Death Match, page 9
part #3 of Sten Omnibus Series
He looked around at the bomb craters. “Ouch. I guess they really went at it.”
The man turned back. “You are Ambassador Sten, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
Sten waited.
“Oh. Forgive me. The heat’s getting to my old Tork head. I’m Menynder. About the only one you’ll find around here to speak for my people.”
He wiped a sweaty hand on damp clothing and with a grimace held out his hand.
Sten shook. Then he pointed around at the signs of destruction. “What happened?”
Menynder sighed. “I hate to be the one to break the news, but . . . the Khaqan is dead.”
Sten had to yank fast into his diplomatic bag of tricks to turn the gape that was growing onto his face into professional surprise.
“Clottin’ what?” Kilgour said. “An’ who kill’t ‘th’ ol’-”
“Natural causes,” Menynder assured them. He eased his collar away from his neck. “I was there myself. Saw the whole thing.
“It was a terrible experience. We were all just about to sit down to . . . dinner, and the Khaqan keeled over on the table. Dead. Just like that.” He snapped his lingers.
“There was an autopsy?” Sten asked coolly.
“Lord, did we have an autopsy,” Menynder said. “Nobody wanted to . . . I mean, under the circumstances, we thought it wise. Two teams worked on him. And we really pored over those reports. Just to make double clottin’ sure.” He fingered the collar again. “It was natural causes all right.”
“When is the funeral?” Sten asked. This had torn the whole thing. The Emperor would not be pleased.
“Uh . . . kind of hard to say. You see, we all agreed to agree until the final coroner’s report. Things sort of fell apart before we got to talking about a funeral.” Menynder indicated the bomb craters. “If you see what I mean.”
Sten did.
“I don’t want to point fingers,” Menynder said, “but the Jochians started it. Squabbling among themselves over who was to be the new Khaqan. The rest of us weren’t consulted. Although we told them plainly, before the shooting, that we had some ideas of our own.”
“Naturally,” Sten said.
“Anyway, when the Jochians ran out of hot words, they started fighting. We all hunkered down. Then a stray shell landed right in the middle of a Tork neighborhood. It was . . . pretty bad. My home world thought it best to send a militia.”
“Oh?” Sten said.
“Just to protect my people. Not to get into anything with the Jochians.”
“How did that work out?”
“Not well.” Menynder sighed. “I didn’t think it would. There have been some . . . ahem . . . sharp exchanges, if you know what I mean.”
Sten could see just fine.
“Of course, once our militia showed up, well the Bogazi and the Suzdal militias decided their folks needed protecting, too.”
“I figured that,” Sten said. It was getting worse and worse.
“Okay, you’ve got the picture. Now, I’ve got some real bad news for you,” Menynder said, checking his timepiece and looking nervously around the spaceport.
“Och, so thae’s th’ braw news, i’ it?” Kilgour growled, liking it even less than Sten, if that was possible.
“See, everyone’s been glued to the emergency bands, praying for the cavalry to show up. We all heard your broadcasts. Folks probably overloaded the Jane’s fiche, checking out the Victory.” He pointed at the sleek craft behind Sten that was the Emperor’s ship. “Personally, I already knew. Pride myself in keeping up at my old trade. But I had only vaguely heard of you.” He nodded at Sten.
Sten cursed under his breath, remembering the com officer saying he had tried everything.
“So . . . I’m the cavalry,” Sten said.
“You got it, Ambassador,” Menynder said. “I checked the Imperial Who’s Who. Pretty impressive. Hero soldier. Hero diplomat. The Eternal Emperor’s main man. At least, that’s how it’s playing on Jochi.”
Sten could imagine. This was not good. Definitely not how he had planned this miserable day.
“Everybody’s on the way now,” Menynder said. “I hustled like clot to beat them. And they’re going to want your ear. They’ll kick reptile snot out of each other trying to rip it off your corpse, if they have to.”
Menynder let this sink in a second before going on. “See, whoever has you, is top dog.” He winced. “Gotta watch myself. Some of my best friends are Suzdals.”
“I assume you had some sort of a plan,” Sten said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
“I sure did,” Menynder said. “Although I might have trouble convincing you of my good intentions.”
“Ah. I see,” Sten said. “You were thinking we could go have a nice quiet word in some safe Tork neighborhood. Am I right?”
Menynder grinned. “What the clot? It was worth a try. If not, maybe you better get out of here. Fast.”
Sten ignored this. Thinking. He got a glimmer.
“How far to the embassy?” Neutral turf. No one would dare fire on or even near the Emperor’s embassy.
“Clear across town,” Menynder said. “You’d never make it.”
There was a grind and heavy clank of tracks. Sten jolted up to see an armored ground vehicle push its way through rubble. A small flag flew from a standard next to the tank’s chain guns. Sten didn’t have to ask. It was Jochian.
There was a cry from the other side of the field. Sten turned to see Cind running like the wind, her Bhor scouts right behind her. She was yelling some kind of warning and gesturing at a low building behind her.
Mortar dust suddenly sprayed out from the building. The entire front collapsed. Another track emerged under a rain of metal and brickwork. The track was also armored. It had chain guns and flew a flag — Jochian, as well.
Cind panted up to Sten. “And that’s not all,” she said, pointing at the track. “There’s more of them. Plus soldiers. And from the sound of things, a great big mob on its way.”
The tracks’ main gun turrets suddenly swung around. They had spotted each other. Simultaneously, their guns opened up, hurling spent uranium AP shells.
Admiral Mason’s voice crackled over the Victory’s outside speakers. “I suggest we leave, Ambassador,” he said.
Sten agreed. He turned to Menynder. “You better make yourself scarce,” he said. “Good luck.”
“We’re going to need a lot more than luck,” Menynder said.
And he puffed away for cover. Sten and his group sprinted to the ship and thundered up the ramp.
Behind them, first one track exploded, then the other. A mortar round slammed in. More tracks appeared. Guns blazing.
Braced against the gees exerted by the Victory’s fast takeoff, Sten watched the battle scene shrink away from him on the bridge’s main screen.
Some welcome, he thought. Now, how the clot was he going to unravel this muck-up?
Sten huddled with Mason in the admiral’s cabin, trying to figure out what to do next. As they worried over several possibilities — ranging from poor to plain stupid — the reports kept flooding in. Jochi was no longer silent.
Sten’s eyes swept over a sheaf of transcriptions the com officer had handed to him. “They’ve gone mad,” he summarized. “Everybody’s calling everybody else all kinds of obscenities. Prodding the other guy to come out and fight like beings.” He read on, then gave a low whistle and lifted his eyes. “Which they are doing.” He tapped one report. “A Jochi militia caught some Torks in a building. They wouldn’t come out to be slaughtered. So the Jochians burned it around their ears.”
“Wonderful,” Mason said. “Plus we have so many riots going on that the algo computer has scorched its wires running progs on how fast this thing can spread.” He snorted. “So much for diplomacy. Proves my own private theories on the behavior of the average citizen. The only thing any of them understand is a good shot up alongside the head.”
“I don’t think that would work here,” Sten said dryly. “The Emperor wants their hearts and minds. Their scalps won’t do him a clottin’ bit of good.”
“Still . . .” Mason said.
“I know,” Sten said. “With these folks it’s damned tempting. Unfortunately, what’s happening right now was triggered by our arrival.”
“I’m not taking the blame for this,” Mason said, a little hotly.
Sten sighed. “No one’s asking you to, Admiral. It’s my ass the Emperor will want on toast. Although, if it gets much worse, he may not be satisfied with just mine.”
Mason opened his mouth to retort. Sten raised his hand, silencing him. He’d had a sudden thought. “My father used to tell me about this beast,” Sten said. “A mule, I think he called it. It was a sport. A mean and stubborn sport. Said the only way to get its attention was to hit it with a board, first.”
“I already suggested something along those lines,” Mason said.
“Yeah. I know. But for these beings, a hit on the head may be too subtle . . . Okay. Try this idea on for size . . .”
Mason leaned closer as Sten sketched in the broad outlines of his plan.
The Jochi mob was pressing close on the Bogazi barricade, showering rocks, debris, and taunts on the small group of neighborhood defenders. The shops on either side of the broad main street of Rurik were blank eyes of shattered glass. Many of them were gouting flames.
Overhead, the midday sky was black with threatening storms. Heavy clouds jostled one another, triggering thick blue arcs of electrical fire.
A tall Jochian rushed the heap of furniture and scrap timber that made up the barricade. He hurled a grenade, turned, and ran for safety.
A burst of fire cut him down. At the same instant, the grenade went off. The explosion shrapneled through the Bogazi. There were screams of pain and anger.
A big female Bogazi hurtled through the gap cut by the grenade. Spurs jutting out from her forearms, she snagged two Jochians. She brought the big hammer beak down once. Twice. Skulls cracked like pollution-thinned eggshells.
She dropped the corpses on the ground and turned for another victim. A heavy bar swung against her throat. The Bogazi flopped beside the two corpses.
More Bogazi came pouring out. In a moment, the main street’s storm drains would be awash in blood.
There was a sudden banshee howl from overhead. A heavy wind blasted along the street, battering the crowd with dust and small debris. The mob stopped in midriot — and gaped upward.
The gleaming white body of the Victory swept down the boulevard toward them. Not high in the sky, but just below the roofs of the high-rise buildings that lined the street, a looming bulk never meant for the heart of a city.
Close to the barricades the howl grew louder, and the warship went into a hover on McLean Drive, close enough for the mob to get a good long look at the Imperial emblem on its sides.
This was the Imperial presence — mailed fist and looming overlord in one. “My God, would you look at that,” a Jochi chemical worker breathed. “Maybe now, justice we get,” a Bogazi said.
“Wait up! What’s he doing?” another awe-stricken Jochian said, absently tugging at a Bogazi’s sleeve.
The Victory settled still closer, until it was no more than twenty meters overhead. The crowd huddled under the dark cloud of its body. Engines stirred, then the ship slowly began to move forward, straight down the broad avenue.
The two sides of the conflict gaped after it for a moment or two. Then they turned to stare at one another. Makeshift weapons tumbled to the ground from hands and grasping limbs.
Above them, the black sky was suddenly bright blue. Sun painted lacy clouds a multitude of colors. The air was fresh and tasted of spring.
“We’ve been saved,” a Jochian said.
“I knew the Emperor wouldn’t abandon us,” said another.
Someone shouted from a rooftop: “The ship’s heading for the Imperial embassy.”
The spell broke and the mob, laughing and shouting in relief, rushed after the ship.
The Victory sailed slowly along just above the pavement. Below it, the street was suddenly jammed from side to side with a sea of beings. Bogazi and Jochians and Suzdal and Torks, all mingled together, joking and slapping one another on the back.
Thousands of other beings leaned from the windows of the tall buildings, cheering the Victory and its majestic flight.
All over Jochi — in fact, all over the entire cluster — beings stopped what they were doing and rushed to witness the arrival of the Emperor’s man.
By the time the ship reached the Imperial embassy, there were literally millions of beings surrounding its broad, gated grounds. And there were billions more watching on their livies.
All hostilities had ceased.
Inside the Victory, Sten quick-brushed his clothes. Cind ran her fingers through his hair, pushing strands into place.
Alex looked at a livie screen and the enormous crowd waiting outside. “You’re a bleedin’ Pied Piper, young Sten,” he said.
“Don’t say that,” Sten said. “He got paid off in rats. Or house apes, and I don’t know which is worse.”
A crew member tickled the port controls. The port swung open. Sten felt the fresh breeze on his face. He heard the thump of the ramp settling to the ground.
“Okay,” he said. “Now let the bastards come to me.” He stepped out into a torrent of cheers.
BOOK TWO
CAT’S CLAW
Chapter Nine
“I’VE NEVER BEEN one to kill the messenger bearing bad news,” the Eternal Emperor said.
“Yessir,” Sten said.
“In this case, however,” the Emperor continued, “it’s a good thing I’ve known you such a long time.”
“Yessir,” Sten said.
“You get the point that I am not pleased?”
“I do, Your Majesty,” Sten said. “Absolutely . . . sir.”
The holo image of the Emperor wavered as Sten’s boss crossed to the antique drinks tray in his study and poured himself two fingers of Scotch.
“You have something to drink there?” the Emperor asked a bit absently.
“Yessir,” Sten said. “I thought it best to haul along my own supplies.”
He took the hint, hooked a bottle of Scotch off the desk of the previous ambassador, and poured himself a drink.
The Emperor mock-toasted: “I’d say confusion to my enemies — but if they get any more confused we’ll all go into the drakh head first.”
He drank anyway. Sten followed suit.
“You know there’s no way I can keep this from getting out?” the Emperor said. Sten didn’t answer. It had not really been a question.
“There are already reports in the media hinting at a building crisis in the Altaics. Wait’ll they find out how bad things really are.” The Emperor refilled his glass, thinking. “What really hurts is I’ve got some crucial agreements in the works. Agreements hinging on strong confidence in the Empire. The slightest sign of a hole in the structure I’ve rebuilt is going to put those agreements into decaying orbits. And . . . when one fails . . . then a lot of other things come into doubt.”
Sten sighed. “I wish there were some way I could paint a more hopeful picture, Your Majesty,” he said. “But this is probably the stickiest assignment I’ve ever handled for you. And it’s not really begun.”
“I’m sensible of that, Sten,” the Emperor said. “The Khaqan just picked a lousy time to die.” He sipped his drink. “You are sure someone didn’t help him along?”
“I’ve gone over all the reports,” Sten said. “And it’s pretty clear how and why he died. It was an aneurysm. An artery blew a cork. The only thing I ‘m not sure of is the circumstances.”
Sten was thinking of Menynder’s claim about a dinner party honoring the Khaqan. “Personally, I don’t think it matters that much. If there was some kind of conspiracy in the works . . . well, from what I’ve seen it wouldn’t be all that unusual.”
“I agree,” the Emperor said. “In fact, if there was no sign of a conspiracy, I’d be damned suspicious. Fine. Let’s leave the circumstances alone — for the time being.”
“Yessir,” Sten said.
“What we have to do,” the Emperor said, “is get this thing under control fast. If the whole Empire is going to be watching, I don’t want anyone to think I’m going to be less than firm about this. There are going to be some who’ll say I screwed up. There are going to be others who’ll say I’ve lost my moves . . . since I got back. And then there’ll be those who are just hoping I’ve gotten soft so they can stir up trouble. So, with that in mind, I want to set the tone of how to handle things right from the start . . .
“Which is this: If anybody we don’t like makes a move, smack him down. We install a new government. Immediately. With my full support. Once this is done, there will be no objections. Not in my earshot, anyway. And, if there are loud or violent quarrels with my decision in the Altaics, then I want them silenced. Fast. With whatever it takes. I will suffer no humiliation in this!” Slam went the Emperor’s hand on his desk. Even through the holo speakers it sounded like a shot.
Abruptly the Emperor stopped steaming and gave Sten a thin, unfelt smile. “I want to be damned sure both my enemies and my friends know I will not be fooled with.”
“Yessir. I . . . agree, sir . . .”
“Do I hear a silent ‘but’ in your agreement?”
“Not with your overall point, Your Majesty. Not at all. This is no time to show hesitancy. However, when you briefed me on this place, you weren’t exaggerating about how contrary these people are. Even if we use a big hammer to nail this together, I think we’ll still need to be real careful how it goes together.”
Sten hesitated, trying to read the Emperor’s face. It was blank. But not necessarily angry blank.
“Go ahead,” the Emperor said.
“As you know, sir, I’ve talked to all the leaders — at least the beings who say they are the leaders. Until I get some better analyses, based on immediate HUMINT, I’ll just trust in my instincts: This thing can split a lot more than four ways. Clot, it already has. When I arrived two Jochi factions were firing on each other at the spaceport.”
