"Ah." Alex nodded. "Ah ken. Y‘ noo hae a choice, do y'?"
Sten didn't answer.
"Ah'll hae th‘ Victory packed an' liftin‘ wi'in an E-day after Ah return, lad."
Sten blinked.
Alex smiled. "Y‘ noo thought thae was whae Ah meant, did y'? Y‘ were thinkin't aboot duty an' respons'bility, aye?"
"Something like that."
"Well... consider all thae lads an‘ lassies thae went rebel wi' y. Some went oot frae selfish reasons, some went oot frae reasons ae‘ aidin' th‘ gran' cause ae civil'zation. But more went oot ‘cause they're servin't y'r wee smilin't face, lad.
"F some ways, ‘tis noo a good part ae life, wee Sten. We all should mak't decisions wi' logic an‘ frae th' good ae all livin't things.
"But thae's noo how it works.
"An‘ i' the foolish ones who're servin't you because y're one wee mon, shouldnae you be thinkin't th‘ same? Willin'‘t' spend y'rself f r th‘ life ae one wee fellow rebel? 'Cause if you're noo willin't‘t' go doon i‘ flames like thae, then we're noo dif'frent thae the Emp, and p'raps should cast i' our lot immed'jately.
"V sh'd noo be sendi't frae which fool th‘ bell tolls frae, an' thae, aye?
"Ah reck y‘ hae noo choice othern't to gie y'self a'ter Haines an' th‘ two furballs."
It was completely wrong, and one of the more stupid things that Sten could do. And why he decided to go for it. What the clot, the rebellion was doomed anyway. He had zip-burp chance of toppling the Empire. So why not go down in flames on a noble gesture?
"GA," he started. Then he caught himself, and an evil smile spread across his face. He remembered a scam he had worked once before on a prison break, and thought he could ring yet another change on it.
"Negative, Mister Kilgour. I won't need the Victory. All I need is one Bhor robohulk and the Aoife. There's no reason I have to be a complete Don Quickshot. Oh yeah. And one livie crew and some actors. I want three pilot sorts, two goons, and one idiot with steel teeth. Unbathed and whacko-looking. All human. Oh yeah. I need about fifteen or so terrified cute children.
"Now, get your butt down here. I have need of your talents. And somebody to hold the fort while I'm off playing Sir Gawaine. Clear."
Sten's plan took less than half a day to accomplish.
He was still going out to his death, but at least in a sneaky, dirty, underhanded sort of way instead of the imbecilic "charge in full dress uniform waving an ivory-hilted can opener" that he had always despised.
"Soward Control, this is the transport Juliette. Now in normal space, coordinates transmitted... now. Using commercial orbit Quebec Niner Seven. Request landing instructions. Over."
And so terror came to Prime World.
" Juliette, this is Soward Control. Have your coordinates. Transmitting landing data... now. Please enter data and activate ALS at termination of your orbit Quebec Niner Seven, over."
"Soward, this is Juliette. Wait one... uh, I've got a slight problem with your data, Control. That'll park us on the far southeast corner of the field, correct?"
"That's an affirm."
"Got a favor to ask, Soward. Any possibility of getting closer? I've got a shipload of scholarship kids aboard, and they'd get a boot out of seeing things a little closer. Plus that's a long walk to the terminal. Can we get a shuttle?"
"This is Soward. No problem. We'll tuck you right over here, near the tower. Transmitting new data... now. And for a shuttle... all we've got is commercial. Shall I notify a carrier?"
"This is Juliette. Thanks for the shift. And, uh, negative on that commercial carrier. My kids don't have a lot of money. This is one of those starving-students hops."
"Roger. Maybe we can—"
And the Juliette's signal cut.
" Juliette, this is Soward Control. Juliette, please respond to this transmission."
Static. No response. The controller automatically hit EMERGENCY and STANDBY buttons.
"This is the tower," he said. "I've got an inbound, closing on final, and they went off the air. Info from pilot said they've got children aboard. Stand by."
Rescue crews rolled into their vehicles.
The controller fingered a touchpad, and went to both the standard landing and the Imperial Standard emergency freqs.
" Juliette, this is—"
"Who is this?" It was a new voice, from the Juliette.
"This is Soward Landing Control. Identify yourself. Is this the JttlietteT
A laugh.
"Yeah. Yeah. Is this the visual-transmit switch... yeah. Here we go."
A acreen cleared, and showed an appalling scene. It was the control room of the Juliette. The four beings in the flight crew sprawled in bloody pools. In front of the pickup was a wild-eyed man, wearing a filthy, stained shipsuit. He held a gun.
Behind him were two equally repellent assistants. Each of them held a wriggling child in one arm—and held a knife pressed to that child's throat.
"See what you got," the man said. "Now. I want a straight patch to an Imperial livie station. Now!"
"I can't—"
The man gestured, and one of his assistants slashed a throat. Blood gouted, the other child screamed, and a body flopped on the deck.
"Get another one," the man said, and his pet goon vanished, and came back dragging another preteenager. "You see? We ain't drakhin‘ around. Get a—"
And the dispatcher was hitting keys.
"You better sound convincing," the hijacker said. "Because I got me another fourteen crumbsnatchers I don't mind thin-slicin‘. Or doin'... some other things to them. Stuff that's worse."
So began the drama of the Juliette. The feed went live on K-B-N-S-O, back on the air, but broadcasting from a temporary, planetary headquarters.
Prime World came to a stop as the battered transport orbited over Soward Spaceport. The man announced what he wanted.
"I want a link to the Eternal Emperor. Not on a clottin‘ com like this. But face to face. He's gotta settle something. He's gotta stop doing to my family what he done. It ain't right for nobody that big to be feuding like he was some kind of backcountry pencilneck, it ain't. And it's gonna come to an end, it is. My family's near wiped out.
"HeD, if there ain't no clottin‘ change, I'm subject to send this clottin' transport at full drive straight into that clottin‘ palace of his. You tell the Emperor that."
Hostage-rescue teams were assembled, and waited to see if they'd be called on for the last resort of boarding the Juliette. The Imperial fleet patrolling offworld closed on Prime. Arun-del's already alert security elements were ready with AA missiles held one count from launch, and would fire if the Juliette headed toward the Emperor's palace.
Of course there would be, there could be, no meeting between the Eternal Emperor and the men aboard the Juliette. Terror must not be surrendered to.
Negotiators began the long slow drone, trying to bore the hijackers into surrender. But the hijackers didn't respond—the only response they made was either to repeat their preposterous demand, to stare blankly at the pickup, or occasionally to shut down without a warning.
The livies ate it with a spoon. The story had everything. Crazed terrorists. The cutest on-camera kids since they caught child star Shirlee Rich in bed with her orangutan. Understanding shrinks analyzing everything endlessly. Experts trying to figure out just what world the still-unknown hijackers could have come from. Warships blasting back and forth across the sky. Unknown movement of forces that not even the biggest sleaze livie show host would speculate on, to avoid possibly exposing a secret rescue plan. Lloyds insurance executives explaining what might have happened to the transport Juliette since it had disappeared into Imperial Special Service all the way back during the Tahn war. Noble-looking special-weapons teams ready to sacrifice their all.