The Wolf Worlds

by Chris Bunch

  "I meant it as an invitation to a friend," Mathias said, taken somewhat aback. Then he took Sten by the arm and guided him to the tiny gym. "We have a great deal to discuss." Sten raised an eyebrow.

  Some changes had been made in the tiny gym's office. A huge, semiheroic picture of Mathias had been added, and an equally large photo of the officers of the Companions —Mathias in the center. And—Sten noticed, a very small portrait of Mathias' father, Theodomir. A large bulletin board had been added, and it was crammed with very military advice, announcements, and orders from Mathias.

  You've been a busy boy, Sten thought. I taught you well. He forced a smile as Mathias poured himself a goblet of water and nodded Sten toward a decanter of wine. Sten ignored the wine, reached for the water, and filled a cup. He raised it in toast to Mathias. "To victory," he said, and gulped the water down.

  Mathias returned the toast. '

  "To victory," he said, sipping at his water. He sat, nodding for Sten to relax as well. Sten sat and waited, something he was becoming very good at.

  "You have changed the history of this cluster," Mathias finally said.

  "With some help." Sten nodded to Mathias.

  Mathias looked at Sten across the desk, struggling with something. Suddenly he rose and began pacing the room. "I look around me," he said, "and everywhere I see evil. I see hypocrisy. I see empty mouthings of faith."

  Sten knew Mathias was speaking of his father and kept silent. Mathias whirled on Sten. "I—we can change that."

  "I'm sure you can," Sten said. "Someday you'll be Prophet. When your father dies."

  Mathias gave Sten a look that was almost begging. "It's still all wrong right now," he said. "The war isn't over."

  "I don't know what you mean," Sten said. "As far as I am concerned—and apparently the Eternal Emperor as well — it's over."

  He pushed through Mathias' halting objection. "Be patient," he advised. "In a few years—twenty or thirty at the most— you'll inherit this whole thing." Sten waved his hand around the gym, but he meant the entire Lupus Cluster. "Wait until you have the power to change it."

  "But the unbelievers—" Mathias blurted out, and then caught himself. Swiftly he changed the subject.

  "What are you going to do next, Colonel?"

  Sten shrugged. "Find somebody else to hire me." What will you do now, Lieutenant? Get your tail back to something resembling civilization where you don't have to check your compartment for bugs or assassins before you pass out every night. Get back in uniform. Go on a roaring drunk with my Mantis people. Pat a tiger or two. Listen to Doc's latest hatred for everything, Ida's schemes to buy up a galaxy, and maybe see if Bet's got the wanderlust out of her.

  Suddenly Sten realized he was very, very tired and very glad the assignment was just about over. "Mercenaries drift a lot," he said, to cover his silence.

  Mathias took a breath and then said, "Join me." He sat down quickly, turning his eyes away but waiting for Sten's answer.

  Sten took a moment, as if considering. "There's nothing to join."

  "The Companions," Mathias pled. "Join the Companions. I know that deep inside, you are as religious a man as we are. I'll give you rank. I'll give you money. I'll—"

  Sten raised a hand to stop him. "I'm a mercenary, Mathias. Understand that. And a mercenary requires wars. And I've learned as a mercenary it is best to get out of your employer's way when the war is over."

  Sten grabbed the wine and poured himself a drink. He sipped and waited again.

  "But it isn't over," Mathias said.

  Sten just looked at him. He drank the rest of his wine and rose. "Yes, it is. Take my advice. Let it be. This cluster is good for a thousand years of peace. When you become Prophet you—and your descendants—can do as you like."

  He patted Mathias on the shoulder, a young man playing father to another youth. "And if it doesn't work out then," he promised, "let me know. And I'll be yours."

  Sten walked from the room.

  Very well, Mathias thought. I am sorry. So sorry for what I am going to have to do.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  THEODOMIR HAD JUST finished the last prayer of the Joining. He rushed down the aisle, not even waiting for his aides or guards. Theodomir needed a soothing drink in the worst way. He glanced at the people still in their pews and laughed to himself. Just sheep, he thought, and boomed through the temple doors.

  Theodomir clacked down the steps, feeling a little lightheaded. With Parral gone, he was the Man in the Lupus Cluster. Sanctioned, even, by the Eternal Emperor. There was nothing he could not do. His merest suggestion was law over a thousand light-years.

  But what he wanted just then, most of all, was a drink. And then he would think about the evening's entertainment. Who would he choose? he thought. Which child would he take to his bed? The boy dancer? Or the girl singer?

  Both, he decided.

  And then his son loomed up in front of him. Theodomir gave him a quick smile and started to push by.

  "Father," Mathias said.

  Theodomir paused on the steps, impatiently wondering what his dolt of a son wanted.

  He started back as the young man drew a dagger. And, for the first time, Theodomir realized that Mathias was only one of a half-dozen men, all dressed in the blood-red uniforms of the Companions.

  "Can't it wait?" he complained, "I'm busy." Oddly enough, he knew what the dagger was for. But it was like a dream. Somehow he couldn't interfere.

  Then he noticed that the other men also had unsheathed their daggers.

  Theodomir screamed as his son plunged the dagger into his chest. And screamed and screamed and screamed as the others took turns stabbing knives into every available area of flesh.

  Theodomir's guards thundered up, weapons out, looking wildly at Mathias and his Companions. Mathias looked down at his father. A final moan, a shudder, and the Prophet was dead.

  "He is dead," Mathias informed his father's personal guard.

  A moment's hesitation, and then there was a clatter as the men dropped their weapons and began to cheer.

  Mathias was the True Prophet.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  ANOTHER VAGUE MANTIS law: When in Doubt, Give Yourself an Escape Hatch.

  Alex had set up the escape hatch immediately after Sten had returned from his meeting in the woods with Mathias. He had no prog but knew something was about to come down.

  Since they were quartered in the Temple itself, the back door had consisted of two strands of granite-dyed climbing thread, hung out one window.

  Inside a nearby urn were the figure-8 descenders and locking caribiniers necessary to get down that thread in a hurry. Both Sten and Alex had taken to wearing swiss-seat harness under their uniforms, hoping that when it hit the turbines they would be long gone off world.

  They were wrong but they were ready .

  So. when the howling/mourning for Theodomir started, Sten and Alex were in motion. The first twenty ambitious Companions who'd come hurtling through the door had run into one of Alex's less pleasant surprises.

  He'd hand-cast directional vee-mines, hooked them to sensors, and mounted them on either side of the portal. They made a significant mess, enough of a mess to delay the next wave of Companions.

  The pause allowed Alex and Sten to hook the descenders onto the thread and back out the window. Neither of them found great exit lines as they pushed off, straight down the vertical wall of the Temple.

  No one but a fool springs ten or twenty meters per leap on a long rappel—no one but a fool or an outgunned Mantis soldier.

  They hit the ground at the bottom, Sten slamming down the last fifteen meters and thudding to safety with an oof. Then they shed their harness and were running.

  "C'mon, lad," Alex urged. "W'nae hae truck wi' thae fruit-bars nae more."

  And then they were out the gates of the Temple and running toward the town below, swinging into the backstreets toward Sanctus' landing field, where, Sten desperately hoped, Otho had the li
ghter waiting.

  "Dinna worry," Alex flung back cheerily. "A' w' hae t'do is get away frae th' fanatics, gie oursel's offworld, an' then nae worries save th' wrath ae Mahoney an' th' Eternal Emp'ror."

  And then a platoon of Companions was running down the alley. They spotted the two men and ran forward. Alex went down on one knee, weapon coming out of its pouch, and double-handed autofire into the men.

  Then they were back up, running into a side passageway and Sten thinking, If I can only live through the next fifty minutes I can handle anybody's anger.

  Book Five

  Fleche

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  MATHIAS, THE ONLY True Prophet of Talamein, stood before his Companions, a red sea stretching out before him in row upon orderly row.

  The Prophet had been talking for three hours, retelling recent exploits, reaffirming their faith in him and Talamein, whipping them into a frenzy. Their voices were hoarse from shouting, their faces flushed, and in a few places there were gaps in the line where Companions had fainted.

  Mathias had told them of the betrayal by Sten's mercenaries, who, in league with his father's guards, had foully conspired to assassinate his father.

  Theodomir was a martyr to Talamein. Mathias assured the Companions that as long as he lived his father's name would never be forgotten.

  Then he had led forward the traitorous members of his father's guard. The guards were silent, beaten. A few were weeping. One by one he had them executed, and the Companions cheered wildly as each man died.

  Now Mathias was building to the final moments of his speech.

  "This is not the death," he shouted, "that I plan for the mercenaries of the Traitor Sten. They are awaiting their fates at this moment in my cells, deserted by their two leaders, Sten and Kilgour, who made cowardly escapes."

  "Kill them," the Companions screamed.

  Mathias held up a hand for silence. "Not yet. Not yet, my brothers. First we will try them, so all the Empire will learn of their foul crimes. And then we shall convict them and execute them."

  He smiled at his young troops. "I have appointed a committee of Companions," he said, "to determine how they shall die."

  A small pause for effect. "And I promise you they shall be long deaths. Agonizing deaths. We shall squeeze from them every drop of blood possible to repay them for my father's death."

  The Companions roared their approval.

  Mathias lowered his voice, ready now to play his final card. "Lupus Cluster is ours now, my friends. And I dedicate my life as your Prophet, that all men may worship Talamein and bask in his glory."

  "S'be't," his men shouted.

  Mathias tensed, leaned forward, his eyes seeming to bore into every man's soul. "But there are huge forces now at work against us. Forces that deny Talamein."

  A low moan of dismay swept the Companions.

  "At this moment, our enemies are gathering. Creeping to our gates."

  Another long pause from Mathias.

  "I say we should fight," he shouted.

  "Fight. Fight. For Talamein," they screamed back.

  "I declare a holy war. A war against heresy. Against treason. Against all who blaspheme against the name of Talamein."

  The men were in ecstasy, breaking ranks and rushing forward to lift Mathias up and carry him away in triumph.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  COLONEL IAN MAHONEY, still commander of the Mercury Corps, stood at attention, his heels locked, his face red, his spine a steel bar. He was receiving the chewing out of his life, a dressing down delivered by the all-time master of dressings down.

  "Colonel Mahoney, I do not know what to do with you. I do not know what to say."

  Mahoney refrained from noting that the Emperor had been at no loss for words for at least an hour.

  "Do you realize what has happened, Mahoney? I have just given my blessing to a fanatic. A fanatic who calls me a heretic. Me. ME!"

  Mahoney was wisely silent.

  "Clot it, man, I hung myself out there like a babbling fool. State visit. Empire-wide vid coverage. I clotting declared the Lupus Cluster open."

  He leaned across his antique desk. "And when I declare something open, by all that is holy in this silly sorry Empire that I was dumb enough to found, I expect it to stay open. Do you understand, Colopel?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Don't yessir me!"

  "No, sir."

  "Don't nossir me, either." He glared at Mahoney, trembling with anger. Then a long sigh. "Ah, clot it, Mahoney. Siddown. Pour us a drink. Something nasty. Something poisonous. Something that will get me good and clotting drunk."

  Mahoney sat—but did not make the mistake of relaxing. If it was possible to sit at attention, he did it. He reached for the Eternal Emperor's latest batch of experimental scotch and poured drinks. He sipped at his with as much military bearing as a man could possibly sip.

  The Emperor noticed the scotch. Gave Mahoney a thin smile. "You never did like this drakh much, did you, Mahoney?"

  Mahoney made a noncommital noise. And waited for the Commander in Chief of the greatest military force in human history to finish speaking his mind.

  The Emperor shot back his scotch, shuddered, and poured himself another.

  "I'm a reasonable man, Mahoney. I know how things can go wrong. All right. So I'm up to my butt in alligators. So what? I've been there before."

  He drank.

  "I only have one question," he said in his most reasonable tone of voice.

  "Which is, sir?" Mahoney asked.

  The Eternal Emperor rose to his feet.

  "WHO PUT MY ARSE IN THE SWAMP, MAHONEY? WHO? WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS DEBACLE?"

  Mahoney couldn't tell his boss it was, after all, the Emperor's idea.

  "I take full responsibility, sir," he said.

  "You're clotting right, you do, Mahoney. I'm gonna… I'm gonna… Colonel, I want you to think of the worst command in my empire. A hell hole. A place you won't be guaranteed to survive in for more than a week."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I want a full report on it by tomorrow."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Now, who's that other fellow. Lieutenant what-his-name?"

  "Sten, sir. Sten."

  "Right. Sten. Is he still alive?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "That was his first mistake, Colonel. Now, Sten. For him I have special plans. Do I still own Pluto, Mahoney?"

  "I believe so, sir."

  "No. No. Too soft. I'll think of something. You just leave that Sten to me, Mahoney. You'll be too busy finding that hell hole I'm going to send you to."

  "Yes, sir."

  The Eternal Emperor eased back in his chair. Closed his eyes. Almost as if he were asleep. Mahoney waited a very long, very uncomfortable time. Finally the Emperor opened them again. He gave Mahoney a tired look. For a moment Mahoney could almost see just how very ancient the Eternal Emperor was.

  "I'm counting on you, Ian," the Emperor said softly. "Solve it. Get rid of this Prophet for me. Get rid of Mathias."

  Mahoney came to his feet, knowing that he had finally gotten the Emperor's orders. He snapped his best salute.

  "That. sir. will be my extreme pleasure." He wheeled and began to march out.

  "Mahoney?"

  The Colonel stopped. "Yes, sir?"

  "Just don't embarrass me again. Please? As a favor to an old drinking buddy?"

  "I won't, boss."

  "Being embarrassed is just one of those things I'm lousy at. Funny thing is, the older I get, the worse I am at it."

  He looked up at Mahoney. "You'd think it would be the other way around, wouldn't you? You'd think by now I wouldn't give a clot."

  "I wouldn't know, boss."

  "Well, I do, Mahoney. I do care."

  And the Eternal Emperor closed his eyes again. Mahoney silently crept out.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  AT THAT MOMENT, the prospect of exile on Pluto—or worse— was the least of Sten's worries. He and Alex were hunche
d over a com in Otho's castle, the coldest, grayest, dankest building Sten had ever been in. The two of them had been freezing their behinds off for weeks and trying to endure the worst food known to beingkind.

  They had been notified two hours earlier to stand by on the com. Mahoney was about to issue his orders.

  "It'll be tha gibbett, lad. Ah just know it," Alex said.

  "No," Sten replied. "Mahoney won't let us off with anything as easy as death."

  "Me mither always said Ah should'na be a soldier."

  They froze as the com line crackled and Mahoney's scowling face swam into view on the screen.

  "I've just been to see the Emperor. He is not pleased."

  "I can understand that, sir," Sten said.

  Mahoney softened. "Ah, well, at least the two of you are alive."

  He peered out at them through the screen. "I tried to do the best I could for you. gentlemen," Mahoney said. "But…" He shrugged. It was the kind of shrug that did not bode well for careers.

  "What do we do next, sir?" Sten asked.

  "You don't do anything," Mahoney answered. "Just sit tight.

  Don't get into any more trouble. I'll have a ship pick you up in a few weeks."

  "But Mathias—"

  "Don't worry, Lieutenant Sten. We'll take care of Mathias. By the time you're home, I'll have inserted another Mantis team, and it should be over. One way or the other."

  "Sir," Sten blurted. "Let me do it. Give me back my team. Team Thirteen. We'll settle Mathias for you."

  Mahoney frowned. Alex gave Sten a warning nudge.

  "Revenge, Lieutenant? I thought we had trained you better than that."

  "No. Not revenge. We just have a better chance. I know Mathias. I know Sanctus."

  "Can't take the chance, lad," Mahoney said kindly. "Among other problems, all the mining and exploration certificates were personally approved by the Emperor before Mathias decided on patricide. There's a whole fleet of miners heading for the Eryx Region. Straight through the Lupus Cluster."

  "Mathias will kill them all," Sten said. "It's even more important that you let us handle it."