The Wolf Worlds (35 page)

"What is the verdict?" he asked the judges.

And the same word hissed out along the line of ten.

"Guilty… Guilty… Guilty…" And so on until the last judge pronounced their fate.

Mathias rose, bowed to the judges. "I have agonized over this." Mathias announced. "The evidence was overwhelming, even before the trial. And, as you all know, I counseled compassion."

He paused for effect.

"No doubt," Ffillips said, loudly enough for the vidmonitors to pick up.

Mathias ignored her.

"But." the Prophet continued, "I must bow to the wisdom of the judges. They know best the desires of Talamein. I can only accede. And give thanks to our Father, for his guidance."

He turned to Ffillips and her men. "With great sorrow, I must pronounce judgment—"

Ffillips shouted the order: "TROOP. RIGHT FACE."

Her troops wheeled as one. Proud men and women ready to go to their deaths. Their guards broke rank and dignity, rushing over to them, shouting, waving their weapons.

Mathis had to rush out the words:

"You are all sentenced to die," he shouted. "Within five days.

Before the people of Sanctus. and—"

Ffillips broke through his ranting: "FORWARD…MARCH…"

And the soldiers stepped out in perfect time, heading back for their prison and their doom.

"And Talamein…" Mathias screamed.

Ffillips shot him the universal gesture of contempt. And. in

her best parade-ground voice: "CLOT YOU."

All was confusion. As the mercs disappeared, Mathias was yelling instructions at his guard and fruitless explanations at the vidmonitors.

Ffillips might have been a dead woman, but she knew how to go out in style.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

THE GIANT FUNERAL chimneys of Sanctus belched out ash, smoke, and fire, working overtime as the very wealthy and highly nervous ruling class of the Lupus Cluster poured in their donations to the new Prophet.

Sten, Bet, Alex, and the others jockeyed their gaudily painted wagons through the crowds that were pouring into the holy city.

Red-uniformed Companions made cursory attempts to check out the pilgrims. Here and there they pulled people aside to run scanners over their bodies and belongings. But mostly they were just waving the hordes of people through, barely able to keep up with the traffic, much less look for malcontents.

Once they got through the gates, Sten waved his people to one side. He took a fresh look at the Sanctus of Mathias.

To either side of the Avenue of Tombs and its eye-ear-nose-and-throat-polluting monuments spread the city itself. Sandwiched between the mix of small homes, tenements, and the occasional gabled mansion were the narrow streets and alleyways. Sanctus' capital had evidently not had much of a planning commission.

And now the barely passable streets were roiling with visitors.

Sten's back prickled as he realized that all of them, whether peasants, artisans, or merchants, were in their colorful best clothes. Also, Sten noted, here and there, other entertainers'

wagons.

The chaos was worrisome. It was a perfect cover, to be sure, but the spontaneous partying meant that Sten and his team had less time than they thought. None of them had seen or heard about the sentencing cast, but from the festive tourists, Sten realized he would have to act quickly.

Bet slid across the seat toward him and nuzzled his neck.

"Mathias acted more quickly than we thought," she hissed. Sten forced laughter and pulled her close for a kiss. A Companion stared at them curiously for a moment, then moved on. A drunken beggar stumbled past, waving a sheaf of tickets.

"THE EXECUTIONS," he shouted. "SEE THEM IN PERSON…

STILL A FEW SPACES LEFT IN THE PUBLIC SQUARE."

He staggered on.

"SEE THE EXECUTIONS… THE TRAITORS OF

TALAMEIN…"

His voice was finally drowned out by the crowd. Bet broke away from Sten and slid off the wagon seat. Sten gave her a slap on the rump.

"See what you can find out," he whispered.

Bet nodded and laughed lustily, then jumped down onto the roadway. In a moment she had disappeared into the throng.

Alex stuck his head out from the wagon's interior, then slid up on the seat beside Sten.

"Best be movin', lad," he said.

Sten took another look at what faced them before he gigged the beasts into motion.

The Temple sat at the end of the Avenue of Tombs, atop a gently rising hill about three hundred meters higher than the city gates. Its spire towered over thick, protective walls. Below the Temple was what had been a monastary. Years past, it had been a place of silent devotion for Talamein priests. More recently Theodomir and now Mathias used it as a prison.

Sten pointed it out to Alex.

"Tha's whae th' be't keepint our Ffillips," Alex said. He passed Sten a wineskin. Sten upended the bag, letting the wine pour into his mouth. Then it went back to Alex, who raised it, eyes scanning the landscape over the tanned leather.

"Over there," Sten said, nodding to the skeleton of a building going up beside the old Talamein monastery/prison. "That's our way in."

Alex peered at it for an instant, then turned away.

What he had seen was a slim, towering needle of steel, very much out of place next to the ancient monastery. They had heard it was going to be the new barracks Mathias was building for his Companions. Ironically, it was also to be named for Theodomir.

They noticed there were no workers around the building.

Obviously they had been given time off for the holiday. They also noticed that although most streets were filled with partying citizens of Sanctus, the area around the prison was carefully being avoided.

Down the hill from it, still on the Avenue of Tombs, they spotted the main armory for the Companions. That area, too, was deserted.

"Got it?" Sten asked Alex.

Alex considered for a moment.

"A wee dicey, lad," he said finally. "But it'll hae t' shift."

Sten gave the signal, then his wagon and the others rumbled forward, deeper into the Holy City.

On a side street farther down the hill from the Companions'

armory was what had once been a park. Before Mathias it had been a small green area for pilgrims. A place to rest and, after worship, to picnic after the long fasting. It was three-quarters screened by a ring of tall, slender trees.

But the Companions had put it to a more practical use. Where once had been a sprawling green lawn was now a sea of well-churned mud. The park was filled with small, tracked self-propelled cannon, whose honeycomb armor allowed them high speed and maneuverability. The tracks were built for two men, had small, open turrets, and were armed with quad, full-auto 50mm projectile cannon.

They were powered by old-style low-friction engines that gave maximum performance to a fairly cumbersome little package.

Milling and relaxing in the myriad aisles between the track columns were Companion drivers, mechanics, gunners, and general gofers. Though most of them were pretending to be busy at their duties, they were actually rubbernecking at the crowds of fun-seekers cavorting a hundred meters or so away in the street.

Ida and Doc broke out of the crowd. A few giggling children followed them for a moment or two, delighted at the spectacle.

But as they wandered toward the track park, anxious parents called them back.

Ida was dressed in her rainbow gypsy best. And she was dragging Doc along on a short, silver leash.

"Alley-oop," she shouted.

And Doc did a ponderous somersault.

They paused near one SP. A few curious Companion privates moved forward a bit to see better.

"Play dead," she said.

Doc flopped to the ground and stiffened his limbs. "Don't go too far!" he hissed.

"Your idea," Ida whispered back, enjoying every minute of it.

A few young men, glancing nervously over their shoulders for superiors, came closer.

"Now, beg," Ida commanded.

"No," Doc whispered. "I don't do begging."

Ida jerked the leash while she glanced around the park, instantly filing layout, security, and, most important, eyeing the track's individual locks.

"I
said
beg." Ida smiled sweetly.

Doc did as he was told, trembling on hind legs and waving his paws. He swore to himself that Ida would die many deaths for this disgrace.

"What are you doing here?" shouted a Companion lieutenant.

Instantly young Companion privates jolted in their boots, looked nervously about and started to drift away.

Ida looked at the young lieutenant, then at Doc.

"It's a new act, sir," she said. "He's a bit wild yet. Don't know how to behave."

Before the glowering officer, she half-dragged Doc away on the leash.

"Next time," Doc hissed when they were out of earshot, "you go on the chain."

As they melted back into the crowd, Ida noticed that the lieutenant was still watching them. Just for cover, naturally, she gave Doc a little kick.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

THE SMALLL GRAVSLED hissed up to the Theodomir Barracks-to-be. On it was an untidy assortment of crammed tool boxes and chaotic mounds of electrical spare parts.

Sten and Alex stepped off and, ignoring the guards, began to fill two duffle bags with tools and spidery electrical parts. A bored chief guard wandered over.

"Here now. What're you two doing?"

Sten just grunted at him. Alex handed the guard a grease-stained permit. Both grease and permit had first met less than an hour ago. The guard peered at the permit.

"Says here," he commented, "they got problems with the welder on floor fifteen." He glared at the two men, trying on his cop-suspicious look.

"I ain't heard about that," he said.

Sten wrestled on his toolbelt.

"Whaddy a expect," Sten said. "It's a clottin' holiday, ain't it?

Nobody don't hear nothin', unless you're like my partner and me.

"Clots. We were gonna party tonight. But no. Whadda they care? We spend all those credits on some approved quill. We gotta couple ladies lined up. We're gettin' heated up. Then we get the call. Problems with the clotting welder on the Theodomir building.

"Fix it, they say. I say send somebody else. They say fix it or don't show up tomorrow. So here we are. And we're gonna fix it and get back to the party."

The guard was a bit stubborn. He, too, had a party planned and hadn't expected the day to be a duty day.

"Still," he said. "I wasn't notified. No work done 'less I'm notified."

Sten shrugged. He and Alex climbed back into the gravsled.

Sten keyed a report on the tiny onboard compiler, then printed it and handed the hard copy to the guard. "Sign it."

The guard stared at it, his eyes widening.

"This says I refused you entrance. You're blaming me 'cause you can't fix the welder."

"Gotta blame somebody," Sten said. "Might as well be you.

Look. Be a nice guy. Sign it. We leave. And then it's party time tonight."

The guard handed the report back, shaking his head. "Go do your work."

"Ah, come on," Sten said. "Give us a clottin' break. I wanna go home."

But the guard was firm. He pointed at the building. "Fix it."

Reluctantly Sten and Alex climbed back out of their gravsled, loaded up their tools, and, with a few "clots" thrown over their shoulder, began the weary climb to the fifteenth floor.

Ida and Doc piled over the turret top, into the track. On the ground beside it, the Companion lieutenant was moaning into unconsciousness. After the two had done a quick fiddle with one of the Mantis Section's Hotwire Anything Kits, they'd crept back into the track park. It was unfortunate—for the lieutenant—that he'd come around the wrong corner at the wrong time. Ida'd forearmed him in the gut and Doc had tranked the man, but not before nearly biting through his leg.

Ida fumbled the box out of her purse, looking at the controls.

"Over there," Doc said, pointing at the SP cannon's security/

ignition case. Within seconds Ida had the box epoxied on the case, and the box had analyzed and broken the three-sequence number code that brought the track to life.