Sten and the Mutineers

by Allan Cole

  And Sten saw vapor puff at the little vessel’s port, and a small cylinder slipped out of it. It looked like a lifeboat.

  Another vapor puff, this time at the rear of the lifeboat and it started moving toward the Jo’l Cash.

  Then Shaklin returned. “There you go,” he said. “One son of a bitch heading your way.”

  Sten started to protest, but Shaklin kept going. “The thing is, Sten, there is only about two hours worth of oxygen in that thing. So, you’d better move fast if you want to pick Gregor up before he suffers a well-deserved, rather nasty death.”

  Now Sten understood. Kilgour’s wee bishop had played his cards well. If Sten chased Shaklin down, Gregor would die. If he rescued Gregor first, Shaklin would be long gone.

  Sten didn’t bother struggling for an answer. Mahoney had been quite clear. The Emperor wanted Gregor back. But he also wanted the ore train.

  Sten looked over the little string following the Cairn. “How many cars are you taking with you?” he asked.

  “Twenty nine,” Shaklin replied. “Enough to fund our church’s good works, but not so much that your boss will want to spend a lot of effort hunting us down.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” Sten said. “The Eternal Emperor isn’t known for his forgiving nature.”

  “Let’s put it this way, then,” Shaklin said. “He was willing to spend enough credits to fund the operations of a small planet to get the ore train back. And I’m doing it for a whole clot of a lot less.”

  Sten could see his point, but didn’t reply.

  “Well, I suppose you’d better get to it, Sten,” Shaklin said. “Assuming you still want Gregor alive.”

  Sten started to sigh, which turned into a laugh.

  “Good luck to you, Bishop,” he said.

  “And to you, Sten,” Shaklin replied.

  Then the image that was the Cairn began shiver. It grew thinner and thinner.

  And then simply vanished.

  Shaklin had made the jump.

  To where only the congregants of the Church of the Universal Location knew.

  “Better pick Gregor up,” Sten instructed Ida.

  He turned to Kilgour. “What do you think of your faithful bishop, now, Alex, old buddy, old pal?”

  Kilgour grinned. “For him, a wee bit of circumcision worked a charm,” Kilgour said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  GHOSTS

  Venatora was in an evil mood as she paced the gymnasium, watching her guardswomen go through their paces.

  They were her Zabanyans—the best of the best in the entire Himmenops Colony—and they were nearly naked, gloriously so. Heavily muscled but curvaceous. Their skin shone with perspiration.

  Trainers took them through one combat position to the next, working with Shaolin whips and canes, edged weapons, and bare fists and feet.

  The guardswomen worked with a will, their passions and devotion stoked by Venatora’s pheromonal fires.

  Normally, she took great joy at times like these. Working with her women, feeling their love and devotion and—yes—lust. It was normally a delicious feeling. But now she felt hollow and empty.

  And, if she were honest with herself, a bit like a fool.

  Sten had tricked her yet again. He’d pushed her into double think, then added yet another twist that left her empty-handed. This, after draining her treasury to fund the scheme.

  But then Marta was suddenly at her side, trying to get her attention.

  “Ma’am,” she said. “Ma’am.”

  Venatora nearly snapped, but none of this was Marta’s fault. The blame was on Venatora, no one else.

  “What is it, dear?” she asked.

  Marta flushed, then handed her a com unit.

  “An call, Ma’am,” she said.

  Venatora frowned. “A call? Who is it?”

  “It’s Bishop Shaklin, Ma’am,” Marta said. “He says it’s urgent.”

  And for the first time in many gloomy hours, Venatora smiled.

  “I suppose it is,” she said, taking the com unit. “Now, let’s see what our lovely holy man has to say for himself.”

  * * * *

  Sten perched on the bar stool, a shot of stregg and a narcobeer in front of him. It was a loud bar, a crowded bar—filled with Imperial sailors either going on leave, returning from leave, or in transit to another posting.

  Sten had a hand on the stool next to him, saving it for Alex, who had joined the long line waiting to get into the jakes.

  “You can usually hold it longer than that,” Sten teased before he left.”

  “What ken Ah say,” Kilgour bemoaned. “Me pucker string’s busted.” And off he went.

  At the present, Sten wasn’t all that pleased with the State of Things. Sure, Mahoney had said they’d pulled off a big success. There had been promotions all around—Sten was an actual captain, now. With promises of challenging postings.

  But, once again, Mahoney had put on things on a “temporary hold.” They might be needed for one more mission.

  Sten shrugged. That was life in the military. Ho hum. What else is new? Pointless to complain.

  He knew nothing of the fate of the mutineers. Probably all dead, or on their way to that state, he thought. They’d blown any chance for amnesty when they tried to sneak off to the enemy.

  Besides, Sten had his doubts that amnesty was ever really on, no matter what Mahoney said. If everything was supposed to be hush-to-the-nth degree—hush, then the only way to guarantee it was to make sure the mutineers never talked.

  As for Shaklin, God bless him—if there was a God, which Sten strongly doubted. He hoped he would someday find whatever Promised Land his people believed in.

  Location point? What was that all about?

  He lifted the shot glass to toss it back when he felt a round, soft haunch nestle into the bar stool next to him. With it came the scent of lemon and honey.

  Sten turned, thinking if the perfume looked as good the woman smelled and her thigh felt, then Alex was on his own. He could find another place at the bar.

  But before he could turn all the way, he felt a little thrill, heard a faint buzz, and a deliciously warm feeling stole over him.

  And then he found himself looking at the ebony beauty that was Venatora.

  Her lips moist. Eyes deep and dark and glistening. Breath like a heady wine.

  She said, “How’s my poor soldier boy? Got another hundred thousand credits to bet?”

  Sten was taken aback. What did she…then he saw that she was looking at him very much like he was looking at her.

  The flushed face. The moist, slightly parted lips. The glistening eyes. It was no act. They were all meant for him.

  At that moment the world vanished and all he could think or feel was Venatora.

  * * * *

  And Venatora thought, If only. If only. But what she said was, “I said that the next time I saw you, I’d kill you.” She shrugged. “I guess I lied.”

  She reached over and took his shotglass. Hoisted it.

  “Cheers,” she said.

  Sten lifted his narcobeer mug.

  “Cheers,” he replied.

  They touched glasses. Then drained them.

  “But next time…”

  Sten frowned. “Next time—what?”

  Instead of answering, Venatora leaned forward until their faces were mere centimeters apart. Her eyes were huge—melting. And he could feel a delicious heat rising up from her body. Enveloping him.

  He reached for her. Venatora let him touch one perfect ebony cheek. Her lush lips parted.

  And they kissed.

  * * * *

  It was a long kiss. Sten felt like he was submerged in a warm, dark river of sensations.

  He reached with his other hand, meaning to embrace
her.

  Venatora placed a gentle hand on his chest and firmly pushed him away.

  Sten tried to speak. But all he could manage was a strangled croak.

  Then, somehow he managed: “Venatora. We must—”

  Two fingers touched his lips, silencing him.

  And she said, “We shall, Sten. We shall.”

  She slid off the stool and stepped away.

  Sten tried to follow, but before he could get to his feet she was gone. Lost in the crowd.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned. It was Alex. His friend started to speak, then stopped and looked at him.

  “What’s happened, lad?” he asked. “You look like you’ve gone and seen a ghost.”

  “I think I just did,” Sten said.

  He turned back to the bar. God, he needed a drink.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  AN IMPERIAL DECREE

  When Mahoney entered the Eternal Emperor’s study, he didn’t quite know what to expect.

  The young Gurkha officer who’d come to fetch him gave no hint, but only stood, impatiently shifting from foot to foot as Mahoney climbed laboriously out of the sack.

  Mahoney checked the time. Snorted. It was the middle of the clottin’ night. Oh, well. This wouldn’t be the first time his boss and interrupted his sleep. And it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  He donned his uniform, thought about stalling long enough to grab a Go Cup of caff, but took a look at the long kukri dangling from the little Gurkha’s belt and decided against it. He had been told they could lop of a bullock’s head with one stroke. Mahoney added this to the fact that the young officer looked as just sleepy and cranky as Mahoney felt and decided this was probably not the best time to test the claim.

  The Emperor’s study was lit only by a large holoimager at the far side of the room—against a shelf of leather-bound books that only someone like his boss could afford.

  As he came closer, he could see that the image was that of the Possnet Sector and what a glorious, but frightening sight it was. Utter desolation amidst a shatter of flaming comets, dying suns and great fiery clouds of rock and ice and dust.

  In the center of all this chaos was a large area of relative calm. Objects maintaining sensible orbits. Blips of light showing vessels in transit. Flashing red blips where fighting ships and missiles were kept. And a dozen or more planetoids that had been turned into habitats. This was the Himmenops Colony, where Venatora’s women lived.

  “That’s her fortress,” he heard the Emperor say.

  Mahoney came closer and found the Emperor sprawled in a long leather couch set in front of the holoimager. He had a shot glass in one hand, which he drained as Mahoney approached.

  “Where, sir?” Mahoney asked. “I didn’t see where you were pointing.

  The Emperor gestured at a dirty gray planetoid at lower edge of the Colony. Mahoney caught it.

  “Ah,” he said.

  “Get yourself a drink, Ian,” the Emperor said.

  Mahoney nodded. He knew where to go and what to do, which included bringing a bottle back with him. He was guessing stregg.

  To his relief the Emperor nodded when he saw the bottle and held out his glass. At this hour, Mahoney’s innards weren’t ready for Scotch.

  Without being asked, he sat on the other end of the couch. Took a honk of his drink. Shudder. God, it was early! Another hit. No. Not yet. Downed the rest. Better now.

  Easing back, he refilled his glass and looked over at his boss, hoping he was semi up to his boss’ speed.

  He said, “I’m supposing she’s why you wanted me to have young Sten hang around the Possnet Sector a little longer.”

  “You supposed right, Ian,” the Emperor said. “He’s going to have to kill her for me.”

  “Yessir,” Mahoney said. He suppressed a sigh. There had been so much killing of late.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Ian,” the Emperor said. “And I don’t like it, either.”

  “I just wish we had more discretion,” Mahoney said. “Some of Gregor’s crew were just kids. Didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” the Emperor said.

  “And then there’s Gregor—who caused the whole thing,” Mahoney added. “And his old man who took it right up to Treason’s door and blasted on through it.”

  “Yep. Looks like they’re getting away with everything, doesn’t it?” the Emperor said.

  “Sometimes it seems like there’s no justice to be had,” Mahoney said.

  “I’m with you, brother,” the Emperor said.

  He emptied his shot glass and held it out for more. Mahoney complied, not forgetting himself. The fiery Bhor drink had a way settling the world about you. No matter how crazy it was.

  “So, instead of putting father and son in front of a firing squad,” Mahoney said, “we make them both emissaries to the Tahn. Month or so from now they’ll be swilling champagne and noshing finger sandwiches in the finest hotel rooms on Heath.”

  The Emperor snorted. “You ever been to Heath, Ian?”

  Mahoney allowed that he hadn’t.

  “The Tahn think they are the Spartans reborn,” the Emperor said. “Or, closer still, the ancient Samurai. There are no luxuries, much less champagne and finger sandwiches, anywhere near their capital city.”

  Mahoney made a rude noise. “Wichman’s a billionaire,” he said. “Probably build one of his resorts on Heath just for himself.”

  “Wouldn’t doubt it,” the Emperor said.

  Mahoney thought on it for minute or two. Then he said, “I suppose you’ll want Sten to kill them too,” he said.

  “You astound me, Ian,” the Emperor said. “Once again, you have supposed correctly.”

  Mahoney started to chug his stregg, then paused.

  “Uh, one other suppose, boss?”

  “You have the floor,” the Emperor said.

  “I’m supposing you want them all gone at the same time. In the same operation. Wichman. Gregor. And Venatora.”

  “That would be the best way to go,” the Emperor said. He paused, then added, “Maybe with fewer casualties this time around. If Sten can manage it, that is. Bloody trails draw suspicious eyes.”

  “And we don’t want the Tahn to catch on, right boss?” Mahoney said.

  “That would be my fondest hope,” the Emperor said. “But, if he can’t, he can’t. Don’t want to make the job too impossible for him.”

  “So, killing people is fine, just not too many if he can help it. Are those to be my orders, sir?”

  “Exactly so,” the Emperor said. “Gregor and his old man shouldn’t be too hard a task. Relatively speaking. Sheer clotting greed will no doubt be the end of them.”

  “I feel bad about the woman,” Mahoney said. “I was starting to grow fond of her.”

  “So is Sten,” the Emperor said. “At least, that’s what Rykor said.”

  “It’s a pity she has to die,” Ian said. “To cut all that talent and beauty short.”

  “So it is, Ian,” the Emperor said. “So it is.”

  He knocked back his stregg, took a long breath, then added: “Look at it this way, Ian. The moment she was born, she was old enough to die.”

  “Sure, boss,” Mahoney said. “Sure.”

  But what he thought was: Except for you, boss. Except for you.

  And he poured them both another drink.

  THE END

  *

  Watch for the next Sten adventure,

  STEN AND THE PIRATE QUEEN

  coming soon!

 

 

 
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