"The regs say ten E-hours when we're at full alert. We can do it in five."
"Good."
"Might I ask where we're going?"
"Home. I hope. But there might be a few detours on the way.''
"That's enough,'' Sten ordered, rubbing eyes that were feeling, from the inside and out, like hard-poached eggs. He blanked all of the screens in the conference room, and as the yammer of impending doom stopped, the room fell silent.
He went to a table, where a previously unnoticed covered tray sat. He lifted one of the salver covers and picked up a sandwich. It was only a little stale. He tossed it to Alex and took one for himself.
Beside it was a decanter. He took the stopper out and sniffed. Stregg.
Was that advised?
Why not? Disaster would be the same sober as boiled.
He poured drinks, handed one to Alex, and they toasted.
Bless Cind. She must have had someone slip the refreshments in sometime after she had taken over as commander of the embassy guard.
"Y' hae any gran' strat'gy developed?" Alex wondered as he inhaled the sandwich and scooped for another.
"Not much more'n it better be better than Cavite," Sten said. Mahoney had begun the withdrawal of the outmanned, outgunned Imperial Forces from that world, and Sten had finished the task. He had gotten the civilians out, and less than two thousand of the Imperial soldiers. Sten himself had ended up a prisoner of war.
He had been given the highest medals for this accomplishment, and he had been celebrated as a brilliant war leader. Sten had never considered that true—he thought Cavite a complete disaster and his efforts no more than damage control at best.
At least this time there weren't very many Imperial civilians, beyond the embassy staff.
"Aye," Alex agreed, although he had never judged Cavite as harshly as Sten did.
"I have a couple of ideas," Sten continued, "but right now my brain seems to have spun out."
" 'Tis nae wonder," Kilgour said. "It's lackin' but an hour 'til dawn. P'raps we'd best have a bit of a lie-down."
Sten yawned, suddenly very sleepy. "Good thought. Put a wakeup in for two hours."
There was a tap on the door.
"I'll chase th'—"
"Enter," Sten said.
The door opened. Three Gurkhas stood there. Sten felt quite grimy suddenly. In spite of the hour, all three of them were dressed as if for barracks inspection.
He held back a groan. The Gurkhas were Jemedar Lalbahadur Thapa, and newly promoted Havildars Chittahang Limbu and Mahkhajiri Gurung.
The last time the trio had confronted him was on Prime, when they had offered themselves and twenty-four other Gurkhas for Sten's service, breaking the long tradition that the Nepalese mercenaries served only the Eternal Emperor, an offer that had visibly put the Emperor's teeth on edge.
The Gurkhas saluted. Sten returned the salute and told them to stand at ease.
"We are sorry to both you at this hour," Lalbahadur said formally. "But this was the only time we could find. We would like to speak in private, if it is possible."
Sten nodded—and Alex swallowed the sandwich, washed it down with stregg, and vanished. He offered them seats. They preferred to stand.
"We have a question or two about the future that we are unable to answer,"
Lalbahadur went on. "This is utter foolishness of course, since without question those evil feathered capons who are flocking toward us will peck us into tiny bits and hurl those bits into the garbage pits, to be torn at by their jackal friends. Am I not correct?''
"You are without a doubt correct," Sten agreed. All four of them smiled—or at least bared their teeth.
"But once we have withdrawn from this dung heap of a cluster, what will be our next duties?"
"I—I guess you will return to the service of the Eternal Emperor. At least until your enlistments are up." Sten puzzled at this total irrelevancy, wondering why the Gurkhas were wasting his time now, but his backbrain told him that these soldiers often went obliquely to a vital interest that concerned the moment.
"I do not think so," Lalbahadur said firmly. "We must consult with our king, back on Earth, and with our superior officers in the bodyguard to be certain. But I do not think so.
"We Nepalese withdrew from Imperial Service when the Emperor was killed, refused all offers from those yeti afterbirths who called themselves the privy council and other gangsters, and returned only with the Emperor."
"Ancient history, Jemedar. And I am very sleepy."
"I will make my point rapidly. It is our opinion that we were in error to come back. This Emperor we agreed to serve is not as the last one my people served. I think it is not he who was reborn, but a Rakasha, a demon who wears his face."
"My grandfather's grandfather," Mahkhajiri Gurung added, further confusing the issue, "would have said his aspect is now that of Bhairava, the Frightful One, and can only be worshiped in drunkenness."
"As much as I'd like to get sloshed with you gentlemen," Sten said, feeling waves of exhaustion crash down on him, "could we get to the point?"
"Very well," Lalabhadur said. "If we are not in violation of our contract, and even then I will consider breaking it, we would wish to enter your service on a permanent basis, sir. And once more I speak not just for the three of us, but for the other twenty-four as well."
Wonderful, Sten thought. That would further endear him to the Eternal Emperor.
"Thank you. I am honored. And I shall keep your offer in mind. But—and I am not saying what I shall be doing when we get out of this dung pool—I doubt I shall need bodyguards."
"You are wrong, sir. But you will see that, later. And thank you for honoring us."
The Gurkhas saluted and withdrew, leaving Sten to wonder what the blazes that had been about.
The hell with it. He was too tired. And he still had to figure out a way to get out of the Altaics.
"Base... this is Little Ear Three Four Bravo," the com drawled, in a voice that had been carefully built to never show strain, stress, or fear.
"I have many, many hostiles on-screen, headed yours. Estimated time of arrival, two AU off yours, twenty E-hours.
"Units' main course, main orbit-"
The signal from the picket boat stopped.
The officers in the com room of Mason's new flagship, the Caligula, knew Four Bravo would not make another one.
"Admiral Mason," Sten said. "Stand by for orders."
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to lift clear of Jochi with all fleet elements. I want you to take an offensive position-of your own choosing-about five AU off-planet."
"Yes. Sir. I am not arguing, but I assume you are aware my ships are outnumbered at least eight to one."
"More exactly about twelve to one by my calculations. But that does not matter. You are not, repeat not, to engage the enemy. You are only to engage any Suzdal or Bogazi ships attempting to attack you in your holding pattern. You are to maintain, as much as possible, the integrity of what we're going to keep a straight face and call our fleet. Is that clear?"
"It is. So you want to try a bluff?"
"Exactly. Feel free to make any kind of threatening feints or ugly faces, so long as they don't violate my orders."
"What makes you think I'll be able to draw them off, or at least get their attention? I'm not sure they'll believe I've either got some kind of secret weapon, or else I'm about to make a suicide run."
"If you were Suzdal or Bogazi, and you'd just seen the number that imbecile Langsdorff pulled, wouldn't you think that the Empire's capable of almost anything? Just as long as it's stupid?"