"And the second thing is... he's been killed before."
Sten had scoffed—and Mahoney had offered to show him the files sometime. But events moved too fast and too bloodily, and the one time Sten had thought about those files, he had decided they were certainly explosive, and that anyone interested in staying on the Emperor's fair-weather side would probably be wisest not even considering their existence.
Or, as the Z-grade livies put it, just after the scenarist had failed to come up with an even vaguely believable explanation for all the drakh he had come up with earlier, "There are some things in this universe, boy, man was not meant to know."
All right, Sten thought. But this time man's gonna find out.
Because Mahoney, in a way, died for these files.
Sten got to his feet. He started to key his com, to order the Victory to send down a cargo lighter and some strong deck apes. He—or somebody, anyway—would begin analysis when they reached their intended destination, Sten's intended base of operations.
"You're my friend, aren't you?"
Sten remembered Forte—and, when he called the Victory, he told them to send down a bubblepak stretcher, with the interior controls sealed.
Dan Forte, completely insane, would either be cured, if that was possible—and Sten would dedicate all resources he had to help—or else given a long, happy life in whatever luxurious asylum Sten could put him.
Because he had very possibly given Sten the keys to the Empire.
CHAPTER NINE
"YOUR SUCCESS THUS far has bordered on the miraculous," Sr. Ecu said.
"Correction," Sten said. "It's been nothing but a series of real miracles. But, I can't keep on counting on smiles from the gods. I need a goal. And a plan. All I've been doing is shooting and scooting in the dark."
"I can see how operating without a plan would be especially disturbing to you, Sten," Rykor said. "You always were a being in search of structure."
Sten laughed, unfazed by this instant bit of analysis from the
Empire's most eminent psychologist. "Another delusion destroyed. Here I always thought I was a real seat-of-the-pants kind of a guy."
"Oh, but you are," Rykor said. "I remember the first profile I drew up on you. Your inventive skills were among the best I've ever seen. But you tend to be displeased if your actions must take place in a vacuum. It's a typical trait of most special-operations experts. You like the illusion of complete freedom. But there must be structure just the same."
Water splashed as she eased her bulk in the tank. "In the past, it was service to the Emperor that provided that structure."
Sten shuddered. All too true.
"Guilt is not necessary in this situation," Rykor said, reading him like a creche-level fiche. "It is my own misfortune to share some of these same traits. I too found comfort in the bosom of the Emperor."
As Sten mulled this over, one of Sr. Ecu's tendrils whiskered out to touch a hidden switch. A small ‘hot bearing a tray churned out of an alcove. In a moment, Sten was gratefully slugging down stregg.
"I hate to sound like an old-fashioned dipsomaniac," Sten said. "But boy did I need that. Thanks."
Sr. Ecu's tendrils wriggled with humor. "The circumstances cry out for inducements. Besides, Rykor and I are ahead of you. Appropriate stress relievers have been added to the atmosphere. As well as to that liquid our largish companion is lolling about in so casually."
Rykor barked and ducked her head under the spiked water. She emerged again, lips parted between her big tusks in what Sten was sure was a grin.
"That's why I'm being so pedantic," Rykor confessed. "I tend to be pompous when I imbibe."
"I see I have some catching up to do," Sten said. He raised the stregg. "Confusion to our enemies," he toasted. He drained the glass and refilled it.
Although Sten's situation hadn't improved, he was feeling much better. It had little to do with the stregg.
He'd left his minifleet tucked away offsystem while he made this visit to Seilichi to seek Sr. Ecu's counsel. Sten had immediately been whisked to the hidden chamber beneath one of the planet's Guesting Centers.
Finding his old friend Rykor waiting there was not only a surprise, but a bonus. Having two beings like Sr. Ecu and Rykor on his side made him feel that the odds had shifted slightly in his favor. Now he figured he only had a ninety-nine percent chance of winding up quickly and horribly dead.
He gulped more stregg. As he did, a sudden thought jolted him. "Sr. Ecu, do you usually keep stregg on hand? Somehow I can't imagine that many diplomatic types with a lust for this evil Bhor brew."
More tendril wriggling. "No. It's for you. And you alone."
Sten puzzled. "I can't imagine why you'd keep it in stock. The last time we met, I rejected your invitation. I was pretty damned firm about what I intended to do next. Which was to get the clot out of the Emperor's way and bury myself somewhere. And mind my own business."
He was referring to Sr. Ecu's secret visit to the Altaics, bearing proof from Rykor that the Emperor had gone mad. The Manabi had urged his help. Sten had given him a definite no.
"I said I had faith in you. I laid in the supply of stregg as soon as I returned."
"I am in a room full of beings," Sten said, "who know more about what I am going to do next than I do myself."
Rykor woofed through her whiskers. "Illogical. But understandable in the circumstances... Oh, brother. There I go being pedantic again... Still, I hope the thought gives you no distress."
"No. I just hope the Eternal Emperor isn't as good at calling my shots as you are."
There was no answer to this. Silence for a moment, as each being contemplated various sins and partook of his or her own favorite brand of poison.
"Back to that visit, Sr. Ecu," Sten finally said. "I assumed at the time that when you asked for my help, you had something in the works."
"Ah... The illusive plan," Rykor burbled. Before Sten could react, she added, "Which is a very natural assumption for two fugitives such as ourselves."
She hoisted herself higher in the tank. Waved a flipper at Sr. Ecu. "You do have a plan, don't you, my dear friend? I would hate to think I was facing a life on the run. It's difficult to dodge about for someone of my needs... and size."
Sten buried a sudden hilarious image of Rykor ducking in and out of dark alleys, hauling her tank behind her.
"Actually, I don't," Sr. Ecu said. "I'm a diplomat. Not a sol-dier. And I fear this situation requires military action first. Negotiating, later."
"The Emperor won't negotiate," Sten said. Flat. "Even before... when he was—" The word stuck in his throat.
"Normal?" Rykor completed it. "How can a being with apparent immortality ever be normal? No. He was mad all along. I understand that now. Something only made his condition worse... A judgmental word, I realize. But I think it applies."
"Here is the situation as I see it," Sr. Ecu said. "I speak for the Manabi, now. All our progs come to the same conclusion. The Empire is finished. The future will be nothing more than a slow, miserable descent into chaos.
"We predict the bloodiest wars in the universe's history. Starvation and plagues on an unimaginable scale. A complete collapse of all societies and cultures. In the end, we will all end up where we began.
As barbarians.
"All the progs call for only one solution. The Emperor must relinquish power. Quickly. Because all progs also indicate delay will produce the same disastrous results. To use diplomatic jargon, ‘The window of opportunity is very small.' We act now. Chit will soon close."