Allan Cole & Chris Bunch + The Wolf Worlds

265 Pages·2016·1.32 MB·English

by  Cole Allan

COMMANDOS!
200 OF THE FINEST NEEDED! DEFEND THE FAITH OF
CENTURIES!
PAY GUARANTEED
Colonel Sten, late of His Imperial
Majesty's Third Guards Assault
Division, needs 200 elite soldiers to
assist in the protection of one of the
Empire's most respected social and
theocratic orders.
Only the Best Need Apply!
NONHUMANOID FREELANCES
CANNOT BE CONSIDERED DUE
TO RELIGIOUS CONDITIONS*
The Lupus Cluster and the Faith of Talamein are under attack by a
godless mercenary horde which is attempting to destroy some of the
sector's most beautiful and desirable worlds. Required individual
equipment: sidearms, cold-weather suits, space—combat armor.
Combatants should expect little ground leave...
*An Equal Opportunity Employer, exempted under E.E.C. 12 (a) l.c
Also by Allan Cole and Chris Bunch Published by Ballantine Books:
STEN
ALLAN COLE and CHRIS BUNCH
A Del Rey Book
.
BALLANTINE BOOKS NEW YORK
DEDICATED TO
Kathryn and Karen
...for the usual godzilla reasons
and
The real Alex Kilgour
... "Who Cares Who Wins..."
A Del Rey Book
Published by Ballantine Books Copyright © 1984 by Allan Cole and Christopher
Bunch
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House,
Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada
Limited, Toronto.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 83-91218
ISBN 0-345-31229-5
Printed in Canada First Edition: March 1984
Cover art by David B. Matnngly
BOOK ONE
ABSENCE OF
BLADE
CHAPTER ONE
THE GO SIRENS ululated through the Jannisar cruiser. The thund er 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 targ et 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 gala xy's outer limits.
Its oval hull was patched, resprayed. corroded, and even
3
4
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 1A Cienfuegos, an Imperial spy ship, its mission
complete and now speeding for home.
Extract, Morning Report, II Saber Squadron. Mantis Sec tion: The following
detached this date, assigned temporary duty Imperial Auxiliary Ship Cienfuegos
(x-file OP CAMFAR):
STEN, (NI). Lt. OC Mantis Section 13, weapons;
KILGOUR. ALEX. Sgt., NCO1C, Demolitions: KALDERASH, IDA.
Corporal. Pilot & Electronics; MORREL, BET, Superior Private, Beast
Handler, BLYRCHYNAUS. Unranked, Anthropologist, Medic.
Team detached with Indiv Gear. Units 45 & 46.
NOTE: OP CAMFAR under dir O/C Mercury Corps, subsq. entries t/b
cleared thru Col. lan Mahoney. Commander Mercury Corps.
Sten stared approvingly at the nude woman strobe-illumin ated 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 5
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 play tech."
"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 homework!—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 6
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 rustbucket 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, nonregi-
mented, 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 plan that
offered even a one-in-ten chance of survival. The problem was really the team's
physical appearance: Munin 7
and Hugin, two four-meter-long mutated black-and-white Sib erian 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 indispensible talents: He
could analyze culture from small scraps of evidence; and (as one of the Empire's most
formidible carnivores) he had the ability to broadcast feelings of compass ion 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. Ca' 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.