Sten smoothed the tacship past a tanker, moving deeper into the mining complex.
As soon as he had spotted it, Sten had gone into extreme stealth mode. He had cut all extraneous power, maxed his shielding on all freqs, held sensors on passive, and dropped internal operations to the barest hum. Then, using a tortuous, grab-every-speck-of-dust-for-cover route, he had "crept" in. Not one enemy sensor appeared to have sought him out. Nor did he find a single trip wire to sound the alarm at his approach.
When he was more certain, he had dropped the shields and begun an active search. Still, no reaction. Then he had emerged in plain view—every gun port of his own open and bristling for the attack. But the mining colony had gone about its robotic drudgery without paying him the slightest notice. This was very strange. Why would the Emperor leave his treasure unguarded?
Perhaps because he felt quite certain it would never be discovered. After all, it did lie in another universe. A universe that everyone until a short time ago had been led to believe did not exist. Could not exist.
Sten frowned as he ran this through, half his mind occupied with the moonlet whooshing past him on the monitor screen... Okay. He'd buy that logic.
Although, if it had been Sten's hidey-hole—no matter how impossible to find—he'd have filled it with wall-to-wall trip wires and booby traps. His paranoia had been ground in by his Mantis trainers. Trust nothing to chance.
Sten thought of the Emperor's quirky mind, and felt easier still. This was simple. The Emperor liked simple. Simple meant it was harder for things to go wrong.
His mind clicked one large step forward. A simple system would also have a single control. Which meant it was likely the whole mining operation was run from one command center. Next step... The Emperor would most likely set up his living facilities at the command center. It wouldn't take much space. Sten was sure the Emperor would always be alone. There was no living being he could trust with this secret.
Very, very good. Because this meant all Sten had to do to stop the AM2 flow to the Empire was to hunt that command center down and blow it in place.
And goddamn the Emperor's eyes!
The big white ship loomed large on the screen. It was older than his father's ghost stories. Space dust cobwebbed its archaic lines. He saw sensor banks and antenna pods he had only a dim memory of from his flight-school history fiches. He saw other apparatus whose purpose escaped him entirely.
But there was no escaping the purpose of the weapon ports. Archaic or not, they were instantly recognizable. The Eternal Emperor was not entirely unarmed.
The puzzling thing was, the ports were sealed.
Sten kept a ready hand on the button that would send two
Goblins hurling toward the ship. A hint of menace and he'd blast it to whatever hell existed in this universe.
Was this the place? Was this the command center? The Emperor's ultimate safehouse?
He probed it. The ship was alive, but running on a very dim intelligence. There was atmosphere. There was function. But there was no sign of life.
Sten sighed, wishing for the thousandth time that it had been possible to sail in here with the Victory and a full crew. With their skill and the Victory's sophisticated sensor system, he would have been able to pick the white ship apart atom by atom.
He thought this was the right target. But he wasn't sure.
Sten would have to go on board to investigate.
He studied the white ship, looking for a point of entry. He dismissed the idea of docking with the ship. Or of using any of the main entry ports.
The Emperor liked simple. Booby traps are simple. Which equaled booby-trapped entrances and docking area.
He almost missed the hole back near the engine area. Sten zoomed in on it until its raw edges filled the monitor screen. A meteor impact point. It looked fairly fresh. No more than a few years old. Evidently the AM2 debris had impacted, then detonated on or near the outer skin.
Sten wondered how much damage it had caused. Was this the explanation for the closed weapon ports? The dimmed nature of the ship's operation?
Luck was still running with him. And clot Otho and his "there's only three" kinds: dumb, blind, and bad. For Sten, the first one was working just fine.
He studied the hole. Then felt luckier still when he realized it was large enough to give him his own private door into the ship.
Getting to it would be no problem. Alex and Otho had sheathed a complete spacesuit and accessories with Imperium X.
So if he encountered a stray particle of AM2 on the way over and back, he would not go bang.
Sten started gathering what he would need. Mentally figuring the size of the charge it would take to blow the ship, if it was indeed the Emperor's command center.
He would have to rig some kind of demo pack. With a one-or two-hour timer. No problem. Except—what to put the unit in. How would he get it there? Clutch it in his damned arms like a baby?
Then he remembered the pack Alex had put through the Im-perium X plating. They hadn't much time, and Sten was impatient.
"What the clot's that forT‘ Sten had asked. "Am I supposed to pull it over my head when the shooting starts?"
"Y‘ noo ken, young Sten," Alex had answered, "when y'll hae need't' tote sum'at."
Sten had let it go rather than argue.
And now, thanks to Alex, he had something to put the demo unit in.
Pure blind luck.
The second on Otho's list.
He'd take it. No problem at all.
He floated out into that mad universe, ignoring the colordazzle he saw through the faceplate and navigating on the suit's own inertial system.
His luck stayed with him and he reached the white ship without incident. It took less than twenty minutes to widen the hole enough to get him and his gear inside.
Once inside, however, confusion was his temporary enemy. The ship's design was too ancient, too unfamiliar, for him to find his bearings. He locked his boots on a work platform—in a cavity just beneath the ship's skin—and swung this way and that Poking his pinspot into the mouths of the shafts that emptied onto the platform.
Finally, he got a sense of direction. Odd, how that term sounds in another reality. Another universe. Sten shook off this mind-buzzing notion. Direction was the shaft he chose. The one he believed led to the engine room. This was all the definition he needed. He'd save the other for long, philosophical nights when he was deep in his cups with his friends.
He made his choice and kicked off. Floating upward into blackness, moving gracefully, despite the bulk of the demo pack on his back.
The engine room was a shambles. Twisted metal and cable were evidence of just how much damage the meteor impact had caused.
There was no atmosphere. But the ship's gravity was on—he was standing firmly on his feet, with his boots' mag units turned off. Readings on his helmet screen indicated signs of mechanical life just beyond. There was no danger indicated. No sign of a defense system sniffing for Sten.
Sten guessed the meteor's impact—and the resulting explosive reaction of AM2 exposed to alien particles—had only wounded the ship. It had reacted by reducing its functions to the barest minimum. That minimum most probably included the AM2 mining operation, and transport. Assuming this was the Emperor's command ship. Which he still was.
It was still probably capable of effecting repair, but had reserved the power necessary for this to maintain those all-important minimum functions.
In other words, Sten thought, it was too clottin‘ busy.