The Wolf Worlds (19 page)

Sten was starting to realize that, at least in this case.
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.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

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. Nonvirgin. 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
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

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…"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

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.