Sten (Sten #1). Allan Cole
colonel. Later. Don’t wanna corrupt the young.”
The Eternal Emperor threw an arm around his aide — Col. Ian Mahoney, O. C. Mercury Corps, the shadowy Imperial force responsible for intelligence, espionage, and covert operations — and the two men walked, laughing, into the thin sunlight of Prime World.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Baron waited in the anteroom, pacing nervously, glancing now and then at the two huge Imperial Guardsmen playing statue at the entrance to the Eternal Emperor’s chambers. If he thought about it — and Thoresen was trying hard not to right now — he was scared. Not a familiar emotion for the Baron.
He had been summoned by the Emperor across half the galaxy with none of the usual Imperial Palace formal politeness. The Baron had simply been told to come. Now. With no explanations. Thoresen hoped it had nothing to do with Bravo Project, although he was sure that even the Emperor’s elaborate spy system wouldn’t have uncovered it. Otherwise Thoresen was as good as dead.
Finally, the doors hissed open and a tiny robed clerk stepped out to bow him in. Thoresen was only slightly relieved when the guards remained at their stations. The clerk withdrew and the Baron was left in an immense chamber filled with exotic items collected by the Emperor over his thousand years of life. Odd mounted beasts from hunting expeditions on alien worlds, strange art objects, ancient books opened to wonderful illustrations far beyond any computer art conceivable.
The Baron gawked about him, feeling very much like some rube from a border world. Eventually he noticed a man waiting far across the chamber. His back was to Thoresen and he was apparently looking out over the Prime World capital through the large curved glass wall. He was dressed in simple white robes.
The Eternal Emperor turned as Thoresen approached and made his bows.
“We were told by our aides,” the Emperor said, “that you had a reputation for promptness. Apparently they misinformed us.”
The Baron gobbled. “I left as soon as —”
The Emperor waved him into silence. He turned and looked outside again. A long silence. The Baron fidgeted, wondering.
“If it’s about the Company’s latest prospectus, your highness, I can assure you there was no exaggeration. I’d stake my reputation on —”
“Look at that,” the Emperor said. Confused, Thoresen peered outside. Below, members of the Royal Court flitted about in an elaborate lawn dance on the Palace grounds.
“Simpering fools. They think that because they are titled the Empire revolves around them. Billions of citizens work so they can play.”
He turned to Thoresen. A warm smile on his face. “But the two of us know better, don’t we, Baron? We know what it is to get our hands dirty. We know what it is to work.”
Now Thoresen was really confused. The man was blowing hot and cold. What did he want? Were the rumors about his senility true? No, he cautioned himself. How could they be? After all, the Baron had started them.
“Well?” the Emperor asked.
“Well, what, sir?”
“Why did you request this audience? Get to the point, man. We have delegations waiting from twenty or thirty planets.”
“Uh, your highness, perhaps there was some mistake — not yours, of course. But — uh . . . I thought you wanted to —”
“We’re glad you came, anyway, Baron,” the Emperor interrupted. “We’ve been wanting to talk to you about some rather disturbing reports.”
He began to stroll through the room and Thoresen fell in beside him, trying hopelessly to get his mind on top of the situation. Whatever that was.
“About what, your highness?”
“We’re sure it’s nothing, but some of your agents have been making certain comments to select customers that a few of our — ahem — representatives construe as possibly being, shall we say, treasonous?”
“Like what, your highness?” Feigned shock from Thoresen.
“Oh, nothing concrete comes to our mind. Just little suggestions, apparently, that certain services performed by the Empire could possibly be done best by the Company.”
“Who? Who said that? I’ll have them immediately —”
“We’re sure you will, Baron. But don’t be too harsh on them. We imagine it’s just a case of overzealous loyalty.”
“Still. The Company cannot be a party to such talk. Our policy — in fact it’s in our bylaws — is absolute.”
“Yes. Yes. We know. Your grandfather drew up those bylaws. Approved them myself as a rider to your charter. Quite a man, your grandfather. How is he, by the way?”
“Uh, dead, your highness. A few hundred years —”
“Oh, yes. My sympathies.”
They were back at the door and it was opening and the little clerk was stepping forward to lead an absolutely bewildered Thoresen out the door. The Emperor started to turn away and then paused.
“Ah, Baron?”
“Yes, your highness?”
“You forgot to tell us why you were here. Is there some problem, or special favor we can grant?”
Long pause from Thoresen. “No, thank you. I just happened to be on Prime World and I stopped by to inquire — I mean, I just wanted to say . . . hello.”
“Very thoughtful of you, Baron. But everything is proceeding exactly as we planned. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
The door hissed closed. Behind the Emperor there was a rustling sound, and then the sound of someone choking — perhaps fatally — and a curtain parted. Mahoney stepped out from behind it. Doubled up with laughter.
The Emperor grinned, walked over to an ancient wooden rolltop desk and slid open a drawer. Out came a bottle and two glasses. He poured drinks. “Ever try this?”
Mahoney was suspicious. His boss was known for a perverse sense of humor in certain sodden circles. “What is it?”
“After twenty years of research it’s as close as I can come to what I remember as a hell of a drink. Used to call it bourbon.”
“You made it, huh?”
“I had help. Lab delivered it this morning.”
Mahoney took a deep breath. Then gulped the liquid down. The Emperor watched with great interest. A long pause. Then Mahoney nodded. “Not bad.”
He poured himself another while the Emperor took a sip. Rolled it around on his tongue and then swallowed. “Not even close. In fact, it tastes like crap.”
The Emperor drank it down and refilled his glass. “So? What do you think of him?”
“The Baron? He’s so crooked he screws his socks on in the morning. He ain’t no toady, though, no matter how it looked when you were playing him like a fish.”
“You caught that, huh? Tell you what, if I weren’t the biggest kid on the block I think he woulda cut my throat. Or tried, anyway.”
The Emperor topped off their drinks and then eased back in his chair, feet on his desk. “Okay. We had our face to face — good suggestion, by the way. And I agree the man is just dumb enough and power hungry enough to be dangerous to the Empire. Now. Spit it out. What should I be worrying my royal head about?”
Mahoney scraped up another chair, settled into it and put his feet up beside the Emperor’s.
“A whole lot of things. But nothing we can prove. Best bit I got is that a real good source tells me that Thoresen is spending credits by the bundle on a thing he calls Bravo Project.”
“What’s