Death Match, page 34
part #3 of Sten Omnibus Series
Milhouz stood alone on the reviewing stand. At length, he realized he was still alive.
He was the only one.
There . . . there were the bodies of his parents.
He would mourn them.
But the dynasty would continue.
Iskra was dead.
But Milhouz lived.
The beginnings of that look of saintly self-satisfaction crept across his face.
It was still there as the kukri slashed from behind, and his head rode a crimson fountain to bounce off the stand and paint a red semicircle on the square’s paving.
Jemedar Lalbahadur Thapa stepped back as the headless corpse dropped. He sheathed his kukri and nodded once, in satisfaction.
The Gurkkha had been at Pooshkan University.
The Square of the Khaqans was almost quiet, except for the moans and screams of the wounded and the roar of runaway engines from crashed gravlighters.
Sten heard wails and screams from the crowd as the equally stunned security forces began clearing the square. A few meters away was a sprawled body he identified as that of Dr. Iskra.
Overhead, the bright cheerful day was gone, and storm clouds were rolling in. So much, Sten thought, for weather prophesying hurly-burly, witches, or anything else.
He walked over to the body and used a toe to turn it over. “Th’ lad’s aboot ae dead as Ah’ve e’er seen.”
“He is.”
“Well,” Alex said as he walked up beside Sten. “Th’ king’s croaked, an’ long live th’ king an a’ thae. What the clot are we goin’ t’ do next?”
Sten thought about it.
“I will be double-damned if I have even the slightest,” he said honestly.
Chapter Thirty-six
THIRTY-SEVEN E-HOURS later, thunder rolled across Rurik.
Sten was carefully composing his dispatch on Iskra’s assassination that would give the full details — following up the initial flash sent to the Eternal Emperor and Prime within minutes of Sten’s race back to the embassy.
Someone at the spaceport buzzed the embassy — an Imperial unit or units had just broadcast that they were inbound for landing.
Neither Sten nor Alex had time for more than a fast wonderment: Was this support? Some Imperials that had nothing to do with anything? An invasion?
The sky rumbled louder than one of Jochi’s super thunderstorms, and ships swept overhead.
“Sufferin’ Jesus,” Alex swore. “Ah dinnae glim’s’ many putt-putts since th’ war ended. Thae must be . . . twa, no, three squadrons. Wi’ battlewagons. Somebody’s through muckin’ aboot — or else they’ve finally found us oot, lad.”
Sten didn’t answer — he was also watching the sky. The second wave was coming in, behind the warships.
Troop transports, auxiliaries, and their screens.
Sten estimated that a full division of Imperial soldiers was arriving.
Now, just what in the hell . . .
“ . . . are you doing here, Ian?”
“You want the answer as of the day before yesterday,” Ian Mahoney asked, “or what it is after we intercepted your charming message to Prime?”
“Whichever one I can handle,” Sten said. They were on the flag bridge of the Imperial battleship Repulse, flying Mahoney’s command flag. Outside, Rurik’s once-deserted spaceport was studded with ships and looked like a central military field on Prime World.
Sten and Alex’s estimates had been quite correct — Mahoney’s force consisted of three battleship squadrons and Mahoney’s “home” unit, the First Guards Division.
Mahoney had greeted them, introduced them to the admiral in charge of the naval forces, a rather officious sort named Langsdorff, chased him off the bridge, and opened a bottle of the special liquor made for the Emperor called Scotch.
“I’ll give you both sets of my orders, then. The Emperor ordered me to put together a peacekeeping force just after the barracks bombing. He told me he wanted me to arrive, with muscle, at the proper time. My job description was to be Imperial governor. I was supposed to back you up, and make sure Iskra stayed on his throne.”
Sten pursed his lips. “So nothing changed his mind, then? About Iskra.”
“Was something supposed to?”
“Yeah. About twelve metric tons of the best stones I could polish and a solid silver bucket to keep them in. Never mind. I’ll show you my rock collection later. The Iskra situation has taken care of itself.”
“So I got my orders changed,” Mahoney said. “The Altaics are now to be put under direct rule from Prime.”
“Home rule,” Alex wondered. “Thae’s clottin’ ne’er an answer. Sorry, sir.”
“Kilgour, the day you can’t put in an oar is the day I’m ready to go back to wearing a uniform. I don’t like it either. But that’s the direct orders from the Man.”
“For how long?”
“I wasn’t told.”
Sten rolled his yet untouched drink between his palms, looking for the right way to ask his question. “Ian — what did your orders say about me?”
“Nothing. Should they have?”
“I don’t know.”
Sten explained that he had asked to be relieved previously, and that the Emperor had refused. Now, with Iskra dead, and the Altaics even closer to the cliff edge of chaos, he assumed he would either be headed for home in disgrace or at the least offered another assignment.
“I guess,” Mahoney said, “that you’re to continue as ambassador. At least until the shock waves settle down. Then I guess one of us will be moved on. I can’t picture the Emperor keeping both of his high-dollar troubleshooters in the same forty-holer for very long. There’s too many barns burnin’ out there.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about any kind of pecking order, do we, Sten?”
“That wasn’t why I was asking.”
“Okay. Everything’s settled. Let’s see if we can’t jerk these clots into something resembling armed truce, starting tomorrow.
“Now, would you slug that back? You’re getting touchy, being out here with all these murderous clots, touchy and paranoiac.”
“I guess I am,” Sten said, and followed Mahoney’s orders, trying to relax.
Now, at least, he has something and somebody to lean on with some real clout. But the back of his mind told him that somehow, in some way, the Altaic Cluster would find a way to drag Mahoney, the navy, and the Imperial Guard down, into the bloody anarchy they seemed to love all too well.
Chapter Thirty-seven
THEY SAT ON the banks of Menynder’s desolate pond. The old Tork was silent as Sten painted the bleak future facing the Altaics.
“You’re at one of those moments in history,” Sten said, “when disaster and opportunity are equal options. What happens next is your choice.”
“Not mine,” Menynder said. “Choices are made by people with hope. Right now, I have about as much hope for my people as I have of ever catching a clottin’ fish in this pond.” He gestured at the dead waters.
“Someone will replace Iskra,” Sten said. “Chances are, all you’ll do is trade one despot for another. Why leave it to chance?”
“Because no single person can successfully lead the Altaics,” Menynder said. “In case you haven’t noticed, none of us are very clottin’ easy to get along with.”
“I’ve noticed,” Sten said dryly.
“In fact, we’re rotten at it. We’d as soon as kill each other as breathe. So the top man is top killer. By definition . . . It’s the way our stupid system works. The biggest and baddest tribe kicks drakh out of everybody else as often as possible. Which is how it stays big and bad.”
“I was going to suggest something else,” Sten said. “I was going to suggest putting together some kind of coalition government.”
Menynder snorted. “Coalition? On the Altaics? Not clottin’ likely.”
“You almost put one together before,” Sten said flatly. Menynder’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Sten didn’t bother with being casual. “The infamous dinner with the old Khaqan,” he said. “I’ve never believed that story.”
“What do you believe?” Menynder’s voice was cold.
“I think the Khaqan was never invited at all,” Sten said. “He wouldn’t sit down with a bunch of Suzdal, Bogazi, and Torks. Much less eat with them.
“I think you . . . General Douw . . . Youtang and Diatry . . . had no idea he was even going to show up. In fact, I think you were all sitting together in that room trying to figure out how to get rid of him. And you are the only being in this cluster capable of hammering together a plot involving all representative species.”
Sten gave a chilly smile. “If that’s true,” he said, “it only follows that you are also the only being capable of putting together the kind of coalition government I have in mind.”
Menynder was silent. Sten’s praise also included accusation.
“What I can’t figure out,” Sten said, “was how you killed the old bastard.”
“I didn’t,” Menynder said. A beat. Then, “We didn’t.”
Sten shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.”
“You’d have a murderer as a ruler?”
Sten looked at him. “Name one who isn’t.”
Menynder thought awhile. Finally, he said, “What if I don’t go along with your idea? Will you just let it rest?”
Sten gave him a hard look. “Not this time.”
“So I really don’t have a choice,” Menynder said.
“Maybe not. But it’ll work a whole lot better if you believe you have a choice.”
“Then I’d better say yes, real clottin’ fast,” Menynder said.
“That’s the way I see it,” Sten said.
“Menynder again,” the Eternal Emperor snapped. “Why do you keep bringing up his name?”
“Because, sir, he’s the best being for the job,” Sten said.
The Eternal Emperor fish-eyed him. “Is that an ‘I told you so,’ Sten? Are you saying I screwed up by picking Professor Iskra?”
“It’s not my place to judge your decisions, sir.”
“Why do I keep hearing reprimands in your voice?” the Emperor said.
“Professor Iskra was the best choice from a poor lot, sir,” Mahoney broke in. “Anyone can see that. Which is why, sir, I think Sten’s idea now has merit.”
“Committees make rotten law,” the Emperor said. “They always have. They always will. Before you know it, every committee member has his own agenda, based on pure ego. Consensus becomes a joke. Paid for by power or money or lust or all of the above.”
The Emperor drained his drink. His holographic image gestured across millions of light-years for Mahoney and Sten to do the same. “Clot a bunch of rule by committee,” he said. But his mood had changed.
Glasses were emptied and refilled. Sten started to speak, but Mahoney tipped him the wink, so he buttoned his lip and let Mahoney grab the ball and run.
“I couldn’t agree with you more, sir,” Ian said. “Government by committee tends to be bloody useless. But, in this case, sir, might it not be a temporary solution? In fact, might it not eventually lead to a permanent one?”
“Explain,” the Emperor ordered.
“The act of putting together a coalition,” Mahoney said, “might also have the side benefit of calming things down. Putting a lid on the violence.”
“I can track that logic,” the Emperor said. “Go ahead.”
“So, what if we give the coalition a time frame, sir? Such and such must be accomplished in such and such time. After that, the coalition ceases to exist. Automatically.”
“Some kind of sundown law,” the Emperor said.
“Exactly,” Mahoney said. “The committee must be replaced by a more stable system by the date you mandate.”
The Emperor thought. Then he said, “All right. You win. Put it into motion.”
“Thank you, sir,” Sten said, hiding the relief in his voice. “One other thing . . .”
The Emperor waved this down. “Yeah. I know. You need some kind of dramatic gesture that says I am going along with this coalition idea.”
“Yessir,” Sten said.
“How about a royal audience? Get Menynder and the others to Prime. I’ll make a fuss over them in court. Bless their holy mission of peace, and all that rot. Send them back heroes. Will that do?”
“It’ll do just fine, sir,” Sten said.
The Emperor reached for the button that chopped the connection. He paused. “This had better work,” he snapped. Then his image was gone.
Sten turned to Mahoney. “Ian . . . I owe you real clottin’ big.”
Mahoney laughed. “Put it on the tab, lad. Put it on the tab.”
“This is Connee George reporting live from Soward Spaceport. The delegation from the Altaic Cluster is due to land at any moment, gentlebeings. And look at that welcoming party waiting for them on the landing pad, Tohm!”
“A big Prime World welcome it is, Connee. My goodness. What an historic moment! I’m sure our viewers are glued to their livies, waiting to get an exclusive KRCAX Prime look at this distinguished delegation. I wonder what’s going through our viewers’ minds, now, Connee.”
“Probably the same as me, Tohm. Which is — wow! What a story!”
“Indeed it is, Connee. Indeed it is . . . uh . . . Give us some of your thoughts on this . . . uh . . . historic . . . uh . . . moment, Connee.”
“Well, the official release from the Emperor’s press office tells us that on board are four beings bound for destiny. A destiny of peace. But, the release doesn’t tell us the whole story, Tohm.”
“No, it doesn’t . . . uh . . . does it?”
“Excuse me, Tohm, while I see if Captain P’wers can put us in a little closer. Can you get in over to the left of the landing pad, Gary?”
“I’ll try, Connee. But the traffic is pretty fierce and the tower is giving us a hard way to go.”
“Just doing their jobs, I’m sure, Gary. And what a job that is!”
“Right, Connee . . . Okay . . . Hold on . . . Geesh, where’d that lighter come from?”
“Probably our competition, Gary. Ha-ha. Forgive my gloat, Tohm, but I’m sure the viewers at home will understand.”
“Absolutely, Connee. They know that’s why we’re the number one news team on Prime. KRCAX Prime, Connee.”
“It sure is, Tohm. Now, look at that view!”
“Sure is impressive. Good work, Captain P’wers!”
“Thanks, Tohm. Clot! Get outta my sky you bas —”
“Watch it, Gary. Kiddies at home. Ha-ha . . . Now that we’ve got an exclusive view for our exclusive live coverage, Connee, why don’t you finish that rundown.”
“Right, Tohm. Well, in the wake of the tragic death of Professor Iskra, the Eternal Emperor has come up with what most authorities agree is a sheer masterstroke of a plan to solve the troubles of the vital Altaic Cluster.
“On board that ship are the beings who will lead their region into a new era of peace. Heading the distinguished delegation is one Sr. Menynder. And his fellow Torks are one thousand percent behind this effort, Tohm.”
“As they should be, Connee. Now, tell us about the . . . uh . . . others. A pretty distinguished group, themselves, right, Connee?”
“Right, Tohm . . . The Suzdal are lead by Youtang, one of the most able diplomats in the Altaic Cluster. On the Bogazi side is a being of equal importance, Diatry. Last, but certainly not least, is Sr. Gray — the leader of the all-important Jochi population.”
“Great rundown, Connee. Now, tell our viewers what festivities lie ahead for these . . . uh . . . distinguished . . . uh . . . delegates.”
“Well, you can be sure, Tohm, that Prime Worlders are not going to stint on our famous hospitality. First, there’s the big welcoming at Soward.”
“Excuse me, Connee, but I want to remind the viewers that we’ll be covering that live. As soon as the delegates land.”
“Go ahead, Tohm.”
“Uh . . . I just did, Connee. Ha-ha.”
“Ha-ha…Okay. After that, the Eternal Emperor has scheduled a big public celebration at the palace. Which we shall also be covering.”
“Exclusively, Connee. Live and exclusive.”
“Right, Tohm. Following the celebration, there’s a big royal ball set for tonight. Then-”
“Sorry to interrupt, Connee, but the tower reports the ship is coming in.”
“Don’t be sorry, Gary, you’re just doing your job. Ha-ha. Now, let’s see how close we can get. We’ll give our viewers a real KRCAX Prime look at things.”
“Tower’s gonna be mad.”
“Don’t worry, Captain P’wers. They’re all pretty good sports in the tower. Besides, they’re just —”
“I know, Connee . . . doing their jobs.”
Menynder peered at the ship’s vidscreen as the spaceport rushed up at them. He grudgingly admitted to himself that he was excited.
As excited as a kid, you dumb old Tork. But what harm is there? Let’s be honest. You’ve never been anywhere in your life. And now you’re actually going to get to see Prime World. Which has to be every being’s dream since . . . since clottin’ forever.
Menynder chuckled to himself and glanced over at the other members of his party. Damned if they weren’t as excited as he was. He noted that Youtang’s sharp grin had a silly pup tilt to it. And Diatry’s beak was wide open, looking at all the marvels of Prime. He couldn’t see the Jochi, Gray. But he heard him sniggering.
Knock it off, Menynder. There is serious business ahead. Yeah. Sure. But just for now, can’t I be a kid again? I mean, I gonna meet the clottin’ Eternal Emperor. At a big clottin’ for-real castle. Maybe even shake the Emperor’s hand. Damn. Damn. Damn. If Momma could see me now.
Menynder saw a gravlighter darting across the screen. The sign on the side read: KRCAX Prime. Some kind of livie news crew, he assumed. He idly wondered if the lighter captain might be cutting it a little too close. Nah. These were the best of the best, weren’t they? A by-God news crew from by-God Prime World. Absolute pros. He was sure.
