Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus)
Page 1
BY CHRIS BUNCH AND ALLAN COLE
Sten
Sten 2: The Wolf Worlds
Sten 3: The Court of a Thousand Suns
Sten 4: Fleet of the Damned
Sten 5: Revenge of the Damned
Sten 6: The Return of the Emperor
Sten 7: Vortex
Sten 8: Empire’s End
Battlecry: Sten Omnibus 1
BY CHRIS BUNCH
The Seer King
The Demon King
The Warrior King
The Empire Stone
Corsair
Dragonmaster 1: Storm of Wings
COPYRIGHT
Published by Hachette Digital
ISBN: 978-0-748-12588-3
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This omnibus edition copyright © 2010 by Allan Cole and Christopher Bunch
Sten
Copyright © 1982 by Allan Cole and Christopher Bunch
Sten 2: The Wolf Worlds
Copyright © 1984 by Allan Cole and Christopher Bunch
Sten 3: The Court of a Thousand Suns
Copyright © 1985 by Allan Cole and Christopher Bunch
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Hachette Digital
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DY
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
By Chris Bunch and Allan Cole
Copyright
Sten
BOOK ONE: VULCAN
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
BOOK TWO: HELLWORLD
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
BOOK THREE: THE GUARD
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
BOOK FOUR: RETURN TO VULCAN
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sten 2: The Wolf Worlds
BOOK ONE: ABSENCE OF BLADE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
BOOK TWO: GARDE
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
BOOK THREE: TAKING THE BLADE
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
BOOK FOUR: RIPOSTE
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
BOOK FIVE: FLÉCHÉ
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Sten 3: The Court of a Thousand Suns
Note
BOOK ONE: BASCULE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
BOOK TWO: LUNETTE
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
BOOK THREE: MOUTON
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
BOOK FOUR: DECLIC
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
BOOK FIVE: THE RED MASS
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
/> Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
STEN
Dedicated to
Jason and Alissa
and
the late Robert Willey
BOOK ONE
VULCAN
Chapter One
Death came quietly to The Row.
The suit stank. The Tech inside it stared out through the scratched port at the pipe that looped around the outside of the recreation dome and muttered a string of curses that would’ve peeled a deep-space trader.
What he wanted more than anything was a tall cool narcobeer to kill the hangover drumrolls in his head. The one thing he didn’t want, he knew, was to be hanging outside Vulcan, staring at a one-centimeter alloy pipe that wouldn’t hook up.
He clamped his waldos on the flange, set the torque rating by feel, and tried another round of obscenities, this time including his supervisor and all the stinking Migs enjoying themselves one meter and a world away from him.
Done. He retracted the waldos and slammed the suit’s tiny drive unit into life. Not only was his supervisor a clot who was an exjoyboy, but he was also going to get stuck for the first six rounds. The Tech shut down his ground-zeroed brain and rocketed numbly for the lock.
Of course, he’d missed the proper torque setting. If the pipe hadn’t been carrying fluorine, under high pressure, the error wouldn’t have made any difference.
The overstressed fitting cracked, and raw fluorine gradually ate its way through, for several shifts spraying harmlessly into space. But, as the fracture widened, the spray boiled directly against the outer skin of The Row, through the insulation and, eventually, the inner skin.
At first the hole was pin-size. The initial pressure drop inside the dome wasn’t even enough to kick over the monitors high overhead in The Row’s roof control capsule.
The Row could’ve been a red-light district on any of a million pioneer planets – Company joygirls and boys picked their way through the Mig crowds, looking for the Migrant-Unskilled who still had some credits left on his card.
Long rows of gambling computers hooted enticements at the passing workers and emitted little machine chuckles when another mark was suckered into a game.
The Row was the Company-provided recreational center, set up with the Migs’ ‘best interests’ at heart. ‘A partying Mig is a happy Mig,’ a Company psychologist had once said. He didn’t add – or need to – that a partying Mig was also one who was spending credits, and generally into the red. Each loss meant hours added to the worker’s contract.
Which was why, in spite of the music and the laughter, The Row felt grim and gray.
Two beefy Sociopatrolmen lounged outside The Row’s entrance. The older patrolman nodded at three boisterous Migs as they weaved from one bibshop to another, then turned to his partner. ‘If ya gonna twitch every time somebody looks at ya, bud, pretty soon one of these Migs is gonna wanna know what you’ll do if they get real rowdy.’
The new probationary touched his stun rod. ‘And I’d like to show them.’
The older man sighed, then stared off down the corridor. ‘Oh-oh. Trouble.’
His partner nearly jumped out of his uniform. ‘Where? Where?’
The older man pointed. Stepping off the slideway and heading for The Row was Amos Sten. The other man started to laugh at the short, middle-aged Mig, and then noticed the muscles hunching Amos’ neck. And the size of his wrists and hammer fists.
Then the senior patrolman sighed in relief and leaned back against the I-beam.
‘It’s okay, kid. He’s got his family with him.’
A tired-looking woman and two children hurried off the slideway to Amos.
‘What the hell,’ the young man said, ‘that midget don’t look so tough to me.’
‘You don’t know Amos. If you did, you would’ve soaked your jock – specially if Amos was on the prowl for a little fight to cheer him up some.’
The four Migs each touched small white rectangles against a pickup and Vulcan’s central computer logged the movement of MIG STEN, AMOS; MIG STEN, FREED; MIG-DEPENDENT STEN, AHD; MIG-DEPENDENT STEN, JOHS into The Row.
As the Sten family passed the two patrolmen, the older man smiled and tipped Amos a nod. His partner just glared. Amos ignored them and hustled his family toward the livie entrance.
‘Mig likes to fight, huh? That ain’t whatcha call Company-approved social mannerisms.’
‘Son, we busted the head of every Mig who beefed one on The Row, there’d be a labor shortage.’
‘Maybe we ought to take him down some.’
‘You think you’re the man who could do it?’
The young patrolman nodded. ‘Why not? Catch him back of a narco joint and thump him some.’
The older man smiled, and touched a long and livid scar on his right arm. ‘It’s been tried. By some better. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re the one who can do something. But you best remember. Amos isn’t any old Mig.’
‘What’s so different about him?’
The patrolman suddenly tired of his new partner and the whole conversation. ‘Where he comes from, they eat little boys like you for breakfast.’
The young man bristled and started to glower. Then he remembered that even without the potgut his senior still had about twenty kilos and fifteen years on him. He spun and turned the glower on an old lady who was weaving happily out of The Row. She looked at him, gummed a grin and spat neatly between the probationary’s legs, onto the deck.
‘Clot Migs!’
Amos slid his card through the livie’s pickup, and the computer automatically added an hour to Amos’ work contract. The four of them walked into the lobby, and Amos looked around.
‘Don’t see the boy.’
‘Karl said school had him on an extra shift,’ his wife, Freed, reminded him.
Amos shrugged.
‘He ain’t missin’ much. Guy down the line was here last offshift. Says the first show’s some clot about how some Exec falls for a joy-girl an’ takes her to live in The Eye with him.’
Music blared from inside the theater.
‘C’mon, dad, let’s go.’
Amos followed his family into the showroom.
Sten hurriedly tapped computer keys, then hit the JOB INPUT tab. The screen blared, then went gray-blank. Sten winced. He’d never finish in time to meet his family. The school’s ancient computer system just wasn’t up to the number of students carded in for his class shift.
Sten glanced around the room. No one was watching. He hit BASIC FUNCTION, then a quick sequence of keys. Sten had found a way to tap into one reasoning bank of the central computer. Against school procedure, for sure. But Sten, like any other seventeen-year-old, was willing to let tomorrow’s hassles hassle tomorrow.
With the patch complete, he fed in his task card. And groaned, as his assignment swam up onto the screen. It was a cybrolathe exercise, making L-beams.
It would take forever to make the welds, and he figured that the mandated technique, obsolete even by the school’s standards, created a stressline three microns off the joining.
Then Sten grinned. He was already In Violation …
He drew two alloy-steel bars on the screen with his lightpen, then altered the input function to JOB PROGRAM. Then he switched the pen’s function to WELD. A few quick motions, and somewhere on Vulcan, two metal bars were nailed together.
Or maybe it was a computer-only exercise.
Sten waited in agony as the computer screen blanked. Finally the computer lit up and scrolled PROJECT COMPLETED SATISFACTORILY. He was finished. Sten’s fingers flashed as he cut out of the illegal patch, plugged back into the school’s computer, which was just beginning to flicker wearily back into WAITING PROGRAM, input the PROJECT
COMPLETED SATISFACTORILY from his terminal’s memory, shut down, and then he was up and running for the door.
‘Frankly, gentlemen,’ Baron Thoresen said, ‘I care less about the R and D programs conflicting with some imagined ethical rule of the Empire than our own Company’s health.’
It had started as a routine meeting of the Company’s board of directors, those half dozen beings who controlled almost a billion lives. Then old Lester had so very casually asked his question.
Thoresen stood suddenly and began pacing up and down. The huge director’s bulk held the board’s attention as much as his rumbling voice and authority.
‘If that sounds unpatriotic, I’m sorry. I’m a businessman, not a diplomat. Like my grandfather before me, all I believe in is our Company.’
Only one man was unmoved. Lester. Trust an old thief, the Baron thought. He’s already made his, so now he can afford to be ethical.
‘Very impressive,’ Lester said. ‘But we – the board of directors – didn’t ask about your dedication. We asked about your expenditures on Bravo Project. You have refused to tell us the nature of your experimentation, and yet you keep returning for additional funding. I merely inquired, since if there were any military possibility we might secure an assistance grant from one or another of the Imperial foundations.’
The Baron looked at Lester thoughtfully but unworried. Thoresen was, after all, the man with the cards. But he knew better than to give the crafty old infighter the least opening. And Thoresen knew better than to try threats. Lester was too scarred to know the meaning of fear.
‘I appreciate your input. And your concern about the necessary expenditures. However, this project is too important to our future to risk a leak.’
‘Do I sense distrust?’ Lester asked.
‘Not of you, gentlemen. Don’t be absurd. But if our competition learned of Bravo Project’s goal, not even my close ties with the Emperor would keep them from stealing it – and ruining us.’
‘Even if it did leak,’ another board member tried, ‘there would still be an option. We could possibly affect their supplies of AM2.’
‘Using your close, personal ties with the Emperor, of course,’ Lester put in smoothly.
The Baron smiled thinly.
‘Even I would not presume that much on friendship. AM2 is the energy on which the Empire and the Emperor thrive. No one else.’
Silence. Even from Lester. The ghost of the Eternal Emperor closed the conversation. The Baron glanced around, then deliberately dropped his voice to a dry, boring level.
‘With no further comments, I’ll mark the increased funding as approved. Now, to a simpler matter. We’re fortunate in that our maintenance expenditures on Vulcan’s port facilities have dropped by a full fifteen per cent. This includes not only internal mooring facilities, but the pre-sealed container facility. But I’m still not satisfied. It would be far better if …’