Vortex (45 page)

And then they closed the bigger jaws on the far richer prize: the entire Imperial strike force.

Langsdorff was dead before he could bleat for help—help that just didn't exist.

The battle was a catastrophe—for the Empire.

The Suzdal/Bogazi lost five cruisers, fourteen destroyers, and a scattering of lighter craft.

The Imperial
survivors
were one battleship, three cruisers, one tacship carrier, and twenty troops.

The Suzdal/Bogazi fleets reformed triumphantly and drove on toward Jochi. Their victory would not, however, be studied at many military academies, even those of the victors.

Massacres, for some reason, aren't vastly interesting to soldiers.

Langsdorff's disaster left Jochi wide open for invasion—and the First Imperial Guards Division stranded on a hostile world.

CHAPTER FORTY

T
he embassy shuddered under the heavy storm blasting down from the mountains. Even here—in the conference chamber buried far under the building—Sten could hear lightning crack and thunder roll.

He shivered. Not from the cold rain outside, but from the words being spoken by the strange being hovering a meter above the chamber floor.

"… I regret to say, my reasoning did not prove faulty. Perhaps that's why I went to such risk and trouble to visit Dr. Rykor. False hope that I was in terrible error. And that our wise friend would gently guide me back to reality."

Sr. Ecu gave a flick of his tail and drifted to Sten's side. A sensitive tendril whiskered out and touched Sten's hand.

"But there was no error. The Eternal Emperor is quite mad—and only certain disaster can result."

Sten said nothing. He felt orphaned for the second time in his life. He had worked and fought for the Emperor since adolescence—after his real family had been killed.

"I can barely bring myself to believe this," Mahoney said. Although he had suspected as much for some time, he found the hard truth difficult to choke down.

"I am very sorry, my old friend," Sr. Ecu said. "But you of all people know just how correct I am. However… there are two other things I should tell you both."

He shifted position, dropping a little lower to the floor. A tendril whiskered through the open case. Mahoney found himself holding a fiche.

"That is an intelligence file my operatives have put together. You see, when I became convinced the Emperor was insane, I wondered who was advising him now. Who had his ear? Who was doing his bidding?"

Mahoney stared at the fiche. "And you learned?"

"Poyndex," Ecu said flatly.

Sten sucked in air as another blow fell.

"But the man's a turncoat," Mahoney protested. "He betrayed the Emperor to join the privy council. Then he betrayed them to save his own life."

"This is true. And now he commands the Emperor's efforts to bring the Empire's provinces into dominion status. A job, my sources tell me, you rejected. On moral grounds."

Mahoney slumped in his chair, a portrait of despair. "How could things come to such a pass?" he said. "After all these years?"

The Manabi's tendril drew forth more bad news. It was Sten's turn. He was presented with two paper-jacketed files. One was blue, the other red. He duly saw his name on both.

"Your personnel records," Sr. Ecu said. "Forgive my intrusion into your privacy."

Sten shrugged. What did it matter now?

"The first file—the blue one—is your official file. A record for public consumption of your many achievements in Imperial Service.

"A close analysis shows there are gaps in that record. Gaps that are artfully covered over.'' Sten and Mahoney both knew that those so-called gaps were the secret missions Sten had undertaken in the service of the Emperor.

"Don't bother trying to explain those missing years to me," Sr. Ecu said. "I'm sure I can easily guess the nature of missions you undertook in the Emperor's name."

"Thanks," Sten said wearily. "I guess."

"Please open the second file, Sten," Sr. Ecu said.

Sten thumbed back the red jacket, revealing a cover sheet, with the letter head of Internal Security. Sten looked up at Sr. Ecu, bewildered.

"I'm being… investigated?"

"The investigation has already been accomplished," Sr. Ecu said. "When you have time to look it over, you will see that the gentlebeing at the Internal Security office had a different view of those gaps.

"A view that leads to the unalterable conclusion that you are a traitor, Sten. You, the most loyal of all the Emperor's subjects, have been the tool of his enemies."

Sten quickly thumbed through and saw evidence piled upon evidence. He closed the red file. "Ammunition, I assume?" he asked.

"Exactly. If you fail in any undertaking—or somehow anger the Emperor—that is the file which will come into play. And your achievements will go the way of the shredder."

Sten felt the room swaying around him. It wasn't the storm. He steadied himself. "I thank you for this warning, Sr. Ecu. But—I assume you have more than just my reputation in mind."

Sr. Ecu was taking a terrible risk with this visit. Yes… he had used an absolutely secure transport provided by Ida of the Rom—Sten's old Mantis team friend. If anyone learned the nature of his mission, Sr. Ecu was not endangering only himself, but his entire species.

The Manabi dropped all pretense of diplomatic fine wording. "I was hoping you could help," he said.

This shook Sten. "Help? But—how? I don't control armies and fleets. I'm just—"

"Don't get alarmed, young Sten," Sr. Ecu said. "I'm not sure what I'm asking you to do. Except… think… think hard. When this ugly business in the Altaics is over… come to me on my home world. You, too, Ian. We accomplished a miracle once before, did we not?"

"But that was just the privy council," Sten said. "Not the Eternal Emperor."

"I think we should listen to him, Sten," Mahoney said, his voice a rough whisper. "I swore my allegiance to a symbol. Not a man."

Sten was silent. How could he explain? There were no words for the loss he had just suffered. The king is dead, indeed. Long live the king. Suddenly, he thought: What's to hold me now? Whom do I owe? Besides Cind? Besides my friends? He thought about his retreat on Smallbridge. He ached for its forests and hills and his cabin by the frozen lakes.

"Find someone else," he told Sr. Ecu. "I don't mean to sound like an ingrate—but I'm going to do my best to take your warning and make very selfish use of it."

"I'll still be waiting, young Sten," the Manabi said. "I have faith in you."

"You'd better go," Sten said brusquely. "My people will get you back to your ship. Have a safe journey. And thanks for your trouble."

Sten headed for the door. Mahoney came slowly after him.

"Rykor said you would refuse me at first," Sr. Ecu called after him. "But in the end, she said you'd come around."

Sten was unreasonably angry. He snarled back at the gentle being who had come so far. "Clot Rykor!"

"Just think about it, Sten," he heard the Manabi say as he went out the door. "It will save us all a great deal of time."

Sten stormed through the reception hall, his guts a knot of white-hot anger. He wanted to get away. Anyplace. Anywhere. Get drunk. Chew on a pistol barrel.

He barely noticed the pale, frightened face of the reception officer as he swept past the main desk and headed for the embassy doors.

Mahoney's big paw came down on his shoulder and swung him around. It was all Sten could do to keep himself from striking out at his friend.

"Sten! Listen to me, dammit! Remember what I said back on Prime? Before all this started? Now—I think I know where our answer might be."

Sten shrugged off the hand. "I've had enough with these games, Ian,'' he said. "Let somebody else look for answers for a change. Clot! I don't even care what the question is anymore."

Four large individuals in the gray uniforms of Internal Security stepped into view. Sten's heart lurched as the meaning of their presence sunk in.

The IS beings strode up to them. The commander flashed his warrant card. Another whipped out plas manacles. Sten braced himself.

The IS commander pushed past him. Sten's head reeled as the man addressed Ian. "Governor Mahoney, you will come with us, please."

Sten gaped. What the clot was happening? Why weren't they after
him
?''

"By what authority?" he heard Mahoney's voice boom.

"By the authority of the Eternal Emperor," the commander snapped. "You have been charged with incompetence in the face of the enemy. You are hereby relieved of command. You will be escorted to Prime World where you will be indicted… and if an indictment is returned… you will be tried."

Sten tried desperately to make sense of this. They must be talking about what happened in the Disputed Worlds. Admiral Langsdorff's foolish and humiliating defeat. He stepped in between the IS officers and Mahoney.

"But—he had nothing to do with that," Sten protested.

"Out of the way, Ambassador," the commander said.

Sten turned to call for help, wondering, even as he did, what fool would rush to his aid.

"That's all right, Sten," Mahoney said. "Let's not make things worse."

He pushed Sten aside. "I'm ready," he told the commander.

Sten watched helplessly as they shoved Ian against the wall, kicked his feet apart, and put him through a thorough, spirit-grinding search. Mahoney's hands were bent behind his back. The manacles were snapped on—so tight that Sten could see Ian's lands engorge with blood.

A moment later, Mahoney was being marched out of the embassy.

"I'll call the Emperor," Sten shouted after him. "It's a mistake. I know it. A terrible mistake."

"Just go home, lad," Mahoney yelled as he was shoved through the door. "Remember what I said—and go home!"

A hiss of doors… and he was gone.

Sten raced to the com room and pushed the night officer aside. He hammered out the code himself and punched the send button.

"I want to speak to the Emperor," he shouted at the official who finally took his call. "Right now, dammit!"

"I'm sorry, Ambassador Sten," the official said. "But I have been given explicit instructions. The Emperor does not wish to speak with you. Under any circumstances."

"Hold on, you clot!" Sten snarled. "This is Ambassador Sten, calling. Not some jerk-off clerk.''

The official pretended to scan a list before him. "Sorry. No mistake. The Emperor specifically asked that your name be removed from the personal access list. My apologies if this inconveniences you… but I'm sure you can get what you need through official channels."

The screen blanked.

Sten sagged back. The only thing he could do for Mahoney now was pray.

And this was impossible for a man who, quite suddenly, had no gods at all.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

M
ahoney's relief and arrest sent what little morale there was among the Imperial Forces into free-fall. To Sten, Mahoney was not just his mentor and friend, but the man who had saved his life back on Vulcan.

To Kilgour, a man who had little faith in officers, Mahoney was, among other things, a respected leader—he had been Alex's CO back in Mantis Section, years before he had met Sten.

To Cind, Otho, and the Bhor, Mahoney was an honored war leader and elder. If he had somehow offended the Emperor, they agreed, he should have been given a chance to cut off his own beard in council and await the verdict—rather than being escorted off by armed beings as if he were some kind of criminal.

To the First Guards Division, Mahoney was not just one of them, having begun his military service in their ranks, but their most venerated commander. During the Tahn war, he had been their commanding general.

Their current commanding general, Paidrac Sarsfield, had even been a company commander under Mahoney, back on a hellworld called Cavite.

None of them understood what mistake, let alone what nameless crime, Mahoney had committed.

Not that they talked about it.

The event, and the situation, were too objectionable for that. The soldiers didn't even bitch about what had happened.

Sten would have had to take some sort of action to build the esprit back up to a functional level—he was unsure what it could be—if there weren't a worse nightmare approaching:

The Suzdal/Bogazi invasion fleet, oncoming at full speed. There was no way Sten could see to stop the invasion.

Two elements kept their own council on the relief of Mahoney:

The Gurkhas.

And Fleet Admiral Mason.

Alex slammed into Sten's office, crashing the door behind him. The jamb splintered, but held.

"Ah hae," he said, sans preamble, "jus' decoded our marchin' orders. Except thae'll be none ae us marchin't. Eyes Only. Nae frae our clottin' respected Emperor, lang may he wave, but frae some clot i' th' Imperial office."

He spun the printout across to Sten.

It was brief:

CONTINUE MISSION AS OUTLINED. IMPERIAL DIRECT RULE WILL CONTINUE. MAINTAIN PUBLIC ORDER.

"Wi" no suggestion ae how," Alex said. "There's some clot oot there gone sarky—an' Ah know who. Thae braw flyin't ray was right."

Sten wasn't paying any attention to Alex's ravings.

"So whae d' we do?"

Sten made up his mind. "Can you mickey the code log?"

"Wi' m' left foot. Y' wan' a bogere message sayin't 'tis time t' haul, or what?"

"Negative. Too hard to back up. We just never received this."

"Aye, sir."

Kilgour turned to go. "Y' know, lad. When we gie our arses off an' away, Ah'll no be servin't th' Emp. F'r better 'r worse, he dinnae deserve m' oath no more."

"Let's worry about asses and away first. That's unlikely enough to happen anyway,'' Sten advised in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

"Admiral Mason, I'm detaching you from command of the
Victory
."

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to take over what remains of that clot Langsdorff's fleet—and the escort ships that were left with the Guard's transports."