Revenge of the Damned (Sten #5). Allan Cole
satisfied, and as far as I know, my lord, so are the other members of the council.”
Wichman ignored that. “So you’re guaranteeing us that this program of yours will solve the problem.”
“I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Pastour gritted out. That was one trap he would not spring. “First off, the program is experimental. If it doesn’t work, it affects nothing, especially since I am paying for it out of my own pocket.”
“Good. Very good. You have answered almost all of my questions. But I still have one small worry.”
“Which is?”
“The staffing of the first prison. I note a lack of hard experience in this field.”
Here it is at last, Pastour thought. Wichman wanted a man in some key position. Was it someone Pastour’s people could live with? There was no time to find out. He had to make up his mind quickly.
“Perhaps you could help in that area, my lord,” he purred.
“Delighted,” Wichman said.
There was immediate relaxation around the table.
“Once again,” the elder secretary said, “is anyone opposed?”
In an instant HCB No. 525-1717 was law. Lady Atago put another check mark on her agenda. There were half a dozen items to go before it was her turn to face the Tahn High Council. Although it would be her debut report as a full member of the body, she was not nervous at all.
Atago had a list of facts to present on the war. It did not matter to her whether the facts underscored gloom or optimism. The emotions the report elicited from her colleagues was not her concern.
It was plain to her that they were quickly approaching a crucial point in the war. And it should have been equally clear to the others that the way events played out in the near future would determine the eventual winner and loser. She was confident, however, that the plan she and Lord Fehrle had already partially implemented would assure the Tahn of final victory.
“… a special report from Lady Atago… I’m sure we will all…”
Atago did not bother listening to the routine platitudes from the elder secretary. When she heard her name, she stood.
She was an imposing figure even among a group of beings not easily impressed, and she was well aware of that fact. She was much taller than most Tahn, and she wore her hair in a dark spill almost to her waist. Her eyes were large, her lips generous, and she had a lush body set off perfectly by her tight-fitting uniform.
Only the very stupid were fooled by her sensuous looks. Lady Atago’s sole passion was war.
“My lords, my ladies,” she said. “You will have my full report before you shortly, so I won’t bore you with a lengthy summary of its contents. You can review the facts later at your leisure. Here, in brief, is where we find ourselves:
“From the beginning, we have managed to always take the war to the enemy. We have won vast areas from the Empire.
“There are two key reasons for our success. First: We are always willing to risk all. Second: The very size of the Emperor’s military machine has worked to our advantage. By the time his forces react, it has been too late. This is an advantage we are about to lose.”
That got Lady Atago the full attention of the council.
“Here are the basic reasons,” she went on. “One. At this moment in time, each success brings an equal burden. Our supply lines are stretched well beyond any safety factor. We are wasting valuable resources garrisoning new territories. Two. The Emperor’s intensive efforts to shift from a peacetime to a wartime industrial economy are about to bear fruit. Soon we will not only be outgunned but outmaneuvered because of the sheer size and number of his fleets.”
She paused to let that sink in. Then it was time to spell out the plan.
“Before this can happen, we need to find a place to sink our knife. Lord Fehrle and I are confident we have found it.”
Atago palmed a switch, and the far wall shimmered into a vidscreen. The council members leaned forward when they saw the starmaps. They were looking at two systems in relative proximity. There was nothing that unusual about them—except that they were deep inside the Empire.
The first system, Lady Atago explained, was called Al-Sufi, a major depot for Anti-Matter Two, the fuel that powered the Empire—and the Tahn. It was not necessary for Atago to explain that the Eternal Emperor’s control of all AM2 made him the ultimate ruler.
“Obviously, Al-Sufi is a prime target,” she said. “For some time now we have been building up our forces in that area. And if we captured it, the setback to the Emperor would probably be fatal.”
“Isn’t that also obvious to the Emperor?” Pastour asked.
“We hope so,” Lady Atago said. “Because the buildup I spoke of is only on paper. It is a shadow buildup. A fake.”
“I don’t understand,” Wichman said.
“Without arousing suspicion, we have allowed the Imperial Forces to believe that we intend to attack Al-Sufi. And we have confirmed reports that the Emperor is responding with an equal buildup in that region. Now, let me show you our real target.”
They saw a tight view of the second system, Durer. It was also a well-known area, as important to industry and transportation as Al-Sufi was to the handling and storage of AM2.
“As you can see, the Imperial buildup at Al-Sufi has left Durer exposed. It is ours for the taking.”
It was not necessary to explain to the others what that would do. A warrior race could instantly see when the enemy had been outflanked.
From Durer the Tahn High Council could see the beating red heart of the Empire. All they had to do was give Lady Atago permission to use her dirk.
The vote was unanimous.
CHAPTER SIX
GENERAL IAN MAHONEY hobbled down the long paneled corridor, gritting his teeth in pain as he tried to keep up with the two Gurkkhas who were escorting him to the quarters of the Eternal Emperor. He imagined he could feel the plas and metal brackets grating against the bones they were supposed to support.
A door hissed open and someone rushed out, almost colliding with Mahoney. Ian cursed at his clumsiness as he nearly fell. Mahoney, he told himself, you have the gait of a three-legged horse at a steeplechase. He recovered and moved on. He was deep in the bowels of Arundel Castle, or what was left of it, anyway. Above ground what had once been an oversize replica of a graceful Earth castle was blackened ruins — victim of a surprise nuclear attack by the Tahn. Even now there were still pockets of intense radiation.
The Tahn had hoped to wipe out the Emperor with one daring attack on Prime World. They could not know that the castle was an elaborate facade for the bombproof Imperial nerve center many kilometers beneath the surface. The Emperor ground their failure in many times a day. Every newscast emanating from Arundel began and ended with a short of the ruins. Two flags fluttered bravely overhead. One was the shining standard of the Empire. Beneath it was the Emperor’s household banner: gold, with the letters “AM2” superimposed over the null element’s atomic structure. Mahoney could almost imagine the Emperor’s chuckle over that bit of propaganda.
He had mixed feelings about seeing his old boss and, he guessed, friend. Careful, Mahoney, he warned himself. Being a friend of the Eternal Emperor was decidedly a mixed blessing. It was friendship, more than duty, that had led him to his present rotten state of being.
The Tahn’s final assault on Cavite had left him shattered and nearly dead. He had no idea how he had survived, although he expected it had something to do with his protégé, young Sten. Mahoney had come to woozy consciousness many months later and immediately had had second thoughts about the highly overrated business of living. Over the next few years he went under the surgeons’ laser scalpel more times than any being ought