第33页
Finally, having decided to favor speed over appearance, Yayap entered the air lock, waited for it to cycle him through, and emerged into the bright sunlight. The first thing he noticed was that the sentries, who could normally be found leaning against the tank discussing how awful the rations were, stood at rigid attention.
“Are you the one called Yayap?” The deep voice came from behind him and caused the Grunt to jump. He turned, came to attention, and tried to look soldierly. “Yes, Excellency.”
The Elite named Zuka ’Zamamee wore no helmet. He couldn’t, not with the dressing that was wrapped around his head, but the rest of his armor was still in place. It was spotlessly clean, as were the weapons he wore. “Good. The medics told me that you and your file not only pulled me off the ship—but forced the assault boat to bring me down to the surface.”
Yayap felt a lump form in his throat and struggled to swallow it. The pilot had been somewhat reluctant, citing orders to wait for a full load of troops before breaking contact with the human ship, but Gagaw had been quite insistent—even going so far as to pull his plasma pistol and wave it about.
“Yes, Excellency,” Yayap replied, “but I can explain—”
“There’s no need,” ’Zamamee replied. Yayap almost jumped; the Elite’s voice lacked the customary bark of command. It sounded almost . . . reassuring.
Yayap was anything but reassured.
“You saw that a superior had been wounded,” the Elite continued, “and did what you could to ensure that he received timely medical treatment. That sort of initiative is rare, especially among the lower classes.”
Yayap stared at the Elite, unable to reply. He felt disoriented. In his universe, Elites didn’t offer accolades.
“To show my appreciation I’ve had you transferred.”
Yayapliked the normally sleepy unit to which he was attached, and had no desire to leave it. “Transferred, Excellency? To what unit?”
“Why, tomy unit,” the Elite replied, as if nothing could be more natural. “My assistant was killed as we boarded the human ship.You will take his place.”
Yayap felt his spirits plummet. The Elites who acted as special operatives of the Prophets were fanatics, chosen for their limitless willingness to risk their lives—and the lives of those under their command. “Th-thank you, Excellency,” Yayap stuttered, “but I don’t deserve such an honor.”
“Nonsense!” the Elite replied. “Your name has already been added to the rolls. Gather your belongings, say good-bye to your cohort, and meet me here fifteen units from now. I’m scheduled to appear in front of the Council of Masters later this evening. You will accompany me.”
“Yes, Excellency,” Yayap said obediently. “May I inquire as to the purpose of the meeting?”
“You may,” ’Zamamee replied, allowing a hand to touch the bandage that circled his head. “The human who inflicted this wound was a warrior so capable that he represents a danger to the entire battle group. An individual who, if our records can be believed, is personally responsible for the deaths of more than a thousand of our soldiers.”