(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 25 by Legions of Antares

Author:Legions of Antares [Antares, Legions of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twelve

Mathdi

As the voller bore on steadily southward I wrote names on a sheet of paper. The first sheet filled up rapidly, and I took another from the rack. A glance through the forward windows — they were more than scuttles — showed me the empty sky and the high clouds all suffused with the glory of Zim and Genodras shining refulgently. The second sheet filled. At the fourth sheet I sat back, in despair, knowing the task was impossible.

The voller the Hamalese Air Service had assigned me flew well and confidence could be reposed in her that she would not arbitrarily break down as the airboats the Hamalese used to sell abroad would invariably do. She was called Mathdi. I was alone. The reason for the flight I had given was firstly to test out Mathdi and get the feel of her, and secondly to recruit a crew of volmen and the fighting component of voswods. Having said that, I could say nothing about the age and state of the craft, for Mathdi was old and if not decrepit then weak at the knees.

In the current fraught state of voller production in Hamal everything that could fly had been pressed into service. In the normal course of events Mathdi would have been broken up and her silver boxes freshened up to give them a longer lease of life before they turned black and useless, and a new ship built around them. There was no time for that now. She was a beamy craft of two decks, with fighting towers and balconies and her design had long since been superseded by new models. She carried the venerable air of fragile antiquity about her, and I loved her.

All the same, to find her crew... Every name I had written down had been winnowed from a much longer list in my head. I needed men who could carry off a deception and who would not instantly bellow out at the sight of a Hamalese and go charging down to blatter the poor fellow. Many of those names you know — and plenty you have not so far been introduced to — and every one a ferocious fighting man, a warrior, a soldier, a man who knew his trade and, more importantly, knew why he fought.

Mathdi would sink under the weight of the men who would clamor to follow me into battle.

Not, I confess, a comfortable thought. I am not one of your charismatic killers. At least, I devoutly hope not. I do have that special form of charisma the Kregans call the yrium, and this may curse or bless indifferently. Men will follow me. With that responsibility on my shoulders I had to lead well, so that as few as possible suffered. Not easy. Not easy at all, by Zodjuin of the Silver Stux!

And, too, although I would disagree with the judgment, some people might say that reluctance to send men off to their deaths caused me to joy so much in adventuring off by myself or with a chosen band of comrades.

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