by Allan Cole
Sten was snatched back from that memory as Chomp Tail went for it big time, extending herself almost full length to get at her enemy’s weakest point.
Just what the Half-Black was waiting for.
A flick of the back claw, and the deadly talon pierced Chomp Tail’s neck. Injecting the poison.
And, just as Sten’s father had said, it was as if Chomp Tail had been struck by lightning. Her whole body jolted, went rigid, and then she was dead.
The winners roared, the losers moaned—a few shouting that the fix was in. But that wasn’t going anywhere with officials.
Dead was clearly dead.
Sten turned to see the expected look of fury on Venatora’s beautiful face. Eyes boiling. Nostrils flaring. Lush lips parted to reveal her sharp white teeth.
Now, if he played his cards just right…
Sten caught Venatora’s attention, smiled, then gave her a half bow. This seemed to enraged her even more.
Until Sten flashed another signal: Again?
She blinked. Took a step back. Then smiled the most delicious smile Sten had ever enjoyed.
She signaled back: Again.
Sten motioned: When?
She signaled, mouthing the words: “Feature match.”
Sten sent a query: How much?
Venatora fixed him with smile of marvelous mystery, eyes taunting, daring.
And she signaled: 100,000 credits?
She looked surprised when Sten instantly signaled back: Deal.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SINKING THE HOOK
The feature match was called, and two terrified minders carried out the cage of the Scarlet Xypaca, who raged and tore at the bars with fang and claw.
Hurriedly they set her down and jumped away.
A moment later, another pair of minders emerged carrying a second cage, which they gingerly bore to the opposite side of the ring.
The cage contained the green Xypaca, who was smaller but no less fierce. She attacked her cage, crazy to get at the scarlet enemy.
Sten looked over at Venatora. Perspiration glistened on her ebony skin, and her body trembled with excitement. The full force of Xypaca fever was upon her.
Meanwhile her female entourage was so stirred by the boss’s mood they could barely contain themselves. Pacing about, growling indiscriminately at anyone who dared to come close, clenching their fists and flexing their muscles, aching for a fight.
Venatora turned to look at Sten. She sneered at him, as if saying, You just wait and see, you little piece of drakh. You just wait and see.
Sten blew her a kiss. He turned away as if he hadn’t a care in the Empire. Although he had to push away the strange aura of eroticism emanating from her like an odorless perfume that enveloped him in warm blanket of lust.
Even so, he didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to know she was ready to explode at his casual manner.
The Fightmaster called for action. The cage gates swung open. The crowd roared. The green Xypaca hopped out. On the other side of the ring, the Scarlet Fury exited her cage, shrieking a challenge.
The Green Xypaca returned the shriek.
And charged.
The Scarlet Fury took half a step forward, then stopped. Hunched over. Abdomen squeezing in and out. Jaws gaping.
Choking.
Choking.
Like cat trying to rid itself of a hairball.
Then the beast spewed an enormous mound of red, quivering jelly-like soy steak. And it spewed and spewed and spewed.
Until the green Xypaca fell upon it and tore off its head.
Sten turned away from the scene and casually walked toward Venatora, wearing his best Cheshire grin. The closer he came, the angrier she became, and the angrier she became, the more her guards were affected.
By the time Sten reached her they were ready to swarm him and tear him to pieces. She raised a hand, stopping them, but not calming them. If that was even possible. Their blood was well past simmer.
Venatora spoke. “Is that your work?” she demanded, pointing at the ring, where, no doubt, the victor was feeding on the late Scarlet Fury.
Sten looked hurt. Hand on breast. Me?
Then he said, “They didn’t tell me you were a sore loser.”
Venatora said, “It looks to me like the fix was in.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to protest the fight,” Sten said. “Renege on the bet.”
She didn’t like that one bit. Almost blew. But then she remembered her gambler’s pride and pulled back. She looked him up and down, then said:
“Are you the law?”
Sten laughed. “I’m just a poor soldier on leave.”
Venatora scoffed. “A soldier so poor he can wager one hundred thousand credits? Somehow…” She let the rest trail off.
Sten said, “I have a sideline.”
“And that would be?”
“I sell things?”
“What sort of things?”
“Information, mainly.”
“And who do you sell this information to?”
Another Cheshire grin. “To people like you.”
Venatora covered her surprise. But couldn’t help a little blush of pleasure. She was starting to enjoy this game.
“And who might I be?”
“A pirate,” Sten said.
Venatora touched her breast with slender fingertips, mimicking Sten. “Me? A pirate?”
“Not just a pirate,” Sten said. He motioned at her bodyguards, who flinched and growled. “But a pirate queen.”
Venatora barked laughter. “I’m no queen,” she said. “Just a boss lady.”
“Then it’s settled,” Sten said. “You’re a boss lady pirate. Just the kind I like to meet.”
Venatora looked him over. Light shone in her eyes. She seemed to approve of what she saw.
“Maybe we can do business someday,” she said. “When you have something of value for sale.”
Then, catching Sten by surprise, she abruptly motioned to her guardswomen and started away.
He tried to follow, but they blocked him.
“Wait,” Sten called after her. “How can I get in touch with you?”
“Don’t worry,” she called back. “When you have something I want, I’ll know how to find you.”
Sten laughed. The woman was a delight. Then the laugh turned to a scowl as she vanished into the gaming room crowd.
He suddenly felt let down. Chilled. As if someone had turned off the hot water in the fresher. The erotic atmosphere that surrounded Venatora was gone.
Alex rejoined him. Caught his mood. Slapped him on the back.
“Come on, wee Sten,” he said. “There’s girls everywhere, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Then he fetched mugs of Stregg off a passing barbot and handed one to Sten, who drained the mug and grabbed another.
Once again the mood restoratives did wonders. Sten saw a particularly attractive Joygirl giving him the eye and smiled. Encouraged, she started toward him.
But then a hulking security bot shouldered its way onto the scene, blocking her path. It was humanoid in shape, half again larger than a man, made of mottled steel, with an oversized face sporting a single, glowing red eye.
That eye fixed itself on Sten. The bot raised a commanding hand, and beckoned with a long, metal finger.
“Lieutenant Sten,” it rumbled. “Come.”
The eye moved to Alex. Again, the beckoning finger beckoned. “Sergeant Kilgour,” the bot growled. “You come too.”
The bot started away, the crowd scurrying out of its path. Sten and Alex did not immediately follow.”
“What do you want?” Sten shouted after it. “What’s going on?”
The answer came rumbling back: “Mahoney! Mahoney say come!”
>
Sten and Alex looked at one another. What the clot?
“Doesn’t Mahoney know we’re on leave?” Sten said, getting a little hot.
“’Course he does,” Alex said.
From out of the crowd came the security bot’s demanding voice: “Come.”
Sten sighed. “Best not keep the General waiting,” he said.
CHAPTER NINE
ORDERS FROM ON HIGH
“Venatora is a splicer,” Mahoney said. “One of the oddest forms of that breed—and I use the term very loosely—that I’ve ever encountered.”
They were in a dark, empty utility room deep in the bowels of Rec Area 477. The walls of the room were black with mold, and Mahoney’s wavering holo image floated ghostlike above the floor.
He made snipping motions with two fingers. “Bits of one species joined with another. In her case, a little Himmenops, a lot of human. And a large dollop of something extra that turned her into a Himmenops queen.”
“It’s more than a dollop,” Sten said. “And it doesn’t just work on Himmenops.”
Alex grinned at this. “Aye, the wee lieutenant was quite taken with the bonny lass, sir,” Alex said. He put a hand over his heart, a sure sign that a Bobby Burns poem was coming on: “Had we ne’er lov’d sae kindly/ Had we ne’er lov’d sae blindly…”
Sten wanted to tell him to stifle it, but with the boss of the Mantis Section present, all he could do was glare.
Mahoney chuckled. “From what Rykor’s operative reported,” he said, “your lust quotient was off the charts.”
Rykor was the head of Mercury Corps Psy-Ops and it was hardly surprising that she had an operative or three on the premises. Probably the Joygirl Sten had his eye on before being summoned.
“I admit Venatora got to me, General,” Sten said, knowing full well this an understatement to the extreme. In reality, the affect she had on him was intoxicating. “But I maintained control through the whole operation, sir. I had the upper hand the entire time.”
“Our reading exactly,” Mahoney said. “But next time you meet, she’ll have your measure.”
Sten’s heart gave an involuntary bump. “Meet, sir?”
Alex said, “Ah think th’ General’s tellin’ us, laddie, ’at we hae a wee mission tae perf’rm.”
Sten was still young enough and new enough to the Mantis game to feel manipulated. “You mean this whole thing was a setup, sir?” he said. “The leave? The choice of this hellhole for a vacation spa? All for me to meet Venatora?”
Mahoney shrugged. “We didn’t expect the Xypaca business,” he said. “That was just pure dumb luck. But Rykor predicted you would be irresistibly drawn to her.”
Sten frowned. “How could Rykor—”
Mahoney cut him off with a raised hand. “You’ll have to ask her,” he said. “It’s a doctor/patient thing.”
Rykor, the walrus-like being with an oh-so-elegant mind, had been one of Sten’s keenest mentors from the start and had done a great deal to heal the wounds left by the loss of his family on Vulcan.
Sten sighed. He was whipped.
“What’s the operation, sir?” he asked.
“Mutiny,” Mahoney said.
Sten gawped in astonishment. As did Alex and Ida. Even Doc twitched—momentarily ruining his mask of supreme serenity.
Mutiny was unheard of in the Imperial Navy. The penalty for mutiny was death. And anyone associated with the mutiny—no matter how official the capacity—was in danger of having a permanent black mark on his record.
“Not to worry, lads,” Mahoney said, as if reading their thoughts. “You’ll get nothing but kudos for this. There’ll be no blowback, or black marks on your personnel file.”
Sten grimaced. “You mean as long as we are successful, sir,” he said.
Mahoney waved an impatient hand. That went without saying. In the shadow world of Mantis Section, winning was the only option.
He went on to outline the situation. The crew of a merchant escort ship had mutinied. Stealing a fortune in Imperium X in the process. Moreover, the mutineers were using the Imperium X as a bargaining chip. They were demanding a fortune in credits, and either amnesty from prosecution if the Emperor made the highest bid, or asylum in the pirate world if Venatora won.
“The boss wants this handled as quietly as possible,” Mahoney said. “No battleships. No military posturing or noise of any kind.” He shrugged. “Besides, the pirates are dug in too deep to get at easily. One false move on our part will drive the mutineers right into Venatora’s more than willing arms.”
“Why hasn’t anyone done anything about her before?” Sten asked.
“We should have taken care of this problem long ago,” Mahoney admitted. “But the whole Imperium X boom caught us flatfooted. And now Venatora and the other pirates have the Possnet Sector so fortified that the cost in money and blood to root them out will be an embarrassment to the Emperor. An embarrassment that couldn’t come at a worse time.”
Sten and Alex had heard backchannel rumors that the Emperor was engaged in delicate negotiations with the Tahn—a formidable ultra-warlike race—had been attracting allies to their cause at an alarming rate. So far, the Emperor had maintained the upper hand, skillfully shoring up his side while quietly undermining the Tahn.
Of course, this whole mutiny business, along with the theft of a space-train load of Imperium X, would be portrayed by his enemies as yet another sign of weakness. Not only was security lacking, with criminal enterprises allowed to go on unchecked, but the Emperor’s own forces—sworn to uphold his law—dared to defy him.
The Tahn would say this was proof aplenty that the Empire was old and creaky and in desperate need of new ideas and new leadership.
Which the Tahn would magnanimously offer to provide.
Sten said, “So, let me get this straight, General. You want us—a combat team—to suddenly become diplomats and negotiate on behalf of the Empire.”
“Ne’er fear, young Sten,” Alex said. “Our wee General’s a magician of th’ highest order. Waves his magic wand an’—poof!—four Mantis killers turn intae nice, gentle tea-drinkin’ legates.”
Ida laughed. “Can you all see me in a ball gown,” she said. “dancing the night away with princes and presidents at some gala palace soirée?”
Doc broke in. “I suspect the General is more interested in our killing skills than our diplomatic abilities.”
“That’s certainly been taken into consideration,” Mahoney said dryly. “And we have planned accordingly.”
“A couple of observations, sir,” Sten said. “First, to put on a good show we’ll need a decent looking ship. Nothing too fancy. The Storm just won’t do. She would look out of place here in the boonies. We have to show up in something that is at least the equal to their ship. But not loaded down with so much armament that it would make them soak their jocks.”
“Their ship is the Flame,” Mahoney said. “Light cruiser. Radoslaw class.”
“Do we have anything similar on hand?” Sten asked.
“As it happens,” Mahoney said, “The Flame’s sister ship—the Jo’l Cash—is being refitted at the same yard where they’re working on the Storm. It’s identical in looks and weaponry.”
“Perfect, sir,” Sten said. “What about rank? They’re not going to believe the Emperor is serious about negotiating if he sends a mere lieutenant. On the other hand, I’m too young to have advanced much higher.”
Mahoney nodded. “Not a problem, lad,” he said. “We’ll make you a flag lieutenant. Or, better yet, a captain. Nephew to Admiral Mik Ledoh.”
Alex laughed. “Nepotism. Thae’s th’ ticket, sir,” he said. “Every workin’ cheil knows th’ boss’s bairn gits the poshest job.”
Mahoney fell silent. Sten could tell that he was holding something back.
“What is it, sir?” he pro
dded. “If this is going to work, we have to know everything.”
Mahoney sighed. And told him the rest. Sten’s outraged response was a surprise to the old spymaster.
“Rescue Gregor?” he said, voice shaking with anger. “Begging your pardon, sir, but has everyone on Prime lost their clotting minds?”
“From your reaction, Lieutenant,” Mahoney said, “would I be wrong in thinking that you know Captain Gregor?”
“Know and loathe him, sir,” Sten said. “He was the biggest, most dangerous screwup in Guard training. Nearly got more than one of us injured, or even killed. And he’s a spoiled little bastard. Always bragging about how rich and important his father is. Acted like he was better than everyone else. Shirked his work and dumped it on others. Everybody hated him.”
“Maybe somebody shoolda given heem a boot in th’ bollocks,” Alex said.
“Gregor did get the boot,” Sten said. “Right out of the Guard.”
He looked at Mahoney, a glint of accusation in his eyes. “Well sir, seems they let his father buy Gregor’s way back in. Not only that, they gave him rank. Responsibility. And he screwed it up so much that he drove one hundred and twenty nine of our own people so far around the bend that they mutinied.”
“You’re forgetting they also stole all that Imperium X,” Mahoney said dryly. “A bad apple skipper wasn’t their only motivation. Greed obviously had something to do with it.”
“Th’ wee General has a point, lad,” Alex said. “Mebbe this Gregor is a screwup ay th’ first order. But I’ll wager a black-hearted pirate whispered in their shell-likes, promisin’ grand fortunes fur aw.”
“Sergeant Kilgour is spot on,” Mahoney said. “We have intelligence that several crew members were contacted by Venatora’s people. A deal was obviously made. At the opportune time, the crew would mutiny, seize the cargo, and live like royalty the rest of their days.”
“But that’s not exactly what happened, is it, sir?” Sten said.
Mahoney sighed. “No, it didn’t,” he said. “The crew mutinied on schedule, but apparently not all of them agreed with their leaders.”
“Let me guess, sir,” Alex broke in. “They’re sayin’ they nae be traitors, but jist honest Guardsbeings who hae bin badly used by their officers.”