The Wolf Worlds (25 page)

Instead, looking at the muscular, mid-thirties-appearing man who was the ruler of stars beyond memory, he backed down.

Which was his first mistake. He whined, which was his second.

The Eternal Emperor liked nothing better than a good argument, and he loathed nothing more than a toady.

"But I thought you would be pleased," Sullamora tried. "Don't you recognize it?"

The Emperor looked at the painting again. There was something familiar about the man, but not the incident. "Clot, no."

"But it's you." Sullamora said. "When you turned the tide at the Battle of the Gates."

The Eternal Emperor suddenly recognized himself. A little better looking, although he always considered himself moderately handsome and certainly more heroic than he felt.

The Battle of the Gates, however, had him stumped.

"
What
battle?"

"In the early days of your reign."

And then, suddenly, the Eternal Emperor remembered. His laughter boomed across the yawning gallery. "Do you think I did that?" he chortled, pointing at the drawn blaster and the screaming hordes.

"But its well documented," Suilamora protested. "It was you who made the final stand during the Uprising seven hundred years ago."

"What kind of a fool do you think I am? Hell, man," the Emperor said, "do you think—when the drakh hit the ducts—

I stood out in front of anybody with a gun?"

"But legend—"

"Legend me arse," the Emperor said crudely. "You should know you can always buy a man with a gun. Nope, Sullamora, this is not me. During that Uprising I made clottin' sure I was far behind the lines with the bribes."

"Bribes?"

"Of course. First thing I did was put a price on the heads of the Uprising leaders.

"Like good capitalists, the rebels turned in their own leaders."

He smiled at the memory. "It was horrible," he said. "Blood everywhere."

"And then what did you do with the rebel soldiers?"

Sullamora blurted out, despite himself.

"What do you think?"

Sullamora puzzled this over and then smiled. He had it.

"Execute them all?"

The Eternal Emperor laughed again. Sullamora shuddered; he was beginning to hate the Emperor's mocking laughter.

Although he knew it wasn't directed entirely at him, his skin crawled at the feeling that it was aimed at the entire human condition.

In that, he wasn't far wrong.

"No," the Eternal Emperor said, "I hired them. Gave them all double raises. And now, next to the Imperial Guard, they're the most trusted regiment in my forces."

Sullamora filed that odd logic away. Perhaps this kind of personal insight might be of use to him. But, no, it would never work. How could you ever trust men who had tried to kill you?

Better to crush them quickly, and get it over with.

He looked at the Eternal Emperor with new disrespect.

"You got anything decent to drink?" the Emperor asked.

Sullamora nodded, boldly grabbed the Emperor by the elbow, and led him to his private chambers.

The Eternal Emperor had been drinking steadily for two hours, telling obscene stories about incidents in his reign.

Sullamora forced a laugh at the Emperor's latest joke and, with a great deal of distaste, realized that the Emperor always made himself the butt of all his jokes. The man's a clotting fool, he thought, and doesn't mind anyone knowing it.

Quickly he buried the thought, it was about time to make his move, he realized, noting the fact that the Eternal Emperor had consumed enough spirits to stun a mastodon, without benefit of anti-inebriation pills. With that reminder, Sullamora secretly popped the fourth pill of the evening. He looked at the Eternal Emperor's bleary eyes and decided the time was right.

"I hope this has been a pleasant visit," he ventured.

"Shhure, Shalia…! mean… Sha… no…Tanz. That's it, Tanz."

The Emperor sloshed out another glass and belted it down.

"Great night. Now. Lesh… I mean… Let's me and you go hit a coupla port bars. Get into a fight. Get into trouble… then finda coupla ladies.

"I know some ladies with figures like"—he made curving motions—"and minds like… like…" He snapped his fingers—obviously these women were sharp, sharp. "We'll argue all night, then… then… you know… all night." The Eternal Emperor gave Sullamora a sudden, sharp, terribly sober look. It came to the man as a shock.

"Unless," the Eternal Emperor said, "you have something else on your mind."

"But… but…" Sullamora protested, "this is just a social occasion… to show you my new gallery."

The Eternal Emperor laughed that mocking laugh again.

"Give me a break," he said and, ignoring Sullamora's bewilderment at the anachronism, pushed on. "You're the head of the largest mining company in this region.

"You got something on your mind. And you don't have the cojones to ask for an audience. Instead you give me all this royal treatment. Clotting artsy garbage—and lousy art at that. Try to get me drunk.

"Now you're just trying to get up the nerve to dump on me."

"I haven't the faintest—"

"Context. Tanz. Context. Clot, what do they teach corporate executives these days? Why, in my time—Hell with it. One more time—what's on your mind, Tanz?"

And Tanz, haltingly, told him. About his company's plans to follow up on the rumors in the Eryx Cluster. His spies (although he did not use that word) had assured him that the gossip about the potentially superwealthy fields was a fact… And Sullamora wanted to personally hand in his company's application for exploration to the Eternal Emperor.

"Shoulda asked me straight out," the Eternal Emperor said.

"Can't stand a man who hems and haws."

"All right," Sullamora said. "I am asking you—'straight out,' as you say. My company is willing to invest the credits to exploit this new area."

The Eternal Emperor didn't even think about it. "No." he said flatly.

He took pity on the man, filled up Sullamora's glass, and gave the corporate president time to choke down a huge swallow.

"What I had in mind," he said, "was a consortium."

Sullamora spewed his drink across the table. "A consortium!"

he gasped.

"Yeah," the Emperor said. "You get together with other big mining companies—I've already put out some feelers," he lied,

"put together a consortium and go at Eryx as a unit—then you can exploit the clot out of it."

"But the profits," Sullamora protested. "Too many companies…"

The Eternal Emperor raised a hand, interrupting him.

"Listen, I've already made my own studies. Any single mining company that attempts to exploit Eryx on its own is heading for bankruptcy. It's a frontier area, after all. Now, if you people pool your resources, you might make a go of it. That's my suggestion."

"Your suggestion?"

"Yeah. Take it or leave it. Just a thought. Oh, by the way—

your latest request for an increase in your company's AM2

supply?…"

"Yes?" his voice quavered.

"Think about this consortium deal, and I might consider it."

Since the source of all power (AM ) was supplied and 2

controlled by the Eternal Emperor, Sullamora had just been kicked in the place where it would hurt the most.

The Eternal Emperor took another drink. Slammed the glass down, making Sullamora jump about two feet.

"Tell you what," the Eternal Emperor said. "If you like my consortium suggestion, I might even double your AM quota.

2

What do you think of that?"

Sullamora was not as dumb as he appeared. He liked that offer very much, thank you.

"Double their quota?" Mahoney asked in amazement. "Clot, no." his boss said. "I hate these mining companies. They're almost as bad as the Old Seven Sisters…" He waved a "forget it"

at Mahoney's ignorance.

"Actually, for old times' sake, I might halve it once they put this consortium together."

Mahoney was aghast.

"You mean you're actually considering letting people into the Eryx Region? Don't you remember how far away we are—"

The Eternal Emperor held up a hand, stopping him. He

grinned at Mahoney and mock-tugged at his forelock.

"Where's the congratulations for your brilliant boss? I just bought you more time. Mahoney."

Mahoney was silent.

The Emperor caught it. leaned forward across his desk.

Steepled his fingers. "Something wrong. Colonel?".

Mahoney hesitated.

"What's going on. dammit!"

"Our operative. Sten. I can't raise him."

The Emperor sagged back. "Which means?"

"Hell if I know, sir. All I know is Mercury Corps Appreciation: All bets are off."

And the Emperor reached for his own bottle. "Clot! I just may have outsmarted myself."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

"HE… HE'S… DEAD?"

"I'm afraid so. dear."

And Parral bent forward to comfort his weeping sister. Sofia leaned into him for warmth and then jolted away. She wiped away her tears.

"But how?"

Parral gave her his best warm, brotherly smile. "Oh. he fought bravely, as did the other men. But I'm afraid it was just too much for them. A trap. They died to a man."

Sofia held her brother's gaze for a moment, wondering if it was true, wondering if her brother had—no. that was too much even for Parral.

With a great heaving sob she collapsed into his arms.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

"EGAN'S DEAD." THE Lycee girl said in a monotone.

Sten just nodded. There wasn't time or energy to mourn.

"He's dead," the woman continued. "He was just walking out of the shelter for rations and they flamed him."

Viola shut up. and sat looking at and through Sten with the thousand-meter stare. Before Sten could make appropriate comforting noises, Alex had led her away, taken the computer terminal from her pack, and set the woman to figuring out some kind of strength report.

Not that it was needed. The figures were already thoroughly graven into Sten's mind:

TROOPS COMMITTED: 670 (Sten had landed with 146 of his original mercenaries, plus 524 Companions.) TROOPS REMAINING: 321.

Clottin' great leader you make. Colonel, his mind mocked.

Only 50 percent casualties'? Fine leadership there. And now what are you going to do?

He heard a scraping sound behind him and turned to see Mathias crawling up. He crouched beside Sten, staring at him intently, his face pale, his eyes full of anger and hate. Hate… not at Sten… but…

"My father," he said. "Did he give the orders to abandon us?"

Sten hesitated and then said quite truthfully, "I don't know."

"His own son," Mathias hissed. "My Companions…"

Sten put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "It was probably just Parral," he said. "Parral playing his own game."

Mathias dragged a sleeve across his grimy face. "I should have suspected…" His voice trailed off. Sten steeled himself. He had to start thinking, not talking, not feeling sorry for himself.

"Mathias," he snapped, and the young man jolted to semireality. "Get back to your men. Await my orders."

Mathias nodded numbly and slithered back to his position.

Sten cautiously lifted his head above the boulder and eyed the perimeter. After they'd realized Parral's transports had abandoned them, the force had found a defensive perimeter in the four-block-wide chunk of demolished machineshops. They had dug in and waited for something to happen.

They were completely surrounded by the surviving Jann— a force that Egan, in the last estimate before his death, had surmised to be about five thousand.

Only about twenty to one odds. Easy—if you're a hero in the livies. So you have a little more than three hundred troops left, most of them wounded, Colonel. By the way, you forgot the Bhor.

Indeed. The thirty or so Bhor, since they could no longer fly, had fought on the perimeter as berserkers. Sten was only sorry that, evidently, Otho must've died in the original withdrawal. No one had reported seeing him or his body. Add thirty hulks. So, Colonel? What, then, are your options?