by Chris Bunch
He thought this was the right target. But he wasn't sure.
Sten would have to go on board to investigate.
He studied the white ship, looking for a point of entry. He dismissed the idea of docking with the ship. Or of using any of the main entry ports.
The Emperor liked simple. Booby traps are simple. Which equaled booby-trapped entrances and docking area.
He almost missed the hole back near the engine area. Sten zoomed in on it until its raw edges filled the monitor screen. A meteor impact point. It looked fairly fresh. No more than a few years old. Evidently the AM2 debris had impacted, then detonated on or near the outer skin.
Sten wondered how much damage it had caused. Was this the explanation for the closed weapon ports? The dimmed nature of the ship's operation?
Luck was still running with him. And clot Otho and his "there's only three" kinds: dumb, blind, and bad. For Sten, the first one was working just fine.
He studied the hole. Then felt luckier still when he realized it was large enough to give him his own private door into the ship.
Getting to it would be no problem. Alex and Otho had sheathed a complete spacesuit and accessories with Imperium X.
So if he encountered a stray particle of AM2 on the way over and back, he would not go bang.
Sten started gathering what he would need. Mentally figuring the size of the charge it would take to blow the ship, if it was indeed the Emperor's command center.
He would have to rig some kind of demo pack. With a one-or two-hour timer. No problem. Except—what to put the unit in. How would he get it there? Clutch it in his damned arms like a baby?
Then he remembered the pack Alex had put through the Imperium X plating. They hadn't much time, and Sten was impatient.
"What the clot's that for?" Sten had asked. "Am I supposed to pull it over my head when the shooting starts?"
"Y' noo ken, young Sten," Alex had answered, "when y'll hae need't' tote sum'at."
Sten had let it go rather than argue.
And now, thanks to Alex, he had something to put the demo unit in.
Pure blind luck.
The second on Otho's list.
He'd take it. No problem at all.
He floated out into that mad universe, ignoring the colordazzle he saw through the faceplate and navigating on the suit's own inertial system.
His luck stayed with him and he reached the white ship without incident. It took less than twenty minutes to widen the hole enough to get him and his gear inside.
Once inside, however, confusion was his temporary enemy. The ship's design was too ancient, too unfamiliar, for him to find his bearings. He locked his boots on a work platform—in a cavity just beneath the ship's skin—and swung this way and that. Poking his pinspot into the mouths of the shafts that emptied onto the platform.
Finally, he got a sense of direction. Odd, how that term sounds in another reality. Another universe. Sten shook off this mind-buzzing notion. Direction was the shaft he chose. The one he believed led to the engine room. This was all the definition he needed. He'd save the other for long, philosophical nights when he was deep in his cups with his friends.
He made his choice and kicked off. Floating upward into blackness, moving gracefully, despite the bulk of the demo pack on his back.
The engine room was a shambles. Twisted metal and cable were evidence of just how much damage the meteor impact had caused.
There was no atmosphere. But the ship's gravity was on—he was standing firmly on his feet, with his boots' mag units turned off. Readings on his helmet screen indicated signs of mechanical life just beyond. There was no danger indicated. No sign of a defense system sniffing for Sten.
Sten guessed the meteor's impact—and the resulting explosive reaction of AM2 exposed to alien particles—had only wounded the ship. It had reacted by reducing its functions to the barest minimum. That minimum most probably included the AM2 mining operation, and transport. Assuming this was the Emperor's command ship. Which he still was.
It was still probably capable of effecting repair, but had reserved the power necessary for this to maintain those all-important minimum functions.
In other words, Sten thought, it was too clottin' busy.
It suddenly occurred to him the damage he was looking at might have something to do with what was so wrong about the Emperor.
What was it Haines had said? The Emperor was the same. But, not the same. Same, but different.
Maybe the meteorite had upset some sort of plan. Some sort of… He shook his head. This was pointless speculation.
To be saved for that far-off night with his friends.
He moved onward.
Sten slipped down the corridor, in increasing awe at the complexity of the white ship. Now that he was two damage-control locks beyond the damage zone, the atmosphere and temperature were E-normal. His helmet and gloves were off and snapped to his harness. He was breathing deeply, washing out the stale suit air from his lungs.
The air smelled fresh, with a faint sharpness to it. Pine? Yes, or something close to it.
This was the Emperor's place, all right. He was a great lover of nature in the raw.
Sten was following the main corridor. He assumed this from its large size, and the blue line painted down the center. Everywhere he looked were more corridors—smaller corridors—angling into this one. And there were doors. Many doors.
Some led into nothing more than masses of wiring and electronic gear. Some led into storage rooms crammed with equipment and parts. There was even a working repair bay for all the robots scurrying about the ship.
Sten stepped aside as one chugged past, waving a welding wand, intent on its small purpose.
The corridor suddenly opened into a high-vaulting atrium.
And he entered a vast hydroponic farm. Filled with exotic plants and fruits and vegetables.
Things the Emperor would find delicious.
Sten kept to the blue line until the path became corridor again.
And that gave way to a large room. Smelling of antiseptics and medical purity. There was a long row of vats, filled with an unfamiliar liquid. The light in the room was oddly bright… and warm. He saw steel tables and surgical snap-ons for medical 'bots. The room made him feel quite uneasy. He moved on.
He came to the ship's control center. It was jammed with archaic equipment, all operating as smoothly as if this were the ship's maiden run.
Sten was absolutely sure, now.
This was the Emperor's command center. His safehouse. Blow this ship, and the AM2 would stop.
He unslung the demo pack and put it on the floor, next to an air-fresher vent.
This was as good a place as any.
He looked about, curious. Amazed at what the Emperor had accomplished. Actually, Sten knew he could only have a glimmering of the sophistication.
How had he done it?
Hell! How had he even gotten started?
Sten saw a door just down the corridor. It was marked Library. Maybe there was some kind of an answer in there. A clue to the mystery of the Emperor.
He walked along the corridor to the door. It hissed open and he stepped inside.
As the door shut behind him, he noted with some surprise that there were no banks of fiches. No shelves of books. Just a few tables and chairs.
Was this really a library?
The voice came from behind him.
"Checkmate," the Eternal Emperor said.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
"You KNOW THE drill," the Eternal Emperor said. "Don't make a move. Sudden or otherwise."
His tone was light. Confident. Sten did not make the mistake, however, of thinking he was overconfident. He stayed quite still.
"Now… Shed the spacesuit. Very slowly, please."
Sten's hands crept to the fastenings. A moment later the spacesuit was heaped at his feet. Now he was wearing only the overall-like shipsuit.
"Kick it away," the Emperor ordered. "A good sturdy kick, if you
please."
Sten kicked, and the spacesuit went flying into a corner.
"Walk forward to the far end of the room," the Emperor ordered
Sten walked. He stopped when his nose touched the wall.
"You can turn around now," the Emperor said.
Sten turned. His old boss had a haunch perched on a table. A pleased smile on his face. The gun in his hand was pointed steadily at Sten.
"It's good to see you," the Emperor said. "For a while I was afraid you weren't coming."
His free hand went to a bottle of Scotch sitting on a drink tray. Without moving his eyes from Sten, the Emperor poured himself a drink.
"Sorry I can't offer you any," the Emperor said. "But I'm sure you can understand my rudeness." He sipped from the glass.
Sten understood. Given a chance, he would turn anything handed to him into a weapon. A piece of paper would do just fine. A glass would be even better.
His Mantis senses had taken over the moment he had heard the Emperor's voice. Respiration and heartbeat calm and steady.
Muscles at ease, but set on a hair trigger. Mind working clearly, taking in every object in the room.
Eyes measuring the distance between himself and the Emperor. It was a little far. But doable.
Why he was still alive, he didn't know. Or much care. He was completely focused, however, on remaining in that condition.
"You realize, I suppose," the Emperor said, "that you're going to have to tell me who else knows about this. And the disposition of their forces."
Sten shrugged, but said nothing.
"I won't bother with torture," the Emperor said. "Out of respect for our past relationship. Besides, I have a perfectly adequate brainscanner. A little elderly. A little careless with vital cells, sometimes."
He took another drink. "Nothing to worry about, however," he said. "If it turns you into a vegetable… at least you'll be a dead vegetable."
"Congratulations," Sten said. "It looks like you thought of everything."
The Emperor grinned. "Tsk. Tsk. No, 'Your Majesty' anymore? Or, 'Your Highness'? No respectful terms at all for your old boss?"
"It was an easy habit to lose," Sten said. "Once the respect was gone."
"No need for cheap insults," the Emperor said.
"No insult intended," Sten said. "Just a fact Candidly admitted."
The Emperor chortled. "You won't believe this," he said, "but I've actually missed you. You can't imagine how dull and incompetent the people I have around me are."
"So I've heard," Sten said. "Especially that character you had—what was his name?—the one who runs the boys in the storm-trooper getups?"
"Poyndex," the Emperor answered. "His name was Poyndex. Thanks for helping me out, by the way. I hadn't quite decided how to get rid of him."
"You're welcome," Sten said. "I'll be sure to give Kilgour a 'well done'."
"Right now," the Emperor said, "I imagine you're thinking to play along. Spin it out. Delay the inevitable, until you get your chance."
Sten did not answer.
"If these thoughts amuse you," the Emperor said, "then, please… go ahead. Be my guest. Meanwhile… aren't you going to compliment me on my digs?" He gestured with his free hand, indicating the white ship… everything. "After all, I put a lot of thought and years into it."
"It's real nice," Sten said, dry. "Too bad about the meteorite."
The Emperor frowned. "A one-in-a-trillion happenstance," he said. "I'll soon get it fixed." There was a harsh edge to his voice. Indicating a vulnerability.
"Is that what fouled things up?" Sten prodded.
"Not really," the Emperor said. "There have been some difficulties, to be sure. But, on the whole, I think there's been an improvement."
"You're a lot happier with yourself, now?" Sten guessed.
"Yes. Yes, I am. Certain… weaknesses… have been shed."
"Like the bomb in your gut?" Sten hurled another missile.
The Emperor reacted, startled. Then he laughed. "So, you're on to that as well?"
"It wasn't that difficult," Sten said. "You can thank Kilgour again." He fixed the Emperor with a hard look. "Just like it wasn't hard to figure out the rest. Of course, Mahoney gave us a big leg up. Ian had just about everything figured."
"I miss him," the Emperor said, voice very low.
"I'll bet you miss a lot of people," Sten said sarcastically.
The Emperor surprised Sten. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I do. Mahoney, especially. He was my friend." He gave Sten an odd look. "And once… I thought you were, as well."
Sten barked laughter. "Is that how you tote up your friends?" he scoffed. "Put them on a death list and then number them from one to finish?"
The Emperor sighed. "It's harder being me than you think," he said "The rules are different."
"Yeah, I know," Sten said. "The Big Picture. The Long View. The funny thing is, where you were concerned, I used to believe that stuff. Or at least didn't question it."
"There really is no other way to run things," the Emperor said. "I've done this for the good of all. There's been suffering. True. But life is suffering. Mostly, if you average it all out over a few thousand years, there's been a great many more good times than bad."
He reached for his Scotch, took a drink, and set the glass down again. "You should have seen what it was like before I… got started."
"Before you found the AM2?" Sten asked.
"Yes. Before then. You should have seen the inbred brain-dead clots who ran things. Hell, if it wasn't for me, civilization would still consist of a few stars and planetary systems."
"I'll take your word for it," Sten said.
The Emperor stopped, staring at him. "You think I'm crazy, don't you? Go ahead. I won't be offended."
Sten answered, not caring whether he was offended or not. "I don't think—I know it!"
"Perhaps I was… once," the Emperor said. "But, no more. Not since that meteor blessed this ship. As soon as I was… aware… I knew something was… different. Much different! And vastly superior."
"Superior to the old model?" Sten guessed, remembering the room with the biological vats and surgical equipment.
"I suppose you could put it that way," the Emperor said. "The chain was broken. It was time to begin anew. With fresh ideas. To build a new order. Of course, there are sacrifices to be made. Nothing good ever comes without sacrifice."
"As long as it's not your own," Sten said.
"Do you really think that? Do you really think… I don't suffer as well?"
"The guy pulling the trigger," Sten said, indicating the gun, "never suffers as much as the person on the receiving end."
"You're too cynical." The Emperor laughed. "You were around me too long. But facts are facts. My… predecessor… had let things go into the drakh-house.
"Letting the Tahn get out of hand, for a start. And the privy council! How the clot did… he… allow those fools so much power? It was weakness, I tell you.
"The Empire was allowed to get too fat. Too sloppy. It was time to pare things to the bone. Put things back on the right footing. An Empire is no different than any business. The rules of capitalism require a periodic shakeout."
"Business leaders don't usually declare themselves God," Sten said.
The Emperor snorted. "Don't be stupid," he said. "The image was getting rusty. It wanted brightening up. Besides, there's a long tradition in rule by divine right."
"Then, you don't actually believe you are a god?"
The Emperor shrugged. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. However, last time I checked, immortality fits the definition."
"Gods don't climb out of vats," Sten said.
"Oh, really? Perhaps I was misinformed. But, since you've obviously met so many gods, I bow to your wide experience."
The Emperor took another drink, then replaced the glass on the tray. "You won't live to see it," he said, "but I do promise you things will be better. You can take comfort in that."
"Better than w
hat?" Sten growled. "You're just a new wrinkle on an old, ugly face. I've led too many kids to their graves for that face. Hell, I've filled whole fields of graves, myself. For what? Twenty or thirty centuries of lies?
"You like to think of yourself as unique. The greatest Emperor of the greatest Empire in all history. Well, from where I stand—poor mortal that I am, with only a few years to spend—you're no better… or worse than any other tyrant."
"This is a very stimulating conversation," the Eternal Emperor said. "It's been a long time since I've had such an enjoyable exchange. I wish there were some other way. I really do."
He raised the pistol. Sten's mind shrilled alarms. Wait! What about the brainscan? There was supposed to be more time.
"I've decided," the Emperor said, "that it would be too risky for me to move you from this room. So, to be absolutely safe, I'll have to make one of those sacrifices I was mentioning… by killing you now."
His trigger finger tightened.
At that moment a voice blared out, "The two organisms aboard this ship are ordered to stand in place."
Sten gaped. What the clot was going on? He saw the Emperor's face. Bewildered… and frightened. But the gun remained steady.
"An analysis of the intentions and makeup of these organisms is now complete," the voice continued. It had to be the ship's command center talking.
The Emperor's judgment machine.
"The Prime Organism's directive to permit the intruder organism's presence has been found in error and has been overridden. The alien organism is an enemy. And shall be killed."
Big clottin' deal, Sten thought, a little wild. Dead by the gun. Or dead by the ship. What's the difference?
"The Prime Organism has also been found wanting," the ship's voice said. "It has been declared flawed. And it, too, shall be killed."
Sten saw the Emperor jump in even greater surprise. The gun drooped.
It was Sten's first and only break.
He dove for the Emperor.
Chapter Forty
STEN TUCKED IN middive, shoulder scraping the deck, sending him in a backflip to one side as the Emperor fired and the AM2 round blew a jagged hole in the deck and metal shrapneled. Feet first, he slammed into the Eternal Emperor and sent him tumbling. The Emperor took the fall, pistol aiming. Sten scissor-kicked and the gun spun away. The Emperor double-rolled and was on his feet, wrists instinctively up in a V-block as Sten's knife came out of his arm and slashed. The block caught Sten's knife-hand and he lost balance, recovering his stance by dropping into a momentary crouch.
