Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus)

by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch

  ‘I, Talamein, took the Flame to give those I love freedom. And though I have passed beyond, I still have love for you people of Sanctus, and, beyond you, the peoples of the Lupus Cluster.

  ‘But I see you as a spider on a slender thread, hanging over the terrible chasm of destruction. My faith was of a crusader – a crusader who sought peace and also freedom.

  ‘And then, once having found freedom, each of us would tend his own, whether farm or mercantile, each of us tending the Flame of Talamein deep within each of us.

  ‘Because my Faith is that of the person, not of the race of the world.

  ‘I thought, when I chose to pass into the Flame, that I could rest, knowing I had given my own freedom, wealth, peace, and security. And so I rested for half an eon,’ Mathias continued.

  The speech wasn’t bad, Bet noticed, watching the frozen Companions. Doc would be very proud of his composition.

  ‘But then, from my resting, I felt a rumbling, a disturbance. And I was forced to remove myself from the warmth of the Flame, to examine my people.

  ‘To my shame, I found destruction looming for my people. And I found a young man who was attempting to speak in my name.

  ‘Not an evil man was your Prophet Mathias. He did suppress the heresy of the Jann. But he was a man who went beyond his mission.

  ‘But now I, Talamein, do declare the error of his ways.

  ‘I, Talamein, order my people to lay down their arms and return to seek happiness and their homes. Because only in peace and security can the true beliefs of Talamein come to fruition.

  ‘Only in freedom and security will the Flame of Talamein blossom through the universe.

  ‘I now declare anathema the man or woman who picks up arms in my name.

  ‘I declare anathema the man or woman who attempts to convert an unbeliever by any means other than persuasion and example.

  ‘I now declare anathema the being who uses the words of Talamein to imprison, enslave, or deprive any other being of those rights that all of us realize in our hearts are due us.’

  The Companions were, by now, on their knees, heads on the pavement.

  ‘And now I leave you, to return to the Sanctity of the Flame. I adjure you to follow my instructions.

  ‘If you so do, when your earthly envelope decays, I will welcome you to the Fellowship of the Flame.

  ‘I also admonish you not to despise this man Mathias, from whom I speak. Though in error, he sought the truth. In his memory I require you to raise monuments and memorials.

  ‘And now I shall return to the Flame.

  ‘Having used this envelope and therefore sanctified it, I shall also take its occupier with me to the Sanctity of the Flame.

  ‘And we, Talamein and the mortal Mathias, declare this envelope no longer suited to the uses and purposes of the flesh.

  ‘Any such could only be desecration.

  ‘My final blessings, and may peace pass among you.’

  The hailer clicked off, and Mathias, gaze fixed on the horizon, took four steps forward, off the balcony. His body silently curved downward through one-hundred meters of space to the courtyard flagstones below.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  The courtyard was empty, save for bodies, the stunned mercenaries, and the arms hastily abandoned when the Companions stumbled past the broken gates, toward the city below.

  Bet was slumped against Hugin, carefully digging a piece of shrapnel from Munin’s paw, when Ffillips squatted before her.

  ‘Mantis Section, eh?’

  Bet covered her reaction, then looked up. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I am a logical woman,’ the battered soldier said carefully. ‘When a mercenary officer returns to rescue me, my men and women, against all odds, bringing with him some of the – forgive me – oddest beings I have ever had the pleasure to encounter and then wins the war by making its tyrant recant publicly, I hear echoes of things.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as tales I heard before I, ahem, separated from the Imperial Guards. Are you not Mantis Section, and was this not an Imperial Mission?’

  ‘Clottin’-A, buster,’ someone croaked from behind Bet. ‘Now, if someone’ll stop playing with their triumphs and get me a medic, I’ll be quite satisfied. I got four holes in my chest and investments to protect.’

  Absolute astonishment, and then Ffillips and Bet were running for the Temple to get Doc as Ida miraculously wobbled up into a sitting position. One of the tigers walked over to her and, purring, began to lick the blood from her neck.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  ‘You must understand the hesitation of this council,’ the graybeard croaked as he tottered to his feet. ‘I mean no contempt, Colonel … I believe you said that was the way to refer to you?

  ‘But you must know the perplexity that the past few years have brought to us, those of us who have recanted the ways of the world to study Talamein in peace.’

  ‘I do,’ Sten agreed.

  Sten stood in front of twenty of the most carefully selected theologicians of Talamein – men selected for their age, expertise, honesty, and longwindedness. They were in the former throne room of the Temple. It looked much as it had when Mathias was occupying it, except the two-handed sword over the vidmap was gone. The twin eternal flames blazed alone.

  Two other beings were in the room.

  ‘These matters,’ the elder continued, ‘must be studied. Must be considered. Certainly none of us is arguing the truth of the appearance of Talamein himself …’

  There was a muttered ‘S’be’t’ from the elders.

  ‘What puzzles us is the necessity to consider these actions. The necessity to evaluate them, as to their truth and as to how they pertain to the Truth of the Flame.

  ‘These matters may require some time to consider, and, in that time, what will happen with the ways of the world?

  ‘We assembled here are elders. Men of silence and thought. But we must realize that beyond this Temple and these walls, there are beings and worlds to reckon with. To govern. And, I think I speak for my colleagues, we do not consider ourselves capable of performing this task. I assume, then, that perhaps you …’ The graybeard let his words trail off delicately.

  ‘No,’ Sten said. ‘I am but a simple soldier. A man of the earth. I shall continue on my own path, seeking my own destiny.

  ‘But you are correct,’ he said, wondering where the drakh he found this smoothness and deciding he’d been too long with churchmen, hypocrites, and noblemen, ‘in that you and the people of Talamein shall need protection and assistance.

  ‘This shall be my gift to you.’ And he turned to the two other beings in the chamber.

  ‘This first person shall keep your government honest and your people free from the threat of invasion.’

  Ffillips smiled.

  ‘And this other being shall handle the necessities of trade, merchandising, and, most important, dealing with those beings from beyond the Lupus Cluster who merely wish sustenance and a chance to pass through.’

  Otho grunted.

  Sten lifted the medallion that Theodomir had given him months before, when he was made a Soldier of Talamein.

  ‘I am a soldier, as I said. But perhaps, when I was made a Carrier of the Flame, I was given a gift to see into the future a bit.

  ‘I see two things: Strangers shall come into the Lupus Cluster. Travelers. Men who seek strange matter, beyond these worlds. I see that your duty is to give them succor and to show them, by example, the peace that Talamein can bring.

  ‘And I see one other thing: Mathias, it was true, followed the ways of ice and cold and flesh. But somehow I sense that in his final moments, he achieved what few men have gifted to them.

  ‘In his words from the balcony, he truly became what he had intended – Talamein reincarnate.’

  And Sten bowed his head, waited five seconds, then strode for the exit. He needed Alex’s jokes, Bet for more interesting reasons, and about five liters of pure alk.

 
This salvation thing was a thirsty and wearisome business.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  ‘No, Mahoney,’ the Eternal Emperor purred, ‘I do not wish to read the full fiche. I want to consider what you just told me.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mahoney said in a carefully neutral voice.

  ‘You will kindly stand at attention while I review this, Colonel.’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Your Mantis team, and this young lieutenant …’

  ‘Sten, sir.’

  ‘Sten. Yes. He managed, with a handful of mercenaries, to topple a religious dictatorship, to convince its fanatics to go grow whatever they grow out there, and to arrange things so that my miners will be treated well.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I am correct, so far?’

  ‘You are, sir.’

  ‘Admirable,’ the Emperor went on. ‘Promote him to Captain. Give him a couple of medals. That is an order.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now, leave us to consider his solution to the whole mess. He turned over the military and political affairs of this whole stinkin’ Lupus Cluster to a mercenary. Correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘A woman, I discovered, who deserted from the Imperial Guard facing court-martial, after stealing an entire division’s supply depot and blackmarketing it. One Sergeant Ffillips. Am I still correct?’

  ‘You are, your Highness.’

  ‘Very good. And the diplomatic, intrasystem, galactic, and mercantile end of the operation was handed to an alien?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘An alien who looks like a Neanderthal – don’t look puzzled, Mahoney, go to the Imperial Museum and you’ll see one – and comes from a race of freebooters. One Otho?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want this Sten on toast,’ the Emperor said in a low monotone. ‘I want him busted from Captain – I did promote him to Captain, did I not?’

  ‘You did, sir.’

  ‘I also ordered you to pour me drinks, did I not?’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ and Mahoney headed for the cabinet.

  ‘Not that bottle, Colonel. The Erlenmeyer flask. One hundred eighty proof. Open us two beers to go with it. I think I may find myself very drunk while I’m trying to find out if I can legally torture one of my officers.’

  Mahoney was starting to enjoy this. But he kept his smile buried as he poured shotglasses and cut the tips off beerjugs.

  ‘Sten. Sten. Why do I know the name?’

  ‘He killed Baron Thoresen, sir. Against your orders. You remember, the Vulcan affair.’

  ‘And I didn’t send him to a penal battalion then?’

  ‘No, sir. You promoted him to lieutenant.’

  The Eternal Emperor threw down the shot, shuddered, and sipped beer as he fed the mission report fiche into his viewer.

  ‘Interesting ideas this Sten has,’ he mused, sipping beer.

  ‘Overthrow the tyrant and then appoint a council of church elders to study the matter. They should have their report ex cathedra in, what, Mahoney? A thousand years?’

  ‘More than that, sir.’ Mahoney gurgled, still recovering from the pure alcohol. ‘He said he chose the longest-winded theologicians he could find. More like two thousand.’

  The Emperor shut off the viewer, got up, grabbed the flask, and poured two more shots. He gasped his down, then mused aloud:

  ‘Mantis Section. Why do I keep you people around, since you insist on doing exactly what I want, exactly in the manner I don’t want?’

  Mahoney stuck with beer drinking and silence.

  ‘Correction to my last order, Colonel,’ the Emperor said, smiling in a moderately evil manner. ‘Do not court-martial this Sten.

  ‘I want him.

  ‘Detach him from Mantis and Mercury. Give him some kind of acceptable hero background in the Guard.’

  ‘Ummm,’ Mahoney insubordinated.

  ‘Captain Sten is now the commander of my personal bodyguard. The Gurkhas.’

  And Mahoney’s shot went across the room and the beerjug gurgled out, unnoticed, on the carpet.

  ‘God damn it, your Majesty, how the clot can I run an intelligence service when you keep stealing my best men?’

  ‘Good point, Colonel.’ The Eternal Emperor took a tiny order fiche from his desk and Mahoney realized just how badly he’d been set up.

  ‘These are your orders: congratulations, General Mahoney, and my further congratulations on your detachment and reassignment from Imperial Headquarters to command the First Guards Assault Division.’

  Mahoney threw the fiche to the floor, which was an ineffective gesture, since the tiny bit of plas insisted on drifting downward.

  ‘You can’t clottin’ do this to me! I just spent seventy-five years building up this clottin’ Mercury Corps, and—’

  ‘And I am the god damned Eternal Emperor,’ the man growled and came around his desk. ‘I can do what I clotting well please, General, and congratulations on your new post and am I going to have to whip your ass to get you to drink with me?’

  Mahoney considered for a second, then started chuckling.

  ‘No, sir, your Imperial Majesty, sir. Thank you, sir. Since I have no choice, your Imperial Majesty, sir, I accept.’

  Besides, Mahoney was not at all sure he could take the Emperor. Let alone what would come afterward if he did.

  The Emperor grunted and poured more drinks. ‘You served me well, Ian. I know you’ll continue to do the same in your new position. And clot it, don’t make things so hard for me when I want to be nice for a change.

  ‘But don’t forget this Sten,’ the Eternal Emperor said, reaching for the flask. ‘I have an idea he is going to go very far indeed.

  ‘In fact, I’ll give you one of my predictions.

  ‘Sten will either end up on the gallows or as a Fleet Admiral.’

  And the two men drank deeply.

  STEN 3:

  THE COURT OF A

  THOUSAND SUNS

  To

  Elizabeth R. & Leo L. Bunch

  and

  the brothers four: Charles, Phillip, Drew,

  and David

  Note

  The titles of Books 1, 2, 3, and 4 are Parisian slang for various parts of the guillotine. The ‘bascule’ is the board on which the condemned man is laid; the ‘lunette’ is the circular clamp fitted around the man’s neck; the ‘mouton’ is the cutting blade, plus its eighty-pound weight; and the ‘declic’ is the lever the executioner hits to drop the blade.

  The title of Book 5, ‘The Red Mass,’ comes from a phrase used by a French deputy during the Terror of the A.D. 1790s, one Monsieur Amar, in a letter inviting his fellow deputies to witness an execution ‘to see the Red Mass celebrated …’

  – AC and CRB

  BOOK ONE

  BASCULE

  Chapter One

  The banth purred at the quillpig, which, unimpressed, had firmly stuffed itself as far as it could into the hollow stump.

  The banth’s instinct said that the porcupine was edible, but the six-legged cat’s training told it otherwise. Meat was presented by two-legs at dawn and dusk, and came with gentle words. The quillpig may have smelled right, but it was not behaving like meat. The banth sat back on its haunches and used a forepaw to pry two needles from its nasal carapace.

  Then the animal flattened. It heard the noise again, a whine from the forest. The banth looked worriedly up the mountain, then back again in the direction of the sound before deciding.

  Against instinct, it broke out of the last fringe of the tree line and bounded up the bare, rock-strewn mountain. Two hundred meters vertically up the talus cliff, it went to cover behind a mass of boulders.

  The whine grew louder as a gravsled lifted over the scrubby treetops, pirouetted, searching, and then grounded near the hollow stump.

  Terence Kreuger, chief of Prime World’s police tactical force, checked the homing panel mounted over the gravsled’s controls. The needle pointed straight u
p the mountain, and the proximity director indicated the banth was barely half a kilometer away.

  Kreuger unslung a projectile weapon from its clips behind his seat and checked it once again: projectile chambered; safe off; ranging scope preset for one meter, the approximate dimensions of the banth’s chest area.

  He checked the slope with a pair of binocs and after a few seconds saw a flicker of movement. Kreuger grunted to himself and lifted the gravsled up the mountain. He’d already missed the banth once that day; he was less than pleased with himself.

  Kreuger fancied himself a hunter in the grand tradition. Time not required for his police duties was spent hunting or preparing himself for a hunt, an expensive hobby, especially on Prime World. The Imperial capital had no native game, and both hunting preserves there charged far more than even a tactical group chief could afford – until recently.

  Kreuger’s previous hunts had been restricted to offworld, and mostly for minor edible or nuisance game. That was well and good, but provided Kreuger with little in the way of trophies, especially trophies of the kind that the gamebooks chronicled. But things had suddenly become different. His friends had seen to that. After thirty years as a cop, Kreuger still prized his honesty. He just rationalized that what his new friends wanted wasn’t dishonest: look at the benefits! Three weeks away from Empire Day madness. Three weeks on a hunting reservation, expenses paid. Tags for four dangerous animals – an Earth rhino, a banth, a male cervi, and a giant ot.

  He had already planned on which wall each head would be mounted. Of course, Kreuger did not intend to mention to his soon-to-be-admiring friends where those trophies had been taken.

  The gravsled’s bumper caromed him away from a boulder, bringing Kreuger back to the present. Concentrate, man, concentrate. Remember every bit of this day. The clearness of the air. The smell of the trees below. The spray of dust around the gravsled.

  Kreuger guided the gravsled up the slope, following the homing needle toward the sensor implanted in the banth.