It suddenly occurred to him the damage he was looking at might have something to do with what was so wrong about the Emperor.
What was it Haines had said? The Emperor was the same. But, not the same. Same, but different.
Maybe the meteorite had upset some sort of plan. Some sort of... He shook his head. This was pointless speculation.
To be saved for that far-off night with his friends.
He moved onward.
Sten slipped down the corridor, in increasing awe at the complexity of the white ship. Now that he was two damage-control locks beyond the damage zone, the atmosphere and temperature were E-normal.
His helmet and gloves were off and snapped to his harness. He was breathing deeply, washing out the stale suit air from his lungs.
The ah- smelled fresh, with a faint sharpness to it. Pine? Yes, or something close to it.
This was the Emperor's place, all right He was a great lover of nature in the raw.
Sten was following the main corridor. He assumed this from its large size, and the blue line painted down the center. Everywhere he looked were more corridors—smaller corridors— angling into this one. And there were doors. Many doors.
Some led into nothing more than masses of wiring and electronic gear. Some led into storage rooms crammed with equipment and parts. There was even a working repair bay for all the robots scurrying about the ship.
Sten stepped aside as one chugged past, waving a welding wand, intent on its small purpose.
The corridor suddenly opened into a high-vaulting atrium.
And he entered a vast hydroponic farm. Filled with exotic plants and fruits and vegetables.
Things the Emperor would find delicious.
Sten kept to the blue line until the path became corridor again.
And that gave way to a large room. Smelling of antiseptics and medical purity. There was a long row of vats, filled with an unfamiliar liquid. The light in the room was oddly bright... and warm. He saw steel tables and surgical snap-ons for medical ‘bots. The room made him feel quite uneasy. He moved on.
He came to the ship's control center. It was jammed with archaic equipment, all operating as smoothly as if this were the ship's maiden run.
Sten was absolutely sure, now.
This was the Emperor's command center. His safehouse. Blow this ship, and the AM2 would stop.
He unslung the demo pack and put it on the floor, next to an air-fresher vent.
This was as good a place as any.
He looked about, curious. Amazed at what the Emperor had accomplished. Actually, Sten knew he could only have a glimmering of the sophistication.
How had he done it?
Hell! How had he even gotten started?
Sten saw a door just down the corridor. It was marked Library. Maybe there was some kind of an answer in there. A clue to the mystery of the Emperor.
He walked along the corridor to the door. It hissed open and he stepped inside.
As the door shut behind him, he noted with some surprise that there were no banks of fiches. No shelves of books. Just a few tables and chairs.
Was this really a library?
The voice came from behind him. "Checkmate," the Eternal Emperor said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"You KNOW THE drill," the Eternal Emperor said. "Don't make a move. Sudden or otherwise."
His tone was light. Confident. Sten did not make the mistake, however, of thinking he was overconfident. He stayed quite still.
"Now... Shed the spacesuit. Very slowly, please."
Sten's hands crept to the fastenings. A moment later the spacesuit was heaped at his feet. Now he was wearing only the overall-like shipsuit.
"Kick it away," the Emperor ordered. "A good sturdy kick, if you please."
Sten kicked, and the spacesuit went flying into a corner.
"Walk forward to the far end of the room," the Emperor ordered
Sten walked. He stopped when his nose touched the wall.
"You can turn around now," the Emperor said.
Sten turned. His old boss had a haunch perched on a table. A pleased smile on his face. The gun in his hand was pointed steadily at Sten.
"It's good to see you," the Emperor said. "For a while I was afraid you weren't coming."
His free hand went to a bottle of Scotch sitting on a drink tray. Without moving his eyes from Sten, the Emperor poured himself a drink.
"Sorry I can't offer you any," the Emperor said. "But I'm sure you can understand my rudeness." He sipped from the glass.
Sten understood. Given a chance, he would turn anything handed to him into a weapon. A piece of paper would do just fine. A glass would be even better.
His Mantis senses had taken over the moment he had heard the Emperor's voice. Respiration and heartbeat calm and steady.
Muscles at ease, but set on a hair trigger. Mind working clearly, taking in every object in the room.
Eyes measuring the distance between himself and the Emperor. It was a little far. But doable.
Why he was still alive, he didn't know. Or much care. He was completely focused, however, on remaining in that condition.
"You realize, I suppose," the Emperor said, "that you're going to have to tell me who else knows about this. And the disposition of their forces."
Sten shrugged, but said nothing.
"I won't bother with torture," the Emperor said. "Out of respect for our past relationship. Besides, I have a perfectly adequate brainscanner. A little elderly. A little careless with vital cells, sometimes."
He took another drink. "Nothing to worry about, however," he said. "If it turns you into a vegetable... at least you'll be a dead vegetable."
"Congratulations," Sten said. "It looks like you thought of everything."
The Emperor grinned. "Tsk. Tsk. No, ‘Your Majesty' anymore? Or, ‘Your Highness'? No respectful terms at all for your old boss?"
"It was an easy habit to lose," Sten said. "Once the respect was gone."
"No need for cheap insults," the Emperor said.
"No insult intended," Sten said. "Just a fact Candidly admitted."
The Emperor chortled. "You won't believe this," he said, "but I've actually missed you. You can't imagine how dull and incompetent the people I have around me are."
"So I've heard," Sten said. "Especially that character you had—what was his name?—the one who runs the boys in the storm-trooper getups?"
"Poyndex," the Emperor answered. "His name was Poyndex. Thanks for helping me out, by the way. I hadn't quite decided how to get rid of him."
"You're welcome," Sten said. "I'll be sure to give Kilgour a ‘well done."
"Right now," the Emperor said, "I imagine you're thinking to play along. Spin it out. Delay the inevitable, until you get your chance."
Sten did not answer.
"If these thoughts amuse you," the Emperor said, "then, please... go ahead. Be my guest. Meanwhile... aren't you go-ing to compliment me on my digs?" He gestured with his free hand, indicating the white ship... everything. "After all, I put a lot of thought and years into it."
"It's real nice," Sten said, dry. ‘Too bad about the meteorite."
The Emperor frowned. "A one-in-a-trillion happenstance," he said. "I'll soon get it fixed." There was a harsh edge to his voice. Indicating a vulnerability.
"Is that what fouled things up?" Sten prodded.
"Not really," the Emperor said. "There have been some difficulties, to be sure. But, on the whole, I think there's been an improvement."
"You're a lot happier with yourself, now?" Sten guessed.
"Yes. Yes, I am. Certain... weaknesses... have been shed."
"Like the bomb in your gut?" Sten hurled another missile.
The Emperor reacted, startled. Then he laughed. "So, you're on to that as well?"