Vortex (Sten #7). Allan Cole

wants their hearts and minds. Their scalps won’t do him a clottin’ bit of good.”

      “Still . . .” Mason said.

      “I know,” Sten said. “With these folks it’s damned tempting. Unfortunately, what’s happening right now was triggered by our arrival.”

      “I’m not taking the blame for this,” Mason said, a little hotly.

      Sten sighed. “No one’s asking you to, Admiral. It’s my ass the Emperor will want on toast. Although, if it gets much worse, he may not be satisfied with just mine.”

      Mason opened his mouth to retort. Sten raised his hand, silencing him. He’d had a sudden thought. “My father used to tell me about this beast,” Sten said. “A mule, I think he called it. It was a sport. A mean and stubborn sport. Said the only way to get its attention was to hit it with a board, first.”

      “I already suggested something along those lines,” Mason said.

      “Yeah. I know. But for these beings, a hit on the head may be too subtle . . . Okay. Try this idea on for size . . .”

      Mason leaned closer as Sten sketched in the broad outlines of his plan.

      * * * *

      The Jochi mob was pressing close on the Bogazi barricade, showering rocks, debris, and taunts on the small group of neighborhood defenders. The shops on either side of the broad main street of Rurik were blank eyes of shattered glass. Many of them were gouting flames.

      Overhead, the midday sky was black with threatening storms. Heavy clouds jostled one another, triggering thick blue arcs of electrical fire.

      A tall Jochian rushed the heap of furniture and scrap timber that made up the barricade. He hurled a grenade, turned, and ran for safety.

      A burst of fire cut him down. At the same instant, the grenade went off. The explosion shrapneled through the Bogazi. There were screams of pain and anger.

      A big female Bogazi hurtled through the gap cut by the grenade. Spurs jutting out from her forearms, she snagged two Jochians. She brought the big hammer beak down once. Twice. Skulls cracked like pollution-thinned eggshells.

      She dropped the corpses on the ground and turned for another victim. A heavy bar swung against her throat. The Bogazi flopped beside the two corpses.

      More Bogazi came pouring out. In a moment, the main street’s storm drains would be awash in blood.

      There was a sudden banshee howl from overhead. A heavy wind blasted along the street, battering the crowd with dust and small debris. The mob stopped in midriot — and gaped upward.

      The gleaming white body of the Victory swept down the boulevard toward them. Not high in the sky, but just below the roofs of the high-rise buildings that lined the street, a looming bulk never meant for the heart of a city.

      Close to the barricades the howl grew louder, and the warship went into a hover on McLean Drive, close enough for the mob to get a good long look at the Imperial emblem on its sides.

      This was the Imperial presence — mailed fist and looming overlord in one. “My God, would you look at that,” a Jochi chemical worker breathed. “Maybe now, justice we get,” a Bogazi said.

      “Wait up! What’s he doing?” another awe-stricken Jochian said, absently tugging at a Bogazi’s sleeve.

      The Victory settled still closer, until it was no more than twenty meters overhead. The crowd huddled under the dark cloud of its body. Engines stirred, then the ship slowly began to move forward, straight down the broad avenue.

      The two sides of the conflict gaped after it for a moment or two. Then they turned to stare at one another. Makeshift weapons tumbled to the ground from hands and grasping limbs.

      Above them, the black sky was suddenly bright blue. Sun painted lacy clouds a multitude of colors. The air was fresh and tasted of spring.

      “We’ve been saved,” a Jochian said.

      “I knew the Emperor wouldn’t abandon us,” said another.

      Someone shouted from a rooftop: “The ship’s heading for the Imperial embassy.”

      The spell broke and the mob, laughing and shouting in relief, rushed after the ship.

      The Victory sailed slowly along just above the pavement. Below it, the street was suddenly jammed from side to side with a sea of beings. Bogazi and Jochians and Suzdal and Torks, all mingled together, joking and slapping one another on the back.

      Thousands of other beings leaned from the windows of the tall buildings, cheering the Victory and its majestic flight.

      All over Jochi — in fact, all over the entire cluster — beings stopped what they were doing and rushed to witness the arrival of the Emperor’s man.

      By the time the ship reached the Imperial embassy, there were literally millions of beings surrounding its broad, gated grounds. And there were billions more watching on their livies.

      All hostilities had ceased.

      Inside the Victory, Sten quick-brushed his clothes. Cind ran her fingers through his hair, pushing strands into place.

      Alex looked at a livie screen and the enormous crowd waiting outside. “You’re a bleedin’ Pied Piper, young Sten,” he said.

      “Don’t say that,” Sten said. “He got paid off in rats. Or house apes, and I don’t know which is worse.”

      A crew member tickled the port controls. The port swung open. Sten felt the fresh breeze on his face. He heard the thump of the ramp settling to the ground.

      “Okay,” he said. “Now let the bastards come to me.” He stepped out into a torrent of cheers.

      BOOK TWO

      CAT’S CLAW