Sten and the Mutineers

by Allan Cole

  Doc sighed. “Naturally, in human affairs the easiest solution is one you’re forbidden to take.”

  He scratched his furry chin with a single extended claw so sharp it glittered in the light. “Eventually, our orders are to kill her,” he said. “Unfortunately, just not now.”

  “Aye, we ken only sting ’er,” Alex said, “Ain then run loch heel when she sets the dogs oan us.”

  “Never fear, Ida’s here,” the fat Rom chortled as she moved a hand across the board.

  An area of the Fortress was enlarged and Sten saw a large yellowish hump, like a ripe boil, between two craters.

  “What do you make of that?” she asked the techs.

  Murgas and Tm’Beaty got busy digging into their data stream.

  A minute later, Murgas said, “That’s their primary operation center, boss. Take that out and they’ll be blind.”

  But Tm’Beaty was still going at it. “Hang on,” he said, fingers hammering away at his board. Turned to Sten.“They’ve got all kinds of backup, Captain. If we knock that out, in about two seconds flat a whole mess of other systems will come on line.”

  Ida studied the stream. Nodded. “In other words,” she said, “all hell will break loose.”

  Doc broke in. “I calculate that it’s more than just an operation center,” he said. “I’ve come to admire Venatora’s cunning. And it is my observation that she’s purposely put an attractive target in plain view.”

  Sten chuckled. God, he admired that woman.

  “Bait for a trap,” he said.

  “A wee bit of cheese for th’ rats,” Alex said.

  Ida’s hands began flying across her board again. “I’ll look for a better clottin’ target,” she said.

  “Hold on,” Sten said. “Considering our purpose, we have already found it.”

  Ida frowned. “What are you thinking?”

  “That we grab the cheese and then run like hell,” Sten said. “And do as much damage as possible on the way out.”

  He turned to Murgas and Tm’Beaty. “I want you to sus out all possible danger areas,” he said. “When the drakh hits the fan, I want to know the most likely places the attacks will come from.”

  Then to Ida: “Take out everything they throw at us. But don’t get too antsy. I want Venatora to have plenty of muscle left when we get to Stage Two of this little operation.”

  And now to Alex. “I know you’ve got the escape route mapped out,” he said. “But I’m not fooling myself Venatora won’t try to close that off before we can shake free.”

  “Nae a problem, laddie,” Alex said. “Ah’ve got uir wee jump point primed an’ ready tae gang.”

  “And how about you, Doc?” Sten said. “You’ve been in constant contact with Shaklin. How is he holding up?”

  “Better than I expected,” Doc said. “In fact, he’s so calm that I wonder if he has something else planned.”

  “Do you think he’ll turn on us at the last minute?” Sten asked.

  “Not as yet,” Doc said. “Just be warned to expect the unexpected.”

  “Tha’s th’ Kilgore clan’s first rule ay war,” Alex said. “If things can go wrang, you’d best coont on it.”

  Sten moved over to Ida’s side.

  “Ready?”

  She laughed. “Now comes my favorite part,” she said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “You say ‘Fire.’”

  “Okay, then,” Sten said. “Fire!”

  Ida stabbed a fat finger at the button.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE

  A smile spread across Venatora’s face as the Flame moved closer to her fortress. Soon all that lovely Imperium X would be hers.

  She keyed the mike and was about to hail the ship when saw the gunports suddenly yawn open, there was a flash, and a blazing white flare consumed the entire screen. A tremendous force hit the fortress, and she was nearly hurled from her seat.

  As if from afar, she heard Marta cry out, “What’re they doing? They’re attacking! They’re attacking!”

  Distantly, she could hear other guardswomen shouting. Now came another explosion, and then alarms were blaring and all she could think was that she had been a fool.

  The Emperor had tricked her. The mutiny. The theft of the Imperium X. The traitorous conspiracy of Lord Wichman and his son. It was nothing but an elaborate ruse to get her to let down her guard.

  And now the Imperial forces would be on her, intent on killing her and destroying The Himmenops Colony.

  Cold fury descended, and then an odd kind of calm. She slowly rose, turning up the volume of her power over her women, and soon restored order.

  The order remained as a series of jolts rocked the fortress. Her automated defense systems were working and striking back. But unless she moved fast, it might well prove to be too little and too late. Any second now other Imperial forces would join the Flame and wreak destruction on The Colony.

  Then Marta shouted that she had reestablished a connection to the outside. Venatora looked up as two guardswomen hoisted a new monitor into place. It blinked to life.

  The sight jolted her. What was this?

  Venatora expected to see the Flame, accompanied by an Imperial fleet, bearing down on her, chain guns blazing, missile bays aflame. But instead the only thing to appear on the screen was the Flame.

  Except it wasn’t attacking!

  It was clotting running away!

  The charred tail section clearly outlined as it fled a barrage of counter missiles that her automated batteries had unleashed.

  And where was the Imperium X? The hundred and twenty five kilometer ore train had simply vanished, as if it had never existed.

  Well, of course! She kicked herself for not realizing it before.

  They’d hardly risk something so incredibly valuable to bait the trap. She was sure that the after action reports would reveal that the ore train was nothing more than an electronic phantom. Had this always been the case? Had the Imperium X ever existed at all?

  Venatora shook off those questions. Silly speculation that should be left for another time.

  She would pour it on, by God! She would make them pay!

  Venatora issued a stream of orders, and her guardswomen sprang into action. Missiles launched. Mines moved into action. The screen filled with fiery objects all aimed at the departing Flame.

  “Shall I scramble the squadron, Ma’am?” Marta asked.

  Within seconds, she could send a score of her best Crossbow fighters into the fray. They were small, two-women vessels, but had enough firepower to overmatch ships three times their size. And at their controls were her very best pilots—Zabanya hardened fighters with countless successful ship-boardings to their credit.

  Venatora was about to order them into action when it suddenly occurred to her that maybe—just maybe—this is exactly what the Imperials wanted her to do

  She had no doubt that Sten’s fingerprints were all over this. The cool trickery he had displayed during the Xypaca debacle was just a small example of just how cunning he could be.

  Fury almost overtook her again. He couldn’t hide behind that cocky grin. He was cheating her and enjoying himself immensely while doing it!

  “Ma’am? Ma’am?” It was Marta.

  Venatora took breath. Cooled herself. Squared her shoulders.

  “No,” she said. “Stand down.”

  Marta gaped at her. “But, Ma’am—” she stared, but Venatora cut her off with a raised hand.

  “That was just a feint,” Venatora said. “The Imperials were testing our defenses. But, rest assured, they will be back. In full force. Next time, we will be ready!”

  ABOARD THE JO’L CASH

  On the holomap, Sten could see they were approaching the outer edges of Venatora’s
pirate kingdom. Beyond lay the No Being’s Land and safety.

  He braced himself, fully expecting to be met by all the firepower Venatora had at her command.

  Tm’beaty was standing by, ready to unleash thick clouds of electronic flak to confound Venatora’s missile batteries.

  Meanwhile, Murgas was primed to take out any missiles that happened to break through.

  Ida was using all her skills to retrace the route through the minefield and Kilgour was online with Shaklin, keeping the bishop apprised of everything that was going on.

  Doc, of course, was being Doc. Sitting with his paws crossed across his furry little paunch like a miniature Buddha, reviewing everything that had happened and analyzing how everyone had behaved.

  Sten turned to Murgas and Tm’beaty. “Report,” he said.

  Murgas shook his head. “Nada, Captain. Just that initial barrage, then it stopped.”

  “Same here, Captain,” Tm’beaty said. “Figured she’d be trying to turn us into toast right about now.”

  Sten glanced at Kilgour, who was listening to whatever Shaklin had to say. He gave Sten a thumb’s all. All was well.

  “How about you, Ida?” Sten asked.

  “Zip, zero, zed,” she said. “They’re quiet as little mousies over there.”

  He nodded at the furry Buddha. “What’s your reading, Doc?”

  “Right about now,” he said, “she’s kicking herself for being all kinds of a fool.”

  “Sure, but why the silence? The non action? I figured she’d be pouring it on. Giving us all kinds of hell.”

  “Which we are prepared for,” Ida said, with a nasty smile. “Boy, did I have some surprises for her.”

  “Even so,” Sten said. “She might have gotten in a lucky shot.”

  “She’s double thinking us,” Doc said. “That’s her Achilles heel.”

  He glanced over at Ida. “Or, her tell, as our gypsy friend would put it.

  Ida snorted and shot Doc a middle finger.

  Dock turned back with the air of a cat who had amused himself with a mouse.

  “Venatora’s double-think habit has led her to believe that we are wiggling our netherparts to draw an attack. And that we have another trick up our—”

  He stopped. Looked at his furry paw. Wiggled it. Flashed his fangs in amusement. Then said, “Well, you get the idea.”

  Sten chuckled. “Well, she’s right about the trick business,” he said. “It’s just not the trick she’s expecting.”

  He looked over at the holomap. They’d crossed into No Beings Land. And safety.

  Sten breathed a sigh of relief. Not for himself, but for Venatora.

  He hadn’t been forced to kill her, Mahoney or no Mahoney.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE BISHOP AND THE RABBI

  Shaklin and his two top Navtechs, Viktor and Newton, moved quietly through the huge tractor-beam chamber. A low hum came from immense machines lined up in long corridors that bisected the chamber. Massive as they were, they made only a low thrumming sound. The deck beneath Shaklin’s feet trembled with their power.

  It was their purpose to link all the immense oar cars together until they formed a hundred and twenty five kilometer train. Which, in turn was linked to the Flame by a web of high energy Trac-beams.

  He came to the main board, then waved Newton forward. Over the years Shaklin had all his congregants trained in multiple shipboard skills. Newton excelled at tractor-beam technology.

  All the calculations had been made in advance, so it only took Newton a few minutes to make the necessary adjustments. When done, he stepped back.

  “The minute I give the word,” Shaklin said, “it’s your job to blow the main connection.”

  “We won’t let you down, eminence,” Newton said.

  They moved down the bank of controls to another position, Shaklin’s beaded dreadlocks clattering in the deep silence.

  “I calculate that we can Trac twenty nine cars without overburdening the Caird,” Shaklin said.

  Newton nodded, finger moving over the board. He started counting from the last ore car forward: “One…two…three…” until he reached 29. Then he flipped a switch to mark the Trac connection. Slid a little tube from his pocket and aimed it at the switch. Pressed a button. Light flash. Tiny curl of smoke.

  He stepped back. “That’s a good job done, eminence,” he said with satisfaction.

  Shaklin clapped him on the shoulder. “Excellent,” he said. “Now to tie it all together.”

  And he led Newton and Viktor deeper into the chamber.

  The tractor beam chamber occupied the Flame’s stern and the emergency escape craft was stowed there. It was a cunning little boat, which Shaklin had dubbed the Caird after a vessel that an ancient explorer had used to rescue his ice-bound crew in one of old Earth history’s great navigational feats.

  The Caird wasn’t large enough to rescue more than a third of the Flame’s crew in a real disaster. But it was more than sufficient for Shaklin’s needs. He only had nineteen beings in his charge, all faithful members of the Church of the Universal Location.

  He and his congregants had stuffed every conceivable space with enough supplies to last for several months, along with weapons and ammunition, which he would only use as a last resort.

  Plus, there was one other thing—a lifeboat—that they needed to get on board. It had taken days for Shaklin and his people to move the lifeboat from section to section without other crew members spotting them and asking what they were up to.

  The little vessel was only large enough for two beings and had barely enough air to last a couple of hours. But that was sufficient for his needs. Besides, he only required space for one being, not two.

  In not too long he’d take the controls of the Flame and begin the countdown for what Zheng had proclaimed “Zee Beeg Clottin’ Run.” To do that they’d need a diversion to occupy Sten and the Imperial sailors aboard the Jo’l Cash until the Flame slipped away.

  First, they’d slowly build the ship’s engines to full life.

  Then Rual and her weapons techs would launch a barrage of missiles at the Jo’l Cash. They had no hope of actually hitting the ship. The Imperial Navy crew would spot the threat before the first missile cleared the Flame’s gunports. But there would be a whole lot of “Flash and Drakh and Boom,” as Rual put it, “and then you clottin’ go, Bishop! Clottin’ go!”

  She’d tried to loom over Shaklin to press her point, but he just stared her down, then turned and coolly gave instructions to his people. Angry but satisfied, Rual stormed off.

  And so when Rual said, “Go!” he’d give the Flame full power then blast toward Venatora’s fortress.

  Assuming the Jo’l Cash was still busy with the flash bang, they’d reach No Being’s Land intact. Then, they just had to wait for Venatora’s signal to proceed, and it would be Shaklin’s final task to guide the Flame through the warren of mines and missile batteries to their buyer.

  That’s how it was supposed to work. That’s how Zheng, Rual and Venatora had planned it.

  But that’s not what was going to happen.

  “Get ye ready to jump, laddie,” Kilgour had warned. “Soon as Venatora hears your voice, she’ll blow ya to smithereens. Or, cause she’s such a canny lass, she may let wait until you are well on your way, getting your hopes up, and then you’ll smash you down with all th’ hot metal and bombs she can muster.”

  Shaklin felt remarkably calm after hearing this. He let Kilgore’s words pour over him and suddenly he could see the future clear.

  If not to the very end of it all.

  Or, more aptly, the beginning.

  That perfect point.

  In that perfect location.

  The Grail at the end of his people’s search.

  No. Probably not.

  But i
t might be close, brother. It might be gloriously close.

  Then they were at the Caird, and Shaklin sent Viktor aboard to set up the connection with the 29 oar cars he intended to commandeer.

  His job done, Viktor was just exiting the little vessel when Rual’s high-pitched voice crackled over the speakers.

  “Shaklin? Where the clot are you, Shaklin? We need you. Right now.”

  Shaklin keyed his mike. “Be with you in a minute,” he said.

  Rual hissed back: “I didn’t say in a minute. I said now.”

  Shaklin didn’t bother replying. If Rual wanted the last word, let her have it.

  Because the last laugh would be his and his alone.

  Before they exited the chamber he paused long enough to send Kilgour one final message.

  All were systems were definitely go!

  ABOARD THE JO’L CASH

  Alex listened to Shaklin’s report, then wished him good luck and signed off.

  “Our wee bishop says to get ready for the flash bang,” Kilgour told the others.

  Sten turned to Murgas and Tm’beaty. “You boys deal with the incoming,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem, Captain,” Murgas said. “Shaklin’s fed us all the coordinates, so we’ll be able to track missiles the second they’re launched.”

  “If one of them gets through,” Tm’beaty said, “we’ll smother them with a big fat cloud of flak. They’ll either blow in place or latch on to the nearest large body and chase it into the nearest sun.”

  Doc called Sten over. “I just got off the com with Admiral Gessler,” he said. “He’s moving his fleet in closer. I stressed in my most persuasive tones that when we say ‘clotting pounce,’ he’d better clotting pounce.”

  “Just so long as the mutineers don’t spot him too early,” Sten said.

  “No worries with Gessler,” Ida broke in. “He won’t dilly dally. One of my boy toys served with him. Said he had a good rep as a fighting man.”

  Kilgore ignored all this. He was plainly bored and anxious to get moving. He yawned and gave an elaborate stretch.