by Chris Bunch
Alex turned back to Sten. "Ah, think w' hae their attention noo, wee Sten… I's showtime, folks."
Sten stepped in front of the camera.
"Gentlebeings," he said. "Fellow-citizens of the Empire… My name is Sten. The subject of this broadcast. I am addressing you live from K-B-N-S-O…"
Anders gulped like a fish as he watched Sten address the Empire. The man he sought was speaking from the station's main broadcasting center—-in an orbit only a half-an-E hour from Prime World. His propaganda-centered mind immediately caught the full impact of the blow Sten had just struck. The man was standing virtually in the center of the Emperor's stronghold. Waving a rude finger at the mightiest military force in history.
"… The Emperor has branded me and my colleagues a traitor," Sten was saying. "History will judge if this is true. Just as history will judge the Emperor. And I promise you it will judge him harshly. My fate does not matter. It is your fate you should be thinking of at this moment. And your children's."
"I accuse the Emperor of betraying you… His people. You work in near poverty. While he enjoys lavish entertainment. As do his favored cronies. You labor in cold, in heat, in near darkness. While the Emperor's favored bask in the light of plentiful AM2."
"The Emperor has betrayed you. Only one of many crimes. I will detail those crimes over the coming days: Star-chamber justice. The imprisonment, torture, and execution of beings whose only sin was to trust their Emperor…"
Anders recovered and turned to his aide, Captain Lawrence. The woman's face was a mask of confusion.
"Scramble the fleet," the admiral barked. "I want to see a hole in the sky. And I want to see it quick."
"But… all the civilians at the station—"
"Clot the civilians. I want that man dead. Now, move it!"
The captain rushed into action.
Anders turned back. Sten was still talking. Good. I'll see you in hell, you son of a bitch.
Alex signaled to Sten. A finger across his throat. Time to get the clot out.
"… The list of the Emperor's sins is far longer than I have time to detail. I suspect his fleets are on the way now. So, I haven't much time. Except to say this:
"I, Sten, declare war on the Eternal Emperor. And I urge you all to join me in this crusade. He's left you nothing to lose. And all your freedom to gain.
"Thank you. And good night."
Sten lifted his weapon and turned the camera into molten metal and plas. The station jolted again and again, as Sten's forces blew their strategically placed explosives. No innocents would be hurt. But it would take many months and even more credits before K-B-N-S-O broadcast again.
Sten prodded Jynnings with his toe. The man whimpered and looked up at him with terror-stricken eyes. The anchor was sure he was staring a madman in the face.
"Thanks for the loan of your program," Sten said.
"Sure," Jynnings squeaked. "Anytime."
Cind shouted, "We're three seconds behind schedule."
Sten nodded, and sprinted through the blackened hole posing as a doorway, his team behind him. The last out was Cind. She paused and fired a long burst around the room to add to the terror and confusion. Molten metal and plas dripped from smoking walls.
Then she was gone.
Jynnings raised his head from the floor. "Thank God," he breathed. "I'm safe."
"Who cares," the director said as he scrambled to his feet "You realize what we just broadcast? I tell you, the numbers we get on this baby are gonna blow our competition out of the water."
Badee looked around at the ruins of the studio. Humming to himself. It was gonna be easy street all the way, now. He would have his pick of any job in the livie business.
He wondered if there was a com line undamaged. He had to call his agent. Real quick.
All the alarms were hooting warnings as Sten and the others dived aboard the Victory. Within minutes, Sten was on the bridge. Captain Preston's face relaxed slightly.
"Just in time," Freston said. "We've got a whole clottin' fleet after our tender young hides. Led by a big clottin' battleship… the Nevsky. Permission to run like hell, sir."
"Negative," Sten said, scanning the incoming blips. There was just enough time. "I want to thin out a little of the competition, first, Captain."
Sten swiveled to Lieutenant Denzi. "Weapons?"
"All Kali and Goblin units at full launch-readiness," she reported. The woman was ready to fight.
Sten hated to disappoint her. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to do the honors, Lieutenant," he said.
He raced for a Kali station. He called out to Captain Freston as he pulled on the helmet. "When I say go… go, dammit!"
Freston nodded. He wouldn't need to be prodded. The monitors showed the Nevsky coming fast, accompanied by half-a-dozen cruisers and a forest of destroyers.
Sten's hand automatically armed the missile, then fired. His point of view was black space pricked with flares of color rushing by him as the missile hurtled out.
There was a cruiser bearing down on the Victory. Behind it he could see the battleship. There was just a chance he might slip his Kali past the cruiser. But Sten opted to play it safe. Especially when he saw the cruiser's missile bays' gunports yawn, ready to fire at the Victory.
Aboard the Nevsky, Captain Leech faced a similar problem. His battle monitors snowed the Victory in a parking orbit to the side of the orbiting livie station. An alarm indicated an enemy Kali honing in on his lead cruiser. And that the cruiser blocked any possible shot at the Victory.
Then he saw the solution. The livie station.
Leech had become addicted to an ancient Earth game when he was a young officer on his first lonely outpost. It was called "pool." Why, he didn't know. One didn't puddle water on the green felt table. In a clutch, one of his favorite tactics was a "power break," which called for smashing the white cue ball into its brothers with all his strength. The results were messy, but sometimes miraculous.
The livie station before him presented a similar situation. A direct hit on the station would produce an explosion that would, at the very least, damage the nearby Victory. The bigger the blast, the greater chance he had to disable or even destroy Sten's ship.
It never entered Leech's mind it took a minimum of two thousand beings to run a livie station of K-B-N-S-O's size. His orders, after all, were to get Sten. At all costs.
A rush of orders to his weapons officer put his plan into action.
Moments later, three nuclear-tipped missiles spit from the Nevsky's tubes.
Freston had never heard of pool. But he was blessed with a remarkably quick mind. When the enemy missiles winked into life onscreen, he at first thought the captain of the Nevsky must be incompetent. Their trajectory would take them nowhere near the Victory. His mind swiftly calculated their course… the livie station? What the clot? Then he got it.
There was no time to warn the station. Much less Sten, who was hunched at the Kali controls, his mind racing along with the missile he'd aimed at the enemy cruiser.
Preston's hand smashed down on the drive controls.
The cruiser jumped up at Sten, as the Kali closed. He thumbed controls, the image blurred, and his mind was falling away… back… back… back…
The Imperial missiles struck the station simultaneously. The nukes detonated. Two thousand beings ceased to exist.
Radioactive debris shrapneled outward. In moments the Victory would be riddled.
Sten plunged into awareness just as the Victory crashed into hyperspace. Kilgour's face bleared at him. Pale and worried. Behind him was an anxious Freston.
"Tell us y'r name, lad," Alex said.
"Say clottin' what?"
"Y'r name. "Tis a wee test."
Sten snarled back. "Kilgour, if you don't get your haggis breath out of my face, I'm going to stuff you into a ship's stomach along with the rest of the porridge."
Kilgour turned back to Freston. A big smile wreathed his round face. "Aye, he's fightin' fit. Al
tho' his slangin' c'd use a bit o' work."
"What the clot's going on, Kilgour?" Sten demanded.
"W hae to' leave, wi'oot waitin' on th' order ae our comin't, nor f'r you't' bash th' cruiser. Th' mad Emp hae stuck his foot in th' drakh i' whae's goin't on, young Sten."
"I repeat my opening remarks, Kilgour. What the clot is going on?"
"Th' Emp's blow'it up his pet livie station."
"What the clot for?" Sten was gaping.
Alex made a motion with his heavy-world shoulders. It was a shrug that came in a massive wave.
"P'raps he dinnae like th' panto."
Chapter Five
EYES ONLY
NODIST NONONIMP
NOFILE
PERSONALLY DESTROY POST RECEIPT ACKNOWLEDGE TO ORIGINATOR VERBAL ONLY NOREC
DOCUMENT ID: None (vice Originator)
TO: ALL IS STATION HEADS
DESIGNATED/CLEARED EMBASSY SECURITY STATION CHIEFS OTHER PERS DESIGNATED BY P. OR HIGHEST
FROM: POYNDEX, HEAD, INTERNAL SECURITY
****
1. All stations have received orders for the immediate apprehension of STEN, (NO INITIAL). No task is to be given higher priority by IS personnel unless specifically notified otherwise by P. or designated subordinate.
2. This task is to include the apprehension or deactivation, by any means necessary, of all involved co-conspirators; both those identified to date in Imperial Bulletins and those who are clearly participants but not yet named.
3. To this end, you are authorized to commandeer or requisition any Imperial resources whatsoever, WITH HIGHEST AUTHORIZATION with no justification for actions of this nature required to normal-channel suppliers.
4. In addition, ANY intelligence of any nature pertaining to STEN, NI, and KILGOUR, ALEX, is to be forwarded to this station, PRIORITY ONE-ALPHA. Particularly sought is physical descriptions, habits, hobbies, speciality areas (civilian and otherwise), places where above are known to have frequented, in short, ALL data concerning above two individuals.
5. No, repeat no screening of raw data relevant to (para. 4) above is to be made.
6. (Para. 4) and (para. 5) are not to be discussed with local authorities nor any conventional division of Imperial Intelligence.
7. Any request for data in the area of (para. 4) cannot be answered at this time, and IS chiefs are advised to avoid mentioning reasons to anyone in (para. 6). This is due to some confusion and doubling of input, caused as an act of sabotage by STEN, NI, or some other conspirator yet to be discovered and indicted. As complete data becomes available on STEN, NI, and KILGOUR, ALEX, it will be immediately disseminated to all levels.
8. Under no circumstances is the information in (para. 4), (para. 5), (para. 6), and (para. 7) to be conveyed with any personnel formerly associated with the discredited Mercury Corps, nor, most particularly, with Mantis Section. In addition, any inquiries as to STEN, NI, by former operatives of this branch, especially Mantis Section, must be reported immediately, Priority One-Alpha, to P.
9. If possible, STEN, NI, is to be apprehended secretly and immediately prepared for transfer directly to Prime for trial. No information is to be released, particularly to media.
10. If, however, apprehension is made by operatives other than IS, and publicity is inevitable, STEN, NI, is to be charged with HIGH TREASON, MURDER, CONSPIRACY and ATTEMPTED REGICIDE.
Other charges will be filed after STEN, NI, has been transferred to Prime World and is in high-security custody.
11. In the event of contact with STEN, NI, and apprehension is not possible, or in the event of attempted escape after apprehension, immediate termination must be made.
12. As a corollary task, all IS operatives are ordered to devote maximum attention to uncovering the degree of conspiracy attempted by STEN, NI. However, under no circumstances is this in-vestigation to be regarded as a "hunting license" to remove other enemies of the Empire. This task is too important and too immediate to be allowed to broaden to such a degree, although operatives should maintain files on the above matter for eventual attention.
13. Successful accomplishment of this most vital mission will not only be deemed in the Highest Traditions of Internal Security, but a personal service to the Eternal Emperor himself, and so rewarded.
FOR THE ETERNAL EMPEROR
P.
Chapter Six
THE SCHOOL OF fish broke the surface, scattering spray against the face of a wind-whitened wave, then skittered down across the trough.
Their flight was pointless. Death was close.
The sea exploded as the great creature arced out of the water in front of the school, mouth gaping as it inhaled the leader. A monstrous flipper crashed and two more of the half-meter-long fish writhed, then floated limply, momentarily stunned.
The com buzzed, and Rykor's focus on her alfresco midday meal was shattered. But she didn't answer immediately. Instead, she deliberately devoured both fish before they could recover, thoughtfully analyzing their taste.
Yes, she thought. These were not from our farm-spawnings. Yet another ground is breeding back to its proper level. True wild fish can always be distinguished. The taste is… more… more…
Pondering just what it was more of, the being that was the Empire's most gifted psychologist rolled on her back, oblivious to the raging hurricane and the below-zero-C temperatures. Rykor's flipper waved over the bone-induction com that fitted closely around her neck. Neck was an arbitrary designation—Alex Kilgour had once observed that "it hae't' be th' lass' neck, since some'at keeps her head frae bangin' into her chest, aye?"
The caller was one of her assistants, in the luxurious quarters/office she'd had lovingly built that some insensitive sorts compared to an arctic sea cave.
"I do not," Rykor rumbled, "particularly appreciate being interrupted in midmeal. Lunch, as the humans say, is important"
"There is a priority message from Prime," the assistant said, new enough to be somewhat awed by this communication from the Imperial capital. "It requires that you stand by for special duties, at the command"—and his tone grew more hushed—"of the Eternal Emperor himself."
Rykor stiffened. "What sort of duties?"
"The message was not specific. But it said the duties would almost certainly be protracted, so you are advised to bring a gravchair and pack accordingly."
No mention of the late Ian Mahoney, Rykor thought. Nor of the recently outlawed Sten. Nor did the message suggest that perhaps the Emperor—or more likely his new head of secret police, Poyndex—might also be interested in why Rykor had conferred recently, in the greatest secrecy, with one Sr. Ecu, Diplomat Extraordinaire.
Bad, bad, very bad.
"And how am I to get to Prime?"
"An Imperial ship has been dispatched. I have a confirm from the spaceport that its time of arrival is within two E-days."
Worse and worse, Rykor thought.
"Shall I reply, or wait for your return?"
"Advise that… advise that you are still attempting to contact me."
"Received. But…"
"For your own sake, if you are recording this conversation, I would suggest you blank the record immediately. By the way, that is an order."
"Are you returning now?"
Rykor thought hard. She had two E-days before the ship that could only be carrying Poyndex's gestapo and an arrest warrant arrived. Time enough.
"I am. But only momentarily. For these new duties, I shall require some time to myself, out here at sea, preparing and focusing my energies."
"Of course," the still-bewildered assistant said. Like all aquatic races, Rykor's race needed the sea not only for physical health and nourishment, but for psychic replenishment as well. "I shall have your usual travel pack ready."
"Very good. I am returning. Close transmission."
Rykor, without waiting for acknowledgment, shut the com off and bulleted back toward her home.
Two days.
Time enough for her to pack bare necessiti
es and get to the in-atmosphere flier she had concealed underwater not far from the cave, the flier she had bought a few years earlier, when she sensed that somehow the Empire was going very wrong.
All of her expertise about intelligence was theoretical, but she had spent long years advising Mahoney when he was head of Mercury Corps and then Sten. She knew any conspirator worth his cloak always had a back door.
The rest of the back door was a small yacht she had hidden in a remote warehouse at a tiny spaceport on the other side of her world. She had two days until their arrival, then perhaps two more days while they fruitlessly searched the winter oceans for Rykor on her mythical wanderjahr—and then they would know she had fled.
Long enough, she hoped.
She even had a refuge—with the being that had first come to her with the horrid suspicion that the Eternal Emperor had gone insane.
Sr. Ecu caught the updraft that rose close to the vertical, sunbaked cliff and allowed it to loft him out of the twisting canyon, high into the sky.
Before him, centered in the vast valley, was the towering spire of the Manabi's Guesting Center.
Sr. Ecu had delayed his passage as long as he dared, following the course of the canyon as it wound its way toward the valley. He could dawdle no longer.
He'd taken his time in responding to the summons not out of rudeness—among the Manabi's qualifications as the Empire's diplomats and negotiators was an overwhelming sense of what could only be termed decency—but so he could make sure his carefully prepared lies would still stand up.
He also felt a relatively unfamiliar "emotion," to use the human term. Fear. If the slightest suspicion fell on Ecu, the Manabi's main protection, absolute neutrality, would not help him stay alive.
Ecu himself had broken that political and moral neutrality some time ago, when he had determined the Eternal Emperor was no longer qualified to rule, and that the Emperor was, in fact, destroying the Empire he had created. He'd then sought out Rykor, for confirmation of his theories and that he was not the first Manabi to go insane.
And then he had sought out Mahoney and Sten, advised them of the situation, and, still worse, announced he, and therefore the entire Manabi race, would be willing to assist in any attempt to prevent the seemingly inevitable collapse of the Empire.