Mutineer's Moon

“Men! You didn’t even know that she’s Jantu’s lover, did you?” She laughed merrily at his sudden shock.

“Are you certain?” he demanded.

“Of course. Jantu controls the official security cha

“I … understand,” he said.

“Good,” she replied, and sauntered from his cabin. The hatch closed, and Ganhar looked blindly back at the map. It was amazing. He’d just acquired a powerful ally … so why did he feel so much worse?

Abu al-Nasir, who had not allowed himself to think of himself as Andrew Asnani in over two years, sat in the rear of the cutter and yawned. He’d seen enough Imperial technology in the last six months to take the wonder out of it, and he judged it best to let the Imperials about him see it.

In fact, his curiosity was unquenchable, for unlike most of the northerners’ Terra-born, he had never seen Nergal and never knowingly met a single one of their Imperials. That, coupled with his Semitic heritage, was what had made him so perfect for this role. He was of them, yet apart from them, unrelated to them by blood and with no family heritage of assistance to co

It also meant he hadn’t grown up knowing the truth, and the shock of discovering it had been the second most traumatic event in his life. But it had offered him both vengeance and a chance to build something positive from the wreckage of his life, and that was more than he’d let himself hope for in far too long.

He yawned again, remembering the evening his universe had changed. He’d known something special was about to happen, although his wildest expectations had fallen immeasurably short of the reality. Full colonels with the USFC did not, as a rule, invite junior sergeants in the venerable Eighty-Second Airborne to meet them in the middle of a North Carolina forest in the middle of the night. Not even when the sergeant in question had applied for duty with the USFC’s anti-terrorist action units. Unless, of course, his application had been accepted and something very, very strange was in the air.

But his application had not been accepted, for the USFC had never even officially seen it. Colonel MacMahan had scooped it out of his computers and hidden it away because he had an offer for Sergeant Asnani. A very special offer that would require that Sergeant Asnani die.

The colonel, al-Nasir admitted to himself, had been an excellent judge of character. Young Asnani’s mother, father, and younger sister had walked down a city street in New Jersey just as a Black Mecca bomb went off, and when he heard what the colonel had to suggest, he was more than ready to accept.

The pre-arranged “fatal” practice jump accident had gone off perfectly, purging Asnani from all active data bases, and his true training had begun. The USFC hadn’t had a thing to do with it, although it had been some time before Asnani realized that. Nor had he guessed that the exhausting training program was also a final test, an evaluation of both capabilities and character, until the people who had actually recruited him told him the truth.

Had anyone but Hector MacMahan told him, he might not have believed it, despite the technological marvels the colonel demonstrated. But when he realized who had truly recruited him and why, and that his family had been but three more deaths among untold millions slaughtered so casually over the centuries, he had been ready. And so it was that when the USFC mounted Operation Odysseus, the man who had been Andrew Asnani was inserted with it, completely unknown to anyone but Hector MacMahan himself.

Now the cutter slanted downward, and Abu al-Nasir, deputy action commander of Black Mecca, prepared to greet the people who had summoned him here.

“Except for the fact that we’ve only gotten one man inside, things seem to be moving well,” Hector MacMahan said. Jiltanith had followed him into the wardroom, and she nodded to Colin and selected a chair of her own, sitting with her habitual cat-like grace.

“So far,” Colin agreed. “What do you and ’Ta

“Hard to say,” Hector admitted. “They’ve got most of their people inside by now, and, logically, they’ll sit tight in their enclave to wait us out. On the other hand, every time we use any of our own Imperials in an operation we give them a chance to trail someone back to us, so they’ll probably leave us some sacrificial goats. We’ll have to hit a few of them to make it work, and I’ve already put the ops plan into the works. We’re on schedule, but everything still depends on luck and timing.”

“Why am I unhappy whenever you use words like ‘logically’ and ‘luck’?”

“Because you know the southerners may not be too tightly wrapped, and that even if they are, we have to do things exactly right to bring this off.”

“Hector hath the right of’t, Colin,” Jiltanith said. “ ’Tis clear enow that Anu, at the least, is mad, and what means have we whereby to judge the depth his madness hath attained? I’truth, ’tis in my mind that divers others of his minions do share his madness, else had they o’erthrown him long before. ’Twould be rankest folly in our plans to make assumption madmen do rule their i

“I see. But haven’t we tried to do just that?”

“There’s truth i’that. Yet so we must, if hope may be o’victory. And as Hector saith, ’tis clear some movement hath been made e’en now amongst their minions. Mad or sane, Anu hath scant choice i’that. ’Tis also seen how his ‘goats’ do stand exposed, temptations to our fire, and so ’twould seem good Hector hath beagled out the ma

“Spare my blushes,” MacMahan said dryly. “Remember I only got one man inside, and even if the core of our strategy works perfectly, we could still get hurt along the way.”

“Certes, yet wert ever needle-witted, e’en as a child, my Hector.” She smiled and ruffled her distant nephew’s hair, and he forgot his customary impassivity as he gri

“Like what?” Colin demanded.

“That depends on too many factors for us to say. If it didn’t, they wouldn’t be surprises. It’s unlikely anything they do to us can hurt us too much, but you’re a miltiary man yourself, Colin. What’s the first law of war?”

“Murphy’s,” Colin said grimly.

“Exactly. We’ve disaster—proofed our position as well as we can, but the fact remains that we’re betting on just a pair, as Horus would say—Ramman and Ninhursag—and one hole card—our man inside Black Mecca. We don’t know what cards Anu holds, but if he decides to fold this hand or even just stands pat for a few years, it all comes unglued.”

“For God’s sake spare me the poker metaphors!”

“Sorry, but they fit. The most important single factor is Anu’s mental state. If he suddenly turns sane and decides to ignore us until we go away, we lose. We have to do him enough damage to make him antsy, and we have to do it in a way that keeps him from getting too suspicious. We have to hurt him enough to make him eager to come back out and start making repairs, but at the same time we have to stop hurting him in a way that leaves him confident enough to come right back out. Which means we have to hit at least some of his ‘goats’ after his important perso