Sten and the Mutineers

by Allan Cole

She started to protest, but Sten tightened his grip. “Get them out of here,” he said, indicating the Marines.

  Then he waved at all the officers gathered for the ceremony. “Get them all out of here.”

  W’lson sputtered something incomprehensible, but before she could continue, Sten said, “If you don’t do as I say immediately, I’ll get Mahoney on the horn and you’ll be lucky if your next posting is on an ice planet.”

  Her dignity in tatters, W’lson seemed unable to move. Sten wondered how the clot she would react if the ship were under fire.

  Fortunately, her XO stepped into the breach. A slender, well built human with a hawk face and a healthy cynical nature that had allowed him to survive under the incompetent rule of his captain, Lieutenant Mk’wolf quickly sussed out the situation and got everything under control.

  He moved among the other officers. There were nods and whispers. Shared understanding that once again their commander had them all balancing on the edge of a career-ending precipice. Whispered orders. A shuffle of feet. And in a few minutes the bridge was cleared.

  When they were gone, W’lson shook Sten off and drew herself up. “This is an outrage,” she said. “An unforgivable violation of every tradition of our service.”

  Sten said, “Did you or did you not receive explicit orders to preserve the secrecy of this mission?”

  “Of course I did,” she replied. “But I interpreted that to mean that those orders applied to outsiders. Not the crew of my own ship.”

  Anger nearly overwhelmed Sten. “You interpreted? Why, you silly puffed up piece of—”

  But the Captain wasn’t having any. Her own temper boiled over.

  “Just look at you,” she said, making a wide gesture that took in the four strange beings standing in front of her. “You’re not even in uniform.”

  At any other time, Sten’s odd sense of humor would’ve cut in. Because they were indeed a motley crew.

  Sten wore greasy overalls, with a tear in one sleeve that ran from the elbow to the cuff, thanks to a quick draw practice session with his knife.

  Alex, the tubby heavy-worlder, had let his beard grow for the mission and had the look of a red-bearded barbarian about to attack a Roman garrison at Hadrian’s Wall.

  Ida was unabashedly Gypsy, sporting rings on every finger, huge earrings on her lobes, sparkling necklaces cascading down her chins. All topped off with a billowy shift of many colors tucked into super plus-size overalls.

  And then there was Doc, the team’s psy-warfare op, who looked like nothing more than a meter-high super-cuddly teddy bear, instead of a Blyrchynaus, one of the deadliest and most cunning species in the empire.

  And it was Doc who at that moment had the wisdom to intervene. He sidled up to the Captain, and from the prickling sensation running up and down Sten’s spine, he knew that Doc had turned on his psionic talents full force.

  “You must pardon young Sten, Captain,” he said, practically purring. “He’s been under a great deal of stress of late.”

  Although he’d witnessed the effect Doc had on beings before, he was still astonished when he saw W’lson visibly relax, a smile wreathing her broad face.

  She reached down as if to pat Doc, who gently steered her hand away. Sten could tell it was all Doc could do to keep from biting it.

  “Why, yes, I can understand that,” W’lson said. Then she looked over at Sten. “Perhaps you would all like a nice cup of tea,” she said. “I usually put on a pot this time of day.”

  “Tea! What an excellent idea,” Doc said. Then he took W’lson by the hand. “Why don’t we adjourn to the comfort of your quarters, Captain?” he suggested. “Where we can all get to know one another a little better.”

  W’lson started babbling. “Yes, yes… Get to know one another. What an excellent idea. We’ll go to my cabin. Have a little tea. Maybe a nice hot scone to accompany it…”

  And with W’lson mumbling happily, Doc nodded at Sten and the others to follow, and in a few minutes they were all safely out of sight—if not out of mind—of the ship’s officers and crew.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  VENATORA

  Unfortunately, the damage was done, and before long word of the strange doings aboard the Jo’l Cash reached the lovely ears of Venatora.

  After spreading several fistfuls of bribe money about, she obtained a very good description of the young lieutenant whose arrival had caused such a stir aboard the Imperial ship.

  “I knew he was the law,” she told Marta, her El Segundo. “And he’s clearly hiding something.”

  Although Marta was as big and muscular as the other Zabanya guardswomen, her features were more delicate—her face heart-shaped, with a beauty mark at the left-hand corner of her lip.

  She considered Venatora’s remarks, then asked, “Unless I’m missing something, Ma’am, that doesn’t necessarily mean it has anything to do with our business, does it?”

  “I’m probably being paranoid,” Venatora said. “But if it weren’t for paranoia, one of my royal sisters would have killed and eaten me long ago.”

  “I’ll try to find out more, Ma’am,” Marta said. “But it’s difficult. The Imperial sector of the port is under the tightest security our spies have ever seen.”

  “Even more reason to suspect that Sten is the Emperor’s man,” Venatora said. “When spies are poking about, you know something is going on.”

  The pirate queen reflected a few moments. Then a smile of pleasure lit her ebony features.

  “All that Imperium X,” she murmured. “I’ve dreamed of a chance like this since the night Melipona crept into my room with murder on her mind and a dagger in her fist.” She chuckled. “She didn’t know I’d been tipped off and was waiting behind the door. Pillows stuffed under the blankets. Such a simple, even childish, trick.”

  Marta laughed. “There was nothing childish about the knife you used on her, Ma’am,” she said.

  “No, not at all,” Venatora said.

  She drew a long, bejeweled blade whose sheath dangled from the slender golden chain encircling her narrow waist. She turned it this way and that, admiring how light rippled along its surface.

  “The last of your rivals, Ma’am,” Marta murmured, reflecting on that long ago memory.

  “Oh, there will be others,” Venatora said. “The hive is already reaching its limit. We need to expand—and expand quickly—or I’ll have a whole army of envious princesses at my throat, all vying to rule my Himmenops sisters.”

  Marta nodded. “And to fight them you’ll need money, won’t you, Ma’am?” she said.

  Venatora laughed. “We’ll need wads of the stuff,” she said. “More money than we made during my whole career chasing the crumbs the Eternal Emperor leaves scattered about.”

  “We’ll have an entire space-train of crumbs, won’t we, Ma’am” Marta said, enjoying the little joke. “Exactly one hundred and twenty-five kilometers’ worth of Imperium X for your treasury.”

  Her lips twitched, and Venatora found the movement of the beauty mark enchanting.

  “Indeed we will,” Venatora said. “But we don’t want to fall into the trap of underestimating the Emperor. He’ll have a plan to deal with those mutineers.”

  Venatora flipped the blade end over end, snatching it from the air with a flourish.

  “Mutineers!” She shook her head in mock dismay. “Oh, how that must gall him. Traitors in his own service. He’ll want their heads.”

  “But the mutineers are demanding amnesty, Ma’am,” Marta said. “If he wants his Imperium X back, he’ll have to let them live.”

  “That’s our hole card,” Venatora said. “We must make the mutineers believe that the Emperor won’t keep any promises he makes. That he’ll kill them the first chance he gets. Of course, to convince them otherwise, he’ll have to send his very best man.”

  “An
d you think this Lieutenant Sten might be that man?” Marta asked, looking doubtful. “He’s so young.”

  Venatora gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Deliciously so,” she said. “However…there was something about him. Something…” And she let the rest trail off.

  Marta sniffed.

  She’s jealous, Venatora thought. How charming. She knew if she just touched Marta, the woman would melt. Such was her power over her warrior women.

  And then she wondered if she would have the same effect on Sten. Her heart fluttered. If she was honest with herself, she’d have to admit he had a definite effect on her.

  She shook herself. Enough of that.

  “Very well,” she said, all business once again. “If we can’t get past Imperial security in the little time we have remaining, then we’ll have to get them to come to us.”

  “What do you have in mind, Ma’am?” Marta asked.

  “A black marble,” Venatora replied. “We just need to find the best place to drop it…then see where it rolls out.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  PORT CHINEN

  Of all the wild outposts on the Empire’s frontier, Port Chinen was hands, tentacles, and even claws-down the wildest.

  As Alex put it, “It’s like some wee joker turned th’ Empire on its side an’ aw th’ bampots fell out an’ landed here.”

  Set upon a barren planet with only rudimentary life forms, the port sat at crossroads that, until only recently, led nowhere.

  With the discovery in the region of a veritable mother lode of Imperium X, Chinen exploded like the mining boom towns of old. It mushroomed out from what had once been a small, unimportant Imperial space fortress set between two rugged peaks into a chaotic warren of ramshackle buildings and facilities run by the mining companies and independent operators—all crowding around the Imperial space fortress right up to the fortress gates.

  And so when Sten and Alex guided their grav car past the last security checkpoint—leaving the relative peace and order of the base—they descended into sheer pandemonium.

  Massive vehicles lumbered about—using sheer size to impose their will on anything or anyone smaller. It was as if all laws of traffic and common sense had been abandoned in favor of commerce by suicidal nerve. Hundreds of beings unfortunate enough, or brave enough, to be on foot took their lives in their hands as they dodged in and out of this deadly melee.

  Alex had barely poked the nose of their grav car past the gate when they were nearly run down by a hundred-kiloton tanker.

  Their com units shrieked unintelligible warnings while the tanker’s enormous robotic arms reached out to literally push them aside—right into the path of a gigantic container sledge.

  “Look out!” Sten shouted as Kilgour jerked the stick to the side just in time.

  He shook his fist at the sledge, shouting, “Hamshanker idjiots!”

  Which led them directly into the path of yet another mechanical behemoth. Kilgour narrowly avoided being T-boned and accelerated onward.

  Before they could be tangled in another deadly encounter, Sten reached over, pushed Kilgour’s hand aside, and punched on the automatic override.

  Immediately, things calmed down—relatively speaking. Every few seconds brought on another near disaster, but now all the various onboard computers running the vehicles synced with one another and they were soon speeding in and out of traffic with relative ease. Especially now that no sentient beings such as stubborn Scotsmen were involved in guiding the vehicles. They’d let the onboard computer use is cameras, radar, sonar and countless other devices specifically designed for this sort of chaos.

  “If we’re gonna clottin’ die,” Sten said, “let’s do it in a sensible shootout with the bad guys. I prefer that to being turned into road grease.”

  “We’re lettin’ bots and computers run our bloody lives,” Alex complained. “Besides—ah like to drive.”

  “Well, speaking as your beloved first lieutenant,” Sten said, “I’d advise you to stifle that impulse and take up something sane, like bull leaping.”

  “Why would a body want tae jump ower a puir bull?” Kilgour asked.

  “It’s just a guess,” Sten said, “but I suppose it’s to avoid the horns.”

  Kilgour muttered something unintelligible—whether a curse or a compliment, his accent was so thick Sten couldn’t always tell.

  Then he said, “Aren’t ye e’en a wee bit leery abit this smuggler bloke we’re supposed tae meet?”

  “Sure I am,” Sten said. “But we can’t pass up the chance that the info is golden.”

  Kilgour snorted. “Ah’m guessin’ Mahoney said that.”

  “He did,” Sten said.

  Alex, sighed, “Ah, weel, that sounds like the wee general,” he said. “Ah suppose there’s nothin’ fur us tae do but stick uir heads into th’ lion’s gob and see if he’s hungry.”

  In a largish nutshell, this is exactly how Sten felt about the upcoming meeting.

  Not long after the W’lson debacle, Mk’wolf had escorted a strange little creature into their quarters. His eyes were little black beads that were constantly on the move on either side of a twisted, beak-like nose. His bald head was ludicrously small and pink as a human baby’s buttocks.

  He had a manner so nervous that his principle tentacles were in constant motion. Flick, flick. Polishing his bald head. Flick, flick. Cleaning out one of the two little orbs on either side of his head that Sten assumed were ears. Flick, flick. And then the tip of a tentacle was reaching for what Sten presumed was a nostril.

  Sten gave the XO a tired look. He said, “This the guy the captain was talking about?”

  “In the flesh, or whatever he calls that saggy stuff hanging off his bones,” Mk’wolf replied. “My first thought was to get rid of him as soon as the captain turned her back,” he said. “But then he said something that I thought might be worth your attention.”

  “And that something was…”

  “A name,” Mk’wolf said. He turned to the little being.

  “Tell him, Snilch,” he said. “Tell him the name.”

  Snilch spoke up in a high squeaky voice. “The name’s Gregor. That’s what I heard. Bigger’n life. Gregor!”

  Sten said, “What makes you think that name is important to us? And by the way, who the clot do you think we are?”

  “Who you are…” Snilch said. Flick, flick. “Why, it ain’t for me to say who you are.” Flick, flick. “You know who you are, matey. And ya’ likes the name Gregor. I can tell. Can’t hide drakh from old Snilch. Ask anybody on Chinen.” Flick, flick. “Anybody at all.”

  He heard Doc mutter something like “classic,” and assumed the bloodthirsty Blyrchynaus was scratching about for the proper nut box to put Snilch in.

  Sten looked at Mk’wolf for help.

  “It’s like this, lieutenant,” Mk’wolf said. “Snilch here was babbling on like crazy…just like he’s doing now…and just as we were ready to space him he says this name, ‘Gregor’.

  “Now everybody knows that Captain Gregor came through Chinen with a whole space-train of Imperium X. As a matter of fact, he took on some supplies here. I think it was their last stop.”

  Sten nodded. He knew this to be true. He had seen the Port’s master log.

  “Anyway, sir,” Mk’wolf went on, “Captain Gregor’s long gone.” He jabbed a thumb at Snilch. “Then suddenly this little bit of filth is talking about needing supplies for Captain Gregor…and the Flame.”

  Sten turned to Snilch. “Tell me,” he said.

  Snilch tiny eyes swept Sten’s face, then back again. Tentacles going. Flick, flick. The head. Ear. The beak. Flick, flick. Sten imagined it was the longest the little thief had gone without talking in whatever lifespan his DNA had decreed.

  Finally, he said, “It’s like this, Cheena old matey.” Flick, flick. “I have, what
you call…yeah, a reputation, Cheena. A reputation. My information is always sweet. And true.”

  Put a tentacle to his thin lips and kissed it.

  “Sweet,” he said.

  “How much?” Sten said.

  Snilch raised a tentacle. “Wait up, Cheena. What’s the hurry? Say…if you’re in such a hurry, maybe we ought to take that into…” Flick, flick… “what’ca call…consideration.” Flick, flick. “Yeah, matey. Let’s consider the consideration.” Flick, flick.

  Sten said, “Here’s what you need to understand—matey! You may have useful information for us. On the other hand, you may not. So there is no worth we can put on it in advance. Tell me. And then we’ll decide its value.”

  “That’s not how old Snilch does business, Cheena,” Snilch said. “Not how I do business at all. Ask anybody. They’ll tell you. I gets me price or I gets to me feet.”

  With that he rose from his chair. Then squeaked as Alex put a massive hand on his bald pate and pushed him down so hard the bottom of the chair bowed.

  Ida said, “You know, boys, it just came to me that this could be a very profitable situation. I can make our baksheesh budget as big or small as I please.”

  “Nobody can fiddle th’ books bettern’you, my bonny gypsy lass,” Alex said.

  “But, where is the profit?” Doc wanted to know.

  She pointed at Snilch. “He talks for free. But in the report I say we paid him a couple of hundred grand.” She grinned at Snilch. “I’m sure you’d be happy to sign a receipt, won’t you honey?”

  Snilch gobbled. “Free? Snilch does not do free.” Flick, flick. “He would not do free for his mother, curse her soul, she was an old bitch anyway.” Flick, flick. “No, no. Free is not happening. You pay…two hundred thousand is too little, I think…you pay…I talk. Everybody happy.”

  Ida looked at Mk’wolf. “We’ll split it five ways,” she said, as if not hearing a word of Snipe’s counter. “So you’ll get your fair share. After all, you’ve made all this possible.”

  The XO grinned. “That’s very generous of you, ma’am.”