by Chris Bunch
Possible. But, only if he had secretly joined the enemy some time before. Besides, how would Poyndex have known that name?
No. Highly unlikely. Just as it was unlikely that Poyndex was a longtime traitor. A mole. Nothing in the man's profile fit this. He'd been running his own, complex power game, but the Emperor was just as certain now as before that Poyndex's power yearnings were satisfied by being the most important member of the Emperor's staff.
Could the rebels sweeten that kitty?
Not a chance, the Emperor thought. Besides, Poyndex was the type to take the cash and let the credit go. Promises for the future by a rebel force had to be the rottenest credit in town.
There was one further item that argued against betrayal by Poyndex: the planetbusting program the Emperor had ordered. One hundred and eighteen planets and all their inhabitants had been targeted for destruction.
If Poyndex was in league with rebels, those planets would have been warned and their security jumped to the nth degree.
Intelligence assured him this had not happened. All transmissions and traffic from those systems were absolutely normal.
Good.
So, Poyndex was not a traitor.
Was he willing to bet his life on it?
Yes, he was.
This line of logic also erased the possibility Poyndex had been kidnapped. Or that he had revealed anything under torture. Because, once again, the intended victims would have been warned.
Very, very, good!
The Emperor rewarded himself with a drink.
As he was pouring, another possibility hit him. The trembling hand shook harder, spilling Scotch. He slammed the bottle down with such force that it shattered. Scotch pooled on his desk.
He didn't notice. Just as he didn't notice the sliver of glass in his palm.
The Shahryar mansion!
His safehouse!
What would be the worst-case scenario if the agent's mission had actually been successful? Even if the woman hadn't actually penetrated the computer, what could she have learned?
There was the tightbeam transmitter. Alori&r-it-iBeant little. But there was a second clue the enemy might have uncovered. And that clue could lead to one of his AM2 relay stations.
From that point, it would be simple to get a fix on Alva Sector!
Oh, come on, he scoffed. That's foolishness. That's assuming an awful lot. That's seeing a level of professionalism rare in the history of his Empire. Who could possibly have—
Another gut-wrenching thought.
Sten could have accomplished it!
Yes. By himself, or he could have planned a mission to be carried out by one of his supremely efficient comrades. Alex Kilgour, for instance. Or that Bhor woman—what was her name? His warrior lover.
Could she have been the woman at the mansion?
No. That was ridiculous.
Wasn't it?
But…
Sten had been the very best he had ever had in his service. He had surpassed even that old warrior and spy master, Ian Mahoney. As an enemy, he had proven his deadly efficiency many times over.
Sten would have also been able to penetrate Arundel at will.
True.
But Sten was dead.
Wasn't he?
It was insanity to believe otherwise.
Wasn't it?
Another wrench of the gut. Bile rose. What was the proof of his death? There was no body. No witnesses.
Yes. But given the circumstances, escape had been impossible.
Hadn't it?
He felt a sudden chill. Hackles prickling like desert thorn.
The Emperor had a sudden certainly that it had all been a sham.
Sten was alive.
The Emperor drew a long breath. What should he do about it?
For the first time in his long reign, the Eternal Emperor was unsure what he ought to do next.
Book Five
Endgame
Chapter Thirty-Eight
"ALL SYSTEMS GREEN. Entry to be effected in twenty seconds…"
There is a moment that confronts every sentient being. When moral imperative collides with survival in the shadow world that lies between decision and action.
The moment can be as simple as a choice between a lie and a self-destructive truth.
It can be as complex as a choice between the suffering of many or a moral and legal obligation to the few.
Theologians call it "free will."
There is no scientific term for this moment, although medical techs can trace with precision the effects of the inward struggle on the organism.
In humans, hormone and adrenal glands spurt their powerful mix into the system. Organs such as the heart and lungs speed up their actions. Fluid pressure and body temperature rise. Blood oxygen levels soar, especially in the muscles and the brain. Infection-fighting cells ready their chemical weapons to stave off attack. In extreme reactions, waste organs spasm empty—to lessen the chances of infection if the body is violently penetrated. The skin tightens to present a harder and smoother surface against a weapon. Sweat glands gape to pour out perspiration as the body's cooling system jumps to full readiness. The perspiration also acts as a lubricant between the limbs and the trunk of the body. In a man, the scrotum tightens and the testes rise to present a smaller, tougher target.
That's what science says.
Sten would have it said it was nothing more than plain animal fear.
He crouched alone on the small bridge of the tacship staring at the ship's monitor. Watching space rain fire. Sten had never seen or experienced anything like Alva Sector.
The tacship's voice rasped over the speaker: "Entry will be effected in ten seconds …"
His mathematical mind—the side that also contains poetry and music—acknowledged beauty. Saw wonder in the ultimate disharmony at play in the forces unleashed where two universes touched.
But his soul saw nothing but a hole into Hell.
"Entry will be effected in nine seconds," came the speaker voice.
Sten watched a small comet streak toward the discontinuity. Tendrils ablaze with scintillants snaked out for it. Enveloped it. The comet shattered with such violence, the pixels on the monitor screen exploded into white glare.
He steadied himself. Reached deep within and got a grip on the fear. He turned it this way and that, studying it by the light of his rational mind.
"Entry will be effected in eight seconds," the voice continued.
Sten wasn't afraid of sharing the fate of the comet. Well… to be honest… only a little afraid. The tacship—as well as every item that might be exposed to the raw anti-particles of the other universe—had been plated with Imperium X in a lightning stop on Vi—huge deposits of the substance lay just beyond the Wolf Worlds.
In theory, he should be able to slip through the discontinuity into the other universe unscathed. He'd already sent a probe through and it had returned unharmed.
Therefore… what was there to fear? The Emperor's security? The dogs he would have set to watch over his treasure? No. Sten imagined whatever he might encounter would be clever and fierce. But, he'd overcome those two dogs before, and trusted enough in himself to overcome them again.
"… seven seconds …"
What then? Sten sent his mind after that probe. Attempting to imagine himself on the other side. In an entirely different reality. An angry thing with a dripping red maw rose at him. He wasn't wanted. He didn't belong. Every thing… every minuscule particle… would be his enemy in that place. Even in his imagination, the hate was intense.
And he would be… absolutely… alone.
More than any other human had ever been. With one exception.
The Eternal Emperor.
"… six seconds …"
What made the fear burn hotter was that this was a choice he could reject. The crawling coward in him was weeping in its pit. Begging him not to go. Why must it be his responsibility? Let someone else do it. And if no one would, then clot th
em all. He could run and hide where the Emperor could not find him. And if he tracked him down, Sten could face him on braver ground. So what if the cause was lost? So what if everyone could be doomed?
They might die.
He might die.
But, at least he wouldn't have to go into that place.
All he had to do was hit the switch and the mission would be aborted.
"… five seconds …"
His hand lay just to the side of it. Sweating and cold.
"… four seconds …"
A twitch would shut that damned voice off.
"… three seconds …"
The coward in his gut shrilled, "It isn't too late!"
His fingers curled.
"… two seconds …"
Mahoney's voice floated up to him from the grave: "Make the devil into a fist lad. And strike a blow!"
"… one second …"
Sten's fingers knotted down. Bloodless with effort. Fighting panic.
"Entry will now begin," the voice said.
Sten kept his eyes glued to the monitor as the tacship shot forward and closed on the gates of Hell.
so small…
piteous and small…
and they all want to…
kill me.
i don't want to die here…
please.
no one knows me…
here.
no one .
cares.
my eyes are…
bitter.
and i taste colors on…
my tongue.
someone…
someone is watching.
where?
i'm afraid.
where is he?
out there.
who is he?
i'm afraid.
who is he?
i don't know.
he's watching… and… i'm…
so small.
Sten vomited into the bucket he had put beside his seat. He snapped open a freshpac and swabbed his face and neck with a cool astringent. He rinsed his mouth with stregg and spit into the bucket.
Then he raised the bottle to his lips and drank. Deeply.
The stregg shuddered and boiled in his belly. But he kept it down. He took another drink. Felt the fire build. It was warm and comfortable and familiar. Like a hearth.
Sten rose from his chair and went through stretching motions. He felt the knots unsnarl and blood sing in his veins. Then he went through the complete Mantis warm-up. A half hour of blinding motion and violent ballet.
He went into the small sanitary facility and took a shower just below blistering temperature. He followed it with an icy blast that sent his heart racing and brought the blood up stinging just below the surface of his skin.
He put on a clean shipsuit, made caff, and padded back to the bridge, with a steaming black cup in his hand. He calmly eyed the data streaming in from the ship's sensors. The mainframe's control module winked and gurgled as the computer fed on the data. Once in a while it gave a red-light hiccup as it digested a more complicated bit.
Sten nodded. Good. He sipped on his caff.
Feeling quite normal.
In a few moments the computer survey would be completed.
The basic laws of this universe would be deciphered. The ship's computer would redefine its own reality.
And Sten and the ship would no longer be blind.
He settled into his seat to wait, sipping at the caff, his mind clear, but settled on nothing, his eyes on the rushing stream of data as if he could actually decipher and make sense of anything moving at such speed.
Sten was carving out a place for himself in this new universe the only way he knew how. Which was—routine. It was an old soldier's trick. Someone experienced in constant changes of post. No matter how distant from home, or bizarre the inhabitants, strangeness can be overcome by establishing a routine. Little things. Familiar things. Selfish things. Like washing and grooming. The first hot, bitter cup of caff at the shift start. And the cool, uninvolved appraisal of the mission to be accomplished.
Then you rolled up your sleeves and plunged in, secure in the knowledge it was only necessary to do this job well. Greater and more complex responsibilities were on the able shoulders of your superiors. Just do your job, and keep your nose clean.
Sten eased back, relaxing. He had found his center now. It was time to populate this place.
He smiled, thinking of Cind. And the warm arms he would go home to when this job was done. Comfort in those arms. Yes, and in that sharp mind as well. The way she had of always finding a way around a problem that was vexing him.
And Kilgour. His brawny, near-lifetime friend and comrade-in-arms. There was a man to have at your back. Any problem that stumped Cind would never get past his cunning Scot's brain.
After them, Sten invited Otho and the Bhor. Applauded as the Gurkhas marched on. Then Marr and Senn. Haines and Sam'l. And his other friends and loyal crew members.
Soon, they were all trooping about in his imagination. Cracking jokes. Slapping him on the back. Kissing him or shaking his hand.
The computer chirped and went silent. Sten looked over and saw the "Ready" sign blinking.
He took another sip of his caff and set the cup down. His fingers flew over the control board. Then he sent the command.
Sten looked up at the monitor screen. Light began to fill the blankness.
He leaned forward, eager to get his first look at this new universe.
He had no fear of it now. Because he was no longer alone.
He had found it!
The Emperor's glory hole!
The size of the operation seemed larger… but somehow also smaller… than he'd imagined.
Big AM2 tanker ships moved in and out of the rubble of an old, destroyed system. On the rubble itself—broken planetoids, or moonlets—his probes showed huge mining machines, harvesting the basic stuff of this universe. Smaller shuttles laden with ore moved back and forth between the tankers. Once full, the tankers moved off—for the long voyage into another universe and back.
It was a vast, complex system—all operating automatically—to accomplish the Emperor's far-off purpose.
Part of him was disappointed in the size, comparing it to the gigantic mining operations he'd seen in his travels. This place would fit in a small comer of one such complex and still have room to rattle around.
He thought it incredible that something this small had such a profound impact on civilization for so many hundreds of years. But a whole empire had been founded on one small particle from an alien universe.
The second thing that amazed him was the age of the ships and machinery. They all functioned perfectly, going about their business as if they were just off the line. But their designs were straight out of a technology museum.
They were all big, clunky things, with sharp edges and many moving parts.
The final thing that startled him—and this most of all—was that so far not one shot, not one missile, had been fired at him.
Sten smoothed the tacship past a tanker, moving deeper into the mining complex.
As soon as he had spotted it, Sten had gone into extreme stealth mode. He had cut all extraneous power, maxed his shielding on all freqs, held sensors on passive, and dropped internal operations to the barest hum. Then, using a tortuous, grab-every-speck-of-dust-for-cover route, he had "crept" in. Not one enemy sensor appeared to have sought him out. Nor did he find a single trip wire to sound the alarm at his approach.
When he was more certain, he had dropped the shields and begun an active search. Still, no reaction. Then he had emerged in plain view—every gun port of his own open and bristling for the attack. But the mining colony had gone about its robotic drudgery without paying him the slightest notice. This was very strange. Why would the Emperor leave his treasure unguarded?
Perhaps because he felt quite certain it would never be discovered. After all, it did lie in another universe. A universe that everyone until a sh
ort time ago had been led to believe did not exist. Could not exist.
Sten frowned as he ran this through, half his mind occupied with the moonlet whooshing past him on the monitor screen… Okay. He'd buy that logic.
Although, if it had been Sten's hidey-hole—no matter how impossible to find—he'd have filled it with wall-to-wall trip wires and booby traps. His paranoia had been ground in by his Mantis trainers. Trust nothing to chance.
Sten thought of the Emperor's quirky mind, and felt easier still. This was simple. The Emperor liked simple. Simple meant it was harder for things to go wrong.
His mind clicked one large step forward. A simple system would also have a single control. Which meant it was likely the whole mining operation was run from one command center. Next step… The Emperor would most likely set up his living facilities at the command center. It wouldn't take much space. Sten was sure the Emperor would always be alone. There was no living being he could trust with this secret.
Very, very good. Because this meant all Sten had to do to stop the AM2 flow to the Empire was to hunt that command center down and blow it in place.
And goddamn the Emperor's eyes!
The big white ship loomed large on the screen. It was older than his father's ghost stories. Space dust cobwebbed its archaic lines. He saw sensor banks and antenna pods he had only a dim memory of from his flight-school history fiches. He saw other apparatus whose purpose escaped him entirely.
But there was no escaping the purpose of the weapon ports. Archaic or not, they were instantly recognizable. The Eternal Emperor was not entirely unarmed.
The puzzling thing was, the ports were sealed.
Sten kept a ready hand on the button that would send two Goblins hurling toward the ship. A hint of menace and he'd blast it to whatever hell existed in this universe.
Was this the place? Was this the command center? The Emperor's ultimate safehouse?
He probed it. The ship was alive, but running on a very dim intelligence. There was atmosphere. There was function. But there was no sign of life.
Sten sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that it had been possible to sail in here with the Victory and a full crew. With their skill and the Victory's sophisticated sensor system, he would have been able to pick the white ship apart atom by atom.
