Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus) (46 page)

Colonel Ian Mahoney, still commander of the Mercury Corps, stood at attention, his heels locked, his face red, his spine a steel bar. He was receiving the chewing out of his life, a dressing down delivered by the all-time master of dressings down.

‘Colonel Mahoney, I do not know what to do with you. I do not know what to say.’

Mahoney refrained from noting that the Emperor had been at no loss for words for at least an hour.

‘Do you
realize
what has happened, Mahoney? I have just given my blessing to a fanatic. A fanatic who calls me a heretic.
Me.
ME!’

Mahoney was wisely silent

‘Clot it, man, I hung myself out there like a babbling fool. State visit. Empire-wide vid coverage. I clotting declared the Lupus Cluster open.’

He leaned across his antique desk. ‘And when I declare something open, by all that is holy in this silly sorry Empire that I was dumb enough to found, I expect it to
stay open
. Do you understand, Colonel?’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘Don’t yessir me!’

‘No, sir.’

‘Don’t nossir me, either.’ He glared at Mahoney, trembling with anger. Then a long sigh. ‘Ah, clot it, Mahoney. Siddown. Pour us a drink. Something nasty. Something poisonous. Something that will get me good and clotting drunk.’

Mahoney sat – but did not make the mistake of relaxing. If it was possible to sit at attention, he did it. He reached for the Eternal Emperor’s latest batch of experimental scotch and poured drinks. He
sipped at his with as much military bearing as a man could possibly sip.

The Emperor noticed the scotch. Gave Mahoney a thin smile. ‘You never did like this drakh much, did you, Mahoney?’

Mahoney made a noncommital noise. And waited for the Commander in Chief of the greatest military force in human history to finish speaking his mind.

The Emperor shot back his scotch, shuddered, and poured himself another.

‘I’m a reasonable man, Mahoney. I know how things can go wrong. All right. So I’m up to my butt in alligators. So what? I’ve been there before.’

He drank.

‘I only have one question,’ he said in his most reasonable tone of voice.

‘Which is, sir?’ Mahoney asked.

The Eternal Emperor rose to his feet.

‘WHO PUT MY ARSE IN THE SWAMP, MAHONEY? WHO? WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS DEBACLE?’

Mahoney couldn’t tell his boss it was, after all, the Emperor’s idea.

‘I take full responsibility, sir,’ he said.

‘You’re clotting right. you do, Mahoney. I’m gonna … I’m gonna … Colonel, I want you to think of the worst command in my empire. A hell hole. A place you won’t be guaranteed to survive in for more than a week.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I want a full report on it by tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, who’s that other fellow. Lieutenant what-his-name?’

‘Sten, sir. Sten.’

‘Right. Sten. Is he still alive?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That was his first mistake, Colonel. Now, Sten. For him I have special plans. Do I still own Pluto, Mahoney?’

‘I believe so, sir.’

‘No. No. Too soft. I’ll think of something. You just leave that Sten to me, Mahoney. You’ll be too busy finding that hell hole I’m going to send you to.’

‘Yes, sir.’

The Eternal Emperor eased back in his chair. Closed his eyes. Almost as if he were asleep. Mahoney waited a very long, very
uncomfortable time. Finally the Emperor opened them again. He gave Mahoney a tired look. For a moment Mahoney could almost see just how very ancient the Eternal Emperor was.

‘I’m counting on you, Ian,’ the Emperor said softly. ‘Solve it. Get rid of this Prophet for me. Get rid of Mathias.’

Mahoney came to his feet, knowing that he had finally gotten the Emperor’s orders. He snapped his best salute.

‘That, sir, will be my extreme pleasure.’ He wheeled and began to march out.

‘Mahoney?’

The Colonel stopped. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Just don’t embarrass me again. Please? As a favor to an old drinking buddy?’

‘I won’t, boss.’

‘Being embarrassed is just one of those things I’m lousy at. Funny thing is, the older I get, the worse I am at it.’

He looked up at Mahoney. ‘You’d think it would be the other way around, wouldn’t you? You’d think by now I wouldn’t give a clot.’

‘I wouldn’t know, boss.’

‘Well, I do, Mahoney. I do care.’

And the Eternal Emperor closed his eyes again. Mahoney silently crept out.

At that moment, the prospect of exile on Pluto – or worse – was the least of Sten’s worries. He and Alex were hunched over a com in Otho’s castle, the coldest, grayest, dankest building Sten had ever been in. The two of them had been freezing their behinds off for weeks and trying to endure the worst food known to beingkind.

They had been notified two hours earlier to stand by on the com. Mahoney was about to issue his orders.

‘It’ll be tha gibbett, lad, Ah just know it,’ Alex said.

‘No,’ Sten replied. ‘Mahoney won’t let us off with anything as easy as death.’

‘Me mither always said Ah should’na be a soldier.’

They froze as the com line crackled and Mahoney’s scowling face swam into view on the screen.

‘I’ve just been to see the Emperor. He is not pleased.’

‘I can understand that, sir,’ Sten said.

Mahoney softened. ‘Ah, well, at least the two of you are alive.’

He peered out at them through the screen. ‘I tried to do the best I could for you, gentlemen,’ Mahoney said. ‘But …’ He shrugged. It was the kind of shrug that did not bode well for careers.

‘What do we do next, sir?’ Sten asked.

‘
You
don’t do anything,’ Mahoney answered. ‘Just sit tight. Don’t get into any more trouble. I’ll have a ship pick you up in a few weeks.’

‘But Mathias—’

‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant Sten. We’ll take care of Mathias. By the time you’re home, I’ll have inserted another Mantis team, and it should be over. One way or the other.’

‘Sir,’ Sten blurted. ‘Let me do it. Give me back my team. Team Thirteen. We’ll settle Mathias for you.’

Mahoney frowned. Alex gave Sten a warning nudge.

‘Revenge, Lieutenant? I thought we had trained you better than that.’

‘No. Not revenge. We just have a better chance. I know Mathias. I know Sanctus.’

‘Can’t take the chance, lad,’ Mahoney said kindly. ‘Among other problems, all the mining and exploration certificates were personally approved by the Emperor
before
Mathias decided on patricide. There’s a whole fleet of miners heading for the Eryx Region. Straight through the Lupus Cluster.’

‘Mathias will kill them all,’ Sten said. ‘It’s even more important that you let us handle it.’

‘I don’t see how,’ Mahoney said.

‘I have a plan.’ And he began talking quickly. Laying it all out, to an increasingly surprised Mahoney.

It wasn’t the first time Ffillips had been dragged, restraints chinking, up from a dungeon by thugs and hurled to her knees in front of Mathias.

But, the woman wondered, as she did a body-tuck, side-rolled away from the expected kick, and came back to her feet, it could well be the last.

The late and less-than-lamented Theodomir’s throne room had seen considerable change, Ffillips realized as she glanced around. The tapestries and exotic statues were gone, as were the pillows on the stone chair.

The vidmap of Sanctus was now shadowed by an overlay of the Faith of Talamein – twin hands clasped in prayer, centered over a bare sword.

Only the twin torches to either side of the map remained.

On the stone throne sat Mathias, wearing the newly official uniform of undecorated red Companion full-dress. Ffillips bowed her head respectfully and kept her mouth shut – a delaying tactic that had worked quite well years before at her court-martial.

‘I speak in the name of Talamein,’ Mathias intoned.

‘S’be’t,’ echoed the Companions ringing the bare walls.

‘Here, in the most sacred place, seat of the faith of Talamein, I, Mathias, chosen by the Flame as Talamein’s True Successor, I charge you, Major Ffillips, in the absence of your leader the arch-antideist Sten, with treason. Treason against our State, our Faith, and My People.’

Come, boy. Can’t you find a more original charge than that? Ffillips thought to herself.

Ffillips knew it was most important to stall for time. Death –
which is the usual result of a treason trial – tends to be long term and without much recourse – unless one believed in the hereafter. After service in twenty wars, Ffillips certainly did not.

Ffillips waited a moment, then lifted her gaze to meet Mathias’. Unexpectedly she fell to her knees. A low buzz of surprise ran through the Companions, and even Mathias was startled.

‘I do not understand the charge, O Prophet.’

‘You will be apprised of the particulars, but they center around the assassination of our late and most honored Prophet Theodomir and your desire to overthrow this Most Holy Our State.’

‘Before you were Prophet, I knew you as a worthy soldier and boon companion. I can only suggest, most humbly, that these charges derive from jealous or misunderstanding underlings.’

‘You are incorrect, Major Ffillips. These accusations stem directly from my perception, my prayer, and my lips.’

Umm. He wants us dead, Ffillips thought. Then she tried another gambit. ‘Since we are strangers to your system, Prophet, may I ask how judgment of the charges is rendered?’

‘In the occasion of high treason,’ Mathias said, ‘the court is composed of church elders and the representative of Talamein.’

Star chamber with a hanging judge. ‘Are the circumstances for trial the same for unbelievers as well as members of the Church of Talamein?’

‘Major Ffillips, while the sentence could be the same,’ Mathias went on, sounding slightly unsure of himself, ‘the manner of execution differs. Those under the Cloak of the Faith are permitted an easier end.’ And his eyes gleamed slightly. If he understood what Ffillips was leading toward, this could prove him right in his decision and be an even holier coup.

Got you, you fanatical little bugsnipe, Ffillips thought. ‘I understand. But, Prophet, I do not wish to sound as if, are we indeed guilty, we would attempt to allay our doom. I was merely inquiring because of the curiosity that my soldiers and I have shown after seeing the bravery and nobility of those who Soldier for the Faith.’

‘What is your request, Major?’

‘Perhaps … since I assume you will provide us with advisors to ensure that trial will be fair under the eyes of Talamein himself, who will come to judge both the quick, the slow, and the dead,’ Ffillips went on, ‘it could be beneficial if you could find the wisdom to provide us with religious instructors, so we might know more of Talamein and then reach a decision.’

Mathias considered, then reluctantly nodded. That would slow
the show trial, of course. But if some of the mercenaries would convert – a blessing. Also, if some of the lower-ranking soldiers find it in their hearts to follow the Way of Talamein, there might be a way for them to be spared and to assist in the training of his Companions for the jihad. But not Ffillips, not her officers, nor Sten – assuming the man could be found.

‘I will take your plea under study, Major,’ Mathias said. ‘I must say it merits consideration. I will inform you of the Prophet’s decision after the Prophet prays, fasts, and asks for confirmation from the aetherian heart of Talamein.’

Ffillips bowed as Mathias stood, arms spread.

‘We thank you, Talamein, for overhearing this session, and we pray that justice was and shall be performed. S’be’t.’

‘S’be’t,’ came the amen as Ffillips was dragged back to her feet and back to the dungeon. Shambling along, faking a limp, Ffillips’ eyes swept across the passageways, looking for ideas.

Not too bad, Major, she thought. You’ve delayed the headsman, got some possibly bribable or corruptible churchmen to come in, and, most of all, some time.

And she wondered just what Sten was doing and whether the man had abandoned his soldiers and simply fled.

Unfortunately the mercenary, battle-trained side of her agreed that the colonel would be a clotting fool if he’d done anything else.

Otho was fairly certain that the mercenary who called himself Sten was a great deal more. There was, for instance, the highly modified radioset that was beam-cast in a direction that Otho, checking secretly, determined was close to Galactic Center. There was also the absolute idiocy of an unpaid mercenary sticking around to worry about his less-fortunate underlings.

So it did not surprise Otho at all when a sentry peered over his crennelated walk and screamed loudly.

Standing outside the castle, in the driving snow, were one slight human female flanked by two huge four-footed bulging-skulled black-and-white predators; a truly obese humanoid woman with an interesting moustache; and a tiny, fur-covered being with flicking tendrils. Plus four bulky, gravsleds.

Who they were, how they managed to insert themselves unobserved on the Bhor world, and why they knew where Sten was, Otho felt would be perpetually unanswered questions.

So he just opened the gates, set out an appetizing first meal of dried saltfish, the grain-filled, spiced and baked stomach of herding animals, and what remained of the last night’s feast animal, then sent an underling to wake Sten and Alex.

The reunion with his Mantis team was brief and wild. Munin even rose to its hind legs and licked Sten’s face. Hugin – the other, and Sten felt brighter animal – purred once, then jumped on the top of the table and inhaled an entire platter of saltfish.

‘Y’see, you overstrong lump of suet,’ Ida rumbled to Alex, ‘you can’t get along without me?’

Alex choked on his grain dish, but admitted that he was, indeed, quite glad to see the hulking Rom woman.

Bet pulled Sten aside. Concern on her face. ‘What went wrong?’

‘We had to move too fast,’ Sten said grimly. ‘I’ll give you the full briefing in a minute.’

Doc was oddly subdued. Sten managed to hug Bet twice, which brought up some interesting thoughts about what they did in the earlier days of their relationship, then he walked over and knelt to get eye-level with the koala-like Altairian.

‘Your revenge is a terrible one, Sten,’ Doc said glumly.

Sten looked puzzled.

‘Do you know what Mahoney had us doing after you were detached? Do you know what his idea of On His Majesty’s Imperial Stupidity consists of?’ Doc’s voice was rising toward a falsetto.

Sten knew Doc would tell him.

‘Easy duty,’ the team’s anthropologist went on. ‘Perfect for an understrength team, Mahoney told us. A tropic world whose government some local humanoids were about to overthrow. All we had to do was guard the embassy.’

‘Mahoney said the Emperor thoroughly approved the revolution,’ Bet went on. ‘We were supposed to keep all the Imperial servants –
and their families – from getting fed down the same grinder the government was about to disappear into.’

‘We did it,’ Ida added. ‘For one thing there was no comscan I could figure out that wasn’t monitored. Do you know how many credits I lost? Do you know how many of my investments – our investments – have turned to drakh because we were stuck on that armpit?’

‘That was not the worst,’ Doc continued. ‘We were disguised as Guards security – and we even managed to convince those clots who call themselves Foreign Service people that Hugin and Munin are normally part of a Guards team.

‘Pfeah,’ he sneered, ladling an enormous steak down his maw. And chewing.

‘It was hilarious.’ Bet took over as Doc glumly chewed. She was trying, without much success, to keep from laughing.

‘The indigenes took the palace. Besieged the embassy. Usual stuff. We fired some rounds over their heads and they went home to think about things.’

Through a rapidly disappearing mouthful that looked more suitable for Hugin, Doc said, ‘We had, of course, prepared an escape route – out the back gate, through some interconnected huts, into the open, through an unguarded city gate and then walk twelve kilometers to a Guard destroyer.’

‘So,’ Sten wondered, ‘what was the problem?’

‘The children,’ Doc said. ‘Ida, who somehow has time-in-grade on me, ordered me to be in charge of embassy dependents. Nasty, carnivorous, squeaky humanoids.’

‘They loved him,’ Ida put in. ‘Listened to his every word. Made him sing songs. Fed him candy. Patted him.’

‘With those
sticky
paws of theirs.’ Doc grunted. ‘It took me three cycles to comb out my fur. And they called me’ – he shuddered – ‘their teddy bear.’

Sten stood up, keeping his face turned away from Doc, and thumped Hugin off the table. He composed himself and turned.

‘Now that you’ve had your vacation, would you like to get back to work on something nice and impossible?’

Doc levered himself another steak, and the team squatted, listening as Sten began the back-briefing.