Free The Wolf Worlds by Allan Cole, Chris Bunch Page A

Sten had studied his fiche, Mathias' appearance was a surprise. In a world of fishbelly-pale ascetics, the tall young man had the ruddy look of an outdoorsman. He wore an unadorned red uniform that smacked more of the military than the priesthood.
    And, more interestingly, he greeted Sten with the palm-out gesture of equal meeting equal.
    Sten hesitated, then muttered the proper greetings, trying to get a measure of the young man, as he found himself taken by the arm and escorted down a long, dark hallway.
    "My father is most anxious to meet you," Mathias said. "We have heard much of you."
    Of me and my money, Sten thought a little cynically.
    "Why did you not approach us straightaway? The Faith of Talamein is most ready to accommodate a man of your…
    abilities."
    Sten mumbled an excuse about wanting to look around Mathias' delightful city.
    "Still. You should have come direct to the palace. To me. I have been hoping to meet a man such as yourself."
    It occurred to Sten that Mathias meant what he was saying and, possibly, knew nothing about how one bribed one's way into the Presence.
    "I hope my father and yourself reach an—an understanding,"
    Mathias said.
    "As do I."
    "Perhaps… if such is the case… you will find time to meet some of my Companions. My friends."
    "That would be interesting," Sten said. Prayer meetings! The things a man must do to kick over a dictatorship.
    Mathias suddenly smiled, warmly, humanly. "I suspect you are thinking my friends sit around by the hour and drone from the Book of Talamein?"
    Sten looked away.
    "We are familiar with the words of the Prophet. But we find our faith is… best realized… away from the cities. Trying to teach ourselves the skills that Talamein used to find freedom.
    Nothing professional, of course. But perhaps you might offer us some pointers."
    He stopped as they stopped at the end of the corridor, and the double doors thundered open.
    And Sten found himself standing in what could only be described as a throne room. Threadbare, for sure, but a throne room just the same. Here the tapestries were much thicker and (originally) richer. And it was crammed with statuary. And at the far end, nestled in thick pillows on a huge stone chair, was Theodomir, the Prophet. Behind him was a huge vidmap of the waterworld that was Sanctus. With the single island continent that was the Talamein Holy of Holies. A large ruby glow lit the location of the City of Tombs. The picture was framed by two immense torches—the cleansing symbol of the religion.
    Suddenly Sten realized Mathias was no longer standing beside him. He glanced downward. The young man was on his knees, his head bowed in supplication.
    "Theodomir," he intoned. "Your son greets you in the name of Talamein. '
    Sten hesitated, wondering if he should kneel, then settled for a courteous half bow.
    "Who is that with you, Mathias?"
    The Prophet's voice was thin and rasped like sawgrass.
    Mathias was instantly on his feet and urging Sten forward.
    "Colonel Sten, father. The man we have been speaking of."
    Sten blinked at the sudden promotion, then stepped toward the throne, all parade-ground military. He clicked his heels and semirelaxed into a parade-rest stance.
    "A poor soldier greets you, Theodomir," Sten intoned smoothly. "And he brings a humble soldier's gift."
    There were gasps around the room, and Theodomir went pale as Sten's hand went in his tunic and came out with a knife. Out of the corner of an eye he saw a guard start forward, and Sten laughed to himself, as he very carefully and very ceremoniously laid the knife at the Prophet's feet.
    The knife was very valuable and very useless. It was made of precious metals and inlaid with gleaming stones. Sten glanced at Theodomir's frayed robe and wondered how quickly the Prophet would put the gift up for sale. If the fiche was correct and Theodomir's tastes were as earthly as it indicated, Sten figured it would take about an hour.
    Theodomir recovered and motioned or a