by Chris Bunch
In Ward Three, the workers at the targeted arms factory dashed out of the sprawling complex. Fleeing on foot, gravcar, and occasionally on one another's back.
A Kali slowly approached, skimming over their heads.
"Danger. Danger. I am a Kali missile. My target is this arms factory. Please clear the area immediately. Do not panic at my impact. I am set to explode in fifteen minutes."
Still broadcasting, the Kali sailed through an open door of plant headquarters.
A plant supervisor watched in awe as the missile entered the main work area. Then settled to the floor.
"You now have fifteen minutes to evacuate. Please leave at once. I have no wish to harm innocent civilians… You now have fourteen minutes and fifty seconds to evacuate. Please leave at…"
The supervisor and his team needed no further prodding. They ran.
At a bearing factory in Ward Forty-five, a missile was buried up to its nose in a crater.
"… please abandon this area. I am armed with twenty-four explosive devices. The first will detonate in one hour. Please do not return to the area after the first explosion. The other explosives have been programmed to explode every hour on the hour. Warning. I am a Kali missile. Please—"
A burly ward boss, frustrated at being cheated out of contracted overtime, rushed forward. Swinging a two-meter-long hunk of steel.
He connected. Then disappeared from the face of Dusable as the Kali exploded.
Two factory buildings collapsed as the force of the blast hammered out. But only the ward boss and four of his crew were dead. Good sense saved the thirteen thousand other workers. They had fled long ago.
Dusable's biggest shipyard was now empty of politicians, hangers-on, and sentient life. Scattered all over were hundreds of abandoned freighters, transports, liners, and private flitters.
Kalis rained down. These fell with no warning.
In two awful minutes the yard was a smoking hole. Surrounded by twisted frames and molten metal.
And every launch pad had been turned into craters. The port would be useless for decades.
Sten studied the damage on the monitor. Image after image of destruction leaped up at him.
Factories gone.
Smoke and fire bursting upward from other points as delayed explosions went off.
Not just one, but thirty shipyards in total ruin.
It would be a long time before Dusable would be a threat—or a support to anyone again.
As the mind-clouding scenes of destruction swept by, he had a sudden, giddy moment. He felt lightheaded. Powerful.
Almost… godlike?
For just a heartbeat he knew what it must be like to be the Eternal Emperor.
Sten shuddered and turned away, disgusted at himself.
Captain Freston stopped him just as he was about to exit the bridge. He had a puzzled frown on his face. "A strange thing has happened, sir," he said.
"Go ahead."
"That AM2 shipment? Well, according to the com officer, just before the missiles hit, there was an odd transmission."
"You're sure it was from the ship?"
"Yessir. I double-checked it myself. The message was coded. Naturally."
"Where was the signal being sent?" Sten asked.
"That's even stranger, sir," Freston said. "I've run the coordinates over again myself. And I keep on coming up with the same answer."
"Which is?"
"To nowhere, sir. It was being beamed to nowhere."
Book Two
Poison Pawn
Chapter Twelve
STEM'S HAMMER BLOW to Dusable caught the Eternal Emperor completely unprepared. As Sten had hoped, he was still in a reactive mode, concentrating his energies on the massive hunt he had launched for the ragtag band of rebels.
When word of the attack was flashed to Arundel, the Emperor went into instant overdrive. Military and political aides were scrambled. Whole fleets were diverted to guard other AM2 depots. Diplomats were yanked from their posts and flung across the Empire to shore up weak alliances.
The hunt for Sten was doubled and then redoubled again in intensity.
Before he ordered any of these things, however, the Emperor cracked down with the heaviest news blackout in the history of his reign. All over the Empire, news organization CEOs got the word: there was to be no mention of Dusable or the Cairenes until further notice.
The Emperor's emissaries didn't bother mentioning what the penalty might be if the edict was violated.
They left it to the corporate chieftains' vivid imaginations.
But between the orders and their implementation, there fell one brief moment.
A journalistic no-man's-land…
"This is Ranett reporting live from Dusable.
"A terrible blow was struck against the Eternal Emperor today, when the fugitive rebel leader, Sten, launched a surprise attack against the Emperor's most important ally.
"In one swift action, Sten's forces destroyed a crucial AM2 depot, along with what local sources claim is two E-years' worth of AM2 supplies. The attack was followed up with a devastating series of surgical strikes against key military and transportation facilities.
"High officials on Dusable say it will be a decade or more before these facilities can be rebuilt… if ever.
"Eyewitnesses to the attacks say Sten's forces appeared to purposely avoid civilian population centers. Casualties to civilians were described as extremely minimal.
"The precision strikes apparently lasted only a few hours. But during that time, sources in Dusable say, this once-thriving port planet was effectively eliminated as a key transport and energy-storage facility.
"The devastation wrought here—which experts say will easily mount into several trillion credits—may have an even broader impact on the Empire at large.
"High-placed sources say Sten's raid did even greater damage to the Eternal Emperor's prestige. Many allies, they say, will question the Emperor's ability to guard his friends against similar action.
"One source said the humiliation the Emperor suffered, and the David versus Goliath image the rebel Sten—"
Ranett reeled back as her image on the monitor shattered into a blizzard of interference. The shriek of a powerful jammer howled from the speaker cells.
She wasted no time deciphering what had happened. Actually, Ranett was mildly surprised her broadcast had been allowed to run so long. At best, she had hoped to deliver the first two graphs of her report before the Emperor's censors pulled the plug.
Ranett punched in the commands that would blast her small ship from its hiding place in a grove near Dusable's now-ruined main port. The craft was a luxury yacht she'd muscled out of a businessman who owed her big-time for keeping his name out of a series on slave labor.
In reality, her inaction had been no favor at all. Crucial evidence had been lacking to really nail the scrote to the wall. It was a missed opportunity she had always regretted. But the injustice would now be corrected when Imperial agents hunting Ranett knocked on his door with the registry numbers of his yacht.
Ranett laughed at the thought of the little pube's well-deserved misery. Then she got busy getting the clot away from Dusable. She would go to ground. Just as she'd done before, during the privy council's reign of terror.
There she would remain until the heat was off. She had no illusions. It was likely she would have to remain in hiding for the rest of her life.
As the ship broke free from Dusable's gravity and headed for the first stop on Ranett's elaborate escape itinerary, she reflected on the report she had just filed.
Unfortunately she would never be able to follow up on it. In her view this was almost certainly the opening shot in the greatest news story in the Empire's long, tortured history.
Bigger than the Emperor's assassination. Bigger than his return. Bigger than any war.
The Eternal Emperor, she thought, might have just met his match. The impossible had now become a slight probability.
; The romantic side of Ranett's weatherbeaten soul wondered what would happen if somehow Sten won the fight.
Would he then rule in the Emperor's stead? Quite probably. If so, would Sten be that mythical beast fuzzy headed scholars called "an enlightened ruler"?
Give it a rest, Ranett, she snarled to herself. There's no such thing as good guys and bad guys. Just those who are in. And those who wanna get in.
No way was this Sten character any different from the others.
First chance he gets, he'll screw us all.
Avri believed she had seen anger many times in her life. But nothing in her wide experience among the powerful had prepared her for the Eternal Emperor's face.
His skin was a ghastly white, his brow ridged with pent-up fury. His eyes shifted back and forth in their sockets like great hunting birds tracking their prey.
The most frightening thing of all was the rictus grin upon that face.
The second most frightening was his complete calmness.
"This is the time for cool heads," the Emperor told his assembled staff. "Hysteria never improves a crisis. We have to approach our problems as if they were routine irritations.
"Now, to business… Avri? What's the mood in Parliament?"
Avri jolted, nerves jangling from being called upon first. She recovered quickly. "Not good, Your Highness. Tyrenne Walsh had to return home fast, of course."
"Of course," the Emperor said, maintaining that odd overly mild tone.
"No one is saying anything openly… but I spotted a lot of shuffling positions among your allies. And lots of quiet conversations with the Back Benchers."
"I'll rein them in," the Emperor said. "After all, who do they have to run to? But I get your drift, Avri. I'll work up some programs to stiffen their spines.
"Meanwhile, hit the floor expressing my sorrow and concern. Deplore anything you think needs deploring. Promise them plenty of forces. Lots of hands-on support. Oh, yeah. Make some noises about Sten being brought to justice any minute now."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Avri said. "But… next to Sten… what they're most worried about is the AM2 supply. They're saying things were bad before Sten struck. But, now… I don't know… They're pretty edgy about the future."
The Eternal Emperor curled a lip into that rictus grin again. "I'll take care of the AM2. And that's a promise they can count on.
"As a matter of fact"—the Emperor indicated his personal com center—"I put new shipments into motion not fifteen minutes ago. The first convoys ought to be arriving fairly soon."
"Yes, Your Highness. They'll be delighted to hear that, sir."
"Poyndex?"
"Sir!"
"That broadcast from Ranett… Any prog yet on how many of my subjects it actually reached?"
Poyndex tried very hard not to show his relief. He had expected much screaming over that slip-up. Still, like Avri, the man's calm demeanor worried him.
"Yessir," he answered. "And the news is equally bleak in that direction, Your Highness. Although the damage from the initial broadcast was not as bad as we feared.
"Only about 6 percent of the available audience were tuned in at the time. The big problem, sir, is that copies of her report are the hottest thing anyone has ever seen in the underground market."
The Emperor waved, seemingly unconcerned. "Okay. So some pirated copies got out. Couldn't pick up more than another three or four percent viewership from that."
"I wish it were true, sir," Poyndex said. "The figures are more like 20 percent… the first day. Then—in their jargon—it almost instantly hit breakthrough."
Poyndex paused and swallowed hard for what he had to say next.
"Go on," the Emperor said.
"Yessir… Uh… They're figuring that within two E-weeks more than 80 percent of the Empire will have seen Ranett's report."
Absolute silence from the Emperor. Poyndex and the other beings quaked as they waited for the expected explosion from the absolute ruler of the known universe. He remained perfectly still for a long, agonizing moment. As if, Poyndex thought, he were consulting some demon deep within.
The Emperor stirred in his seat. He forced a slight chuckle.
"Not the most wonderful news, I'll admit," he said. "However, as I said at the beginning of this audience, this is no time to focus on the negative. If we act in a calm, deliberate manner, this crisis will soon pass. I've been through this sort of thing before. And it always ends the same. My enemies dead or in disorder. My subjects praising my name."
The Emperor's eyes swept over the small crowd in the room. "Of course, there will be a great deal of blood spilled meantime. There always is."
He stopped. As if he had forgotten their presence. Absently, he reached into the desk drawer. Pulled out a bottle of Scotch and poured himself a drink. He sipped. Musing.
Then he began to speak again. Very quickly. Conversationally. But it wasn't the people in the room he seemed to be addressing. It was more like he was having a late-night talk with a few old friends.
It scared the hell out of Avri. Like the others, she stood quite still. Instinctively they knew this was no time to draw attention to themselves.
"I blame myself for Sten. What could I have been thinking? From the moment Mahoney brought him to my attention, I believed I saw a young man with vast potential. Potential to serve me. I should have seen how badly flawed he was. And that flaw was ambition.
"Amazing how you can miss something like that. Because we're talking about an ambition that goes far beyond any kind of norm. Yes. I can see it now. He wanted my throne all along."
The Eternal Emperor sipped at his Scotch. "Yes. That explains it. Sten is quite mad. And he's been mad all along."
For a moment he fixed his gaze on Poyndex. "I believe that explains it, don't you?"
Poyndex did not make the deadly mistake of hesitating. "Absolutely, Your Highness," he said. Fervent. "Sten is quite mad. It's the only possible explanation."
The Emperor nodded. Absently. "I suppose he rationalizes his actions, however," he said. "Very few beings like to think of themselves as having evil intent… He probably thinks I'm mad as well."
His eyes darted to Avri. Like Poyndex, she did not falter. "If he thinks that, sir," she said, "he must be insane."
Again, the absent nod. "Of course, his view will have some public appeal," the Emperor said. "Albeit limited."
"Very limited… if at all," Poyndex said quickly.
"Ah, well," the Emperor said. "Bleak economic times seem to always draw out the worst in a monarch's subjects."
Cold laughter.
"There seems to be this persistent point of view in any age that times of plenty are normal. Hard times an aberration. Usually caused by the rulers of the offending state."
The Emperor topped up his drink. "Actually, the opposite is true. In most times… for most beings… life is sheer hell.
"And they give us—their rulers—even greater hell for somehow failing them."
The Emperor lifted his rictus grin at Avri. "But it would be bad politics to point those facts out to them, of course."
"I agree, sir," she said. "Promises are always better than getting into pocketbook negatives."
He motioned for her to come to his side. She did. An arm snaked out and drew her closer. He began stroking her slowly. Avri flushed. But no one dared notice. They kept their eyes on the Emperor as he continued.
"Still… the pressure is tremendous on a ruler to deliver the impossible." Avri shuddered. Fear, not desire, as the caresses grew more intimate.
A bitter laugh from the Emperor. "And… if we should falter… it is the monarch who gets the blame… Our subjects desert us."
The Emperor shook his head mournfully. "But it isn't good for a monarch to dwell on these things. Otherwise… his subjects will drive him—"
He stopped, staring into nothingness. Then his eyes blazed to life again. He shouted, "God, I wish my subjects had a single throat. I'd slit it, without a thought."
All around the room, hearts jumped. Poyndex found himself staring into the Emperor's eyes, pinned there, frightened to keep looking, yet frightened to look away.
Then he realized the Emperor wasn't seeing him. His face was blank, his thoughts inward. A creak of swivel chair as the Emperor turned away, his eyes lifting to take in Avri.
Suddenly, he pulled her into his lap. Fingers fumbling at the fastenings of her clothing. Avri instinctively twisted to help.
Poyndex made frantic motions to the staff. Very quietly, they slipped out of the room. He was the last to exit.
But just before he was safely gone—
"Poyndex?"
He spun. Avri was sprawled naked in the Emperor's lap.
"Yessir."
"That wish was not original with me," the Emperor said. Absently, he traced a finger along Avri's flesh.
"Nossir?"
"It was from one of my colleagues… a long time ago." The finger stopped its trek. Thumb joined against finger on tender flesh.
"His name was Caligula."
"Yessir."
"A much-maligned ruler, in my opinion. He had no head for money, of course. But in many ways he was very talented. Unfortunately, the historians tend to focus on his personal habits."
His pinch bit deeply into Avri's flesh. A small moan of pain escaped from her lips.
"Very unfair," the Eternal Emperor said.
"Yessir."
The Emperor's eyes dropped back to Avri, Poyndex forgotten.
"Lovely," the Emperor said.
Poyndex stepped quickly away, letting the door hiss shut. Just before it closed, he heard Avri scream.
Chapter Thirteen
THE CAL'GATA, SR. Tangeri, whistled shrilly, breaking the long silence that had hung across the chamber while he'd considered Sr. Ecu's words. The whistle signified mild amusement and interest.
"I see," the being went on, "why you chose your words with such care. It would be entirely too easy to misunderstand what you just said, and interpret your words as a very subtle inquiry as to whether the Cal'gata have any particular dissatisfaction with the Empire as it has been reconstituted since the Emperor's return."
