CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

THE ISLAND CONTINENT of Sanctus seemed to shudder as the Imperial fleet lifted from the ground, hovered for a moment parallel with the reviewing stand where Theodomir and Mathias stood flanked by the Companions. Then the ships hazed and vanished straight up into blackness.

Far down the field, behind a hangar, stood Otho, Sten, and Alex.

Sten waved good-bye to Sofia. She had taken the news of her imminent departure with little surprise. At least she had said very little. But then neither of them had in their last wild flurry of lovemaking before Sten escorted her to the landing ramp of the huge Imperial battleship.

He put that part of his life into his backbrain and turned to Otho.

"You humans have such a love of farewells," the Bhor began.

"Not now, Otho," Sten said. "I want you to get one of your combat lighters fueled and on ten-minute standby. And I want two ships standing by off Nebta.

"For the lighter, I want two of the gunners you used on Urich as crew and yourself as pilot."

Otho's brow beetled upward. "Impossible, Colonel. With the war over, I have my mercantile interests, which I've already had to—"

"This is important. Because if you don't, there might not be any Bhor mercantile interests ever."

Otho grunted, then seemed to understand. "You have no reasons for this?

"None I can tell."

"Then I do understand. It is your weird."

It was Sten's turn to look perplexed.

"It shall be done. I will have the ships off Nebta in five days. I assume they will be used in case your soldiers need immediate shelter."

Sten sighed in relief. Now, at least, he'd set up a back door for himself and the mercenaries.

Unfortunately his weird, his fate, would be determined in less than twenty hours. Far too soon for Otho's ships.