The Return of the Emperor Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Chris Bunch; Allan Cole
was instant, or long and agonizing. If anyone screamed, he wouldn't have been able to hear it over the noise of the rising spacecraft.
Then he saw Sten sitting up and fumbling another nutra stick out of his pack.
Mahoney groaned up himself. He looked worriedly up at the sky. "There won't be any question of capture, now," he said. "And they won't chance another team. If they've even got one. That command ship will just hunt us down and bomb the clot out of us. That's what I'd do, at least."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Sten said. "But we've got that—" He pointed at the white ship hovering obediently over the lake. "And we've got two spares. Yours, and the team's. Should be enough for a diversion, don't you think?"
Mahoney caught his drift. It might work—just. He started to get up. Sten motioned him back.
"I'm starved," he said. "It might be a while before we get another chance. Let's eat."
Mahoney felt hunger pangs gnawing at his own guts. It was a comforting, being-alive kind of feeling. What the clot!
They ate.
CHAPTER THREE
L aird Kilgour of Kilgour, formerly Chief Warrant Officer Alex Kilgour (First Imperial Guards Division, Retired); formerly CWO A. Kilgour, Detached, Imperial Service, Special Duties; formerly Private-through-Sergeant Kilgour, Mantis Section Operational, various duties from demolitions expert to sniper to clandestine training, to include any duties the late Eternal Emperor wanted performed sub rosa with a maximum of lethality, was holding forth.
"… An' aye, th' rain's peltin' doon, f'r days an' days i' comes doon. An' her neighbors tell th' li'l old gran, 'Bes' y' flee't' high ground.'
" 'Nae,' she says. 'Ah hae faith. God will take care a' me. Th' Laird wi' provide.' "
It was a beautiful evening. The tubby man was sprawled on a settee, his feet on a hassock, his kilt tucked decorously between his legs. Conveniently to his right were his weapons of choice: a full pewter flagon of Old Sheepdip, imported at staggering—staggering to anyone not as rich as Kilgour—expense from Earth and a liter mug of lager.
The fire blazed in a fireplace that was tall enough for three men to stand in at their full height. Outside, a winter storm crashed against the walls of Deacon Brodie's Tavern with all the fury a polar frenzy could produce on the planet Edinburgh, Alex's three-gee home world.
A beautiful evening. Kilgour was on his fourth—no, fifth drink. There were good friends across from him, good friends who also had not yet suffered the complete repertoire of Kilgour's stories. The wee barmaid had shyly wondered if Laird Kilgour might not find the time—later—to escort her home through the muck an' mire.
It was safe and quiet and peaceable. It was just old habits that had Kilgour seated with his back to a wall, and his left hand, resting on his kneecap, was a few centimeters away from a miniwillygun holstered on his upper thigh.
"An th' rain comit doon an' comit doon, an' th' water's risin'. And her pigs are wash't away, squealin't. An' the' coo's swimmin't f'r shelter. An doon th' road comit ae gravcar.
" 'Mum,' comit th' shout. 'Thae's floodin't. Thae must leave!'
" 'Nae,' she shouts back. 'Ah'll noo leave. Th' Laird will provide.'
"An' th' water comit up, an' comit up, an' th' rain i' pel tin' an comit doon. An' the chickens ae roostin' ae the roof. Floodin't her house't' ae th' first story. An' here comit ae boat. 'Missus, now thae must leave. We'll save y'!'
"An' agin comit her answer: 'Nae, nae. Th' Laird will provide.'
"But th' rain keep fallin't. An' th' water keep't risin't. An' coverin't th' second story. An' she's crouchin' ae th' roof, wi' th' chickens, an' here comit ae rescue gravlighter. It hover't o'er th' roof, an' a mon leans oot. 'Mum! We're here't'save y'.'
"But still she's steadfast. Once again, 'Nae, nae. Th' Laird will provide.'
"An' th' rain keep fallin't an' th' flood keep't risin't. An' she drowns. Dead an' a'.
"An' she goes oop't' Heaven. An'
Then he saw Sten sitting up and fumbling another nutra stick out of his pack.
Mahoney groaned up himself. He looked worriedly up at the sky. "There won't be any question of capture, now," he said. "And they won't chance another team. If they've even got one. That command ship will just hunt us down and bomb the clot out of us. That's what I'd do, at least."
"I've been thinking the same thing," Sten said. "But we've got that—" He pointed at the white ship hovering obediently over the lake. "And we've got two spares. Yours, and the team's. Should be enough for a diversion, don't you think?"
Mahoney caught his drift. It might work—just. He started to get up. Sten motioned him back.
"I'm starved," he said. "It might be a while before we get another chance. Let's eat."
Mahoney felt hunger pangs gnawing at his own guts. It was a comforting, being-alive kind of feeling. What the clot!
They ate.
CHAPTER THREE
L aird Kilgour of Kilgour, formerly Chief Warrant Officer Alex Kilgour (First Imperial Guards Division, Retired); formerly CWO A. Kilgour, Detached, Imperial Service, Special Duties; formerly Private-through-Sergeant Kilgour, Mantis Section Operational, various duties from demolitions expert to sniper to clandestine training, to include any duties the late Eternal Emperor wanted performed sub rosa with a maximum of lethality, was holding forth.
"… An' aye, th' rain's peltin' doon, f'r days an' days i' comes doon. An' her neighbors tell th' li'l old gran, 'Bes' y' flee't' high ground.'
" 'Nae,' she says. 'Ah hae faith. God will take care a' me. Th' Laird wi' provide.' "
It was a beautiful evening. The tubby man was sprawled on a settee, his feet on a hassock, his kilt tucked decorously between his legs. Conveniently to his right were his weapons of choice: a full pewter flagon of Old Sheepdip, imported at staggering—staggering to anyone not as rich as Kilgour—expense from Earth and a liter mug of lager.
The fire blazed in a fireplace that was tall enough for three men to stand in at their full height. Outside, a winter storm crashed against the walls of Deacon Brodie's Tavern with all the fury a polar frenzy could produce on the planet Edinburgh, Alex's three-gee home world.
A beautiful evening. Kilgour was on his fourth—no, fifth drink. There were good friends across from him, good friends who also had not yet suffered the complete repertoire of Kilgour's stories. The wee barmaid had shyly wondered if Laird Kilgour might not find the time—later—to escort her home through the muck an' mire.
It was safe and quiet and peaceable. It was just old habits that had Kilgour seated with his back to a wall, and his left hand, resting on his kneecap, was a few centimeters away from a miniwillygun holstered on his upper thigh.
"An th' rain comit doon an' comit doon, an' th' water's risin'. And her pigs are wash't away, squealin't. An' the' coo's swimmin't f'r shelter. An doon th' road comit ae gravcar.
" 'Mum,' comit th' shout. 'Thae's floodin't. Thae must leave!'
" 'Nae,' she shouts back. 'Ah'll noo leave. Th' Laird will provide.'
"An' th' water comit up, an' comit up, an' th' rain i' pel tin' an comit doon. An' the chickens ae roostin' ae the roof. Floodin't her house't' ae th' first story. An' here comit ae boat. 'Missus, now thae must leave. We'll save y'!'
"An' agin comit her answer: 'Nae, nae. Th' Laird will provide.'
"But th' rain keep fallin't. An' th' water keep't risin't. An' coverin't th' second story. An' she's crouchin' ae th' roof, wi' th' chickens, an' here comit ae rescue gravlighter. It hover't o'er th' roof, an' a mon leans oot. 'Mum! We're here't'save y'.'
"But still she's steadfast. Once again, 'Nae, nae. Th' Laird will provide.'
"An' th' rain keep fallin't an' th' flood keep't risin't. An' she drowns. Dead an' a'.
"An' she goes oop't' Heaven. An'
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