Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus) (66 page)

Sten keyed his mike then realized that the two words were explanation enough for Stynburn. He saw the man contort in his suit.

Years of Mantis training had taught Sten the various ways an agent could kill himself, and he knew full well that the contortions were Stynburn’s attempts to cramp his shoulders back. Sten was in motion, diving and rolling behind a growing/shrinking rock, hoping that the living mineral would stand as—

The first crash was not that loud. The bomb that had been
implanted between Stynburn’s shoulder blades wasn’t very effective. The most powerful explosion was the oxyatmosphere in Stynburn’s suit fireballing across the grotto.

And then there was nothing except the gale’s howl in Sten’s outer pickups as he lifted himself over the rock and stared at the few tatters of suit that were scattered across the dusty floor.

Zaarah Wahrid, Sten thought as he picked himself up. One lead. Sten had a fairly good idea that one clue would not be enough.

He headed back down the trail, checking his helmet compass for bearings back to the dome.

The first job was to rescue Alex. If he was still alive, that’d be easy.

Because the next job was to face the Emperor with almost nothing.

BOOK FOUR

DECLIC

The Blue Bhor was a two-story, rambling building that sprawled along the banks of the River Wye. Built nearly a century before, it was an inn that catered to the local fisherfolk and small farmers on the Valley Wye. The valley was gentle, with rolling, rocky hills that climbed up into low, gray-blue mountains – a place where someone could make a passable living fishing or a grumbling living digging out rocks from ground that sprouted stones faster than potatoes. Still, it could be a pleasant life in a place that was good to raise a family.

Then the sportspeople of Prime World discovered it. And fishing season after fishing season, people streamed into the valley to catch the elusive golden fish that darted along the river. New roads were built. Many, many businesses sprouted up, and even a town – the Township of Ashley-on-Wye – was created where only farms had existed before.

As the valley boomed, so did the Blue Bhor. It began as a single, not very comfortable bar with a rent-a-room above. Owner after owner expanded the inn to handle the growing business and then sold out. Eventually the Blue Bhor boasted two bars, a ramshackle kitchen the size of a house, and more than a dozen rooms, each with a wood-burning fireplace of a different design. Since every new owner of the Blue Bhor had added a room, a patio, or a fireplace, there was nothing unusual about the Blue Bhor this particular day as the construction sleds hovered up and unloaded materials and workers.

They were greeted and guided by the newest owner, one Chris Frye, Prop. He was a tall, rangy man with little use for any BS except his own. Frye had purchased the place with his pension monies, and things had not really been progressing very well. His
biggest problems were that he was exceedingly generous and had a tendency to pick up the tab for people he liked; he mostly preferred to close up the joint and just go fishing; and the only people he really got on with were fisherfolk – serious fisherfolk like himself who rarely had money and were always putting their bills on the tab.

Frye had just about been ready to toss the whole business over, sell out, and then spend the rest of his life fishing, when Sten showed up. Sten and Frye only knew of each other by reputation. They formed an instant liking for each other on first meeting, as only two old hands from Mantis Section can.

Frye had spent the last years of his military career in Mantis Section overseeing the transition of Lupus Cluster from a fanatic religious culture to a trading system loosely ruled by the shaggy Bhor. He’d spent many cycles drinking Stregg with the shaggy Bhor, toasting mother’s beards and father’s frozen buttocks. He had also heard a thousand different stories about how the Bhor had come to rule the Lupus Cluster. Mostly, the stories were not to be believed. They all came down to a single root: a young man named Sten. Sten, they all agreed, was the greatest fighter, lover, and drinker in Bhor history. Besides, they liked the little clot, even if he was human.

‘In the whole time I was there,’ Sten confessed to Frye, ‘I only got laid twice, and I lost almost every battle except the last.’

‘The one that counts,’ Frye said.

‘Maybe so,’ Sten said, ‘but my ass was seriously in a sling the whole time I was there. Clot! You can’t drink with the Bhor! Unless you sneak some sober pills, and even then I was flat on my back after almost every party.’

Frye decided that Sten was a pretty nice fellow. Of course he was a clotting liar from Mantis, taking on the persona of the
real
Sten. He had long ago decided that the Sten of legend would have been a royal pain. Who the clot would ever want to drink with the perfect being the Bhor were always going on about? So Frye just smiled when Sten introduced himself, and accepted without a giggle the cover name he was using. Frye figured the name Sten was about fifty different people. Mantis did things like that.

Over one long night of hospitality Blue Bhor-style – which meant groaning platters of fresh fish, game, and side dishes, all from the Valley Wye – they struck a bargain. The Blue Bhor was to be Sten and Haines’s safe house. Since it was off-season in the Valley Wye, the cover was near perfect. Frye would close for remodeling, just like every other new owner of the inn. To cut the cost of the extensive repairs, he would house and feed the construction crew.

It was a great bargain on both sides. To make the cover work, they
really
would have to remodel the old place. Not only that, but the bill for the rooms and the food would have to be paid, in case there was a smart bookkeeper snooping around. This allowed Haines to bring in a fairly large crew of experts to work on the case. It also allowed her to haul in as much sophisticated equipment as she needed, hidden between the stacks of construction materials.

The deal would make Frye’s best year ever – especially coming during the off-season. He was even thinking about maybe staying on a few years longer; on the kind of credits Sten was stuffing into his account, Frye would be able to entertain fisherfolk for eons to come.

Haines stumped into the main bar and slid onto a stool. Behind her the last group of workpeople were unloading the last gravsled of equipment. She sniffed at her foreman’s coveralls and wrinkled her nose. ‘I smell like I been dead for two weeks.’

Frye gave one more swipe with his rag at the gleaming wood bartop, grabbed a tall glass, and frothed out a beer. He slid it in front of her, then leaned over and gave an ostentatious sniff. ‘Smells better to me,’ he grinned. ‘Less constable and more good, honest sweat.’

Haines gave him a hard look and slugged down a healthy portion of beer. This put her in a better mood, especially since Frye topped it up again. ‘You don’t like cops, huh?’

Frye shook his head. ‘Does any sensible person?’

Haines considered this for a moment. Then she gave a short laugh.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Even cops don’t like cops. That’s why I got into homicide. When you’re really doing your job, other people don’t like to associate with you.’

Frye’s retort was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and they turned to see a grizzled man, in battered clothing and old-fashioned waders. He was lugging what appeared to be archaic fishing equipment.

‘Bar’s closed,’ Frye sang out.

The man just stood, peering into the place, as if letting his eyes adjust from the bright, clear Valley Wye sun outside.

‘I said the bar’s closed,’ Frye repeated.

‘Remodeling,’ Haines threw in.

The man shook his head, and then shuffled slowly over to the bar and sat down on a stool. ‘Worst fishing I seen in years. I need a beer.’

He clinked some credits on the bartop. ‘A tall cool one. No. Give me a whole damned pitcher.’

Frye shoved the credits back. ‘You haven’t been listening, mister. I told you, the bar is closed. For remodeling.’

The man wrinkled his brow in a frown. ‘Well, I’m not walking to Ashley for a beer.’ He glanced over at Haines’ frosty mug. ‘She got one, so you must be serving. So gimme one. I’ll pay double! Tap’s working. What the hell do you care?’

Haines felt her neck prickle. Something wasn’t quite right here. She slid a hand into a coverall pocket and touched the small weapon nestled there. Then she slid off her stool and stepped a few paces to the side, covering both the man and the door. ‘Listen when you’re being spoken to, mister,’ she said. She nodded at his gear by the side of the stool. ‘Now, the place is closed. Pick up your things and go.’

She noticed that Frye was reaching under the bar for something.

‘So,’ the grizzled man said. ‘What if I don’t?’

Then he casually reached across the bartop, grabbed Haines’ beer, and calmly chugged it down. He slapped the glass down and looked up at them. Haines had her gun out.

‘Lieutenant!’ a voice barked behind her.

Hearing Sten’s voice, she partially turned, keeping the grizzled man in view. He grinned broadly, and then Sten was plucking the weapon from her hand.

Haines was ready to roundhouse Sten. She gaped as Sten stepped past her and came to attention in front of the beat-up old fisherman.

‘I’m sorry, Your Highness,’ Sten said. ‘We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.’

Haines chin started to fall toward the swell where her breasts began.

‘No problem,’ the man said. ‘Thought I’d stop by a little early. Get in a little fishing. Check things out.’

Sten stepped behind the bar and drew the man a beer. He slid it over and the fisherman took it in one long shallow. He turned to Haines and gave her a little wink.

‘Lieutenant Haines,’ Sten began, ‘allow me to introduce you to—’

‘It’s the Emperor,’ Haines croaked. ‘The clotting Eternal Emperor.’

The Emperor bowed low over the stool. ‘At your service, ma’am.’

Sten had to grab for Haines’s elbow as the hard-bitten lieutenant of homicide felt her knees buckle.

‘Zaarah Wahrid.’ The Emperor rolled the phrase over on his tongue, puzzling at it, searching his memory. He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t mean a thing to me. That’s all he said?’

Sten sighed. ‘I’m afraid so, sir. I’m sorry, but the whole thing has been nothing but a mess from the moment you put me on it.’

He drew his beer toward him, and then pushed it away. ‘Sir, I really think I ought to—’

‘
Quit
?’ the Emperor thundered. ‘No clotting way! I’m up to my neck in drakh and you want me to relieve you?’

‘With all due respect, sir,’ Sten pushed on, ‘I
have
failed to carry out every portion of this assignment to any kind of satisfaction.’

The Emperor started to jump in, but Sten raised his hand, calling on his rights as a free individual to quit a job if he wanted. ‘I’ve done nothing but spend a shipload of credits for zed information. All we’ve still really got are much supposition and too many rumors.

‘Beautiful. I hit Stynburn. Raise a whole lot of hell. Probably take you two years to settle those miners down. And all I come back with is a phrase nobody’s ever heard. If this were a Mantis operation you or Mahoney would have had my head and sent me to deep freeze as well.’

The Eternal Emperor thought for a moment. Whether it was for effect, or whether he was indeed considering an evil future for Sten, the young captain would never know. Finally, he gave a loud snort. Then he held out his glass for Sten to fill with some of Chris Frye’s finest.

‘I am
where
I am,’ he said, ‘because I make quick decisions and then follow them through, no matter how lousy the robe of many colors turns out to be in reality. I’ve blown it once in a while. But mostly I win. Check the history archives and see if I’m not borne out by this little flight of ego I’m allowing myself.’

Sten decided it would be far from politic to comment on the ‘little ego’ remark. Instead, he drained his beer, took a deep breath, and then leaned forward across the table. ‘Very well. Orders, sir, if you please.’

The Emperor hesitated for a nanosecond, considering how much he should really tell the young man in front of him. And then he caught Sten watching and knowing the hesitation for what it was, and just plunged on.

‘It works like this,’ he said. ‘The Tahn are all over my royal behind for some kind of a meet. My advisors argue that no one of any real diplomatic stature has even recognized their odious system, much less sat down and talked to them.’

‘But,’ Sten said, ‘I get the idea you agree there ought to be some kind of meet.’

The Emperor sighed. ‘Has to be. I’ve been trying to stall. If they want to talk to my exalted self, maybe I’ll do it, or maybe I won’t. That would be the ultimate recognition of those warlords. Cause me
no end of problems with the rest of the Empire. For clot’s sake, the Eternal Emperor can’t just be at the beck and call of every Tom Dick, and ET.

‘Fouls up the whole system. There is my Imperial mystique to be considered. And that, Captain, is not ego, it’s the glue that keeps this whole mess together.’

‘So you’re stalling them,’ Sten said.

The Emperor smiled. ‘Isn’t that what diplomacy is all about? It’s either stall or war.’ He shrugged. ‘A couple of my high-priced lawyers might disagree, but I’ve always found “going to court” cheaper than a war.’

He finished his beer and rose. ‘And I don’t think a war with the Tahn will be a little one.’

The Eternal Emperor turned to go. Then he stopped and gave Sten one of his most charming grins. ‘I sure could use a good barely-living guilty party to throw off the sleigh right now.’

‘How long can you keep stalling?’ Sten asked.

‘Less and less,’ the Emperor said. ‘I want you to grind it until the last minute.’

Sten nodded. ‘I’ll find your boy, sir.’ ‘Yeah. You will.’

And then the Eternal Emperor picked up his fishing gear and shambled out the door. Sten watched him go. For just a second, the Emperor wondered what would happen to young Captain Sten if he failed.

Even if it had been a Mantis operation, the safe-house System Sten, Alex, and Lieutenant Haines had worked out at the Blue Bhor would have been a wondrous thing. Just to begin with, it involved several different departments, a task usually impossible under almost any circumstances. Even cynical Alex was impressed about how well everyone blended in.

To begin with, security was an absolute must. Sten and Alex needed some definite thugs to keep trigger watch on anyone who might show an interest in the old inn.

So they carefully felt out old Mantis Section buddies who were either on I&I or using up sick leave. There were never any snarls from these people. They either smiled and kissed you or smiled and cut your throat.

Next, there were the police/Imperial people. Haines had carefully selected known trustworthy police people.

The way the safe house worked was that the security people patrolled the outside and Haines’s group ruled inside, with occasional
bursts of temper when Alex or Sten put in their two credits. The talents inside unfortunately guaranteed that everyone was potentially at the other person’s neck. They were all mostly cops. But they were all super-specialists. The talents ranged from hackers to real computer techs to archivists to com-line snoopers. All were very bright, trustworthy, and friends of Haines.