"But we'll mos' likely kill th‘ Emp i' the bloodbath. An‘, same prob'ility, die i' th‘ doin't."
Sten nodded.
He stared at, but did not see, the screens as he ran his own set of numbers.
He would probably die in this battle in the galactic dark. Very well. Sten was surprised he could accept that with a certain equanimity—or at least he had fooled his mind into thinking that.
At least the Eternal Emperor would die, as well.
And the Imperial forces would be shattered.
But a navy could be rebuilt.
Especially if—and he'd completely accepted Haines's verification of Mahoney's improbable theory—the Emperor would return. Return, and be handed the throne in exchange for the resumption of AM2.
The Emperor would be gone for at least three, possibly six, E-years. During which time the "civilized" universe would sink further into chaos. And then a madman would return, slashing out to regain his kingdom. A fifth horseman of the apocalypse.
How long would it take for another rebellion? A rebellion that wasn't aimed at the New Boss replacing the Old Boss? A rebellion unlike the Tahn war or the Mueller Rising before that?
No.
Sten issued orders, then retreated to the solitude of the Victory's admiral's walk. The rebels were to take a defensive posture. He could not—would not—allow the projected orgy of mutual destruction to occur. Not when it would be unlikely to completely excise this tumor that called himself the Eternal Emperor.
No. If necessary, they could retreat. Regroup. Rethink. Or, in a worst-case scenario, follow the example of countless liberation forces through the centuries—dump arms, go to ground, and try again.
Hell, Sten thought. If this is where it ends, I can disappear into the woodwork. Change my face, change my name, and try again.
The next time, by myself.
The next time, with a bomb or a longarm.
No surrender, Sten promised himself. But now it's time to keep the beings who followed you from dying.
Inaction, his mind told him. Retreat. Passivity.
No other options occurred.
He thought of alk, or stregg. Neither was acceptable. He slumped into a chair. Stared out at the kaleidoscope that was hy-perspace.
Seconds... minutes... hours .. centuries later, the com blatted at him.
Sten slapped the switch and started to growl. Stopped himself. It was Alex onscreen, his face and voice carefully bland.
"Com ‘cast frae th' Imperial forces," he said, without preamble. "Tightbeam. On a freq thae Freston says is exclusive't‘ th' Emperor. An‘ th' Victory's one ae th‘ few ships wi' th‘ capability't' receive it. Y‘ recollect the Emp built this ship frae his own use?"
"Do you have a point of origin?"
"Ah dinnae, Sten. Noo frae any listed world. Frae a ship, Ah reck. Wi‘ th' Imperial forces, Ah'd guess.
"An... i's en clair. Vid an‘ voice. Wi' a card sayin't it's f r y'r eyes only."
Sten started to order it to be transmitted to his com, then caught himself. No. Even at this time, at this moment before the storm, it would not be unlikely for the Eternal Emperor to transmit something meaningless—and then leak the story that the message contained private instructions from the Emperor to one of his double agents.
"Hang on," Sten ordered. "I'm on my way down. Set it up for projection on the bridge."
"Boss? Are y‘ sure?"
"Hell, yes. I'm getting too old to play games. Stand by."
The screen showed the Eternal Emperor. He was standing alone on the awe-inspiring bridge of a warship. The Durerl He wore a midnight-black uniform with his symbol in gold on his breast—the letters AM2 superimposed over the null-element's atomic structure.
"This message is intended for Sten, and only for him.
"Greetings.
"Once you were my most faithful servant. Now you have declared yourself my most deadly enemy. I do not know why. I thought you served me well, and so I made you ruler over many things, and thought that would bring you joy. Evidently it did not
"And I have seen, to my great sorrow, that some of my sub-jects believe themselves to be ignored, believe they have been somehow slighted, in spite of my efforts to help them as best I can in these troubled times.
"I could reason, I could argue, I could attempt to present a larger view of the chaos that looms before all of us in the Empire.
"But I shall not. Perhaps some of my satraps have enforced their own immoralities under the cover of my rule, which has always been intended to provide the maximum benefit to all beings, human and otherwise, a rule of peace and justice that began before time was recorded and, with the goodwill of my fellow citizens, will continue until time itself must have a stop.
"Beings—many of them my good and faithful servants— have died. Died in this murderous squabble that history will not even dignify with a footnote. It shall not be remembered because I propose a solution, a solution that no one could argue with.
"You, Sten, say that my rule is autocratic. Dictatorial, even. Very well.
"I invite you to share that rule.
"Not as a co-ruler, because you, or those who rose in rebellion with you, could well define that as a cheap attempt at bribery. At co-option.
"No. I propose a full and complete sharing of power between myself, my Parliament, and you and your chosen representatives, in whatever form we agree to be the most representative and just.
"I further propose an immediate truce, to avoid further bloodshed. This truce will be of short duration, so that neither side can argue it is being used as a device to seek an advantageous position to destroy the other. I would accept two E-weeks as an outside figure.
"At the end of that time, you and I should meet. We should meet with our best advisers and allies, to prepare the grounds for this new and promising time for the Empire.
"I further suggest that our meeting ground be on Seilichi, the home planet of the most respected, most neutral, and most peaceful beings this universe has ever known, the Manabi. I would also ask that their most honored savant, Sr. Ecu, mediate our negotiations.
"I ask you, Sten, as an honorable being, to accept my most generous offer.
"Now, only you can keep innocent blood from showering the stars."
And the screen went blank.
A blast of babble on the Victory's bridge. Then silence, as ev-eryone turned to look at Sten. Son of a bitch, he thought. He has us.
And there's no way out. No way whatsoever.
CHAPTER TWENTY
STEN RUBBED TIRED eyes and tried to think. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep in the past two weeks. What little he'd had time for had been constantly interrupted by messengers, corns, and delegations arriving from his allies. Even his thoughts, when he was alone with Cind, yammered at him.
Cind had run everyone out twenty hours ago, and forced Sten to take a sopor. He had slept hard, but not well.
Now, he was in his final briefing. His allies had presented what they wanted and expected in this Brave New World of Powersharing, a certain percentage of which was either wishful thinking or else shouldn't be mentioned until the transition was complete. And that last assumption was well up there with prog-ging the belled cat...
The briefing, like everything else about Sten and the rebellion, was irregular, consisting less of those with the clout than the old guard. Himself. Kilgour. Cind. Rykor. Even Otho, who at least could be counted on to provide the nonsubtle touch.
Sten wished Sr. Ecu could have been present, or could at least have monitored this session. But no one could chance even the vague possibility the Emperor would discover the Manabi and Sten were in collusion.