Battlecry: Sten: Omnibus One (Sten Omnibus) Read Online Free PDF Page A

that much when the Xypaca died – along with all the others – after a month or two. Lack of necessary trace elements, somebody said.
    By that time, Amos was already busy figuring out another scheme to get himself and his family off Vulcan.
    He was still scheming when Thoresen dumped the air on The Row.

Chapter Four
    The Baron’s words rolled and bounced around the high-roofed tube junction. Sten could pick out an occasional phrase:
    ‘Brave souls … Vulcan pioneers … died for the good of the Company … names not to be forgotten … our thirty million citizens will always remember …’
    Sten still felt numb.
    A citizen, coming off shift, elbowed his way through the crowd of about fifty mourning Migs, scowling. Then he realized what was going on. He pulled what he hoped was a sorrowful look in his face and ducked down a tube opening.
    Sten didn’t notice.
    He was staring up at the roof, at the many-times-magnified picture of the Baron projected on the ceiling. The man stood in his garden, wearing the flowing robes that Execs put on for ceremonial occasions.
    The Baron had carefully picked his clothes for the funeral ceremony. He thought the Migs would be impressed and touched by his concern. To Sten he was nothing more than a beefier, more hypocritical version of the Counselor.
    Sten had made it through the first week … survived the shock. Still, his mind kept fingering the loss, like an amputee who can ghost-feel a limb he no longer owns.
    Sten had holed up in the apartment for most of the time. At intervals the delivery flap had clicked and every now and then he’d walked over and eaten something from the pneumatiqued trays of food.
    Sten had even been duly grateful to the Company for leaving him alone. He didn’t realize until years later that the Company was justfollowing the procedure outlined in ‘Industrial Accidents (Fatal), Treatment of Surviving Relatives of.’
    From the quickly vidded expressions of sympathy from Amos’ and Freed’s supervisors and the children’s teachers, to the Sympathy Wake Credits good at the nearest rec center, the process of channeling the grief of the bereaved was all very well calculated. Especially the isolation – the last thing the Company wanted was a mourning relative haunting the corridors, reminding people just how thin was the margin between life and death in their artificial, profit-run world.
    The Baron’s booming words suddenly were nothing but noise to Sten. He turned away. Someone fell in beside him. Sten turned his head, and then froze. It was the Counselor.
    ‘Moving ceremony,’ the man said. ‘Touching. Quite touching.’
    He motioned Sten toward a slideway bibshop and into a chair. The Counselor pushed his card into a slot and punched. The server spat two drinks. The Counselor took a sip of his drink and rolled it around his mouth. Sten just stared at the container before him.
    ‘I realize your sorrow, young Sten,’ the Counselor said. ‘But all things grow from ashes.’
    He took something from his pocket and put it in front of Sten. It was a placard, with KARL STEN, 03857-CON19-2-MIG-UNSK across the top. Sten wondered when they’d snapped the picture of him on the card’s face.
    ‘I knew that your great concern was, after the inevitable mourning period, what would happen to you next. After all, you have no job. No credits, no means of support. And so forth.’
    He paused and sipped his drink.
    ‘We have examined your record and decided that you deserve special treatment.’ The Counselor smiled and tapped the card with a yellow fingernail.
    ‘We have decided to allow you full worker’s citizenship rights with all of the benefits that entails. A man-size monthly credit. Full access to all recreational facilities. Your own home – the one, in fact, in which you grew up.’
    The Counselor leaned forward for the final touch. ‘Beginning tomorrow, Karl Sten, you take your father’s place on the proud assembly lines of Vulcan.’
    Sten sat