualified when it came to illegal data acquisition, could confirm that. The questions her Cortertia was carefully not asking were already an almost physical force in the room without adding that tidbit.

She moved to her console, aware of the weight of eyes on her shoulders, and laid her hand on the ID pad. Khyria Ilan, KI534786, Cortiora Derian Wildcat Cortia, she said aloud, and the security hold on her messages verified her identity with a borderline-painful prickle across her palm.

Priority, command assignment. Priority, Cortia assignment. The messages had nearly simultaneous timestamps, and she accepted both sets of orders, sending them up onto the wall screens. The rustle as the group in her quarters moved closer was half-heard, inferred as much as sensed.

Two assignments, Cortiora? Anst asked calmly. The tone was an act, albeit one good enough that without that half-instinctive sense of him nestled in the back of her head, she wouldn’t have been sure. Anst had been her eyes and ears on Corina over her last absence, and knew very well how close they’d come to falling prey to Corina Base’s dangers.

Two assignments, she confirmed, scanning the details. Cortia assignment to the orbital station for four months for combat piloting and zero-gee training, departure third watch tomorrow. Solo assignment for me to Sector 276, planetary designation 5346, Intelligent Life Found, minimum three months, flexible duration. This time, the rustle was unmistakeable, and from Cortiians, the equivalent of an outburst.

She turned, leaning one hip against the console, and smiled pleasantly at the two unranked riders. Pereti, Yanis, go back to whatever you were doing. If this hits the gossip circuits before the formal briefing, the next four months of your lives will be as creatively hellish as I can arrange before my departure. She acknowledged their bows, and turned enough to key an order into the system. Zarlan, Meili, an Nabat, make yourselves comfortable. The last of our august number will be here shortly.

The rebels had given her what she wanted, but they’d cut departure times to the bone. Quite possibly dawn tomorrow was the earliest they’d been able to get a lift to the orbital station scheduled without setting priority coding through multiple levels of Base.

She let the silence hang as the three settled, sipping her faran. The stimulant was welcome, each swallow pulling against the clear gel on her throat where Taiva must have applied a dressing to the shallow slice Quha had left.

Unsurprisingly, it was Nasra who broke the silence, her expressive hands taking in the group. The Councils have actually cut orders for us to take our Cantai and yours to go and learn how to shoot in spacesuits, while you’re detached on your own? Why, in the sacred names of the hells?

Khyria gave her a lazy smile. Consider the alternatives, Cantara, she said. You may surprise yourself by enjoying the training routine.

That reminder set them all back on their heels, hard enough that Taiva’s gaze dropped abruptly. She’d never discussed the details of her interactions with Senja Ventiva over Khyria’s last absence, but from her own experience with that Cortiora, Khyria could fill in enough of it not to need to force her. Senja, frustrated in her attempts to find or engineer a durable hold over Khyria herself, had found Taiva’s weak point and used it, and Taiva had the kind of touchy pride that Cortiian basic training beat out of most of its recruits early. Senja would have found breaking her both easy and probably highly entertaining.

The sound of the door access shattered the moment, announcing the last of their number. Apparently Catterina had made admirable time from wherever she’d been on duty, and she made a bow in Khyria’s direction as soon as the door closed across her heels.

Assignment, Cortiora? she asked.

For me. Khyria gestured her to a seat. Wildcat will take advantage of the training slots which have conveniently opened on the orbital station. That got everyone’s attention, and her lips quirked involuntarily. Lelzia was going to make a lot of credit and get very little sleep over the next few watches chasing down rumours about that convenient opening in the databases. The expression pulled at the fading scars left from the most recent attempt to remove the annoyance offered to the Councils by Wildcat’s Cortiora; the one that had precipitated her abrupt departure from Base last time.

You will spend four months in intensive training, putting in real-time piloting hours as well as combat training sims, and practice zero-gee skills. By the end of it, everyone in the Cortia will have achieved minimum basic competencies across nav, ship combat, suit protocol, zero-gee combat, vacuum to pressure breaching, and ship and station tactics.

And you, Cortiora? Won’t you need to catch up? That was Nasra, alluding pointedly to the multiple coded entries in Khyria’s training file. Some, Khyria had set up herself; a lot of the disciplinary entries had been locked by others. Either way, the result was a number of blocks to casual efforts to get into the guts of her record.

Khyria sipped her faran, and gave the other a false, practised smile. No. She let that flat negative sink in for a moment, and continued. I am going to add one from my Canta to each of yours, effective immediately; you will need to adjust the training schedules to reflect units of six. You will also need to set up requisitions and briefings—given the timing, I strongly suggest you do it in that order.

ANST, LEANING JUST enough of his weight on the wall to make the posture look relaxed, unobtrusively watched his commander as she outlined her own assignment. The harsh, white lighting of all Cortiian living quarters laid hard-edged shadows in the hollows of Ilan’s features and was absorbed in her blue-black hair, making her look like an etching in shadow against the glowing colours of the huge wallscreens behind her. The scent of her faran pervaded the room, and he wasted a moment in a heartfelt wish for a beaker. The stimulant would be welcome, and something to do with his hands would be more so.

Catterina, nearest him, was perched on the end of the standard-issue couch, the line of her shoulders betrayingly tight. Ilan’s choices for her command line intrigued him, his own very recent appointment included. Like many of the topics where it concerned his commander, his theories frequently proved nearly as disquieting as his research. Catterina’s discomfort might be the most obvious, but he would bet substantial credit that they all felt it, especially after that blunt reminder that they knew next to nothing about Ilan’s capabilities. She sounded disconcertingly confident that four months of intensive training wasn’t going to bring any of them close to a level where they could offer her a serious threat.

Sending one person to evaluate a planet seems like an unusual departure from normal FPA protocol, Taiva’s voice said, jerking his attention back to the discussion.

That would be one question, Anst thought. Another good one that he wasn’t feeling suicidal enough to touch would be why Ilan was interested in this assignment. He put some weight behind his mental defences as instinct and moment matched, well aware that at least as far as part of this group was concerned, it was little more than a gesture. Three of the five people gathered in Ilan’s quarters possessed Abilities powerful enough to be registered with the cumbersomely-named Interspecies Extra-Sensory Regulatory Organisation. It was something he’d avoided.

Ilan turned slightly, smiling a bright, cold smile. Oddly enough, he felt certain that that incisive expression covered more real amusement than it appeared to, a baseless certainty he wasn’t prepared to bet a hacked credit file on. He ducked his head slightly, using the movement to hide his expression. He mistrusted his instincts where Ilan was concerned, but he wasn’t willing to bet that she couldn’t read him like a clean data stream.

Especially as it will be a warm sunny day in the lesser hells before the FPA accepts a Cortiian assessment of civilisation levels, Ilan agreed. The truth of that statement sent a palpable ripple of amusement through the entire group, lightening the tension. Given Corina’s spatial location, the Federated Planets Alliance was the single biggest customer for the eclectic talents of a Cortiian mercenary base, while making no secret whatsoever of their mistrust for them. Reading the base code, my role there will be more that of an attractive target, allowing the FPA to judge whether it will be safe for their evaluation teams to do their job without extensive military support. I strongly suspect that any data I may provide is a secondary objective.

Cortiora. It was Catterina, her voice carefully neutral. What if the primitives turn out to be violent? You’re being sent in without back-up.

I’m certain my premature demise wouldn’t cause the Councils to grieve, Ilan said easily. I can, however, assure you all that resignation isn’t in my plans.

The Cantarai filed out shortly after that, the silence between them shaded with a range of reactions. Anst, moving in their wake, hesitated, caught between excoriating curiosity and some well-founded doubts that now was the time to indulge it.

Ilan noticed his pause, and her smile took on a slightly corrosive edge, the dressing on her throat catching his eye above the collar of her uniform. Coming across her unconscious and bleeding from the neck in the corridor entry had set a chill in him that still clung. An orbit ago, Wildcat Cortia, essentially leaderless since they’d been formed, had been facing their Crossing far earlier in their training than most Cortii, and even if they hadn’t acknowledged it, they hadn’t had a prayer in the hells of surviving. It had been a matter of only a few months before that Crossing that Ilan had inexplicably appeared, conjured like a smoke dream from whatever hole she’d buried herself in.

The memory of the jolting disbelief and sharp-edged hope he’d felt when he’d first recognised her then was still vivid enough to catch in his throat.  He’d left that briefing with dried blood stiffening the shoulder of his uniform, and hadn’t attended the funeral. Their chances of surviving without her now might be better, but last year had demonstrated that they were still far from good.

I have nothing of particular interest to admit in private, his commander said. I hope that a training cycle will give the Cortia some much-needed time to work out its internal problems, not to mention the rest of Base some time to forget about us. My personal motivation is the sizeable bonus accruing to our credit accounts from splitting the unit.

Anst doubted that statement, despite the lack of any actual facts to hang his feeling on. Technically Wildcat’s third assignment, it was still the first one that Ilan had theoretically had the chance to choose. If she had. He had every intention of doing some extensive digging into that while he still had access to his Base contacts and his own, heavily customised computer system, even if his experience of his commander to date was marked by an impressively complete lack of available information.

Her mouth relaxed into a more genuine smile at his silence, and she dropped into her chair, swinging it to face the console. Rapid touches brought up a fast display of heavy, ornate robes, architecture, and snatches of countryside.

Anst moved to join her, eyes narrowed as he studied the images. It looked for once as if the Cortiian propensity for horses was going to come in useful for something other than publicity. The planet used some recognisably equine type as transport, entertainment, and, from the look of it, a statement of wealth. One of the displays halted on a still shot of a horse, saddled and caparisoned, with enough precious metal worked into the trim to constitute reasonable protection against most weaponry. Anst whistled softly through his teeth.

What a lot of unnecessary weight, he said ruefully. My heart aches for their horses.

My heart aches for their nobility, Ilan replied briefly, placing requisitions. Hiding weapons in that much drapery must take a lot of the challenge out of an assassination.

She secured the console and swung back to face him, leaning back to meet his gaze. You leave early tomorrow. Have you had any problems since we got back?

No, Cortiora, he answered, wary. Nothing in his experience of Ilan indicated she was prone to asking questions she already had the answers to, or that she had any patience with small talk. If he’d had problems with his very new Canta command, chances were good Ilan would have heard about it before he did. If her question was linked in any way to the thing that had prompted him to stay, he should probably be more worried about it than he currently was.

The look of amusement he got put a little more force behind that theory, but she shrugged, letting it slide. I expect the largest risk the Cortia will face on the orbital station is extreme shortage of sleep. Try not to let it kill you.

The response was ingrained enough to be reflexive. Asra, Cortiora.

Ilan shrugged. The minimal movement refracted light from her insignia, and refocussed his attention. He might not have the slightest idea why he was the recipient of this unexpected patience, but this was Ilan: there was a reason. He watched her for a long moment, wondering what was really going through her head. Even if Ilan had trusted him in the past with some of her projects, it didn’t mean that she would necessarily confide in him now.

Why has the FPA hired a Cortiian to make contact with an impressionable new planet? he asked at last, and watched her mouth curl into a slight smile. He’d watched Ilan neatly divert the briefing from any serious discussion of her assignment, and it made him wonder, behind the heaviest mental shield he could jack into place, whether he was going to get anything more now.

Initial reports indicate that the indigenes are technologically primitive and potentially belligerent on a personal or regional scale. Rather than get any of their first-contact teams skewered, the FPA has decided to test the climate with an expendable operative. Or, as they put it, they want an unbiased external opinion on the socio-political structure of the dominant civilisation.

That dry quote, undoubtedly verbatim, drew a snort of amusement from him, and Ilan stood, her expression mirroring some of his entertainment.

I should be back before the end of the training rotation, depending on the level of difficulty I encounter during my assignment.

Anst, watching her straight back, kept his mouth shut, wondering abruptly if he really wanted to broach the rest of his questions. Ilan dropped her empty faran container into disposal, her movements clipped, and turned to face him, leaving plenty of space between them.

It looks as if you have something on your mind, she said clearly, and he half-flinched, the uncanny thought-sense she occasionally displayed bringing him face-to-face with the source of his unease.

Brought to it, it was unexpectedly hard to put it into words. Cortiora...

Ilan grimaced. The spectators are elsewhere, Anst; whenever I hear that title in this kind of situation, it reminds me of Zarlan on a bad day. What is it?

The adrenalin jolted through his system. Neither of them had discussed her appearance in his quarters late at night in the last weeks of their previous deployment, even through the nerve-racking weeks that Taiva had spent off the active roster and in Med, recovering, among other things, from a shattered ribcage. It had occurred to him more than once in the time he’d spent on leave and out of touch to wonder if that surreal encounter had really happened, and if it had had any effect on the woman they’d tried to save. He took a deep breath, forcing the memories back where they belonged.

I’ve noticed some differences in my Ability ratings, since... the words deserted him. Abilities often worked with other Abilities, each member of the team focussing on a different part of the task. It had been the topic of more training drills over the orbits than he could count. They never worked together, as he and she had done, the power of one supporting the talents of the other, fully merged. Any research on it that existed, existed deeply buried. Ability training never covered it, and he now very much doubted that that omission was accidental. He’d been more than half-certain the technique was a myth, until Ilan’s reaction to his suggestion.

Ilan’s green stare met his and held, the moment extending. His pulse pounded in his ears, and he made a conscious effort to slow it. The vivid memory of that link made the control much harder to come by. He still didn’t know exactly what she’d done once his wild Ability had got them through Taiva’s malfunctioning mental discipline, his neural pathways fully overloaded by the initial effort. He did know that Ilan had estimated Taiva’s life expectancy in days, not weeks, before that night.

He also remembered, the scene etched into his nerve-endings along with the dust and heat, Ilan standing over him afterwards, asking if he were able to use his telepathy. That recollection was still enough to send his self-control into a tailspin. ‘It was going to go one way or the other,’ she’d said.

Her voice, utterly neutral, jerked him back to the present. Is there no way that it could be natural development?

He met her eyes with an effort. Cortiora—Ilan. I considered that, but my basic Ability levels have been stable for orbits. You said, at the time, that it would go one way or the other. Since I wasn’t muted— his reaction to that thought partially betrayed itself in his voice despite his efforts—"I thought it might be worth asking if this was what