The Wolf Worlds

by Chris Bunch

  "It would appear." Parral said, relieved at finally being able to go through the rigamarole, "that both challenged party and challenger are unable to settle their differences except by blood. Am I correct?"

  Sten nodded, as did Trumbo as the two men walked toward each other, each gauging his opponent.

  "Then blood is the argument," Parral intoned, "and by blood it shall be settled." He bowed twice and backed off the floor.

  Trumbo went on guard. At least he wasn't holding his poignard like an icepick. Instead he had his left hand flattened out in front of him, fisted into a guard and held chest-high. His poignard was held low, pommel lightly resting on his left hip. He crab-walked toward Sten.

  Sten stood nearly full-on, with right hand, fingers curled, held forward, waist high. His poignard was held slightly to the rear and slightly lower than his right hand.

  Sten, too, began crab-walking, trying to move to Trumbo's offside. Come on in, friend, he thought, eyes carefully wide open. Come on. A bit closer. And who trained you, clot? as Trumbo's eyes narrowed and predictably he lunged, going for Sten's chest.

  But Sten wasn't there to meet the blade. He sidestepped and snapped his right palm into Trumbo's temple. The man staggered back, then recovered.

  And came in again. And Sten's knife flicked out, flashing under Trumbo's guardhand, into the flesh of his knifewrist. Blood started dripping slowly as Sten went back on guard.

  Trumbo was becoming canny. First thing in a knifefight is try for the cheap kill. But if you're facing an experienced man, the only way of winning is to bleed your opponent to death.

  And so he next tried an underhand slash, coming straight up for Sten's knifehand. Sten easily parried the stroke, arm-blocked the blade, and stepped close inside Trumbo's guard. The razor tip of his poignard sliced Trumbo's forehead open.

  And Sten doubled back, ready position, moving, moving, shuttling from side to side. Trumbo closed in again and… oh, clottin' amateur… tried the old knife-flip, tossing the knife from his right to his left hand. The maneuver should've thrown Sten off-guard, and Trumbo would have continued his lunge, driving the poignard deep into Sten's gut.

  But somewhere between Trumbo's right and left hand was Sten's snap-kicked foot, and the poignard pirouetted high into the air, gleaming blade flashing reflection, and Sten reversed his grip on the poignard and smashed the pommel into Trumbo's chin.

  Trumbo thudded back, stunned. Sten waited for movement, then flipped his own poignard into the air. It thunked, point-first, into the dance floor. The fight was over.

  Sten bowed to Parral, who was again looking surprised, and started back toward…

  "No!" was the scream from what Sten thought/hoped was Sofia, and he was crouched, head-down, duck-spinning as Trumbo came off the floor, grabbing Sten's poignard and driving it forward, and Sten's fingers scooped, his own knife came out of his arm and he overhanded a slash from his knee.

  His knife blade hit the poignard's keen steel and cut through it like cheese.

  Trumbo's eyes gaped at the impossible and then Sten back-rolled and was on his feet, Trumbo still stumbling forward as Sten sidestepped, whirled, and slashed again.

  The knife neatly parted Trumbo's skin, ribcage, heart, and lungs before Sten could pull it free. The body squished messily to the floor.

  Sten sucked in air that tasted particularly sweet and decided he'd try another bow to Parral.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  "YOU DISAPPOINT ME, Colonel," Parral said gently.

  "Ah?" Sten questioned.

  "I thought all soldiers were hard drinkers. Poets. Men, I believe someone wrote, who have an appointment with death."

  Sten sloshed the still-untouched pool of cognac in the snifter and smiled slightly.

  "Most soldiers I've known," he observed dryly, "would rather help someone else make that appointment."

  Parrel's glass was also full.

  The two men sat in Parrel's art-encrusted library. It was hours later, and the fete had broken up with excited buzzings and laughter. Parral had let Alex and Sten freshen and change in his chambers and then had wanted to talk to Sten alone.

  Reluctantly Alex, Kurshayne, Ffillips. and Vosberh had left the mansion. After all, Sten had pointed out reasonably. I'm in no particular danger. No one except an absolute drakh-brain would kill his mercenary captain before the war's won.

  "I find you fascinating, Colonel," Parral observed, touching his glass to his lips. "First, we in the Lupus Cluster are… somewhat isolated from the mainstream of Imperial culture. Second, none of us have had the advantage of dealing with a professional soldier. By the way, aren't you rather… young to have held your present office?"

  "Bloody wars bring fast promotions," Sten said.

  "Of course."

  "The reason I asked you to stay behind is, of course, primarily personally to compliment your prowess as a warrior… and to gain a better knowledge of what you and your people intend."

  "We intend winning a war for you and for the Prophet Theodomir," Sten said, being deliberately obtuse.

  "No war lasts forever."

  "Of course not."

  "You assume victory, then?"

  "Yes."

  "And after that victory?"

  "After we win," Sten said, "we collect our pay and look for another war."

  "A rootless existence… Perhaps… Perhaps," Parral continued, staring intently into his snifter, "you and your men might find additional employment here."

  "In what capacity?"

  "Do you not find it odd that we have two cultures, both very similar, at each other's throats? Do you not find it odd that both of these cultures espouse a religious faith that you— a sophisticated man of the Galaxy—must find somewhat archaic?"

  "I have learned never to question the beliefs of my clients."

  "Perhaps you should, Sten. I know little of mercenaries, I admit. But what little my studies produce is that those who survived to die without their swords in hand became… shall we say, politically active?"

  Parral waited for Sten's comment. None came.

  "A man of your obvious capabilities…particularly a man who could develop, let us say, personal interests in his clients, might find it more profitable to linger on after his contract was fulfilled, might he not?"

  Sten stood and walked to one wall, and idly touched a gouache of a merchant's tools—microcomputer, money converter, beam scales, and a projectile weapon—that hung on the wall, then turned back to Parral.

  "I gather," he said, "that the key to success as a merchant is an ability to fence with words. Unfortunately, I have none of that. I would assume, Seigneur Parral, that what you are asking is that, after we destroy the Jannisars, you would wish us to remain on, with a contract to remove Theodomir."

  Parral managed to look shocked. "I would never suggest such a thing."

  "No. You wouldn't," Sten agreed.

  "This evening has run extremely late, Colonel. Perhaps we should continue the discussion at a later date. Perhaps after more data have become available to you."

  Sten bowed, set his full glass down on a bookcase, and walked to the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  STEN WALKED DOWN the steps and yawned broadly at Nebta's setting moon. A very long night, Sten, he thought to himself. And you still have four hours to go until you make contact.

  "You look tired, Colonel," came the silken voice from the shadows.

  Kill a man, love a woman, Sten hoped. It could turn out to be an interesting evening. He nodded to Sofia as she rose from her seat on the balustrade.

  Not to mention interesting things like my dawn meeting yet to come, not to mention Parrel's wanting me to sell out the Prophet, not to mention this incredible woman who I do not believe wants to make love to me because of the cut of my hair.

  And I will momentarily ignore the fact that my gonads are suggesting it's perfectly proper to sell out Emperor, mercenaries, Theodomir, and Uncle Tom Dooley for this woman. He smiled back at So
fia.

  "You provided quite an entertainment," Sofia said.

  "Not my idea of an enjoyable evening."

  "After they removed your opponents, I looked for you."

  "Thought it best to leave, Sofia. I do not think it's proper to dance with a woman with blood up to your elbows."

  Sofia was surprised. The script was not going as it should.

  "The only thing I could be sorry about," Sten improvised, "is that my late friends intervened before I could tell you how lovely you are."

  Sofia brightened. Things might proceed. And Sten suppressed an urge to laugh. MANTIS SECTION/COVERT OPERATIONS: Instruction Order Something. Clause I Forget, Paragraph Who Remembers: "When approached on a sexual level, covert operators should remember that they have not necessarily been found attractive beyond the moon and the stars but rather that the person making the approach is allied with the opposition and attempting to subvert, to maneuver into a life-threatening situation, or to provide the opposition with blackmail material. In any event, until a life-threatening situation occurs, it is recommended that operatives pretend to be seducible. Interesting intelligence has been produced in such situations."

  And so Sten stepped very close to Sofia, lowered his voice, and gently touched a finger to her cheek.

  "Perhaps we might walk. Perhaps I might have a chance to tell you what I wasn't able to."

  Sofia's smile vanished. Then it returned to her face. Very interesting. The woman is an amateur, Sten concluded. Parral, you should never have sent your little sister to do a whore's work.

  Then, arm in arm, the two walked down the steps into Parrel's sprawling garden.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  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/HCl 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. 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.