Throne of Stars Read Online Free PDF Page B

fortunes to be made.
    As a veteran officer of the Sindi campaign, Fain was bulging with loot to invest, and his family had already found a good opportunity, a foundry that was being built on the extended family’s land. A tiny bit of capital could see a handsome return. In fact, he could probably have retired on the income.
    Yet he’d found himself looking to the west. He hadn’t known what was calling to him at the time. Indeed, he hadn’t even begun to understand until days after he’d volunteered for the expedition. But some siren song had been pulling him into the train of the humans, and he’d found the answer in an offhand comment from one of those same humans. Fain had made a pronouncement about the status of “his” company, and Sergeant Julian had cocked his head at him and smiled. “You’ve got it bad,” the NCO had said.
    And that was when Fain had realized he’d been bitten by the command bug.
    The command bug was one of the most pernicious drugs known to any sentient race. To command in battle was both the greatest and most horrible activity in which any adult could participate. Any good commander felt each death as if it were his own. To him, his men were his children, and holding one of his troops while he died was like holding a brother. But to command well was to know that whatever casualties he’d taken, more lives would have been lost under an inferior commander. And Fain had commanded well.
    Handed a company out of the gray sky, he’d taken them into the most complicated environment possible—as outnumbered skirmishers on the flank of a large force—and managed to perform his duty magnificently. He’d lost troops, people he’d known for months and even years. But he’d also been in a few other battles, both before and since, and he’d known that many more of those people would have died under the commander he’d replaced. He’d kept his head, been innovative, and known when and how to cut his losses.
    So when the choice came, to give up command and return to a life of business and luxury, or to take a command into the unknown, following an alien leader, he’d taken only a moment to decide. He’d sent most of his accumulated funds, the traded loot of four major and minor battles, to his family for investment, raised a true-hand, and sworn his allegiance to Prince Roger MacClintock and the Empire of Man.
    And, to no one’s amazement (except, perhaps his own), most of his company had followed him. They’d follow him to Hell.
    Most of his troops were aboard the Ima Hooker with Sergeant Knever, but there was also a small detachment here on Sea Skimmer , and today was one of its twice-weekly riflery drills.
    Fain made it a point to supervise those drills in person, because he’d learned the hard way that good marksmanship was an important factor in the sort of warfare the humans taught. The Carnan Rifles’ entire battalion had gradually segued into a rifle skirmisher force, following the lead of its most famous captain, and with skirmishers, excellent marksmanship was paramount. They were supposed to get out in front of conventional forces and snipe the leaders of approaching formations. They had to be able to hit something smaller than the broad side of a temple to do that job, and the Carnan Rifles were proving they could do just that.
    Well, most of them.
    Then there was Erkum.
    At almost four meters in height, the big Mardukan dwarfed even his captain. Mardukans generally ran to three meters or so, from their broad, bare feet to their curved double horns, so Erkum was a giant even for them. And, except mentally, he wasn’t slow, either, despite his size. Fain had seen him catch spears in flight and outrun civan for short bursts.
    But he couldn’t hit a pagathar with a rifle at ten paces. If it was headed straight for him.
    At a walk.
    Erkum had attached himself to the captain before that particular weakness became apparent. Before, in fact, Fain had been anything but a junior