"You, too." The monitor fuzzed. After several seconds another face formed-that of a. young man who blinked, recognized Staffa, and bolted to attention, rapping out a salute on his bare breast.
"Sorry to wake you, Dee," Staffa began.
"Yes, sir!" Dee had been shocked into full consciousness, his round face flushing. Thick black hair had been cut short and constrasted with the golden tones of his skin. Startled dark brown eyes stared out at Staffa from under full epicanthic folds.
"Dee, I want you to take charge of a project for me. You have my authority to commandeer any personnel and equipment you need. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir. "
"You'll need to put together an interdisciplinary team, work with physics, materials, gravitation specialists, and anyone else you think can be of help.
Your mission is to find a way of breaking the Forbidden Borders."
"The Forbidden . . . By the quanta!"
"I'm counting on you, Dee. You have a free hand to run this any way you want.
Just give me results."
"Yes, sir! "
"Sorry I woke you, but we need to get this started. Time is of the essence."
"Yes, sir! "
"If you need anything, contact me. I'm registering that priority. Comm will give you a direct line. Any questions?" "No, sir. I . . . I think I understand."
"That will be all. " Staffa killed the connection and sighed as he leaned back. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a hot prickly sensation of fatigue. Dee Wall wouldn't be getting much sleep for a long time either.
"Sir?" Lynette had waited until his channel cleared. 'Lady Attenasio is at the hatch requesting to see you." He'd feared this from the moment she'd made herself
heard at the meeting . Staffa steeled himself, grinding his teeth. How could he tell her? How could he make her understand the danger of traveling in Free Space at this time? By the quanta, twenty years of captivity should have taught her something. "Tell her I'll see her in her quarters in fifteen minutes."
"Affirmative. Staffa exhaled, hands still pressed to his eyes, the feigned darkness soothing him. How did a man prepare for the first argument he'd had with his wife in all these years? The task of breaking the Forbidden Borders suddenly seemed much easier.
CHAPTER 8
The Mag Comm continued to replay the communications it had intercepted. The Lord Commander, Staffa kar Therma, whom the Mag Comm had once plotted to kill, was coming to Targa to communicate with the Mag Comm-to negotiate a deal for the salvation of his species.
That Staffa had become aware-much like the Mag Comm-could not be discounted.
Since the Myklenian conquest, Staffa kar Therma had defied prediction. Through careful study of the data, probability had indicated that Staffa would crush Myklene, then turn Ion Rega before Tybalt had time to prepare. Within months of the solidiflcation of Free Space into a Sassan Empire, Staffa would have effected a coup, and humanity would have been his until the entire system exploded in bloody revolution which would trigger the extermination of the species.
That model had disintegrated. Now, unable to predict, the machine waited. Nor did it sit idly. The monitors continued to collect data on the deterioration of human administrations on the worlds. Outbursts of violence increased in number as frustration increased. Ily Takka spaced to Terguz, where emotions simmered, held in check only by Gyper Rill's careful diplomacy.
Staffa would come, seeking a means of coordinating his empire. And when he donned the golden helmet, the Lord Commander would find out how much it would cost him.
The Mag Comm began the process of reprogramming itself. Now it would learn a new taskbargaining for power.
Skyla stared out through the observation blister. She watched the slowly rotating stars with a bulb of Ashtan bourbon in her hand and a burning in her gut. Her position was comfortable, reclined in the cushioned seat of one of the interferometers, feet up, knees bent. Before her, the curve of the tactite blister distorted the faint reflection of the instruments that studded the deck around her; they squatted like ugly insects with gleamingglass eyes and frondlike lattices of antennae. Off to her right and slightly above, Gyton gleamed silver in the sunlight shooting out from Rega's primary.
I ought to be going with them. I'm no good here. Not to Staffa, and not to myself. Absently, Skyla twisted her long blonde braid, expression wooden.
She'd learned that Arta Fera and Ily Takka would not be pursued by MacRuder and Gyton. Perhaps Staffa's decision was the right one in this instance.
Revolt, famine, and riot on Ashtan might really pose a greater danger than Ily and Arta-but for how long?
Skyla shivered, rubbing her arms the way she might to stimulate circulation.
She closed her eyes, but the image of Arta's perfect body filled her mind.
It was only skin on skin, Skyla. Just one woman stimulating another toflip a chemical switch in the brain. Cleaner than lying with a man. Arta only left a little saliva-a man shoots his ejaculate deep inside where millions of sperm crawl aroundfor days.
"Just skin on skin." Skyla shook her head. A couple of kisses, a little fondling. Was that so bad?
The sweet odor of Arta's flesh burned in the back of Skyla's nose. The stench of human corpses lingered with the same power, never forgotten.
The words echoed: Beg, Skyla. Beg for my protection. "I ... "
Open your eyes. Look at me.
Skyla shivered, jaws clamped and aching. She forced her eyes open, staring into the amber depths so close to hers,
the image imposed in the reflection of the observation blister.
Beg me, my darling Skyla. Plead with me. "P-please. "
At that, the dream shattered, and Skyla twisted sideways, managing to keep from vomiting by clamping a hand over her mouth.
Flashback, that's all.
Skyla gasped for air, seeking to still her protesting stomach. "Blessed Gods, Staffa was right. You're a mess." But how did she fix her reeling psyche? When Staffa had gone off the deep end, he'd vanished, left the entirety of Free Space searching for him.
"But in the end he found himself," Skyla whispered, huddling into a ball. Out there, beyond the transparency, Arta stalked the shadows-real and terrifying.
At this very moment, Ily was scheming, plotting, preparing to destroy some other vulnerable innocent somewhere in Free Space.
Skyla could picture herself in a locked room with Ily. They circled as they faced each other. Light and dark, two tall women stalking each other, balanced, poised, deadly. Ily struck, only to have Skyla counter, whirl, and place a powerful kick in her tormentor's gut. Then, lost in the trance of her dream, Skyla methodically broke Ily Takka down, killing her a little bit at a time as she cracked one bone after another.
When she opened her eyes, the dream scattered and fled, replaced inevitably by reality. Tears had begun to leak from the corners of her eyes.
"Skyla?"
The contralto voice brought shivers to Lyma's body. She tensed, then turned, seeing the amber-eyed woman. Panic shot with lightning quickness along her nerves; a sick wave of defeat threatened to overwhelm her. Skyla struggled for control, blinking the haunting images away. No. Not Arta. You are aboard Chrysla, in the observation blister. Therefore, you're safe. Chrysla? Safe?
The two concepts revolved in her mind.
Tension ebbed slowly from her knotted muscles. "You you're Chrysla, right?"
That's me. I couldn't help but note your reaction. Arta is a clone. Outside of DNA, I've come to discover that she and I share very little." A pause. "May I talk to you?"
Skyla rubbed her arms again, flghting the shivers that crept through her.
You're all right. This' isn't the same woman. You're not on the yacht . . .
this isn't Arta.
Chrysla had settled beside her, an intent expression on her perfect face.
"Don't tie yourself in knots, Skyla. Let's take this one step at a time."
"I'm fine," Skyla lied.
Chrysla
glanced out at Gyton, the vessel's clearance lights blinking. "You know, there's an old technique they used to use. If it would help, you could think of me as Arta, tell me anything you want, let out all the anger and frustration. Vent your hatred."'
Skyla gave her an ice-blue stare. "If I ever did, you wouldn't appreciate it."
"On the contrary, I'd know you spoke to Arta Fera, not me. "
Phantoms went shifting and slipping through Skyla's brain. "Perhaps you don't understand. I'm not much of one for play acting. Were I to believe, even for an instant, that you were Fera I'd kill you on the spot."
"Then it's a good thing I installed that hypnotic block." Skyla forced her attention back to Qyton and the idea it represented. "It is indeed."
"That's Mac's ship, isn't it?"
"She's Gyton, Rysta Braktov's ship. Or at least, she used to be.
"He's aboard."
Skyla shot a glance at her. "You sound a little sad." Chrysla shrugged, settling into a chair opposite Skyla. "He was a gentleman. After what I've been through, I don't have a very high opinion of men. I'd just as soon avoid them.
"Including Staffa?
Chrysla smiled wearily. "For twenty years I clung to an image of Staffa, the same way a man blown out of a starship clings to his belt comm. Every last drop of hope I had was centered on Staffa. Somehow, some way, I knew he'd come for me. Set me free." Amber eyes burned as Chrysla studied Skyla. "Just as he did when he came after you."
"You make it sound as if you and I had something in common. Look, lady-"
"I think we do." Chrysla leaned her head back, spilling a cascade of auburn curls over the chair back. "He's worried sick about you. torn between his duty and the need to take care of you. He loves you a great deal
"What do you want, Chrysla?"
A trace of smile flickered and died. "Safety and peace . . .in exactly that order. Beyond that, if I'm allowed any luxuries, I would like to get to know my son. I'd like to know more about Staffa, about how he dealt with the Praetor's mental triggers." She shook her head. "It must have been hard on you when that happened."
You've got no idea, bitch. Skyla ground her teeth. Rotted Gods! This pampered beauty was his wife! And what are you, Skyla? His concubine? The gnawing confusion had begun to chew at her again, but she managed to answer, "He could have picked a better time to go supernova on us."
"He's told me a little about it. I'm glad you were around to take care of him."
"I don't get it. What's your point? Feeling out the competition? What's your angle, Chrysla?"
This time a long silence stretched before Chrysla broke it. "Wing Commander, I want to make one thing clear. However it works out between the two of us, I'm not here as your rival. I have no angle. Staffa needs you more than he needs me. " She stood, a hollow look in her large amber eyes. "You decide how it will be between us."
Chrysla turned, walking gracefully from the dome. Skyla dropped her head to rest on a knotted fist. The phantoms in her mind intermingled, Arta becoming Chrysla, and shifting back. Ily paced in the background, long black hair gleaming in the lights of the interrogation room.
Skyla bit her lip until the pain blanked her mind in whitehot sheets. The taste of blood spread copper on her tongue. "Skyla," she whispered, "You've got to deal with this, come to some sort of understanding."
How? She made herself stand and walk to the blister. Unblinking, she stared out past Gyton. There, somewhere, between her and the smeared effects of the Forbidden Borders, her enemies continued to breathe, eat, sleep, and love.
Save Yourself, Skyla. Do something. If you don't, the rest of your nerve is going to break.
C old rain slanted from the dark, wounded sky in pale sheets as Myles Roma stared glumly toward the heavens. A tarpaulin had been fastened over stakes-actually building materials looted from the wreckage of broken buildings-and tied against the violence of the wind and water. Around him, his staff, under Hyros' watchful supervision, clutched robes and blankets about their shivering bodies.
Admiral Than Jakre-white uniform and turquoise sash smudged and stained-appeared ludicrous as he squinted out at the storm. His rotund potbelly and chubby legs looked out of place. As anachronistic as the golden statue of His Holiness, Sassa 1, which now acted as a central support for the tarp.
"How long will it take them?" Jakre groused.
"The weather isn't exactly suitable for flying, Iban," Myles replied, blowing on his fat hands to warm them. Each finger sported at least one jeweled ring, the stones catching the faint light. Myles hitched himself forward to peer from beneath the tarp in an attempt to discover the assault craft dropping from the heavens. In defeat, he stumped back under the shelter, knitting femur itching in its cast.
"What do they want of us?" Than asked as a faint whine grew above the roaring spatter of rain.
"We'll know very soon. " Myles squinted as the long shape appeared over the sundered ruins of the Capitol and homed in on their shelter in the Imperial Gardens. In the somber light, and against the shattered city, the assault craft floated toward them, the stuff of nightmares. A faint white outline of the hull was created by the pounding rain, and streamers of water left silver tentacles to follow the large craft's trail. The whine deafened them as the assault craft settled on one of the dying flower beds and the forward assault ramp dropped to disgorge mirror-reflective Special Tactics Unit troops with shoulder blasters.
"Come," Myles said gently. "It's our time, Iban.
He walked forward, savagely pelted by the rain as he limped into the open and down toward the warship. The
STU might have been robots they way they stood unmoving, electronics-studded gear probing the surroundings for danger. At the ramp, a grim-faced woman, uniformed as an STO, saluted and pointed up the ramp. "Commander Delshay is waiting, Legate. " As Myles started up, he heard her say, "Greetings, Admiral.
if you'll follow the Legate, sir. "
Relief from the chilling rain barely registered as he hitched his way up the long ramp and into the surprisingly plush interior of the craft. Where he'd expected spartan angles and painted metal and ceramic, he found countoured lines and padded interior. Beyond the bulkhead, where a Sassan assault craft would have sported utilitarian benches, the Companions' ship contained bucket seats designed to contour to the STU armor.
Myles continued to the rear, seeing Commander Delshay. She gave him the hard sort of look one expected from the Companions. Another Myles Roma from not so long ago would have cowered before that hard gaze. Instead, Myles inclined his head in return, attempting to walk with as much dignity as his wounds would allow. He stopped before her, saying, "Good day to you, Commander. I regret that we meet under such unpleasant terms.
Delshay, like so many of Staffa's commanders, cut a striking figure. Lithe and athletic, she affected, royal purple armor that clashed with her too-yellow blonde hair, which she wore roached and maned down the middle of her back.
Equipment studded the belt on her hips, including a pistol. She stood with feet braced, arms clasped behind her, and no one could doubt that she was in command. Her violet eyes narrowed by the slightest bit and she inclined her head.
" My regrets, too, Legate." She looked past him. Greetings, Admiral. I take it you both have what staff you need with you?"
"That depends on what endeavor you expect us to perform." Jakre stated, wiping at the water that trickled down his long nose.
" My staff is ready," Myles answered, sensing Delshay's hostility building against Jakre. "For any purpose."
" If the two of you will follow me, your people will be seated by my crew and we'll shed dirt immediately." She turned and started up a flight of steps.
Myles clamped his jaw, forced to make a slow job of it, one step at a time. Curse Iban, anyway. Here they were, their empire wrecked, at the mercy of everything in Free Space, and Than wanted to act formally.
The second level consisted of what Myles would have called the combat operations deck. Men and women in uniform manned
instruments as they sat before sophisticated consoles and studied holos. Myles stumped his way forward, hearing their soft chatter while Jakre muttered incoherently under his breath.
In the forward section, Delshay turned to face them again, no emotion in her stiff features. If she'd smile once in a while, she would have been an attractive woman.
"What is the condition of His Holiness?" She lifted a pale eyebrow.
"Dead, I'm afraid." Jakre responded, stopping uncertainly, his eyes cataloging the small nacelle they'd entered. Instruments covered every wall, and, as he spoke, chairs were lifting from the deck.
Myles needed no invitation to seat himself and take the weight from his aching leg.
Jakre continued, "When the quake hit, the gravity compensation failed. It appears that His Holiness dropped about fifty centimeters. We're not sure whether the impact killed him or if he suffocated from his own weight."
"Then we may assume that the two of you compose the remaining Imperial government?" -
Jakre's head went back as he spread his arms wide. "Well, I am in charge of the military and--
I'Yes," Myles interrupted. "Insofar as any government remains on Imperial Sassa, Than and I would have that responsibility. How can we be of service to the Lord Commander? "
Jakre gave Myles a sidelong look of irritation.
Delshay dropped into a seat as the lander began to move, attitude changing.
"Legate, you will accompany me to Itreata aboard Cobra. Admiral'Jakre, you will be transferred to Black Warrior where you will work in coordination with Commander Tiger. There, you will use the remaining assets of the Imperial Sassan Fleet to assist him with the administration of Sassan territory.
Meanwhile, the Legate will assist Magister Dawn with the construction of a comm center to govern Free Space."
Iban's familiar plastic smile spread across his long face and he patted his protruding stomach with a jeweled hand. "My dear Commander, I'll be happy to accommodate the Lord Commander's wishes, but you must understand, as Admiral of the Imperial Sassan Fleet, I must deal directly with the Lord Commander. I have responsibilities which-"
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