The wolf worlds, p.1
The Wolf Worlds, page 1
THE STEN SERIES
1. Sten
2. The Wolf Worlds
3. The Court of a Thousand Suns
4. Fleet of the Damned
5. Revenge of the Damned
6. Return of tThe Emperor
7. Vortex
8. End of Empire
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1984 by Allan Cole and Chris Bunch.
This revised and expanded edition
copyright © 2010 by Allan Cole.
All rights reserved.
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
Dedicated to
Kathryn and Karen
. . . for the usual godzilla reasons
and
The real Alex Kilgour . . .
“Who Cares Who Wins…”
FOREWORD TO THE NOVEL SERIES
by Allan Cole
Hailed as a “landmark science fiction series,” the Sten series has thrilled millions of readers all over the world.
Set three thousand years in the future, the eight Sten novels tell the tale of a tough, street-wise orphan who escapes his fate as factory planet “delinq” to become the strong right-hand of the most powerful man in the Universe—a man hailed by his billons of subjects as “The Eternal Emperor.”
THE HERO
Sten is the ultimate survivor. He’s lightning quick, mean streets cunning and blessed with the twin gifts of hungry intelligence and hard-won common sense. Born on a factory planet where life has less value than the lowliest machine, Sten rebels against The Company that enslaved, then killed his parents. He finds a new family of sorts—and the means for revenge—in the ranks of the Emperor’s Imperial Forces.
A series of crucial missions brings him to the attention of the Eternal Emperor himself. Sten’s talents and unshakable loyalty are tested in crisis after crisis, brutal warfare, and assassination.
Besides his “black ops” skills, Sten is armed with a weapon of last resort—he carries a small knife made of an undetectable substance in a flesh and muscle “sheath” in his arm. With a blade edge only one molecule thick, the knife can cut through any substance like butter.
Sten rises swiftly until he becomes a confidante and advisor to the Emperor. Through all this Sten never forgets his lowly origins. Self-depreciating humor, friendship and luck in love shield him from Fame’s blinding light. If anything his empathy and sense of responsibility for the common folk of the Empire grow with each new honor and badge of rank.
Finally he is asked to make the supreme sacrifice—risking even those he loves—to stand up for the citizens of the Empire. Then, when he succeeds, he turns his back on the greatest honor of all.
STEN’S WORLD
Picture the greatest Empire history has known. Its boundaries are the Universe itself, containing more stars, planets and sentient life than could be calculated by the swiftest 21st Century computer. This is a space kingdom where humans live side-by-side with countless alien forms. In fact the word alien itself is offensive and all species are merely called “beings.” The planetary systems range from the sophistication of Prime World where the elite gather—to the rough and ready mining and frontier worlds at the Empire’s edges.
Ruling over all this is:
THE ETERNAL EMPEROR
As his title implies, the Eternal Emperor is a human who has mastered death through the use of secret cloning techniques and mind transfer. When he’s in his cups, he sometimes boasts that although he’s been the target of hundreds of assassination, only three were successful.
The Emperor is the ultimate capitalist and when Sten steps onto the stage he has reigned for three thousand years. The source of the Eternal Emperor’s power is a mysterious fuel—called Anti-Matter Two (AM2). It drives the star ships that link the Empire and provides the energy for all industry, agriculture and commerce. He alone controls its supply and price. And he alone knows where AM2 is to be found.
The Emperor is no tyrant. He prefers wit to force, negotiation to confrontation. But if all else fails he has enormous military resources to back up his will. His past is a rigorously guarded secret and his future is permanently entwined with the Empire he created.
Despite his vast power the Emperor greatly misses the familiar things of his 21st Century youth. On a bad day he would trade it all in for a good bottle of single malt scotch or the sweet sound of an old, hand-crafted violin. He spends his spare time in his antique-cluttered royal suites, restoring or re-constructing nostalgic objects from his salad days.
The Emperor, who has the looks of a handsome, 35-year-old, is also a consummate cook and spends hours in his Prime World kitchens recreating the recipes of ancient Earth, while hatching elaborate plans to confound his many enemies.
The Eternal Emperor sees a bit of his long ago self in Sten. After all, as he occasionally implies, his roots are as common as Sten’s. If their relationship was not by necessity that of ruler and subject they might even have become friends.
Sten admires the Emperor. Perhaps, in a way, he even considers him a father figure. And he has sworn absolute loyalty to the Empire. In the end, however, he will realize that his loyalty is to the idea not the man.
OTHER CHARACTERS
Sten’s world is filled with bizarre and wonderful characters. Among the more important are:
ALEX KILGOUR: Sten’s sidekick and confidant. An incredibly strong heavy-worlder of Scots descent, Kilgour’s passion is shaggy-dog stories. All of which are so awful that his mission mates can hardly wait for the bad guys to kick in the door and interrupt him.
IAN MAHONEY: Sten’s mentor. A top military man, Mahoney excels at both cloak-and-dagger and more conventional warfare, and prefers to lead from the front. He is totally loyal to Emperor.
DOC: A furry alien with the psionic talent to make people like him. It helps that humans think he’s a cute, cuddly koala-bear. Carnivorous little Doc would just love to tear their throats out for that.
IDA: The brilliant Gypsy operative (and hotrod pilot) whose hobby is making huge amounts on the stock market. She could easily retire, but she loves the challenges and danger of black operations work. Fat, mustached and foul-mouthed, she delights in harassing authority.
PRINCE MATHIAS—With his Companions, he is every inch the Alexander-To-Be of the Lupus Cluster. But he negotiates the tricky ground of a Religious War like Machiavelli.
OTHO—The Bhor chieftain who becomes a key ally of Sten and introduces him—and the Empire—to the wonder of Stregg.
STREGG—THE DRINK: This heart-stopping booze appears first in Sten #2—The Wolf Worlds—where a race of Viking-like beings is introduced. Hailing from an ice-planet, their ancestral enemy was the Streggan, a fierce beast that hunted the Bohr almost into annihilation. Finally, they turned the tide and wiped out the beast entirely. They named their favorite drink Stregg, in honor of their ancient enemy. The names were inspired by a boozy session the authors’ had at Harry’s Bar in Century City, California. There they discovered the wonders of Stregga, the Italian liqueur. It means witch. To make your own Stregg mix half stregga and half clear Tequila. Some like a little simple syrup. We never did.
And there are many more, including the various beautiful and multi-talented women Sten squires during his adventures. Ranging from a tough Prime World detective, to the princess of a barbaric race of space pirates.
BOOK ONE
ABSENCE OF BLADE
CHAPTER ONE
THE GO SIRENS ululated through the Jannisar cruiser. The thunder of crashing boots died away. The ship’s XO nodded in satisfaction as the STATIONS READY panel winked to green. He made a mental note to assign extra penance to one laggard ECM station, then spun in his chair to the captain. “All stations manned, Sigfehr,” he reported.
The captain touched the relic that hung under his black tunic, then opened his intercom mike. “Bow, ye of the Jann, as we make our prayer to Talamein.
“O Lord, ye who know all things, bless us as we are about to engage the unbeliever. We ask, as our right due, for your assistance in victory. “S’be’t.”
The chorus of “S’be’t” echoed through the ship. The captain switched to a double channel.
“Communications, you will monitor. Weapons, prepare launch sequence. LRM tubes two, four, six. Target onscreen. Commercial ship. Communications, establish contact with target ship. Weapons, we will launch on my command, after surrender of enemy ship. This is bridge, clear.”
The cruiser’s prey appeared to be just another obsolescent Register-class mining survey ship wildcatting through the galaxy’s outer limits.
Its oval hull was patched, resprayed, corroded, and even rusty from its very occasional atmospheric landings. Its long, spindly landing legs were curled under the ship’s body, and the mining grab claws were curled just below the forward controls.
It resembled nothing so much as an elderly crab fleeing a hungry shark.
Actually, the ship was the IA Cienfuegos, an Imperial spy ship, its mission complete and now speeding for home.
Extract, Morning Report, II Saber Squadron. Mantis Section:
The following detached this date, assigned temporary duty Imperial Auxiliary Ship Cienfuegos (x-file OP CAM-FAR):
STEN, (NI). Lt. OC Mantis Section 13, weapons; KILGOUR. ALEX. Sgt., NCOiC, Demolitions; KALDERASH, IDA. Corporal. Pilot & Electronics; MORREL, BET, Superior Private, Beast Handler; *BLYRCHYNAUS*. Unranked, Anthropologist, Medic. Team detached with Indiv Gear. Units 45 & 46.
&nb
sp; NOTE: OP CAMFAR under dir O/C Mercury Corps, subsq. entries t/b cleared thru Col. Ian Mahoney, Commander Mercury Corps.
Sten stared approvingly at the nude woman strobe-illuminated by the hydroponic lights. He walked to the edge of the plot and gently picked his way past the two huge, black-and-white Siberian tigers.
One of them opened a sleepy eye, emitted a low growl of recognition. Sten ignored it, and it returned to licking its mate’s throat.
Bet turned then frowned, seeing Sten. Sten’s heart still thumped when he saw her. She was small, blonde, and muscles rippled under her smooth, tawny skin.
She hesitated, then waded through the waving plants to the edge of the plot and sat beside him. Sten was only slightly taller than Bet, with black hair and brooding black eyes. He was slender, but with the build of a trained acrobat.
“Thought you were asleep,” she said.
“Couldn’t.”
Bet and Sten sat in silence for a moment—except for the purrs of Munin and Hugin, Bet’s two big cats. Neither Bet nor Sten was particularly good at talking. Especially about . . .
“Thought maybe,” Sten tried haltingly, “we should, well, try to figure out what’s going on.”
“Going wrong, you mean,” Bet said softly.
“I guess that pretty well is it,” Sten said.
Bet considered. “I’m not sure. We’ve been together quite awhile. Maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s this stupid operation. All we’ve done for a long time now is sit on this clottin’ ship and playtech.”
“And snarl at each other,” Sten added. “That, too.”
“Look,” Sten said, “why don’t we go back to my compartment? And . . .” His voice trailed off. Very romantic approach, his mind snapped at him.
Bet hesitated. Considering. Finally she shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think I want things left alone until we get back. Maybe—maybe when we’re on R and R . . . maybe then we’ll go back to being like we were.”
Sten sighed. Then nodded. Perhaps Bet was right. Maybe it was best—
And the intercom sang: “If we aren’t disturbing the young lovers, we seem to have a small problem in the control room.”
“Like what, Ida?” Sten asked.
The tigers were already up, ears erect, tails swimming gently. “Like a clottin’ great cruiser haulin’ up on us from the rear.” Bet and Sten were on their feet, running for the control room.
* * * *
A relatively short man, about as wide as he was tall, scanned the display from the ship’s Janes fiche and grunted. Alex was a heavy-worlder with steel-beam size bones and super-dense muscles. And his accent—Scots because of the original settlers of his homeworld—was as thick as his body.
“Naebody w’knae th’ trawble Ah seen,” he half sung to himself as he glanced over the description of the ship that was pursuing them.
Sten leaned over his shoulder and read aloud: “619.532. ASSAULT/PATROL CRUISER. Former Imperial Cruiser Turnmaa, Karjala class. Dim: 190 meters by 34… . clottin’ chubby ship . . . Crew under Imperial manning: 26 officers, 125 men….”
“Four of us, plus two tigers, against 151 troops,” Ida broke in. The Rom woman mused over the odds. She was as chubby as she was greedy. Ida had her fingers in every stock and futures market in the Empire. “If anyone’s taking bets, I’ll give odds … against us.”
Sten ignored her and read on: “Armament: Six Goblin anti-ship launchers, storage thirty-six in reserve … Three Vydall intercept missile launchers, storage forty-five in reserve… four Lynx-output laser systems… usual in-atmosphere AA capability… single chain gun, single Bell-class assault laser, mounted unretractable turrets above A deck. Well-armed little bassid . . . Okay, now, speed….”
“Ah’m kepit my fingers linkit,” Alex murmured. “Clot,” Sten said, “they can outrun us, too.”
It was Ida’s turn to grunt. “Clottin” computer, all it tells us is that we’re swingin’ gently, gently in the wind. Any data on who those stinkin’ bad guys are?”
Sten didn’t bother to answer her. “What’s intercept time?” he snapped.
Ida blanked the Janes display and the screen relit: AT PRESENT SPEED. TURNMAA WILL BE WITHIN WEAPONS RANGE IN 2 SHIP SECONDS FOR GOBLIN LAUNCH. CONTACT WILL BE MADE IN—
Bet cut the readout. “Who cares? I don’t think those clowns want to shake our hands.” She turned to Sten. “Any ideas, Lieutenant?”
Ida’s board buzzed. “Oh-ho. They want to talk to us.” Her hand went to the com switch.
Sten stopped her. “Stall them,” he said.
There was a reason for Sten’s caution. The problem wasn’t with the control room—the Cienfuegos was indeed an Imperial spy ship—but except for its hidden super-computer, a rather sophisticated electronic suite, and overpowered engines, it still was pretty much the rust-bucket inside as it was on the outer skin.
The problem was its crew: Mantis section, the Empire’s super-secret covert mission specialists. Mantis troopers were first given the standard one-year basic as Imperial Guardsmen, then, assuming they had the proper nonmilitary, nonregimented, and ruthless outlook on life, seconded first to Mercury Corps (Imperial Military Intelligence) and then given the two-year-long Mantis training.
Clot the training, Sten thought while trying to come up with a battle that offered even a one-in-ten chance of survival. The problem was really the team’s physical appearance: Munin and Hugin, two four-meter-long mutated black-and-white Siberian tigers. One chubby Scotsman. One fat woman wearing a gypsy dress. One pretty woman. And me, Sten thought. Sten, Lieutenant, commanding Mantis Team 13, suicide division.
Whoopie, he thought. Oh, well.
Sten motioned to Doc while Ida fumbled with the com keys, making confused responses to the cruiser.
Doc waddled forward. The tendriled koala’s real name was *BLYRCHYNAUS*, but since no one could pronounce his Altarian name, they called him Doc. The little anthro expert (and medic) held all human beings in absolute contempt. Though he was mostly considered a pain in the lower extreme, he had two indispensable talents: He could analyze culture from small scraps of evidence; and (as one of the Empire’s most formidable carnivores) he had the ability to broadcast feelings of compassion and love for his adorable self and any companions.
“Any idea who they are?” Sten asked. Doc sniffed. “I have to see them,” he said.
Sten signaled Ida, who had taped a crude frame to the com pickup so that she would be the only creature visible on the ship.
“Once more onto the breach of contract,” she said and keyed ANSWER.
Three stern faces stared at her from the screen.
“G’head,” Ida yawned. “This is Hodell, Survey Ship P21. Ca1 Cervi on.”
“You will cut your drive instantly. This I order in the name of Talamein and the Jannisars.”
Out of sight of the Jann captain, Doc studied the man. Noting his uniform. Analyzing his speech patterns.
Ida gave the captain a puzzled look. “Talamein? Talamein? Do I know him?”
The eyes of the two men beside the captain widened in horror at her blasphemy. The senior officer glared at Ida through the screen.
“You will bring your vessel to an immediate halt and prepare for boarding and arrest.
“By the authority of the Prophet, and Ingild, his emissary in present-time. You have entered proscribed space. Your ship will be seized, you and your crew conveyed to Cosaurus for trial and execution of sentence.”
“Y’sure got yourself a great justice system, Cap’n.” Ida rose from her chair, turned, and planted her bare, ample buttocks against the pickup. Then, modestly lowering her skirt, she turned back to the screen. She noted with pleasure she’d gotten a reaction from all three black uniforms this time.
“And if nonverbal communication ain’t sufficient,” she said, “I’d suggest you put your prophet in one hand and your drakh in the other and see which one fills up first.”
Without waiting for an answer, she broke contact.
“A wee bit d’rect, m’lass?” Alex inquired.
Ida just shrugged. Sten waited patiently for Doc’s analysis. The bear’s antenna vibrated slightly. “Not pirates or privateers—at least these beings do not so consider themselves. In any case authoritarian, which should be obvious even to these odiferous beasts of Bet’s.”
