What then? Sten sent his mind after that probe. Attempting to imagine himself on the other side. In an entirely different reality. An angry thing with a dripping red maw rose at him. He wasn't wanted. He didn't belong. Every thing... every minuscule particle... would be his enemy in that place. Even in his imagination, the hate was intense.
And he would be... absolutely... alone.
More than any other human had ever been. With one exception.
The Eternal Emperor.
"... six seconds ..."
What made the fear burn hotter was that this was a choice he could reject. The crawling coward in him was weeping in its pit Begging him not to go. Why must it be his responsibility? Let someone else do it. And if no one would, then clot them all. He could run and hide where the Emperor could not find him. And if he tracked him down, Sten could face him on braver ground. So what if the cause was lost? So what if everyone could be doomed?
They might die.
He might die.
But, at least he wouldn't have to go into that place.
All he had to do was hit the switch and the mission would be aborted.
"... five seconds ..."
His hand lay just to the side of it Sweating and cold.
"... four seconds ..."
A twitch would shut that damned voice off.
"... three seconds ..."
The coward in his gut shrilled, "It isn't too late!"
His fingers curled.
"... two seconds ..."
Mahoney's voice floated up to him from the grave: "Make the devil into a fist lad. And strike a blow!"
"... one second ..."
Sten's fingers knotted down. Bloodless with effort. Fighting panic.
" Entry will now begin," the voice said.
Sten kept his eyes glued to the monitor as the tacship shot forward and closed on the gates of Hell.
so small...
piteous and small...
and they all want to...
kill me.
i don't want to die here...
please.
no one knows me...
here.
no one .
cares.
my eyes are...
bitter.
and i taste colors on...
my tongue.
someone...
someone is watching.
where?
i'm afraid.
where is he?
out there.
who is he?
i'm afraid.
who is he?
i don't know.
he's watching... and... i'm...
so small.
Sten vomited into the bucket he had put beside his seat. He snapped open a freshpac and swabbed his face and neck with a cool astringent. He rinsed his mouth with stregg and spit into the bucket.
Then he raised the bottle to his lips and drank. Deeply.
The stregg shuddered and boiled in his belly. But he kept it down. He took another drink. Felt the fire build. It was warm and comfortable and familiar. Like a hearth.
Sten rose from his chair and went through stretching motions. He felt the knots unsnarl and blood sing in his veins. Then he went through the complete Mantis warm-up. A half hour of blinding motion and violent ballet.
He went into the small sanitary facility and took a shower just below blistering temperature. He followed it with an icy blast that sent his heart racing and brought the blood up stinging just below the surface of his skin.
He put on a clean shipsuit, made caff, and padded back to the bridge, with a steaming black cup in his hand. He calmly eyed the data streaming in from the ship's sensors. The mainframe's control module winked and gurgled as the computer fed on the data. Once in a while it gave a red-light hiccup as it digested a more complicated bit.
Sten nodded. Good. He sipped on his caff.
Feeling quite normal.
In a few moments the computer survey would be completed.
Hie basic laws of this universe would be deciphered. The ship's computer would redefine its own reality.
And Sten and the ship would no longer be blind.
He settled into his seat to wait, sipping at the caff, his mind clear, but settled on nothing, his eyes on the rushing stream of data as if he could actually decipher and make sense of anything moving at such speed.
Sten was carving out a place for himself in this new universe the only way he knew how. Which was—routine. It was an old soldier's trick. Someone experienced in constant changes of post. No matter how distant from home, or bizarre the inhabitants, strangeness can be overcome by establishing a routine. Little things. Familiar things. Selfish things. Like washing and grooming. The first hot, bitter cup of caff at the shift start. And the cool, uninvolved appraisal of the mission to be accomplished.
Then you rolled up your sleeves and plunged in, secure in the knowledge it was only necessary to do this job well. Greater and more complex responsibilities were on the able shoulders of your superiors. Just do your job, and keep your nose clean.
Sten eased back, relaxing. He had found his center now. It was time to populate this place.
He smiled, thinking of Cind. And the warm arms he would go home to when this job was done. Comfort in those arms. Yes, and in that sharp mind as well. The way she had of always finding a way around a problem that was vexing him.
And Kilgour. His brawny, near-lifetime friend and comrade-in-arms. There was a man to have at your back. Any problem that stumped Cind would never get past his cunning Scot's brain.
After them, Sten invited Otho and the Bhor. Applauded as the Gurkhas marched on. Then Marr and Senn. Haines and Sam'l. And his other friends and loyal crew members.
Soon, they were all trooping about in his imagination. Cracking jokes. Slapping him on the back. Kissing him or shaking his hand.
The computer chirped and went silent. Sten looked over and saw the "Ready" sign blinking.
He took another sip of his caff and set the cup down. His fingers flew over the control board. Then he sent the command.
Sten looked up at the monitor screen. Light began to fill the blankness.
He leaned forward, eager to get his first look at this new universe.
He had no fear of it now. Because he was no longer alone.
He had found it!
The Emperor's glory hole!
The size of the operation seemed larger... but somehow also smaller... than he'd imagined.
Big AM2 tanker ships moved in and out of the rubble of an old, destroyed system. On the rubble itself—broken planetoids, or moonlets—his probes showed huge mining machines, harvesting the basic stuff of this universe. Smaller shuttles laden with ore moved back and forth between the tankers. Once full, the tankers moved off—for the long voyage into another universe and back.
It was a vast, complex system—all operating automatically—to accomplish the Emperor's far-off purpose.
Part of him was disappointed in the size, comparing it to the gigantic mining operations he'd seen in his travels. This place would fit in a small comer of one such complex and still have room to rattle around.
He thought it incredible that something this small had such a profound impact on civilization for so many hundreds of years. But a whole empire had been founded on one small particle from an alien universe.
The second thing that amazed him was the age of the shipe and machinery. They all functioned perfectly, going about their business as if they were just off the line. But their designs were straight out of a technology museum.
They were all big, clunky things, with sharp edges and many moving parts.
The final thing that startled him—and this most of all—was that so far not one shot, not one missile, had been fired at him.