Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus) (38 page)

It was quite a garden.

At one end – almost a kilometer from the castle – the garden narrowed, then spread into a soft meadow where a gentle river flowed.

And of course there was a small dock in midmeadow.

And of course there was a boat.

You aren’t that far removed from Imperial technology, Sten thought as he stood on the dock, romantically put an arm around Sofia, and looked at the boat.

It was clear plas, with an illuminated strip to mark its gunwale. No sign of power, no oars, just several soft cushions.

What a setup, Sten thought.

And so he kissed Sofia.

And again the world went soft around the edges as her lips caught him and brought him in. At that moment, Sten was having trouble remembering who was seducing whom.

He gently broke the kiss and touched her lips at the corners with his, twice. Then bent, took off her shoes, and stepped her down into the boat.

Noiselessly, the boat moved along the river. Above them hung the waning moon, and below them, Sten could see the luminous flash of fish as they slept below him.

And so we will round this bend in the river, Sten thought, and then the boat will dock itself in a lovely grotto. And what will I find there besides taps? Assassins? Kidnappers? Parral working a badger game? And good luck to ’em all. Sten bent over and kissed Sofia again.

It was a helluva grotto, Sten realized as the clear boat silently touched the grassy bank. Rocks had been sculpted to form a
secluded hideaway. And down over them splashed a waterfall, illuminated with what Sten guessed were a couple of low-powered meth/HC1 lasers, lasing from UV down toward yellow in the spectrum.

A helluva trap, too, as he lifted Sofia in his arms out of the boat, ready to peg her into the arms of any waiting killers.

But there was nothing.

‘Your brother has quite a taste in gardens,’ he said.

‘Parral?’ Sofia was puzzled. ‘He doesn’t know about this. I designed it.’

The situation had gone awry slightly. Sten lowered Sofia to the grass, then stood again. She put both hands behind her head and eyed him quizzically. Sten lifted one boot behind him and touched a bootheel. The tiny indicator light stayed dark. How odd. No monitors.

For Sten, the situation was very rapidly getting out of hand.

He knelt beside Sofia, one leg curled under him, his hand ready to bring out the knife. She was still staring at him.

‘Did you know Parral ordered me to dance with you?’

Sten hesitated, then nodded.

‘You did?’ she said, slightly surprised. ‘And did you know he wanted me to wait for you, outside the library? And I was supposed to take you – take you to my chambers?’ Her voice was suddenly fast, confessional.

Sten was starting to realize that, at least in this case, the
Covert Operations Manual
was a tad lacking. He had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

‘Do you know what Parral wanted me to do?’

‘I can imagine.’

And Sofia stopped.

Embarrassed, Sten suddenly realized that he had carried his basilisk act a little too far.

He swung a leg over Sofia and, balancing himself on his knees, slowly brought both hands down the sides of her face, down across her chest, moving to the side of her breasts, across her stomach.

Sofia sighed gratefully and her eyes closed.

Sten’s hands moved gently back up, then down, caressing her bare arms and hands.

Sofia’s hand moved blindly to the catches on her gown and snapped them free. Sten, moving very slowly, slid the gown down to Sofia’s waist, and her erect nipples on small breasts gleamed in the reflected laser-light from the waterfall.

He kissed her then, on the lips, on the throat and then down across her breasts to her stomach.

Then stood and dropped away his uniform.

And there was no sound except the whisper of her gown coming away from her body and the arabesque of two bodies meeting.

It was minutes before dawn as Sten, now clad in black coveralls, moved from dying shadow to alleyway through Nebta’s main street.

It ain’t the killing, he thought sleepily to himself, that makes sojering hard. It’s the fact the bassids never let you go to bed.

He preferred not to reflect – not then, anyway – on making love to Sofia. He wasn’t sure what it all meant – other than Sofia was the first woman since Bet who had added star drive to her sexuality.

Besides, there was still this clottin’ meeting.

After dark no one in his right mind went down Nebta’s streets, which then became the province of the killer gangs and the only slightly less lethal night patrols who reasoned (with some justification) that anyone out after dark was either a villain or desperately in need of escort service. Payment up front, please.

Sten slid down an alley that stank of death, garbage, and betrayal. Waiting at the end of the alley was the only other person he’d seen on the streets besides one half-drunk patrol team. A beggar. A scrofulous beggar, whose sores gleamed luminous in the near dawn.

‘Giveen me, gentleman, y’blessing,’ the beggar wheezed.

‘Mahoney,’ Sten said frankly, ‘you’re clottin’ hard to bless. Lesions that glow in the dark. Give me a break.’

The beggar straightened and shrugged. ‘It’s a new lab gimmick.’ Mahoney shrugged as he straightened to his full height. ‘I told them it was too much, but what the hell.’

Sten shook his head and leaned against one slimy wall, one eye on the alley mouth.

‘Report,’ Mahoney said briskly.

Sten ran it down – how he’d successfully recruited his mercs, none of whom had yet tried to knife him in the back. How he’d done his
first by-the-book raid on the Jann, aimed at getting them into a reactive position and operating emotionally rather than logically. How Parral had opened negotiations to sell Theodomir down the creek.

‘No surprises so far,’ Sten finished.

‘What about Sofia?’

Sten’s mouth dropped as Mahoney grinned. ‘You see, m’lad? The day I don’t know far more about what’s going on than you do is the day you’ll take over Mantis. But—’

‘Brief me,’ Sten said.

‘Nineteen. Convent – no, you don’t know the term – religious/sexual exclusionary training. Parral is trying to marry her off for an alliance. Non-virgin. Bright, near genius. Prog – looking for her own alliance, which I assume …’ Mahoney decided to be delicate. Sten decided to keep his mouth shut.

‘Sounds as if you’re doing quite well, lad,’ Mahoney went on. ‘You have only one problem.’

‘Which is?’

‘Unfortunately, our estimates were that it would take three E-years for word of the Eryx discovery to seep out.’

‘But?’

‘But somebody talked. I am truly sorry, m’lad, but current estimates are that within two E-years every wastrel, geologist, and miner in this sector will be heading for the Eryx Region – and coming straight through the Wolf Worlds!’

Sten grunted. ‘You don’t make it easy, Colonel.’

‘Life does not make it easy, Sten. So your timetable is moved up. The Lupus Cluster must be pacified within one E-year.’

‘You can ruin a man’s entire day, boss.’

‘After the grotto,’ Mahoney said gently. ‘I think it would take a great deal more than me to do that.’

And then he was crouched, cloak across his face. He sidled down the alley and was gone, leaving Sten in the shadows, watching the first glisten of the rising sun and wondering how the hell Mahoney knew about
that
.

It was a small gray building in a small green glen, located almost one hundred kilometers north of Sanctus’ capital. A young man in the blood-red uniform of Mathias’ Companions escorted Sten to the entrance, waved him inside, and left him.

Sten entered, somewhat tentatively.

To a tourist the glen would have looked deserted. But Sten had heard rustling in the undergrowth as he and his escort had passed through. And the smell of many campfires. And the forest was silent – a sure clue to human presence.

The walls on the inside of the little building dripped with the sweat of the high-humidity water world that was Sanctus. No one waited for him inside.

He moved through what seemed empty administrative offices filled with desks, coms, and vid-file cabinets, then was brought up short by a glass wall.

Through the glass he could see Mathias.

Except for a modest breechcloth, the young man was naked. Sten watched quietly as Mathias inserted his hands into two metal rings, attached to three-meter-long chains. The chains themselves seemed to hang from nothing, but were grav-bonded into position.

Mathias’ body was all one gleaming, rippling muscle. And even Sten was impressed as the Prophet’s son lifted himself effortlessly on the rings, supporting himself on upper-body strength alone. The young man’s stomach muscles knotted as he lifted his legs straight up above his head and did a handstand on the rings. Mathias did an unbelievable number of arm presses, then swung his body in a long, slow, 360-degree loop. Again and again, and then he let go, doubling himself into
a somersault. He landed perfectly on his feet as if he were on a low-grav planet.

Sten whistled to himself softly, and then opened and walked through the glass door.

Mathias spotted him instantly and shouted a greeting. ‘Colonel. Your presence is our blessing.’

Mathias grabbed a towel from the floor and began to wipe away the sweat as Sten moved forward to meet him.

Sten shook his hand, eyed the rings then the young man as he pulled on a plain, rough-clothed robe. ‘Pretty impressive,’ he said.

‘Oh’ – Mathias smiled – ‘my friends and I believe in the fitness of our bodies.’

‘Your friends?’ Sten remembered the smell of campfires.

‘The Companions,’ Mathias said, taking Sten by the arm and leading him toward the back door. ‘You know about them?’

Of course Sten did. They were the six hundred young men – all very wealthy and all very religious – who were Mathias’ couterie. They delighted in all forms of sport, physical deprivation, challenge, and prayer. They were totally devoted to Mathias and the ancient ways of the religion of Talamein.

‘Yes, I know about them.’

He was on Sanctus at the mysterious request of Mathias, a polite plea for a visit. An important one, Mathias had assured him. Sten didn’t have the time, but he thought it was politic to go.

‘I have been following your exploits,’ Mathias said as they exited the door and started down the path into the fern forest.

Sten didn’t reply. He was waiting.

‘I must say, Colonel, I’m impressed.’ And with just enough hesitation to qualify for an afterthought: ‘As is my father.’

Sten just nodded his thanks.

‘I have been thinking,’ Mathias continued. ‘You and your men are bearing the brunt of this fight yourselves. For which we are grateful. But it isn’t proper.’

If Sten had
really
been a mercenary, he would have agreed. Instead he made a polite protest. Mathias raised a hand to stop him. ‘If we are to be truly victorious,’ Mathias said, ‘Sanctus must dare to spill its own blood. Not just that of – if you will forgive me – beings who might be viewed as mere hirelings.’

A self-deprecating smile to Sten.

‘Not that we are not convinced that all of you are committed to the cause of Talamein. And that of the True Prophet – my father.’

Sten accepted his apology. Very wary now.

‘And so, I have a proposal for you, Colonel. No, an offer.’ They turned the corner of the path, which spilled into a broad glade.

Mathias pointed dramatically. Drawn up in line after blood-red line were the Companions. Six hundred young men in their spotless ceremonial uniforms. Without an apparent signal, they all raised a hand in salute.

‘MATHIAS,’ they shouted in unison.

And Sten gave a slight jolt as Mathias shouted back: ‘FRIENDS.’

The young men cheered deafeningly. Mathias, all smiles, turned to Sten.

‘Colonel Sten, I offer you my life and the lives of my companions.’

Sten wasn’t quite sure what to say.

‘What the clot could I do?’ Sten asked Alex.

The big man was pacing back and forth in the control room on the Bhor ship.

‘But the’r’t nae professional, lad.’

Sten slumped into a chair. ‘Look, Mahoney has moved the whole operation up one entire year.’

‘We’ll recruit some more men,’ Alex responded.

‘No time,’ Sten said. ‘Right now we need bodies. Anyplace we can get them.’

‘Cannon fodder,’ Alex said.

Sten shook his head. ‘They’re not professionals, but the Companions have trained – after a fashion. And they will take orders. All we have to do is form them into our mold.’

‘An Ah dinnae ken wh’ll be trainit’ them,’ Alex continued suspiciously. ‘Ffillips? Trainit th’ lads ae commandos? Th’ nae be’t time f’r thae.’

‘Possibly Vosberh,’ Sten said, keeping his face straight.

‘Nae, nae. Tha’ be’t e’en more silly.’

Sten grinned at him. ‘Then we have the answer.’

Alex was aghast. ‘Me,’ he said, thumping a meaty thumb into his chest. ‘Y’nae be’t suggestin’ ae Kilgour wae y’?’

‘I thought it was your idea.’

Sten handed Alex a fiche. ‘Now, I was thinking, Red Rory of the Advertisements, you should begin their training with …’

Alex keyed his throat-mike. ‘Ye’ll be awake noo an’ be lookit across yon field.’

Fifty of Mathias’ Companions were dug in across the military crest of a wooded hill. Most of them looked puzzled, having no idea what the purpose of the exercise was.

It wae, Alex thought to himself, a wee bit ae argument against heroism. He tucked behind a bush as, far across the brush-covered field, another fifty of the Companions came into sight, weapons ready. They were spread out in standard Guard-type probe formation.

He yawned and scratched, waiting for the soldiers to come closer. They did. A Companion next to Alex lifted his rifle, and Alex backhanded him on his shrapnel helmet. The Companion thudded down, unconscious, and Alex reminded himself yet again that the wee light-grav folk had to be treated with ae gentleness.

Wait … wait … wait … and then Alex hit the airhorn’s button. The blast rang down the hill, and the entrenched Companions opened fire.

With blanks.

Down on the flats, some of the Companions dove for cover, others began howling and charged.

The firing doubled in volume. Alex let it continue for six seconds, then bounded up and down into the open. With his mike open.

‘Cease fire, y’bloodthirsty reeks! Cease FIRE!’

The popping died away. On the flats, the probing Companions, following instructions, froze in place – in the exact positions they were stopped in when Alex gave the ceasefire signal.

Alex waved the other fifty out of their hidey-holes and down onto the fields. They trailed out and assembled in two-platoon formation.
Each man carried a plas target. The plan was to replace the real men with the targets. After that, Alex chuckled to himself, the real fun would begin.

Alex walked around the attacking formation. A Companion who’d sensibly found cover was replaced with one type of target – if the cover he’d found would withstand projectile fire, the target was only part of a man’s head. But if, on the other hand, he’d ducked behind a bush (which worked fine in the livies), a full head-and-shoulders replaced him.

The slow-to-react or stupid, who’d merely flattened on the ground or, still worse, stayed erect when the airhorn went off had man-size silhouettes in their place.

Finally, the howlers-and-chargers had oversize targets – targets that were half again the size of a normal man.

By now the entire company of Companions was standing at the hill’s base. Alex motioned them back up into the defensive line and had them take firing positions.

Companion squad leaders now passed out live ammunition.

‘Lock an’ load ae mag’zine,’ Alex bellowed. ‘On command, begin … firing!’

The hillside rocked to the thunder of weapons. This time Alex waited until all trainees had fired their weapons dry (the projectile weapons used by the Companions and mercs had fifty-round banana magazines, nowhere near the capacity of the unobtainable Imperial willyguns with their 1400-round AM
₂
tube mags).

Then he brought the Companions out of their holes, checked to make sure all weapons were unloaded, and went back down the hill. If God gae us tha gift ta see ourselves as others see us, came a misquote from Alex’s overly poetic backbrain. He led the hundred men from target to target.

‘Noo, y’ken wha’ happens whae ae mon dinna find shelter encounterin’ ae enemy,’ he explained. ‘Yama lad, y’dinna find naught to hide behind. Ah’ y’see whae would’ve recked wi’ ye?’

The trainee looked at the riddled silhouette, gulped, and nodded.

Alex saved the charging fanatics for last and then gently tapped one of ‘them’ on his shredded plas.

‘Ae dinna be knockit heroes,’ he said. ‘But a wee hero who’s dead afore he closes wi’ the enemy be naught but ae fool, Ah think.’

The Companions, who’d now had a chance to see exactly what an enemy unit could do to them – and had done it to themselves – were very thoughtful on the run back to the training camp.

*

A fortieth-century explosive mine looked like nothing much in particular except possibly a chunk of meteorite. It would float innocuously until a ship of the proper size came within range. It then ceased to be innocuous.

The problem with mines, as always, was remembering where they’d been planted and being able to recover them after the war ended. For Sten’s mercenaries, however, who had no intention of hanging around the Wolf Cluster for one nanosecond after payday, it didn’t matter.

A combined platoon of Vosberh’s and Ffillips’ men had scattered half a hundred of such chunks of rubble in orbital patterns that Egan’s computer boys had suggested, near one of the Jann main patrol satellites. Then they’d withdrawn on the Bhor ship, as silently and unobtrusively as they’d arrived.

The first mine didn’t detonate for almost a week. It was fortunate for Sten’s purposes that the first one happened to ignite when a full fuel ship was making its approach to the satellite. The small nuke not only took out the fuel ship but its two escorts and the pilot vessel from the satellite.

Mines, properly laid, are extremely cost-effective weapons.

It was nae thae the Companions sang everywhere they went, Alex decided. It was thae they had such bloody awful taste in their music: doleful hymns; chants describing how wonderful it would be to meet death killing Jann.

Ah, well, he realized. Wi’ m’own race’s history, Ah dinnae hae a lot to complain aboot.

‘Seventy seconds,’ one of Ffillips’ lieutenants said. Egan and his bustling computer people paid no attention.

The twelve of them, with two teams of Ffillips’ specialists for security, had taken over one of the Jann observation satellites. The three Jann manning the post had been disposed of, and Egan and his men had gone to work

Wires, relays. laser-transmitters, and fiberoptic cables littered the satellite’s electronics room, and now the Lycée people waited while Egan caressed keys on a meter-wide board he’d lugged onto the satellite. He tapped a final key then pulled his board out of circuit. ‘Very fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s blow it.’

Ffillips’ lieutenant saluted and his men began planting demo charges.

The Lycée gang had used the terminal on the satellite to patch
straight into the Jann battle computer. They’d lifted all logs of the mercenary actions from the computer records.

That, Egan thought to himself, will make it a bit hard for the bad guys to get any kind of tac analysis. A good day’s work, he realized, as he headed for the Bhor ship hanging just beyond the lock.

He didn’t bother to tell anyone that he’d also removed any mention of the Lycée people or Egan himself from the records, and added a FORGET IT command just in case any entry was made. A soldier, after all, has to protect his back – and there was no guarantee that the good guys would necessarily win.

And so the raids continued. A suddenly vanished Jann patrol ship here or a Jann outpost that broadcast pleas for reinforcement before signals shut down. Merchant ships that failed to arrive at their planetfalls. A few ‘removals’ of Jann administrators.

A man is much larger than a mosquito – and Sten’s entire force was less than one-millionth the strength of the Jann. But a mosquito can drive a man to distraction and, given enough time, bleed him dry.

Sten was slowly bleeding the Jann.

‘You’re sure?’ Sten asked dubiously.

‘Aye,’ Alex said. ‘Th’ Companions are as trained ae Ah can makit’em. We’re ready to go to battle, lad.’

Excellent, Sten thought to himself. Now all I have to do is figure out where and when.