Кристофер Банч - Empire's End

"But… all the civilians at the station—"

"Clot the civilians. I want that man dead. Now, move it!"

The captain rushed into action.

Anders turned back. Sten was still talking. Good. I'll see you in hell, you son of a bitch.

Alex signaled to Sten. A finger across his throat. Time to get the clot out.

"… The list of the Emperor's sins is far longer than I have time to detail. I suspect his fleets are on the way now. So, I haven't much time. Except to say this:

"I, Sten, declare war on the Eternal Emperor. And I urge you all to join me in this crusade. He's left you nothing to lose. And all your freedom to gain.

"Thank you. And good night."

Sten lifted his weapon and turned the camera into molten metal and plas. The station jolted again and again, as Sten's forces blew their strategically placed explosives. No innocents would be hurt. But it would take many months and even more credits before K-B-N-S-O broadcast again.

Sten prodded Jynnings with his toe. The man whimpered and looked up at him with terror-stricken eyes. The anchor was sure he was staring a madman in the face.

"Thanks for the loan of your program," Sten said.

"Sure," Jynnings squeaked. "Anytime."

Cind shouted, "We're three seconds behind schedule."

Sten nodded, and sprinted through the blackened hole posing as a doorway, his team behind him. The last out was Cind. She paused and fired a long burst around the room to add to the terror and confusion. Molten metal and plas dripped from smoking walls.

Then she was gone.

Jynnings raised his head from the floor. "Thank God," he breathed. "I'm safe."

"Who cares," the director said as he scrambled to his feet "You realize what we just broadcast? I tell you, the numbers we get on this baby are gonna blow our competition out of the water."

Badee looked around at the ruins of the studio. Humming to himself. It was gonna be easy street all the way, now. He would have his pick of any job in the livie business.

He wondered if there was a com line undamaged. He had to call his agent. Real quick.

All the alarms were hooting warnings as Sten and the others dived aboard the Victory . Within minutes, Sten was on the bridge. Captain Preston's face relaxed slightly.

"Just in time," Freston said. "We've got a whole clottin' fleet after our tender young hides. Led by a big clottin' battleship… the Nevsky . Permission to run like hell, sir."

"Negative," Sten said, scanning the incoming blips. There was just enough time. "I want to thin out a little of the competition, first, Captain."

Sten swiveled to Lieutenant Denzi. "Weapons?"

"All Kali and Goblin units at full launch-readiness," she reported. The woman was ready to fight.

Sten hated to disappoint her. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to do the honors, Lieutenant," he said.

He raced for a Kali station. He called out to Captain Freston as he pulled on the helmet. "When I say go… go, dammit!"

Freston nodded. He wouldn't need to be prodded. The monitors showed the Nevsky coming fast, accompanied by half-a-dozen cruisers and a forest of destroyers.

Sten's hand automatically armed the missile, then fired. His point of view was black space pricked with flares of color rushing by him as the missile hurtled out.

There was a cruiser bearing down on the Victory . Behind it he could see the battleship. There was just a chance he might slip his Kali past the cruiser. But Sten opted to play it safe. Especially when he saw the cruiser's missile bays' gunports yawn, ready to fire at the Victory .

Aboard the Nevsky , Captain Leech faced a similar problem. His battle monitors snowed the Victory in a parking orbit to the side of the orbiting livie station. An alarm indicated an enemy Kali honing in on his lead cruiser. And that the cruiser blocked any possible shot at the Victory .

Then he saw the solution. The livie station.

Leech had become addicted to an ancient Earth game when he was a young officer on his first lonely outpost. It was called "pool." Why, he didn't know. One didn't puddle water on the green felt table. In a clutch, one of his favorite tactics was a "power break," which called for smashing the white cue ball into its brothers with all his strength. The results were messy, but sometimes miraculous.

The livie station before him presented a similar situation. A direct hit on the station would produce an explosion that would, at the very least, damage the nearby Victory . The bigger the blast, the greater chance he had to disable or even destroy Sten's ship.

It never entered Leech's mind it took a minimum of two thousand beings to run a livie station of K-B-N-S-O's size. His orders, after all, were to get Sten. At all costs.

A rush of orders to his weapons officer put his plan into action.

Moments later, three nuclear-tipped missiles spit from the Nevsky's tubes.

Freston had never heard of pool. But he was blessed with a remarkably quick mind. When the enemy missiles winked into life onscreen, he at first thought the captain of the Nevsky must be incompetent. Their trajectory would take them nowhere near the Victory . His mind swiftly calculated their course… the livie station? What the clot? Then he got it.

There was no time to warn the station. Much less Sten, who was hunched at the Kali controls, his mind racing along with the missile he'd aimed at the enemy cruiser.

Preston's hand smashed down on the drive controls.

The cruiser jumped up at Sten, as the Kali closed. He thumbed controls, the image blurred, and his mind was falling away… back… back… back…

The Imperial missiles struck the station simultaneously. The nukes detonated. Two thousand beings ceased to exist.

Radioactive debris shrapneled outward. In moments the Victory would be riddled.

Sten plunged into awareness just as the Victory crashed into hyperspace. Kilgour's face bleared at him. Pale and worried. Behind him was an anxious Freston.

"Tell us y'r name, lad," Alex said.

"Say clottin' what?"

"Y'r name. "Tis a wee test."

Sten snarled back. "Kilgour, if you don't get your haggis breath out of my face, I'm going to stuff you into a ship's stomach along with the rest of the porridge."

Kilgour turned back to Freston. A big smile wreathed his round face. "Aye, he's fightin' fit. Altho' his slangin' c'd use a bit o' work."

"What the clot's going on, Kilgour?" Sten demanded.

"W hae to' leave, wi'oot waitin' on th' order ae our comin't, nor f'r you't' bash th' cruiser. Th' mad Emp hae stuck his foot in th' drakh i' whae's goin't on, young Sten."

"I repeat my opening remarks, Kilgour. What the clot is going on?"

"Th' Emp's blow'it up his pet livie station."

"What the clot for?" Sten was gaping.

Alex made a motion with his heavy-world shoulders. It was a shrug that came in a massive wave.

"P'raps he dinnae like th' panto."

EYES ONLY

NODIST NONONIMP

NOFILE

PERSONALLY DESTROY POST RECEIPT ACKNOWLEDGE TO ORIGINATOR VERBAL ONLY NOREC

DOCUMENT ID: None (vice Originator)

TO: ALL IS STATION HEADS

DESIGNATED/CLEARED EMBASSY SECURITY STATION CHIEFS OTHER PERS DESIGNATED BY P. OR HIGHEST

FROM: POYNDEX, HEAD, INTERNAL SECURITY

*

1. All stations have received orders for the immediate apprehension of STEN, (NO INITIAL). No task is to be given higher priority by IS personnel unless specifically notified otherwise by P. or designated subordinate.

2. This task is to include the apprehension or deactivation, by any means necessary, of all involved co-conspirators; both those identified to date in Imperial Bulletins and those who are clearly participants but not yet named.