Empire's End Read Free

fleet. Flanking it were two specks that a readout ID’d as destroyers. Headed directly toward the Victory at full drive. Either Sarsfield had ordered a suicide run, since there was zero possibility the carrier could play hitsies with a battlewagon, or else things were getting weird out there.
    “I have,” Freston said, “six Kali stations manned, tracking and holding at four seconds short of launch.”
    “Replay the first transmission from the Bennington .”
    Freston brought the cast up on a secondary screen.
    It showed the Bennington’s bridge, which looked as if it’d been the focal point for a bar brawl. The officer onscreen had a bandaged arm, and her uniform was torn.
    “ Victory , this is Bennington . Please respond, this freq, tightbeam. This is Commander Jeffries. I have assumed com-mand of the Bennington . The officers and sailors of this ship have rejected Imperial authority, and are now under my orders. We wish to join you. Please respond.” The screen swirled, and the message repeated.
    “We also,” Freston said, “have a cast from one of the DD’s—the Aoife . The other one’s the Aisling . They’re both Emer-class.” He indicated a projection from Jane’s on another screen, which Sten ignored.
    “Their cast is shorter, and key-transmitted en clair . As follows: ‘ Aoife and Aisling to join. Accept Sten command. Both ships homeworld Honjo Systems.’ Does that explain anything, sirr
    It did—barely. The Honjo were known as supertraders throughout the Empire. And they were cordially hated. They were ethnocentric to a ridiculous extreme, dedicated to the maximum profit but absolutely loyal to whatever master they’d agreed to serve—as long as that loyalty was returned. They were also lethal, nearly to the point of race suicide, as the privy council had found out during the Interregnum when they tried to steal the Honjo’s AM2.
    Sten had heard rumors that since the Emperor’s return the Honjo felt, with some degree of justification, they hadn’t been rewarded properly (which meant monetarily) for their loyalty to the Empire.
    “Divert the Kali watch from those two ships. Contact them as soon as I finish, tell them message received and stand by for instructions,” Sten ordered. “We’ll find out how far they’re backing us in a bit. Get me through to this Jeffries on the Bennington .”
    The connection was made quickly. And the conversation was short. The Bennington had, indeed, mutinied. The captain was dead; five officers and twenty men were in the sick bays. About thirty percent of the crew, now held under arms, had remained loyal to the Empire.
    “Request orders, sir,” Jeffries finished.
    “First,” Sten said, thinking fast, “welcome to my nightmare, and I think you’re all insane. Second, get all loyalists ready for transshipment. If you’ve got a supply lighter, use that Otherwise, disarm enough tacships if that’s the only alternative. Third, keep your weapons stations unmanned. Sorry, but we’re not in a position to trust anyone.
    “Fourth, stand by to receive visitors. Fifth, get your navcoms set up to slave to this ship’s command. We’re going to travel some, and you’ll convoy on us. That’s all.”
    “Yessir. Will comply. Standing by for your personnel to board. And… thank you .”
    Sten blanked the screen. He didn’t have time to wonder why another set of idiots were volunteering for the death chamber. He looked around for Alex and found him, sitting back from the main console, looking smug. Kilgour surreptitiously crooked a finger. Sten, wanting to growl, went over.
    “Y’r pardon, boss, but afore we move on, Ah hae a report… We’re still rich, lad.”
    Sten repressed the suicidal urge to kick Alex. What the hell did that have to do with—
    “Since we’re in a hurry, Ah’ll keep th‘ input short. While y’ were doin’t y’r usual job ae inspirin‘ th’ idjiots, Ah hit our bank accounts.
    “Another thing a wee outlaw needs is