Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  ‘I have visited Sanctus,’ he said. ‘And I have seen the fruits of Talamein and found them worthy of belonging to my Empire

  ‘I further have known and listened to this man, your prophet Theodomir, and find him both good and wise.

  ‘For this reason, I declare that the hand of the Emperor is extended over the Lupus Cluster and its people, and shall assist in whatever means requested.

  ‘And I declare that this Prophet, Theodomir, is the legitimate ruler of the Lupus Cluster and that he and his descendants, until I choose to withdraw the hand of support from over their heads, are the legitimate rulers of this region.

  ‘May the powers of the universe and the First Prophet Talamein bless and approve this decision.’

  And then there was mass cheering and hysteria and the Emperor wanted more than anything else to get back to the ship, shed his robes and have several – no, many – drinks.

  But he couldn’t. Now the banqueting would start.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Mahoney counted tombs as he crept down the Avenue of Monuments. He found the specified crypt and waited. No sign of being followed. No one waiting for him. He came to a crouch and moved into the blackness of the crypt entrance.

  ‘Colonel,’ Sten’s voice came out of the darkness, ‘I think we might have a problem.’

  ‘GA,’ Mahoney said flatly.

  ‘No hard data.’

  ‘I said report.’

  ‘Feelings, rumors. There’s talk of a holy war. It’s nothing I can pin down.’

  Mahoney was somewhat grateful for the darkness. Sudden shock is not the appropriate reaction to display before one’s underlings.

  ‘Theodomir?’

  Sten shrugged.

  ‘How?’ Mahoney asked. ‘He’s an alky. Corrupt. No drive.’

  ‘I know,’ Sten said. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘How about Mathias?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Sten said. ‘Look, I told you it was just talk. Still, it bothers me. I just wish you would have given it more time to settle out.’

  Mahoney considered a moment, and then nodded. ‘You did ask for more time,’ he said.

  Sten didn’t say anything.

  ‘You were right, lad. We should have waited for the situation to settle out further. I cannot tell you why, but there was no time.’

  ‘All right,’ he continued wearily. ‘You’re the man on the spot, Lieutenant. Prog?’

  Sten fingered the lump in his arm that was the knife and thought hard. ‘Damfino,’ he said frankly. ‘But I’d better find some way to keep my mercs together for a while. All I can think of is to hang tough in the situation.’

  ‘You realize what might happen in a worst-case scenario – aside from a half-million slaughtered miners, full-out war in the Lupus Cluster, armed prophets spreading through the Universe, and full commitment by the Guard – don’t you? I mean to you and me, lad, to mention the important things.’

  ‘I go to a duty battalion and you go to a field command.’

  ‘Wrong. We both will be swinging pulaskis on some swampworld. You as a private and me as a sergeant,’ Mahoney said. ‘That’s providing, of course, the Eternal Emperor doesn’t use our guts for our winding sheets.

  ‘At this stage of the game, though, I guess your prog’s right. Hopefully, if the worst comes down, you and your troops can figure a way to shortstop the problem. But I doubt it.’

  He shook his head sadly and started out of the crypt.

  ‘Colonel?’

  ‘Yes, Lieutenant?’

  ‘A favor. Actually, two of them?’

  Mahoney stopped dead. Lieutenants do not ask personal favors of their commanding officers, not even in Mantis Section. But lieutenants also normally lacked the temerity to tell their commanding officer his battle plan was full of drakh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I had a man serving with me. A Private William Kurshayne. He died during that last raid on the Jann.’

  ‘Go on,’ Mahoney said.

  ‘He was ex-Guard. First Assault. I’d like him reinstated posthumously. And a medal wouldn’t hurt, either. If he’s got any people it might make them feel better.’

  Mahoney didn’t ask if it was deserved. Still, he shook his head. ‘How do I find his records, Lieutenant? Do you know how many Kurshaynes we must’ve had in the guard?’

  Sten grinned.

  ‘You’ll find the right one easily, sir. Busted fourteen times and recommended for the Galactic Cross about four times.’

  Mahoney reluctantly agreed. He would do it.

  ‘And what’s the other favor, since I’m evidently picked as your dogsbody, Lieutenant?’

  Sten hesitated. ‘It’s more personal.’

  Mahoney waited.

  ‘It’s about Parral’s sister,’ Sten finally said. ‘Sofia.’

  ‘Beautiful woman.’

  ‘Take her out with you. She wants to be presented at court.’

  ‘You think the situation is that close, lad?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  Mahoney considered, then shrugged. What the hell. He’d do that, too.

  ‘Tomorrow night, Lieutenant. Start of third watch. Have her report to the Vercingatorix. Ramp C. I’ll take care of her.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  The island continent of Sanctus seemed to shudder as the Imperial fleet lifted from the ground, hovered for a moment parallel with the reviewing stand where Theodomir and Mathias stood flanked by the Companions. Then the ships hazed and vanished straight up into blackness.

  Far down the field, behind a hangar, stood Otho, Sten, and Alex.

  Sten waved good-bye to Sofia. She had taken the news of her imminent departure with little surprise. At least she had said very little. But then neither of them had in their last wild flurry of love-making before Sten escorted her to the landing ramp of the huge Imperial battleship.

  He put that part of his life into his backbrain and turned to Otho.

  ‘You humans have such a love of farewells,’ the Bhor began.

  ‘Not now, Otho,’ Sten said. ‘I want you to get one of your combat lighters fueled and on ten-minute standby. And I want two ships standing by off Nebta.

  ‘For the lighter, I want two of the gunners you used on Urich as crew and yourself as pilot.

  Otho’s brow beetled upward. ‘Impossible, Colonel. With the war over, I have my mercantile interests, which I’ve already had to—’

  ‘This is important. Because if you don’t, there might not be any Bhor mercantile interests ever.’

  Otho grunted, then seemed to understand. ‘You have no reasons for this?’

  ‘None I can tell.’

  ‘Then I do understand. It is your weird.’

  It was Sten’s turn to look perplexed.

  ‘It shall be done. I will have the ships off Nebta in five days. I assume they will be used in case your soldiers need immediate shelter.’

  Sten sighed in relief. Now, at least, he’d set up a back door for himself and the mercenaries.

  Unfortunately his weird, his fate, would be determined in less than twenty hours. Far too soon for Otho’s ships.

  Chapter Fifty

  Sten grounded the gravsled at the end of the dirt track, climbed out, straightened his uniform, and walked on.

  Beyond the track led the path to the camp of Mathias’ Companions, a path now newly blazoned with their scarlet banner. And, as he walked past the hanging banners, he remembered something that Mahoney had told him, about there being nothing more dangerous than a soldier who’s gotten his first hero ribbon.

  ‘Ten-hut!’

  Mathias, flanked by two Companions, was waiting at the path’s last bend. The three were drawn up at full attention, holding salutes. Sten, in return, gave them the almost-limp, afterthought salute of a ranking officer.

  ‘As you were,’ he said, and the Companions relaxed.

  Mathias strode forward, hand outstretched, his fac
e one huge smile. ‘Colonel,’ he said. ‘I am truly happy you could come.’

  Sten allowed his hand to be pumped and fixed Mathias with a straight stare. ‘The war’s over now,’ he said. ‘I have no official rank, no titles with you.’ He dropped the hand and took a slight step back. ‘I took your invitation as a command.’ Then, after a moment: ‘Or did you mean it otherwise?’

  ‘I meant it as an invitation to a friend,’ Mathias said, taken somewhat aback. Then he took Sten by the arm and guided him to the tiny gym. ‘We have a great deal to discuss.’

  Sten raised an eyebrow.

  Some changes had been made in the tiny gym’s office. A huge, semi-heroic picture of Mathias had been added, and an equally large photo of the officers of the Companions – Mathias in the center. And, Sten noticed, a very small portrait of Mathias’ father, Theodomir. A large bulletin board had been added, and it was crammed with very military advice, announcements, and orders from Mathias.

  You’ve been a busy boy, Sten thought. I taught you well. He forced a smile as Mathias poured himself a goblet of water and nodded Sten toward a decanter of wine. Sten ignored the wine, reached for the water, and filled a cup. He raised it in toast to Mathias. ‘To victory,’ he said, and gulped the water down.

  Mathias returned the toast.

  ‘To victory,’ he said, sipping at his water. He sat, nodding for Sten to relax as well. Sten sat and waited, something he was becoming very good at.

  ‘You have changed the history of this cluster,’ Mathias finally said.

  ‘With some help.’ Sten nodded to Mathias.

  Mathias looked at Sten across the desk, struggling with something. Suddenly he rose and began pacing the room. ‘I look around me,’ he said, ‘and everywhere I see evil. I see hypocrisy. I see empty mouthings of faith.’

  Sten knew Mathias was speaking of his father and kept silent. Mathias whirled on Sten. ‘I – we can change that.’

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ Sten said. ‘Someday you’ll be Prophet. When your father dies.’

  Mathias gave Sten a look that was almost begging. ‘It’s still all wrong right now,’ he said. ‘The war isn’t over.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Sten said. ‘As far as I am concerned – and apparently the Eternal Emperor as well – it’s over.’

  He pushed through Mathias’ halting objection. ‘Be patient,’ he advised. ‘In a few years – twenty or thirty at the most – you’ll inherit this whole thing.’ Sten waved his hand around the gym, but he meant the entire Lupus Cluster. ‘Wait until you have the power to change it.’

  ‘But the unbelievers—’ Mathias blurted out, and then caught himself. Swiftly he changed the subject.

  ‘What are you going to do next, Colonel?’

  Sten shrugged. ‘Find somebody else to hire me.’ What will you do now, Lieutenant? Get your tail back to something resembling civilization where you don’t have to check your compartment for bugs or assassins before you pass out every night. Get back in uniform. Go on a roaring drunk with my Mantis people. Pat a tiger or two. Listen to Doc’s latest hatred for everything, Ida’s schemes to buy up a galaxy, and maybe see if Bet’s got the wanderlust out of her.

  Suddenly Sten realized he was very, very tired and very glad the assignment was just about over. ‘Mercenaries drift a lot,’ he said, to cover his silence.

  Mathias took a breath and then said, ‘Join me.’ He sat down quickly, turning his eyes away but waiting for Sten’s answer.

  Sten took a moment, as if considering. ‘There’s nothing to join.’

  ‘The Companions,’ Mathias pled. ‘Join the Companions. I know that deep inside, you are as religious a man as we are. I’ll give you rank. I’ll give you money. I’ll—’

  Sten raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’m a mercenary, Mathias. Understand that. And a mercenary requires wars. And I’ve learned as a mercenary it is best to get out of your employer’s way when the war is over.’

  Sten grabbed the wine and poured himself a drink. He sipped and waited again.

  ‘But it isn’t over,’ Mathias said.

  Sten just looked at him. He drank the rest of his wine and rose. ‘Yes, it is. Take my advice. Let it be. This cluster is good for a thousand years of peace. When you become Prophet you – and your descendants – can do as you like.’

  He patted Mathias on the shoulder, a young man playing father to another youth. ‘And if it doesn’t work out then,’ he promised, ‘let me know. And I’ll be yours.’

  Sten walked from the room.

  Very well, Mathias thought. I am sorry. So sorry for what I am going to have to do.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Theodomir had just finished the last prayer of the Joining. He rushed down the aisle, not even waiting for his aides or guards. Theodomir needed a soothing drink in the worst way. He glanced at the people still in their pews and laughed to himself. Just sheep, he thought, and boomed through the temple doors.

  Theodomir clacked down the steps, feeling a little light-headed. With Parral gone, he was the Man in the Lupus Cluster. Sanctioned, even, by the Eternal Emperor. There was nothing he could not do. His merest suggestion was law over a thousand light-years.

  But what he wanted just then, most of all, was a drink. And then he would think about the evening’s entertainment. Who would he choose? he thought. Which child would he take to his bed? The boy dancer? Or the girl singer?

  Both, he decided

  And then his son loomed up in front of him. Theodomir gave him a quick smile and started to push by.

  ‘Father,’ Mathias said.

  Theodomir paused on the steps, impatiently wondering what his dolt of a son wanted.

  He started back as the young man drew a dagger. And, for the first time, Theodomir realized that Mathias was only one of a half-dozen men, all dressed in the blood-red uniforms of the Companions.

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ he complained, ‘I’m busy.’ Oddly enough, he knew what the dagger was for. But it was like a dream. Somehow he couldn’t interfere.

  Then he noticed that the other men also had unsheathed their daggers.

  Theodomir screamed as his son plunged the dagger into his chest. And screamed and screamed and screamed as the others took turns stabbing knives into every available area of flesh.

  Theodomir’s guards thundered up, weapons out, looking wildly at Mathias and his Companions. Mathias looked down at his father. A final moan, a shudder, and the Prophet was dead.

  ‘He is dead,’ Mathias informed his father’s personal guard.

  A moment’s hesitation, and then there was a clatter as the men dropped their weapons and began to cheer.

  Mathias was the True Prophet.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Another vague Mantis law: When in Doubt, Give Yourself an Escape Hatch.

  Alex had set up the escape hatch immediately after Sten had returned from his meeting in the woods with Mathias. He had no prog but knew something was about to come down.

  Since they were quartered in the Temple itself, the back door had consisted of two strands of granite-dyed climbing thread, hung out one window.

  Inside a nearby urn were the figure-8 descenders and locking caribiniers necessary to get down that thread in a hurry. Both Sten and Alex had taken to wearing swiss-seat harness under their uniforms, hoping that when it hit the turbines they would be long gone offworld.

  They were wrong but they were ready.

  So, when the howling/mourning for Theodomir started, Sten and Alex were in motion. The first twenty ambitious Companions who’d come hurtling through the door had run into one of Alex’s less pleasant surprises.

  He’d hand-cast directional vee-mines, hooked them to sensors, and mounted them on either side of the portal. They made a significant mess, enough of a mess to delay the next wave of Companions.

  The pause allowed Alex and Sten to hook the descenders onto the thread and back out the window. Neither of them found great exit lines as they pushed off, straight down the ve
rtical wall of the Temple.

  No one but a fool springs ten or twenty meters per leap on a long rappel – no one but a fool or an outgunned Mantis soldier.

  They hit the ground at the bottom, Sten slamming down the last fifteen meters and thudding to safety with an oof. Then they shed their harness and were running.

  ‘C’mon, lad,’ Alex urged. ‘W’nae hae truck wi’ thae fruitbars nae more.’

  And then they were out the gates of the Temple and running toward the town below, swinging into the backstreets toward Sanctus’ landing field, where, Sten desperately hoped, Otho had the lighter waiting.

  ‘Dinna worry,’ Alex flung back cheerily. ‘A’ w’ hae t’do is get away frae th’ fanatics, gie oursel’s offworld, an’ then nae worries save th’ wrath ae Mahoney an’ th’ Eternal Emp’ror.’

  And then a platoon of Companions was running down the alley. They spotted the two men and ran forward. Alex went down on one knee, weapon coming out of its pouch, and double-handed autofire into the men.

  Then they were back up, running into a side passageway and Sten thinking, If I can only live through the next fifty minutes I can handle anybody’s anger.

  BOOK FIVE

  FLÉCHÉ

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Mathias, the only True Prophet of Talamein, stood before his Companions, a red sea stretching out before him in row upon orderly row.

  The Prophet had been talking for three hours, retelling recent exploits, reaffirming their faith in him and Talamein, whipping them into a frenzy. Their voices were hoarse from shouting, their faces flushed, and in a few places there were gaps in the line where Companions had fainted.

  Mathias had told them of the betrayal by Sten’s mercenaries, who, in league with his father’s guards, had foully conspired to assassinate his father.

  Theodomir was a martyr to Talamein. Mathias assured the Companions that as long as he lived his father’s name would never be forgotten.