Requiem for the Conqueror

by W. Michael Gear

  The Seddi woman's tan eyes seemed to harden, but she turned, indicating the old man. "This is Magister Bruen. I believe you dealt with him over the comm."

  Skyla nodded, "I did. Welcome aboard Chrysla, Magister Bruen. She recognized his withered face. The old blue eyes looked tired now, and a terrible bruise mottled his forehead.

  Bruen smied wearily. "I, too, offer the Seddi's special thanks and gratitude for your timely arrival. I greatly fear that had you been on the scene a few moments later, things would have turned out very differently."

  Skyla gave him a predatory grin. "Oh, we'd been monitoring the communications from the time we'd come out of null singularity. Rysta told us exactly when she'd fire, and one thing about her, she's worth her word."

  Skyla strolled nervously around the room, wishing she could shed the sudden energy that bunched inside her. "But tell me, I heard you offer yourself to Tybalt and Ily. They'd have probed you. The entire Seddi organiation would have been compromised. Everything. How could you do that?"

  Bruen grinned at her, pointing a knobby finger into his mouth. "Upper right rear molar. Unlike Nyklos', mine's full—and would have been used long before Ily got her talons into me."

  "By the way, I just ran into Nyklos in the corridor. He'll be wanting to see you. I have no doubt but that he's full of information on the Companions."

  Skyla couldn't help herself, she kept glancing at Dawn, wondering.

  Amusement showed in Kaylla's eyes. "Yes, Skyla, you are all I expected you to be."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  Kaylla moved to the red couch, seating herself gracefully. "I am not Staffa's lover. Nor will I ever be."

  Skyla lifted an inquiring eyebrow, heart skipping a beat.

  "I see the look on your face, the uncertainty. Staffa saved me in the desert."

  The tan eyes hardened. "But after what he did to Maika, there's too much misery between us for anything more."

  Skyla poured a glass of fine bourbon and nodded. "I see." So what's your angle? Why are you here?

  "You know, you're a lot like Staffa," Kaylla added softly. "You're worthy of him. Capable, intelligent, and spirited."

  Skyla smiled coolly. "Aren't you being a bit presumptuous?"

  "Not at all. You're all I heard about in that damn desert." Kaylla bent forward to cradle her chin in her palm. "I think you're the reason he stayed alive out there in the collar ... in the heat and sand."

  Skyla leaned against the paneling, grip white-knuckled on the glass. "What do you want, Kaylla Dawn? Why are you here?"

  Kaylla stood, walking forward to stare into Skyla's eyes, unflinching tan meeting icy blue. "I want peace, and, like Staff, I think I want a chance to take a crack at the Forbid den Borders. In the meantime, a lot has to be done in Free Space or we're all in trouble. Magister Bruen is an old man. It ooks like I have to assume a lot of his responsibilities, and it looks like we're going to have to work out of Itreata for a while."

  And how is it going to be between us? Skyla finished the unspoken question.

  The woman had guts and grit. No wonder Staffa dragged her out of the desert.

  He'd always had an eye for quality people—when he was thinking straight.

  Skyla poured a second glass of whiskey and handed it to the woman, clinking rims in a toast. "Welcome aboard, Kaylla Dawn. If you need anything, give me a holler."

  Kaylla's hard glint relaxed and she sipped the amber liquid.

  "A day of surprises," Ben's raucous voice invaded Skyla's thoughts. "For everyone!"

  "Yes," Skyla whispered. "A day of surprises."

  Bruen leaned back on the couch and dabbed at his bruised head. "Kaylla told you the truth. She'll be running things for the Seddi. I'm too old for what is to come."

  Skyla laced her fingers together. "Nyklos told me quite a bit under the drug.

  You seem to have a most effective covert network on Etaria. Are you capable of fighting for those things Nyklos said the Seddi believe?"

  Bruen's lips pursed. "Our covert people can make all the difference. And, for better or worse, we're out from under the machine's menace. Perhaps we enslaved ourselves to it. Perhaps we made a bargain with evil. Look what it's brought us to."

  Kaylla joined in. Then you understand the problems Free Space faces? That our continued insanity means detruction for the species?"

  Skyla studied her suspiciously. "Perhaps. The future looks bleak for the momet. I've had that slobbering Myles Roma, Sassa's Legate, tripping me up the whole time I was trying to organize the fleet. He tells me Rega is poised to strike."

  Skyla lifted an eyebrow. "And how do you propose to stop it? Rega and Sassa are crying for each other's blood."

  "It may be too late," Kaylla said somberly. "We must prepare ourselves for that eventuality, too."

  The hatch slipped back in a whisper. Staffa stood there, filling the lock, battle-grimed and haggard from lack of sleep, but his gray eyes gleaming with power and assurance. A shy smile -crept across his bearded face.

  "Hello, Skyla." "Staffa.11 They seemed pinned in place, each equally dumbfounded. "A-hem!" Bruen cleared his throat, breaking the spell.

  "Ark said I was to have a room down the hall. Kaylla, if you would be so kind?" He got to his feet, wincing as he moved one hip. Kaylla took his hand, leading him to the hatch. Bruen looked up and winked. "We can talk later. On the way to Itreata. Meanwhile, I'll call my spy, Nyklos, and see what secrets he's learned about the Companions."

  Staffa nodded and helped them out, then he slapped the hatch shut, sighed, and rubbed his brow.

  Skyla turned, concerned by the weary lines in his face, the slight slump to his posture. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

  "I found more than I was looking for." "Your son?"

  "On Rega. Bruen and I will sort that out later." "And the other, the .... 11

  "What it is to be human? Yes." He lifted a gemmed goblet from the restraint barrier and slowly rotated it. "I'm not the man I was when I left-or ever thought I was for that matter."

  "I expected that. It's rough out there."

  He nodded, replacing the goblet, the action that of a man who didn't know what to do with himself. "I know. I learned that on Etaria. Thanks for covering for my stupidity. "

  He seemed as confused as she.

  He looked at her, eyes going soft. "Skyla. I had a lot of time to think. About the Companions, about ... us. She steeled herself while blood rushed in her veins. "Kaylla said you talked about me in the desert."

  He swallowed hard, facing her, searching her face. "This is difficult. I know I can't expect you to-"

  "Staffa, I don't run off across war-torn space for just any man." She smiled at him, seeing relief in his hard expression.

  "I regret all those years I wasted grieving over Chrysla. I'll probably always love her, but she'd become a myth to me." He shook his head, fingers tightening on air as he made a fist. "All those years ... and all that time you were there." He reached for her and she buried herself in his arms.

  "Chief?" The comm came to life. Tap Amurka's face formed. His eyes widened and a red flush started to creep up his throat. "Sorry, Lord Commander. But we've got a subspace message coming in. We got a fix-it's from Rega. The thing's in code, but we're working on it. Might take some time to crack. You might want to, uh, come up to the bridge. "

  Staffa nodded, turning Skyla loose. "We're both on the way.

  Stepping onto Chrysla's bridge felt strange to Staffa, as if somehow nothing had changed. Heads bent to the comms, everyone busy. Helmut reclined with the worry-cap on her head. Amurka monitored his systems in the revolving chair.

  The overhead panels gleamed brightly and the monitors showed all systems at maximum. Skyla relieved the duty officer at the tactical weapons comm and slid into the control chair, placing the headset on her pale hair.

  Staffa slipped into the command chair, instrument pods folding down around him like the metallic petals of a grotesque flower. "Open a line to Gyton."
<
br />   The Regan Comm First's pale face formed. "Yes, Lord Commander?" She sounded distraught.

  "You have just received a transmission from Rega. You will not power up to answer. Is that understood?"

  She nodded, clearly distressed. "Understood, sir. We are offering no resistance."

  "Get me your commanding officer." Staffa settled back in the chair.

  "In a moment, sir. He's on his way. " The Comm First looked even more unsettled.

  "He? Where's Rysta?"

  "Informing the new commanding officer of our condition."

  Staffa waited, watching the reaction of the Comm First. She looked like her whole world had fallen apart.

  Staffa switched channels and called into his fleet commu nications comm. "On deck everyone. Something's happen ing to the Regans. Let's go to Alert 2."

  Lights flashed in combat readiness. Systems checks auto matically initiated while klaxons wailed throughout the Companion fleet.

  "Outside of the message," Tap called, "a single shuttle crossed from one of the transports. Looked like it was traveling light."

  At that moment a commotion occurred on Gytons bridge beyond the scope of the comm. The Comm First looked up, puzzled, eyes going wide. She nodded grimly and slid out of her seat. A young man, black-skinned and raw-boned, slid into the seat.

  He studied the comm and opened a channel, looking up at Staffa. "Lord Commander? I'm Division First Shiksta. One moment, please, for Lord Sinklar Fist."

  Lord? What the hell was happening?

  "So we finally get to meet Fit face-to-face."

  "Who?" Skyla asked.

  "My opponent on Targa. A brilliant man—a deadly man. We'll have to watch him in the future . . . he's got talent."

  He flipped the audio on again as the image flickered, leaving him staring right at Fist. Staffa straightened in he command chair. The two-toned stare transfixed him— gleaming, challenging. The mop of dark hair looked mussed. The line of the nose, the fullness of the jaw— everything about Fist spoke to him.

  Staffa's mind reeled as he stared. It couldn't be! He leaned forward, seaching that face, examining the trait. Yes, that was how he'd ook—the mixture of features a patchwork of inheritane. Fist wore oversized battle armor and he perched uncomfortably in the command chair as if unsure of how to sit in it.

  It can't be! Bruen would have told me. I's been so log since I saw him. Relax, Staffa. It could be your mind again—another of those chemical flushes that affect your

  judgment. But the eyes How often did that happen! The odds . . . and in those colors!

  "Greetings, Staffa kar Therma," the familiar high voice filled Chrysla'

  bridge.

  "You. . . ." Staffas voice failed him. "You're . . . Sinklar Fist?"

  Fist nodded, odd eyes glittering. "I am. And it appears our situations are reversed. What will you do now, Staffa? Will you destroy MacRuder? Will you kill all those people you pleaded to save?"

  "No," Staffa replied absently, entranced by Sinklar Fist's face. "No. I won't destroy you. You're. . . . You're my. . . . How old are you? Twenty-two?"

  "More or less," Fist replied warily. "However, were I you, I wouldn't make the mistake of judging my abilities based upon age. Others have and regretted it."

  Staffa twitched and said. "I don't think you understand. I have to meet with you—face-toface."

  "Minister Takka tells me you're in the employ of Sassa." Sinklar shook his head. "Is that why you want to see me? Possibly buy me off? I won't do it.

  There must never be another Targa."

  Staffa's heart jumped. "No, this has nothing to do with politics or war. I have to talk to you . . . about your parents. And it must be done in person."

  "What do you think this is all about?" Mac asked, casting a nervous glance at Sinklar.

  "I don't know, but I'm skeptical already." Sinklar shook his head. "If the Seddi are involved, it's got to be a trick or trap of some sort."

  They sat in the empty shuttle, the only two passengers, as the craft slowed and matched with Chrysla. Sink craned his neck to peer over the lines of empty seats at the monitor that filled the space over the flight deck hatch. He studied the Companion ship's lines, trying to comprehend the differences in hull design and the weapons systems. Chrysla had been built like a huge three-sided wedge. Her black hull gave off little reflection, making her practically invisible against the stars.

  The hatch clanged and the shuttle jerked as the grapple puled it close.

  Sink rubbed his hot eyes and smiled nervously at Mac. "I wouldn't have done this if you hadn't vouched for him,"

  "I was down there in the darkness with the guy. Sink, he didn't have to bring us out of that hole. And, to be honest, if it would have been me on top of him, I think I'd have left him to die."

  The hatch beeped to indicate pressurization. Then gravity returned as the g plates powered up. "Well, let's see what the Star Butcher wants, but, Mac, I've got an eerie feeling that trouble's going to result from this."

  Mac gave him a weary look. "Trouble? We're going back to Rega to deal with Ily Takka—and you're worried about trouble?"

  Sink followed Mac into the lock, stepping out ito a very different ship than he expected. The inside of Chrysla gleamed—white and airy with space—unlike the claustro phobic mortician-gray Regan military vessels.

  Two smartly dressed STO officers met them at the hatch, slapped out salutes, and stood at attention. Sink noticed that their equipment appeared more sophisticated than Regan issue. Microelectronics studded the helmets and shoulders. The armor looked different, too; it had a scalloped effect. A muscular black man, also in STO gear, approached.

  "Good to see you again, Ark," Mac greeted.

  The muscular black man smiled grimly. "Looks like the Regans cleaned you up, First. If you'll follow me."

  Sinklar asked from the side of his mouth, "Hes Seddi?"

  "Companion. He's Ryman Ark, bead of the STO bunch," Mac returned. "And you should have seen his peope deploy on the ground."

  Ark led them down a well-kept corridor to a transport tube and motioned them inside. Sinklar couldn't even feel the acceleration. When the tube opened, it was to another polished white corridor. Soft music played through the ship's speakers.

  "Not quite as grim an environment as the Regan fleet," Sinklar observed.

  Ark smiled, bending the scar on his cheek. "There are advantages to being a Companion. But it's not all flash and

  show. We go into combat feeling fresher than other troops. Those resources we don't put into training are put into morale. When we go into action, we want to be sharp enough to split a neutrino."

  Sink glanced at Mac. "I'll keep that in mind."

  Ark stopped before what appeared to be a standard hatch. "Sinklar Fist is here Lord Commander."

  The hatch slid open with a hushed whisper.

  Sinklar took a deep breath and passed through a functioning double airlock and into an opulently furnished room. He and Mac gaped. An Etarian sand leopard glared down at them from the wall. The rugs were unlike anything they'd ever walked on. Weapons, artwork, sculpture, and other bejeweled objects adorned the walls. Mac couldn't help but gawk at the fireplace. "We really on a ship?

  That can't work!"

  "But it does."

  Sinklar turned, seeing Staffa kar Therma step out of one of the carved doors that flanked the fireplace. Behind him came a beautiful woman with pale blonde hair and eyes of the deepest blue. Staffa wore a gray combat suit and high black boots. A charcoal cape swirled behind him. The woman wore white armor and had her long braid wrapped around her left shoulder.

  "Good to see you again, Mac." Staffa shook MacRuder's hand and indicated the woman. "Allow me to introduce Skyla Lyma, Wing Commander of the Companions."

  Sink's gut began to squirm. The Star Butcher seemed jittery. This wasn't going to be another Mykroft circus, was it?

  "This is Lord Sinklar Fist," Mac replied in turn.

  Sink waited, arms crossed, mee
ting Staffa's piercing gray eyes. "I don't think you invited us over for a social occasion. Could we get down to business?"

  The Lord Commander nodded, a frown lining his forehead. He took several paces and whirled, staring frankly at Sinkar. He seemed agitated, nervous. "Tell me about your parents—that is, what you've been told about them."

  Sink shot Mac an uneasy glance, seeing his friend's complete mystification.

  "They were Seddi assassins. About twenty years ago, they tried to kill Tybalt the Imperial Seventh. I talked with the Judicial Magistrate who tried the case. After their execution, I was placed in an institution as a ward of the state. "On Targa?"

  "On Rega." Sinklar balanced on the tip of his toes, anxiety in his chest.

  "Does this have a point? I took your word that we'd be guaranteed safety, but my personal history doesn't have any bearing on-"

  "Your mother was auburn-haired." Staffa said in a strained voice. "Do you remember? She had amber eyes, just like your amber eye."

  "She had black hair," Sinklar said coolly. "The same as I do-and her eyes were gray."

  Staffa rubbed his hands together. "Who told you that?" "No one. I saw them."

  "Saw them?"

  In Rega. In the Criminal Anatomical Research Lab. Both my mother and father are there. They're kept as ...... He turned away.

  The Lord Commander looked perplexed. "You say you saw your father? What did he look like?"

  "Brown hair. He was the one with yellow eyes. He looked ... kind. And maybe a little sad. But then, that was before I learned about the Seddi-and the way they trained their assassins."

  Skyla Lyma looked at Staffa, a frown tracing her smooth skin. Mac shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

  A fist seemed to tighten around Sinklar's heart. This was insane! "Lord Commander, I don't know what the game is, but-"

  "It can't be!" Staffa wheeled, smacking a hard fist into his palm. "There can't be eyes like that anywhere else! The age is right. Everything fits!"