THE MISSION
In a darkened room deep in the bowels of Chinen’s security section, Sten and his three comrades in spookery were awe-stricken as they watched the vid camera speed across the miraculous landscape that was Demeter.
Forests and mountains, booming seas, wide rivers, vast plains filled with golden grain and robo-tended farms and orchards overflowing with ripening crops. All that, plus an amazing variety of herd animals, birds and aquatic life.
When it came to an end, the lights came up and Mahoney’s holo-image flickered into life. He was perched on the desktop of his office on Prime World, half the galaxy away.
“That’s our bait,” Mahoney said. “Now, it’s up to you to lure them into the trap.”
“Ah’m thinkin’ ay grabbin’ er fur myself,” Alex said. “It’s a bloomin’ paradise.”
“Literally,” Ida said. “Did you see all those crops just begging to be harvested?”
“I’m not one for vegetables,” Doc said. “But all those animals. Filled with lovely bubbling corpuscles.” He smacked his lips.
“We almost choked, so we did,” Mahoney said, “when we learned how much Fehrle is willing to shell out for an agplanet snatch-and-grab. Obviously, the Tahn want to reverse engineer Demeter and stamp out hundreds more.”
Sten nodded. “Makes sense from their point of view,” he said. “If there’s ever a war and they have enough agplanets they’ll be able to dodge the food shortage bullet.”
“Oh, there’s going to be a war, lad, so there will,” Mahoney said. “I have no doubt about that.” He grimaced. “The Emp and his diplomatic boyos have been working night and day to prevent a conflict. Not that the boss has any doubt about the outcome. But the Tahn won’t go down easily. And the cost in credits and lives would be astronomical.”
Ida said, “Looks like Lord Wichman is sitting in the cat bird’s seat, ready to collect a fortune as the middleman.”
“We hae tae dae somethin’ abit ‘at son ay a spavined joygirl,” Kilgour said. “Make heem pay. Skin heem alive, alang wi’ his wee weepin’ willie who goes by th’ name of Gregor.”
Sten frowned. “Speaking of Gregor, we haven’t heard from Mitzi lately. I’m getting worried.”
“Never mind Mitzi,” Mahoney said. “The lass can take care of herself. Smart lass, our Mitzi. She guessed Fehrle would want Gregor for a hostage so he can keep tabs on Wichman and the pirates at the same time. When Skink makes his move Fehrle will be close by to collect his prize and avoid a Wichman double cross.”
Ida chuckled. “And our Mitzi will be right there to tip us off when it happens.”
“Obviously, Skink is going to ambush the Demeter convoy,” Sten said. He grinned at Mahoney. “So, I suppose the boss wants us to ambush the ambushers, right, General?”
“Aye, so he does, lad,” Mahoney said. “So he does.”
Sten said, “With that valuable a prize, aren’t you worried that other villains might get word and join in on the fun? We could end up with a crowd of bad guys out there.”
“We made sure to confine the leak to one person,” Mahoney said. “Wichman’s new right hand man is an ex Guards officer, with an ax to grind over forced retirement.
“On top of that, we plotted a deliberately circuitous route, which is why the trip has taken so long. It’s a small convoy—low profile all the way.”
Mahoney beamed. “Better still, we have Commander Thema running the operation,” he said. “I’ve always had a soft spot for that lass. She’s as tough as they come, so she is.”
Sten nodded approvingly. Michele Thema, affectionately known by her people as “Little Mike,” was a noted hard ass of the first order.
He said, “The main question is when and where Skink will strike.”
Kilgour said, “If Ah was a wee pirate playin’ yo-ho-ho an’ a bottle ay narcobeer, eh’d want tae ambush ‘er jist afore she reached ‘er new haem away from haem.” He tipped a wink at Mahoney. ““So, whaur micht ‘at be, me fine wee general?”
For an answer, Mahoney called up a chart of the Possnet Sector, which looked a bit like a dog’s leg. Two yellow dots flashed down near the paw.
“The most vulnerable, and therefore the most likely spots are in these two places. Either the KeplerCr5, or the SaganGx6,” he said, indicating each yellow orb in turn. “There’s some rather odd black holes and other anomalies in each of those areas that travelers tend to avoid.”
Sten snorted. “Begging your pardon, General sir,” he said with undisguised skepticism. “But we’ll still be trying to cover millions of square kilometers. We either need to narrow that down more, or get more help.”
“Good point,” Ida said. “Which raises the question—why are you sending just us? Why not copper your bets with a few more Mantis teams?”
Mahoney chuckled. “Objections noted and rejected,” he said. “And I’ll tell you why. The boss sees things differently. For example, the Emperor loves to tell a little story about an ancient group of lawmen known as the Texas Rangers. The boss said they were as ‘tough as nails,’ and whenever there was big trouble the locals would call for the Rangers.
“Legend has it that one time there was a particular nasty uprising in a frontier town known as Deadwood, or some such. Help was urgently requested. The captain of Rangers telegraphed that help was on the way. But when the train arrived in Deadwood, only a single, solitary Ranger stepped off the car.
“The Deadwood mayor and sheriff were aghast. ‘Didn’t your boss understand our message?’ the mayor said. ‘There are hundreds of rioters. But there is only one of you.’
“Well, the Ranger just grinned at the mayor and replied, ‘My boss figures one riot, one Ranger.’ And sure enough, that single Ranger stopped the riot.”
Sten and the others laughed. “In other words,” Sten said, “one assault by hundreds of pirates, means one Mantis team?”
Mahoney nodded. “The way the bean counters look at is that we’ve spent more money training you four than several hundred Guardsmen. So, from their viewpoint one Mantis team should be more than enough. For a change, our boss agrees with the bean counters.”
“We’re aw honored at yer braw opinion of us,” Alex said. “But nae matter how ye swatch at it, th’ four ay us ur nae match fur hundreds of pirates an’ aw their fightin’ ships.”
“That’s why I’m giving you something special to even the odds,” Mahoney said. “We have a brand new ship that’s just come off the line. It has the very latest in stealth technology and armaments.”
Ida, who was always plugged into Imperial gossip, spoke up. “You don’t mean the HMS Gessel?” she asked.
“None other,” Mahoney said.
Sten whistled. Admiral Gessel had died recently. He was a much honored veteran of the Mueller Wars who was loved by all who served under him and worked with him. It was said that the Emperor was going to do something special to pay homage to him. And here it was. A new ship, bearing his name.
“Even so,” Sten said. “A lot of things can go wrong.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Mahoney said. “If you screw the pooch—which you’ve never done before—we’ll still have Little Mike standing by.
“The Emperor thinks this would be a good time and place to remove Wichman and his pirate buddies once and for all. And to do that, you need to draw them in then cut them off at the knees.”
“I’ll cut off more than that,” Ida said.
“In short,” Sten said, “it’s the same old mission, with a new spin. You want the pirates gone, plus you want Wichman and Gregor dead and discredited and you want to blame the whole clotting thing on the Tahn, right?”
“That’s the job,” Mahoney said.
Sten hesitated. Perhaps a little too long. Then he asked, “What about Venatora? Is she back on the kill list?”
Mahoney shrugged. “She’s supposed to be out of the Demeter business right now,” he said. “But I doubt she’ll be able to resist sticking her pretty nose into the whole mess.
“When she does, I suggest you use your… ahem… special relationship to achieve our ends.”
He fixed Sten with a hard look and added, “Then kill her.”
Doc chuckled. “Typical human hypocrisy,” he said. “At least I keep mine alive,” he said.
“For the second course,” Ida said.
Doc shrugged. “Waste not, want not,” he said.
Mahoney chuckled. “Funny, that’s what the Emperor said. Ideally, what he’d like to see is a truel—which would solve all of the above in one fell swoop, so it would.”
“A truel?” Sten said. “Begging your pardon, sir, but what in clot is a truel?”
“A three-way duel,” Mahoney said.
There was silence in room as this soaked in. Then Sten said, “In other words, they all get it. Wichman and Gregor. The pirates. And Venatora.”
“Exactly so,” Mahoney said. “Now, off to the wars, my friends. There’s no time to waste.”
He rose from his far way desk and tossed them a rare salute.
“Fair winds and following seas to you all,” he said.
And his hologram vanished.