"But I'm afraid it's true, Your Majesty," Poyndex said. "Even the Mantis computers have been penetrated. There is no record of Sten—or Alex Kilgour—in any record system in the Empire. I don't know how it was done. I've got every tech in IS working around the clock. The only thing we know for sure is it had to have been done by a very high placed insider."
The Emperor stared at Poyndex for a long, uncomfortable time. He turned and palmed a switch. His personal computer terminal winked into life.
"Fortunately," the Emperor said, "I keep my own files for just this reason." He laughed. Without humor. "When all is lost," he said, "you have to depend on yourself."
His fingers flashed across keys, beginning the search.
"I used to have a staff I could depend upon," the Emperor said. "Mahoney, for one. Sometimes I regret I had to have him killed. Ian was a strong right arm, that's for sure." The Emperor, who normally appeared to be a man in his mid-thirties, suddenly seemed very old to the IS chief. His handsome features drawn. His voice high-pitched... and weak.
The Emperor looked up at Poyndex. "... The same with Sten. I tell you, Poyndex, the trouble with traitors is they tend to be your best people." Another humorless laugh. "Maybe that's what old Julius was trying to tell Brutus."
"Pardon me, Your Majesty? I have no knowledge of these beings. Should I have IS put this Julius and Brutus on your Personal Enemies list?"
The Emperor grunted. "Never mind." He muttered to himself. Just loud enough for Poyndex to hear. "That's the other thing... No one to talk—"
He suddenly broke off. "What the clot?"
"Something wrong, sir?"
The Emperor hammered keys. "No. I probably should have— Holy drakh!"
The Emperor bleared up at Poyndex. "My files..." he gasped, "they're..."
Poyndex glanced at the screen. Saw the display.
"STEN, NI. KILGOUR, ALEX. NO FILES ON RECORD. PRESS ONCE FOR ANOTHER RE-QUEST."
The IS chief staggered back, as flabbergasted as his boss. The Eternal Emperor's personal files on Sten and Kilgour had been wiped absolutely clean.
The Emperor's heavy fist smashed on his desk. "I want Sten, dammit! Get him, Poyndex. If you don't, I will. And I will personally put his head on a stake next to yours."
Poyndex fled. And as he went out the door, he swore he could hear a growling, as if a great hound were snarling after him.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Gooo EVENING, GENTLEBEINGS. I'm Pyt'r Jynnings. Welcome to this week's edition of ‘Nightscan.' The news program that examines the crucial issues of our time.
‘Tonight we focus our full hour on an event that has stunned the Empire. At the heart of this broadcast is a disarmingly simple question...
"Sten: Traitor, or Misunderstood Genius?
‘To my right, Professor Knovack. A renowned Imperial historian and expert on parliamentary power brokering. To my left, Sr. Wiker. Former speechwriter for the Eternal Emperor. Current ambassador to the Tahn worlds.
"Professor. We'll start with you. What is your response to the question?"
"Oh, he's a traitor. No question about it."
"What about you, Sr. Wiker?"
"I couldn't have put it better myself, Pyt'r. Sten is definitely a traitor."
"Ah! Agreement! And... uh... so soon. Goodness me. Well, let's explore the other side of the coin, then. Professor?"
"I went first before."
"Ha ha. Too true. Well, Sr. Wiker, what's fair is fair. Now, tell us... do you think Sten is a misunderstood genius?"
"That's an interesting question, Pyt'r. And I've come prepared to discuss it all night... if I have to."
"Good. Good."
"But, before we do, I think we have to talk about the nature of this man."
"Oh? Did you know Sten? Personally?"
"Good God, no! Uh... I mean... I know of him. And I most certainly know his type."
"Please share these insights with our viewers."
‘To begin with, he has enjoyed the favor of our Emperor his entire life. True, he performed some service. Valuable service, some might say."
"But, would you say that?"
"I think that's... uh... open to interpretation. More importantly, he has been the recipient of a host of honors. So these services—however one might characterize them—have certainly been repaid. Besides these honors, he has also been blessed with great wealth. Thanks to his friendship with the Eternal Emperor."
"How do you react to those statements, Professor Knovack?"
"I think this... this... traitor approached our Emperor in a rare moment of weakness. After that awful business with the privy council. And our beloved Emperor mistook his ambition for love and loyalty. And now it seems... the Emperor was... was... nurturing a snake at his bosom."
"Very well put, Professor. Your reputation as a phrasemaker has once again been assured... Any comments thus far, Sr. Wiker?"
"I think we're forgetting those poor Imperial service beings who were the victims of Sten's traitorous and cowardly action. Especially Admiral Mason. Think of his family! Think of how much agony they must be in at this moment."
"A most excellent point. I think we should all pause for just a moment. A moment of silence, if you please. Out of respect for Admiral Mason's family and the crew of the Caligula ..."
As the vid recorders whirred for the billions of K-B-N-S-O viewers, the three men solemnly bowed their heads.
The director's voice whispered in Jynning's ear. "For clot's sake, Pyt'r. Not the silence business again!"
The anchor whispered back into his throat mike: "Shut the clot up, Badee. You're not the one who has to fill an hour with these two scrotes."
"Well, think fast, bub. We've got fifty minutes to go."
"Cut to a commercial, dammit"
"You gotta be kidding," Badee said. "Who'd advertise on a piece of drakh like this?"
"How about a ‘Give Blood' spot, then?"
"Oh, maaann. Another house ad. Okay. If we gotta. On the count, then... One... Two..."
At that moment a porta-ram smashed through the studio doors.
"On the floor," Sten shouted.
"Move't, or lose't, mates," Alex thundered.
Jynnings, his guests, Badee, and the livie crew gaped for a full two seconds. Sten and Alex strode over the ruined double doors, willyguns at the ready. Behind them, Cind led a contingent of Bhor and Gurkhas.
"It's Sten!" Jynnings uttered in absolute awe. "And Kilgour."
Sten motioned with his weapon. "I said, Down!" He fired, blowing a largish hole in the news anchor's desk.
Much diving for the floor commenced, Jynnings denting his wavy head against the desk. Only the director had the presence of mind to whisper into his mike: "Holy mother... we've got our hour! Keep rolling, fools. Keep rolling."
Sten advanced, just out of pickup range. To his right, an emergency door creaked open. Sten saw a flash of many uni-forms. Guards. Then the air shattered as Cind put a burst through the doorway. Howls of agony. The uniforms vanished.
A burly man stepped out of the shadows, swinging a heavy light standard.
"Ooops, there, lad," Alex said, catching the light housing with one hand. Giving it a yank. "Y've made a wee m'stake." The grip stumbled forward. Alex dropped the light and hoisted the man off the floor. With one hand. " ‘Tis noo i' y'r job description, mon. Y'r lucky Ah'm noo a taleteller. Ah'd put a bug in y'r shop steward's shell, otherwise."
The man's eyes bugged out. Alex hurled him. A loud crash as the goon hit, and monitors cascaded around him.
Alex turned back to Sten. "Ah, think w‘ hae their attention noo, wee Sten... I's showtime, folks."