"Ah begs her f'r whae it was.
"I's noo her turn t' blush, an' she say't 'Ah'm a respect'ble widow. Ah cannae use language like thae around a man.'
"She talk't funny, she did. 'Twae hard t' understand her, sometime.
"Ah ask't her to write it doon, e'en. But she cannae do thae, e'er. Thae must be the scummiest poem e'er wrote. So Ah argue, an' argue, an' plea, an' finally she say't, 'Cannae Ah tell it, but wi' blankety frae th' vile words?'
"A course, Ah says. Ah'll hae nae grief figurin't it oot frae there.
"An' she tak't ae deep breath, an' recites:
"Blankety-blankety blank
Blankety-blankety blank
Blankety-blank
Blankety-blank
Blankety river of shit.''
After a long silence... a giggle. Alex beamed. "Ah knoo frae th' first thae wae someat aboot y' Ah admired. Noo thae's three.''
"Three what?"
"Three bein's whae admir't m' stories. One's a walrus, one's a lemur, an' y're the third."
"Exalted company indeed," Cind said. "Now, what's the moral that pertains to our present situation?"
"As wi' any braw preacher," Alex said, "Ah dinnae think m' sermons need further explication."
And silence hung down about them.
In fact, the nothing they had seen so far was grimly productive. Cind and Alex had been in their hidey-hole for two full days. They had seen no aircraft approach Gatchin, nor had they seen any sign of sentries atop its walls. At night, only a few lights gleamed from the ominous citadel.
Two hours later, just before dusk, Alex grunted. "Ah hae some'at. Comint frae th' south. Twa gravsleds. Cargo lighters, Ah reck... Whae's th' castle doin't?"
"Nothing," Cind said. "None of those cupolas-I think they're AA launchers-are moving."
"Bad," Alex said. "Worse. Thae's no sign ae guns or guards ae th' lighters, either. An' Ah can make out th' cargo ae th' deck. Clot. Rations. Rations enow frae noo more'n a platoon, Ah'd guess. Y hae them i' your eyeballs noo?"
"I do," Cind said. She watched as the lighters settled down onto an overhead landing deck. After a moment, she saw a couple of uniformed men come out to meet the lighter. Neither of them was visibly armed, unless they were carrying pistols.
"No security at all," she said.
"No food, no security, no guards, which mean't no prisoners, aye?"
"Right."
"So where'd Doc Isky stash th' usual suspects?"
Cind shook her head. No clues.
"Shall we start lookin't? Knowin't we dinnae want to find?"
And at full dark, they bundled up the surveillance post in silence. Both of them had a pretty good idea where the purged soldiers and officials were. All they had to do was confirm their suspicions.
"Rejected," Iskra stormed. "Rejected. Unable to meet requested quota at this time. Personnel not available. All patrol elements available for client governments are committed for foreseeable future. What the hell is going on?"
"The Empire is still recovering, sir," Venloe said, his voice most neutral. "There's not exactly the cornucopia available that there was before the war.''
"I am not concerned with the Empire," Iskra said. "What I am concerned about is the absolute failure of the Imperial system to support its ruler. The Emperor chose me to bring The Altaic Cluster back to stability and order. Yet I am denied the tools I must have to accomplish my task."
Venloe thought of saying something-Iskra's massive shopping list had been either arrogant, ignorant, or insane. Among other items Iskra had requested-demanded-were a full division of Imperial Guards for his security, two first-line battle squadrons from the Imperial Navy, and a flat doubling of the AM2 quota for the Altaics, with no justification given on any item other than "to continue the reestablishment of a legal government and public order.''
"Do these bastards want me to fail?"
"I doubt that, doctor."
"The Emperor had best make these bureaucrats aware of one thing. I am certainly the only one who can bring peace to this cluster. My continued success is vital. Not only for my people, but for the Empire, as well. So far, I have been a loyal supporter of Prime World's policies. I doubt if anyone involved with the highest levels of Imperial authority would be happy if I should choose to consider other alternatives."
Venloe, by now, was getting better at covering his reactions to Iskra's pronouncements. This last, however, forced him to suddenly turn his attention to a com screen that was showing nothing particularly important. By the time he turned back to Dr. Iskra, his expression was again bland, pleasing.
He decided, however, that he would not ask Iskra to elaborate. Other alternatives? Such as what? The shattered Tahn? The ghosts of the dead privy council?
Did the good doctor now think the Emperor needed him more than he needed the Emperor?
That information, once relayed, would certainly produce an interesting reaction. Venloe did not, however, look forward to relaying it.
Sten had expected to return to mountains of problems and whirlpools of disaster. Instead:
"Nae problem, boss. Ah did th' important stuff, Cind took th' normal tasks, an' Otho ignored th' dross. Y c'd a' stayed on y'r wee vacation another year wi'oot bein't missed."
"Shall we kill him, Cind?" the Bhor rumbled.
"Later."
"You'll have to stand in line," Sten said. "I outrank both of you."
"Why are we not drinking?" Otho said. "To celebrate the return of our warrior-king Sten. Or to celebrate it is the first day of the week, whichever feels more important."
"Because, lad, we're workin't t'night."
Alex, looking smug, indicated that Sten should make the explanation. Sten grinned-the heavy worlder was more than a bit better at keeping Sten's feet buried in firm loam than that slave who was supposed to whisper "This too shall pass" in an imperator's ear during his triumphs. Or whatever the phrase had been.
"That rifle we bugged and let the baddies steal seems to have settled in for the winter," he said. "I think we should exercise visitation rights."
"Hah," Otho said. "Good. I do not truck with these Imperial soldiers. But those two brothers they butchered-they need a blessing sent to hell for them. I hope that rifle is not all alone, concealed in the closet of some pimple-faced alley shooter.''
"I don't think so. It's hidden somewhere in the back of a takeout food store."
Otho grunted in pleasure. "Good. Probably not just a single villain. Snack place, hmm. That's a good cover for lots of people going in, coming out. I will remember that.
"So, this is a group, most likely. Does anyone have a clue who they are murdering for?''
"Not yet. That's one of the things we want."
"How hard do we hit them?"
"I want intelligence," Sten said. "Body count is all right if the place is guarded, but it's distinctly secondary. Cind?"
"Ummm... do you have an overhead on the area? Thanks. Open access to the rear, we'll need one squad. We'll go in with-let's see, another squad for the front, one platoon backup, four in the door. Keep a company in reserve, I guess."
"We will nae' be beggin't assistance frae Colonel Geraty ae his Guardsmen." It was not even a question.
"Absolute negative," Sten said. "I'm assuming there could be a leak from them and sure as hell a leak if we transmit it through the embassy and into Iskra's com link. And if we start pumping secure signals direct to the Guards, somebody might smell something."
"Are you thinking, my Sten, that scrote Iskra has his own private terrorists?''
"Right now, Otho," Sten said, suddenly feeling tired, "I suspect everyone in this clotting cluster of joining or heading up death squads. Except you two."
"An' whae aboot me, boss?"