by Allan Cole
“That’s exactly what I need, Harry,” Tanya said, flat. “Six Marines, a fast ship … no make that two. And a dozen Marines. Plus as many Big Freakin’ Guns as they’ll hold.”
Harry gasped at her audacity. The UWP’s naval forces were used sparingly. There were too many political toes that could be stepped on.
The same with the Marines, which was a super elite corps of fighters. Harry would have to stretch out his coward’s neck big time to get commandeer six of them.
He tried to argue. Tried to offer other alternatives. Tanya swatted his protests aside like so many flies.
The next morning she gave the order and the two little ships blasted off for Uttermost Space. And there were six combat-hardened Marines stuffed in each ship along with the crew.
* * *
It was hands down the most dangerous journey Tanya had ever attempted. It was also the most depressing.
The whole Galaxy either seemed to be girding for war or fleeing the war.
Tanya’s route took her right through the middle of the gathering storm— with flashes of missile lightning on every side from preliminary firefights as the two superpowers jockeyed for position and tested the mettle of their foe.
Even more depressing were the constant news accounts of the coming duel between Davyd and Vlad. The men had yet to meet in battle, but the newscasters were crowing about what a fight it’d be. The galaxy’s two greatest warriors going at it man to man.
Tanya was feeling desperate around the edges. If only she could uncover the conspiracy before they killed each other.
For embarrassingly selfish reasons she didn’t quite understand, Tanya was more troubled by the threat to Vlad and Davyd than she was about the brewing war.
Her first goal was a planet in the Frontier Zone, so small and undistinguished that it went by the rather drab moniker of Gray Sector One. GS-1 for short. Meaning, the settlers hadn’t even got their acts together enough to file for a territorial name.
Tanya’s purpose: According to intelligence, GS-1 was a key smuggling and money-laundering outpost. And she was sure she could pick up the trail of Billy Ivanov and Old Scratch there.
As she’d mentioned to Harry, there was even a far-off chance she might run across Kriegworm’s spoor at GS-1— assuming Kriegworm was looking for Billy and Scratch as well.
This was only a guess on her part, but she’d learned to pay attention to such guesses long ago.
Although distant in normal star map bytes, GS-1 sat on the edge of an anomaly in the fabric of space that ought to have cut the trip down to an e-week max.
Just off Jupiter there was a jump point big enough to allow the two little Thunderbolt 220’ Class scout ships that had been assigned to her to squeeze through. In theory, they’d grab a fast spectral wind ride through Uttermost Space to GSO.
“Ordinarily, this would be no problem, Major,” Lt. Commander Sean Moon told her during the pre-takeoff briefing. “But if it’s anything like the patrol I just got back from, we’ll be lucky if we can make it in an e-month!”
“I don’t have that long,” Tanya said. “Hell, a week is seven days too many!”
Moon shrugged. A former American Coast Guardsman, he’d distinguished himself early in his career thwarting terrorists, arms smugglers and pirates.
Recruited by the naval arm of the UWP, Moon was known as much for his cunning as he was for bravery under fire. And he also spoke his mind, as Tanya quickly found out.
“You’d better start practicing holding your breath, then, Major,” Moon said, “because you damned well aren’t going to get what you want.”
He pointed with unconcealed pride at the two small ships waiting on the tarmac. Last minute supplies and ammo were being jammed into every nook and cranny of the command ship— the Hamilton.
While a fuel ’bot strained to force every spark of power it could into the big ion-batteries of its sister vessel— the Rubin.
“We wouldn’t make it at all without these babies,” he said. “Either some Russian or the American warship would spot us. And there’s no questions being asked, these days.
“Even a UWO mission isn’t safe. Those boys fire first and look to see who they hit later.”
Tanya couldn’t help but cast an admiring eye over the sleek lines of the ships. She’d been impressed when she’d boned up on the specs last night. But in the titanium “flesh,” the ships were mechanical works of art.
They were the ultimate in stealth. Based entirely on ancient laws of physics technology, there was not one magical particle in either ship. Which meant they were almost impossible to spot using conventional military radar spells.
Originally designed as American military special forces support platforms, each ship was a remarkably slender two hundred and fifty feet long.
This was chunked into thirds: one third engine, one third weapons, one third fuel and supplies. The crew got whatever space was left over, so it was damned crowded.
Later, when Tanya saw what was laughingly called the crew quarters she was glad her aunt was no prude and had stomped on any signs of false modesty during her upbringing. Because there was no privacy at all on the little ships.
Even more impressive: Tanya had asked for some Big Freaking Guns and the UWP naval wing had delivered in spades.
Since the stealth design rejected the use of all magic, there was an assortment of old-fashioned missiles. But the piece-de-resistance were the two Bushmaster XXI automatic cannons mounted in the main weapons stations.
According to her copy of Jane’s, the parallel physics technology had overcome the old problem of barrel wear that ancient weapons had suffered from.
A ceramic-like material was used to line the chainguns’ barrels so they could fire high explosive ammunition at a satisfying rate of 200 rounds per minute.
There was no shielding spell Tanya knew of capable of standing up under that shattering fire, especially with the special canister rounds the guns fired.
She was anxious to talk to the weapons expert, Lt. Robert Rhodes, who also commanded the Rubin. Antique weapons had always fascinated Tanya and she was intrigued by Lt. Rhodes’ nickname— “Bullet Bob.” Now, this was a guy to know!
She heard someone curse and glanced over at the Hamilton. Two crewmen were trying to shove a rectangular trunk through the cargo door. The trunk contained her collapsed fly-flapper, which Tanya had decided to take along at the last minute.
Lt. Moon winced. “I hope that’s an absolutely necessary piece of gear, Major,” he said. “We’re light on rations as it is and that’s not making anything easier.”
“It’s necessary all right,” Tanya said firmly.
She wanted to make certain that non-magical transportation was available to her once she reached GS-1. And the fly-flapper not only fit that requirement, but was totally silent as well.
“It might make the difference between the success or failure of this mission,” Tanya added.
Moon laughed. He was a handsome, amiable young man. “Okay, but when the crew starts bitching about the grub, don’t expect me to save you from the lynching party.”
Tanya grimaced. “And I won’t blame them, either,” she said. “One thing you ought to know about me, is that I like to eat!”
Moon looked her over. It was a casual look, but admiring in an inoffensive way.
“You’d never know that from your superstructure, Major,” he said. “Pretty trim lines for a big eater.”
Then he winked. “We’re going to get along just fine,” he said. “You like to eat and I just purely love to cook.”
Tanya was puzzled. Since when did skippers of fighting ship start pulling down galley duty?
Two e-days out— to her intense delight— Tanya learned the answer.
Delicious smells drew her from her bunk to the tiny galley where the crew cooked and ate all their meals.
Moon, wrapped in a food-spattered apron, was standing over a big pot, ladle in one hand, a battered antique paperback book in the
other.
“That smells heavenly,” Tanya said. “What is it?”
Moon grinned. “Only the best damned chili in the entire galaxy,” he said, stirring the contents of the pot.
Even more fabulous smells were released by this action and Tanya’s belly gave an unladylike growl.
“You’ve convinced me, commander,” Tanya said, “and I haven’t even tasted it yet.”
She glanced at the book, frowning when she saw a picture of a strange looking space vehicle on the greasy cover.
“What kind of cookbook is that?” she asked.
Moon laughed. “Actually, it’s an old science fiction novel written back in the Twentieth Century. A couple of guys wrote a whole series of them, called the ‘Sten Chronicles.’
“Great action, fantastic stories, but best of all they put two killer recipes in each novel.”
He gave the pot another vigorous stir. “This dish comes from one of those books. It’s called ‘The Eternal Emperor’s Chili,’ after one of the major characters.”
Tanya shook her head. “Amazing!” was all she could say.
Moon chortled. “You should see the faces of the recruits when they see their Old Man standing over a pot, spoon in one hand and a greasy science fiction novel in the other.
“They think I’m suffering from a bad case of space bends and start wondering how they hell they can swing a transfer.”
Moon put his cooking tools aside and ripped a big hunk of bread off a fresh loaf of sourdough— also a recipe from the Sten novels, he later told her.
He dipped the fragrant hunk into the pot and held it out for Tanya. The bread was soaked with a thick red sauce.
“Tell me what you think,” he said.
Tanya took a bite. And, wow! she thought her head was going to come off. The chili was that peppery. Then the taste came through, coating her tongue with the most delicious and complex flavors.
She groaned in pleasure. “Fabulous!” she said. “Simply fabulous.”
Then, “When do we eat?”
“Right now, major,” Moon said.
He scooped up a huge bowl of chili and beans for her. She went through two more before calling it quits.
Moon’s grin grew wider and wider as he watched her enjoy the food.
He tried out some of his other Sten recipes on her during the journey. Each more delicious than the other.
By the time they reached GS-1 Tanya was so stuffed with good food that for the first time in her life she began to fear for her waistline.
CHAPTER FORTY
Millions of miles away from Tanya and her quest, Vlad’s fiendish servants were gathered before their absent master’s vid system.
Even that grumbler Brosha was so taken by the events playing out on the screen he didn’t notice that many of the little fiends wore shoes— which was completely forbidden by the obsessively tidy Brosha.
On the vidscreen, a silver-haired Russian official was saying:
“And now, comrades, as we all face the great perils of the coming thunder together, let us reflect on the valor and heroism of those who guard the motherlands from those Amer dogs. I speak of brave men, such as Major Vlad Projogin, of the SpetzNaz Commandos.
“Major Projogin, as all know, is the greatest of our heroes. And even now he is stalking that treacherous Amer assassin, David Kells.
“The entire galaxy awaits the outcome of that coming duel, which will surely go down in our glorious history as another marvelous victory for our Russian fighting forces.
“I promise you that once Major Projogin has slain the Amer, he won’t be satisfied. He’ll shoulder even more burdens in our defense. He’ll move swiftly to intercept the treacherous enemy hordes.
“He will hunt down and bring to swift justice spies and saboteurs, who are even now slipping into our dominions. Intent on destroying our most important military facilities and civilian life-supporting systems.
“Brave as he is, Major Projogin is only one of many heroes of Mother Russia. Perhaps you will someday join that band of valorous warriors.
“Come, comrades. Do not be shy. Mother Russia has need of you. Join the SpetzNaz now and be one of them.
“Be a real man. A real soldier!”
Brosha wiped an unaccustomed tear from one of his fiendish eyes.
“Our poor master,” he said. “I wonder what he’s doing now?”
* * *
“Yes? Who is there?” growled an inhuman voice.
Vlad stood before a small door in a quiet block of offices, minor temples, craft shops and family-owned restaurants.
Behind the door, he guessed from the timbre of the voice, was an ogre. A rare occupant in a middle-class human neighborhood.
“Speak up!” came the voice again. “Who is it that seeks entry?”
“Vlad.”
The single word was sufficient. There was no password. The fiendish Church Of The Sword guardians didn’t require such things. They had their own magical ways to confirm identities.
The door opened, revealing a thick cloud of mist floating just beyond the threshold. The place was protected by mighty spells and Vlad had to click on a special Church Of The Sword device to pierce the sorcerous haze.
“Enter, softskin,” said the ogre.
The fiendish creatures who served the Church of the Sword suffered a rare disease: the lack of ordinary courtesy.
Vlad shrugged. The rudeness was a small but pleasant perk the fiends enjoyed. Well, let the kids alone, as the saying goes.
He passed through the thick cloud, which was filled with hundreds of unseen eyes all studying him intently.
Vlad soon found himself in a narrow corridor whose walls were covered with runes and other mysterious symbols.
He sensed the presence of something huge and rather hungry lurking beneath the floor. A demon of some sort who was ready to defend the others from any unwelcome strangers.
“Advance, softskin,” came another unpleasant voice.
Vlad looked up and saw an enormous female ogre. Green scales formed her hide. And two sharp white fangs peeped from beneath her upper lip. But drawn across her shoulders was a black SpetzNaz uniform decorated with four captain’s stars.
Silently, she beckoned Vlad onward and suddenly he found himself standing at the edge of a deep, dark cavern.
“Follow me, major,” the ogre ordered. “Do not stray from the path. And keep one pace behind me— no more, no less.”
Vlad obeyed, stepping out into the darkness as the Ogre moved forward. An invisible pathway met his feet, keeping him and the ogre from plunging into the abyss.
A few moments later the ogre suddenly stopped and Vlad had to pull himself up quickly to keep from bumping into her.
“The armory,” the ogre said. “Choose, softskin.”
Vlad saw nothing but dark shadows, pricked with gleaming eyes. But he could sense the ogre looming nearby.
“I need something to locate my enemy,” Vlad said. “He’s a cunning fellow and will be hard to find.”
The darkness was lit by the ogre’s grin as she exposed her gleaming white fangs. “Ah, ha! I know what is required, major. A spirit we call the ‘Hound.’
“She was bred for nearly twenty years. An extraordinary thing, Major. Half spirit, half fairy and a thin layer of crystallized devilish luck. She can find any softskin or fiend.”
The ogre laughed, as if she’d just made a joke.
“Crystallized luck?” Vlad asked. “What’s that?”
“Thou doest not need to know, major,” the ogre admonished him.
“Well, let’s see it then,” Vlad said.
He didn’t have much time. Davyd had just upped his score by assassinating two combat wizards and a certain colonel who had been the head of a vital intelligence division. So now it was one hundred and three kills for Kells and one hundred and one for Vlad.
Moreover, Vlad had detected a subtle pattern in Davyd’s choice of targets. Three kills on three different planets. The first was on
a world just within the starry borders of the Russian empire. The second was deeper still. And the third was even more daring— less than three e-days journey from New Russia itself.
Vlad firmly believed that New Russia would be Davyd’s next choice for a killing ground. But where exactly? New Russia was twice the size of Earth and had three times the population. How could Vlad find him among all those people?
“The Hound can also be a weapon herself,” the ogre said, breaking into Vlad’s thoughts.
The gloom was relieved by dim light and Vlad saw the ogre stretch out a scaly claw, pointing. “Look, softskin!” she commanded.
Vlad looked and saw the darkness unfold swiftly before him. And he caught a glimpse of something, or someone lurking behind a dark curtain.
Projogin couldn’t tell exactly what it was. Subtle sensations floated through his mind: a faint pink flourish on the black velvet of an evening sky; the swift trembling of water in the small bowl of a bubbling spring; the whisper of white apple leaves in blossom…
“Here to obey, major,” whispered a voice.
Vlad shivered.
It was the voice of Tanya Lawson!
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” the ogre said proudly.
“Oh yes,” Vlad muttered “She’s very pretty!”
* * *
The rest was not so interesting.
A half-alive weapon stuffed with various fiendish creatures. Swifter than bullets and more deadly than lasers. The device was one of very the latest models, as were the other weapons Vlad chose.
But these things were of no comfort to him. For his gut instinct told him that in the end he and Davyd would face each other with little more than their bare hands.
Surely, Vlad thought, Kells would be armed with the same sort of sophisticated weaponry. Then he suddenly imagined how he and his enemy would approach one other for the final battle.
Dropping their deadly devices one by one. Facing one another. And then…
“Be careful with this little baby, major,” the ogre warned as she turned the Hound over to him.
“And good luck. This will be a good show. We’ll all be watching thee.”