“Irrelevant.” Toru snorted. “It should not matter. Imperium men do not have this problem. Superior warriors embrace death in order to fulfill their missions. The greatest honor a warrior can achieve is dying in his lord’s service.”
“These ain’t Imperium men. The Chairman’s bullshit won’t fly here.”
Toru returned to his uncomfortable patch of floor and took a seat. “One of our nations has conquered a tenth of the planet over the last two generations while the other has grown fat, complacent, and apathetic. Please, share more of your opinion on which of our differing methods is the superior.”
Sullivan frowned. Toru knew he had him there. Sullivan, despite being a product of a weak culture, was still a true warrior. Trying in vain to convince the American authorities of the danger of the Pathfinder had left Sullivan infuriated and baffled. Toru had just won the argument before it had even begun, and Sullivan didn’t even know it yet. The Imperium school’s education hadn’t all been physical.
“Only the fools in charge are like that. Don’t underestimate a regular American’s backbone.”
“Yet here we are. One lonely ship… Did you really come here simply to debate philosophy?”
Sullivan pretended to take in the room. “Riding around on a blimp named after the little girl that killed your father… That’s got to stick in your craw.”
It was a rather astute observation. Despite appearing to be an oaf, the Heavy could have made a passable diplomat. “Is there a point to this visit, Sullivan?”
“Yeah. Take your head out of your ass so you can see the sunshine. Whether you like them or not, these men are our only hope of beating the Pathfinder. You best start acting like it.”
“That is an order?”
“It is.”
The things that I do to fulfill my father’s commands… Toru nodded. “So be it.”
“Good. You’ll get them up to speed then. These ain’t Imperium. They’re free men, and they’ll fight better if they know they can win. Convince them they can.”
“You wish me to lie?”
“You won’t have to. I intend to win.”
“Optimism is such an American trait. Optimism is a lie.”
“And pessimism lowers morale.”
“Not pessimism. Pessimism is another weak western concept. I speak of fatalism. A warrior accepts his fate. He willingly does whatever must be done to complete his task and accepts whatever consequences that entails. That is the only true way to assure victory… Yet, I will do as you order.”
“You’re a real piece of work.” Sullivan moved to leave, and then paused in the doorway. “Listen… This thing with your own country out to get you… I heard about the letter. I know how you feel.”
Indeed, Jake Sullivan had once been declared a traitor to his country, a scapegoat for a conspiracy of ambitious fools, but Sullivan had a child’s understanding of honor, and though he was a powerful combatant, he had no comprehension of the true warrior’s code. Sullivan’s country was corrupt and weak; he should have expected to be betrayed by it.
“You know nothing.”
Chapter 4
Wyatt Earp was one of the few men I personally knew who I regarded as absolutely destitute of physical fear. I have often remarked, and I am not alone in my conclusions, that what goes for courage in a man is generally fear of what others will think of him. In other words, personal bravery is largely made up of self-respect, egotism, and apprehension of the opinions of others. Wyatt Earp’s apparent recklessness in time of danger is wholly characteristic. Personal fear doesn’t enter into the equation, and when everything is said and done, I believe he values his own opinion of himself more than that of others, and it is his own good report he seeks to preserve… He never at any time in his career resorted to shooting excepting cases where such a course was absolutely necessary, such as when combating those with wizard’s magic… Wyatt could scrap with his fists, and had often taken all the fight out of bad men, as they were called, with no other weapons than those provided by nature… Yes, you’ve heard the stories, but you do not know the half of it. Why, this one time back in ’08, we helped out Jack Pershing and his Knights of New York with a problem involving a stolen Tesla weapon and some of those branded Japanese bastards. You should have seen—Wait. Strike that. That never happened. Forgive an old man’s ramblings.
UBF Traveler
A few hours later, Heinrich floated down through the ceiling and woke Sullivan up. “It is time.” The Fade pulled the chain and the small room’s single lightbulb lit up. Despite this being considered the officer’s quarters, there were still five other bunks, most of which were currently occupied, and the men all began to grumble and mutter at the sudden light.
Sullivan maneuvered himself out of the tiny hole his cot sat in and managed to not hit his head. At least he’d gotten the biggest bunk aboard, which meant that it was still far too tiny for a man of his stature. The floor-level bunk beneath him was filled with equipment rather than a person, mostly because nobody was brave enough to sleep below a man whose magically augmented mass made him weigh in around four hundred pounds. Sullivan’s watch was sitting next to his .45. He picked them both up. “One in the morning. That didn’t take long…” He’d figured it wouldn’t, so he hadn’t even bothered to take his boots off before going to sleep. “Who is it?”
“One of the UBF men, Skaggs.”
Sullivan had only spoken to him once. He remembered Skaggs as a round-faced, gravel-voiced fella, one of Francis’ mechanics. “Where?”
“Aft rope room,” Heinrich answered. The Fade was excited. He enjoyed this sort of thing far too much. “Lance has eyes on him.”
“I’m glad you boys didn’t just pop him.”
“It was so very tempting.”
Their conversation was starting to wake up the others in the officer’s quarters. “Wha, huh?” asked Barns, sitting up in bed and automatically reaching for the shoulder holster hanging from a peg on the wall. “Wha’s going on?”
“Go back to sleep,” Sullivan ordered the pilot before he could pull his machine pistol. Pirates were a jumpy bunch. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”
“Kill the damned light, will ya?”
Sullivan pulled the chain, then followed Heinrich out into the hall. Unlike most UBF vessels, the Traveler hadn’t been built for comfort, and the corridors were dimly lit, with bare metal walls. He had to duck every few feet to avoid banging his skull on a random pipe. The rope rooms were at the very bottom of the ship, so they’d have to hurry to catch him in the act.
Nabbing Skaggs alive meant that they’d be able to question him, and if you were going to question somebody, might as well do it with your human polygraph machine around. “You fetch a Reader?”
“Lance sent a mouse.”
“He’ll love waking up to that in his face. Best get the Mouth too, just in case our spy don’t feel like talking.”
“Way ahead of you, Jake. You forget how much more practiced at this treachery business I am than you.” Heinrich looked back, eyes wide as he thought of something. “The spy is an engineer.”
“So?”
“Skaggs knows the guts of the ship. If he gets orders back to sabotage us, who knows what he could harm?”