Vet gave her a faltering smile. Most of the security guards in the building were also students. Like her, they all had their pet projects. “I said, you might not want to leave. They’re rioting in the streets.,,
Anatolia stepped over to the desk, bending down to stare at the monitor Vet indicated. She could make out the main thoroughfare before the building. A mob thronged the boulevard like a horde of angry insects. Some carried signs, others brandished clubs and knives. Here and there a fight broke out, and Anatolia winced as a man or woman went down.
“What is this?”
“A real live riot,” Vet told her grimly. “Security has the entire building locked up. They beat on the doors for a while until they decided they couldn’t get in. Then they kind of went berserk.”
She gave him a nervous sideways glance. “They tried to get in here?”
Vet nodded. “Yeah, but we were notified. The Revenue Building two blocks down wasn’t so lucky. I guess the place has been gutted.”
“But why?
Vet’s dark brows knit in a brooding frown. “The Emperor is dead. Most of the Councillors and Government Ministers have been arrested for corruption.
We’re on the verge of chaos unless some order is imposed.”
Anatolia watched as an angry young woman shouted and waved. People backed away from her. For a brief instant, the woman looked into the camera, her auburn hair in a wild tangle about her beautiful face. For that moment, her feral amber eyes locked with Anatolia’s blue ones. Relax, she can’t see you. It was mere chance that she looked up just then. Tension constricted her breast.
Anatolia gasped as the woman on the street used an illegal blaster to blow a hole in the tactite window of the small clothing store across the boulevard. One by one, she blew out the security doors of the businesses that lined the opposite side of the street. The mob swarmed in, looting, fighting over the goods they tore from the shelves.
“Where’d she get the blaster?” Vet asked, grabbing for his comm set to call it in.
“What if she’d tried that on our building?”
“Yeah ... well, just hope she doesn’t. I heard they killed all the people they caught in the Revenue Building. Hacked the men apart and threw the pieces around. What they did to the women. . . .”
Anatolia shivered as her eyes narrowed. A woman burst from one of the doorways, screaming as a pack of men raced after her, pulling her down, ripping her clothes off .
Anatolia looked away. Wouldn’t anyone go to that wretched woman’s aid? Had all semblance of order died with noble Tybalt? Her heart raced for the second time that night.
Staffa kar Therma cried out in the instant before he jerked awake.
“What’s wrong?” Skyla asked in a hushed whisper, her fingers instinctively seeking the holstered blaster that hung on the headboard.
The lights brightened as the sensors picked up not only movement, but speech. Skyla needed but a glance to know. Another nightmare. They stalked Staffa’s sleep, insidious, hanging just beyond the veil of the Lord Commander’s consciousness.
Staffa shivered; the action bunched the thick muscles on his chest and shoulders. His long black hair lay in a tangle around his head. He blinked and his thin lips narrowed as he worked his mouth. Perspiration gleamed on his high forehead and tense, strongjawed face.
“All right?” she asked.
He ran a hand over his sweaty face and pressed thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his long straight nose before glancing at Skyla with deadly gray eyes as she sat up beside him. A thin Myklenian silk sheet slipped down to drape over her smooth pale flesh. She placed a reassuring hand on his sunblackened skin, marveling at the contrast in tones.
They lay on a four-posted sleeping platform, bodies entwined in delicate fabrics. The bed itself had been carved from the finest sandwood, and an elegant canopy of sheer fabric separated the light into rainbow patterns. Viridian carpet covered the floor of the spacious sleeping quarters, while the walls, paneled in Riparian blackwood, bore the wealth of a lifetime’s accumulated trophies. Were it not for the faint vibration from Crysla’s powerful reactors and the atmosphere control, the room might have been in a planetside palace instead of a warship.
Staffa kar Therma pulled a knee up, lowering his head until it rested on a balled fist. “I dreamed.... You know, the day I killed the Praetor. I heard his mocking laughter, felt his flesh giving under my fingers as I twisted his neck. The bones crackled and grated before they snapped.” He licked dry lips. “I stood there, feet spread, hands knotted, glaring up at the green sun of Myklene, and I wept, Skyla. I wept while my soul burned with shame.”
Skyla Lyma slipped athletically from the platform, the ruby silk flowing from her body in a delicate wave. Her pale blonde hair tumbled around her muscular body, a shining wreath that reached to her ankles. A frown marring her classic features, she poured two crystal goblets half full of sherry as she studied Staffa. In the soft glow of the light, the scar that marked her cheek could barely be seen.
She settled onto the wadded bedding with the grace of a hunting cat. Long fingers pressed the stemmed goblet into Staffa kar Therma’s empty hand.
“And then what?” Skyla’s voice carried the timbre of a woman used to giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed. Now she watched him, waiting, letting her eyes play over the corded muscles of his back and shoulders. Long scars crisscrossed his flesh-relics of a lifetime of war and struggle. For the moment, his face was veiled by his long hair.
During all the years she’d loved him, she’d never thought it would be like this, that he’d be haunted by the dead---obsessed by the need to vindicate himself.
“The green light grew brighter,” Staffa continued in a strained voice. “Finally I had to squint, to shield my eyes from the searing light. When I took a step, I stumbled in burning sand. Etaria. I was in the desert again. The slave collar choked me. And the thirst ... it was agonizing. I blinked and looked around. White scorching sand everywhere—endless. But it shifted, whispered ... moved. They came crawling out. . . .”
“Who, Staffa?”. Skyla cocked her head as she sipped the sherry. The ghouls again? Pus Rot it, Staffa, can’t you leave them behind? They’re dead, and you can’t change that—can’t bring them back, no matter how you torture yourself.
“Peebal ... Koree ... others. So many, the sand was alive with them for as far as I could see. They dragged themselves up from the depths of the dunes. Sand in their eyes, sand in their mouths and noses. Bodies caked with it. They clawed their way toward me, whispering.”
“Whispering what?”
“Blaming me. Cursing me.” He threw his head back, flipping his gleaming black hair over his shoulders to stare emptily at the rainbow canopy with slitted eyes. The lines had drawn tight at the corners of his hard mouth.
“The wind started then,” he continued. “Like a howling, it roared down out of the dunes. I couldn It run, couldn’t move. It blasted me with a million grains of sand, cutting the skin from my body and caking in my blood. I could feel it eroding the bodies of the dead who crawled and wailed at my feet. Harder it blew, until the air keened and sand grated upon itself in a shrill voice that became Chrysla’s scream.”
Absently he took a sip of sherry, as if to wet his mouth with the sweet drink. So tightly did he grip the goblet, the tendons stood from the backs of his hands. “She cried out to me, terrified, dying. As I killed her, I could hear the air sucked from around her and the sandstorm exploded into flame and decompression. I reached for her, could see her, so close. My fingertips touched hers ... and the explosion ripped her away.”
Skyla waited, legs crossed, fingers laced around the stem of her glass. “And then you woke up?”
Staffa shook his head. “I fell ‘. . . tumbling out through the gutted remains of Chrysla’s ship. Weightless, a twisting agony in my gut, I tried to get my armor to work. I was gasping, cartwheeling in pitch blackness, thinking ... this is death. This is what I deserve.”
He gla
nced at her, misery in his gray eyes. “When the vertigo cleared, I lay in a dark cavern. Makarta. I could tell by the smell of ozone from blaster fire. The place reeked of musty air and clotted blood and mold and punctured guts. I felt around, trying to find my way on the stone floor. “
He swallowed hard, as if choked by the memory. “The darkness came alive. You could hear them ... the dead ... coming, reaching out in the darkness. The air went cold and clammy and my skin started to itch. I crawled away, scrambling, crying out in terror. Anything ... just get away from me.
“They keep getting closer ... closer. I can’t find the way. Rubbery fingers slip off my boot. I can smell the rotting bodies, hear their loose flesh scraping on the rock.
“That’s when I come up against the door.”’ “What door?” Skyla prompted, gaze narrowing. “Metal.” Staffa gulped a large swallow of sherry. “They’re so close. I leap to my feet, pounding with fists ... and it opens. I fall inside, slamming the my door shut behind me. The sharp edges of the steel slice off bloated fingers, leave them writhing like maggots on the stone floor.”
“But you’re safe?” Staffa’s nervous fingers tightened in a stranglehold on the stem of his glass. “No. No safety. I turn around and there is the Mag Comm. The lights are gleaming and that mind link cap is glowing-molten, like liquid gold. The answer is there, locked in the banks of that alien monstrosity. Behind me, the only way out is blocked by the dead. The machine is the only choice.”
Skyla pulled herself next to him and twined her hands into his, noting the difference between her long pale fingers and his thicker ones-a man’s hands, callused, burned by the sun.
Staffa took a deep breath. “I walk forward, knowing I can’t - face the dead who-wait in the darkness. The machine covers the entire wall, its lights piercing the murky cavern. No human made that machine; it’s alien in design, in its very existence. How can I trust it? How can I put that cap on my head? What will it do to my thoughts?”
He winced. “I can feel it prickle my scalp-even now, here, awake. I can feel it the same as I did that day in Makarta when Kaylla Dawn stopped me from putting it on my head.”
“But you do it, don’t you?”
“Yes. And then ... then I scream and wake up.” Skyla tossed down the last of her sherry, extending a long arm to place the glass at the bedside. “You’ve made the machine into a persona. It’s become an obsession. Considering what it did to Bruen, do you think that’s wise?” He grunted sourly and drank more of his sherry.
“Maybe not. But the answer is there. It’s got to be. No matter how you look at it, the machine is the key. We’ve known for centuries that the Forbidden Borders aren’t natural. They’re an artifact—created by someone for a reason. Humans didn’t make them nor did humans build the Mag Comm. I’ve seen it. I’ know. To our knowledge, they are the only two alien artifacts in Free Space.”
“The Forbidden Borders wall us in like a prison.” Skyla gave him a sidelong glance. “Perhaps the machine is the jailer?”
Staffa ground his teeth, jaw muscles leaping. “it might be, but it doesn’t feel right. The Mag Commas best we can determine—only observed. Any actions it tried to effect were through the Seddi. The Mag Comm manipulated the Seddi through that entire charade to kill me. If it had power, why didn’t it assassinate me outright? And look at the number of times it orchestrated Seddi attempts to assassinate Tybalt.”
“Then it might be as much a prisoner as we are. Staffa lifted a muscular shoulder in a shrug. “That’s possible. But if that’s the case, do you think it will help us? It’s got to have some information hidden away in those banks-some knowledge of how to break the Forbidden Borders.”
“I hate to remind you, but the machine’s buried deep inside Makarta. That’s in Regan territory. And I don’t think either Sinklar Fist, or Ily Takka, is going to let you space in, drop down, and interrogate the machine”
Staffa smiled, the action bereft of amusement. “I suppose not. We’re perched on the edge of the abyss. This trip to see the Sassan Emperor ... we’ve got a very limited probability for success.”
“I know.” Skyla stretched out beside him, strain in her glinting blue eyes. “I checked before I came to bed. First Officer Helmut says we’ll drop out of null singularity in another-“ she shot a glance at the chronometer-“seven hours. I guess we’ll see what happens when we arrive.
Staffa gave her a hard appraisal. “His Holiness isn’t going to like this.”
“He’ll have to.”
Staffa sighed and ran his preoccupied gaze over the weapons and battle trophies that lined the walls. He placed the sherry glass next to Skyla’s and leaned back, ordering the lights down.
“I’ve got to do this, Skyla,” he whispered. “I don’t have a choice.”
“I know.” She wrapped one muscular leg around him, slipping her arms tightly about his chest as if to protect him from the darkness. Because if you don’t, you’ll never free yourself from the ghosts, and the guilt that seeks to suffocate you.
Tedor Mathaiison hung his head in weary disbelief. He sat in an interrogation chair with electrodes taped to his freshly shaved skull. He could describe the room they’d placed him in with one word: featureless. Not even a mark scuffed the hard floor beneath his feet. The gray walls of the small cell were marred only by the recessed cameras that monitored his every move and expression. Those passionless glass eyes even magnified his pupil dilation. The data were crossreferenced to his pulse, GSR, EEG, and neural pattern access. He lay exposed, completely at the mercy of the interrogator. No secret remained inviolate to his captor’s probe.
“What more do you wish of me?” Tedor asked. “You’ve drugged me with Mytol, and I’ve told you everything I know. You’ve wrung me as dry as you can ... and you’ve found nothing. No corruption. I served my emperor well, may the Blessed Gods keep him. “ Tedor stared at his knees, covered as they were by the thin gray overalls they had given him after his arrest. How had he come to this? The very universe had turned upside down. Two weeks ago, he’d be the Minister of Defense, in charge of the Regan military forces currently massing to strike at the Sassan Empire. Now, Tybalt the Imperial Seventh,’his emperor, was dead. The Regan Empire reeled in shock and chaos, and he’d been arrested. Gysell, the Assistant Minister of Internal Security, walked around to face him. An unforgiving finger lifted Tedor’s chin so that he stared into the Assistant Minister’s face. The thick features appeared impassive, emotionless. “What is your assessment of the military’s ability to respond to an emergency?”
They hadn’t given Tedor a drink for hours, and Mytol left the throat very dry. His tongue felt like cotton. “Not good. With me here, our response time will be cut by several hours. My Deputies will have to assemble a command override. Normally, they’d simply call the Emperor, but under the current circumstances they’ll need the approval of at least ten Division Firsts to give orders and make command decisions. “
“Suppose I told you your Deputies had already been arrested and charged with conspiracy, what would you say?”
Tedor jerked upright and gaped. “What? Arrested for ... Don’t you understand? Without the Deputies, the military is helpless! If the Sassans hear about it they’ll.... Damn you, tell me it isn’t so!”
“It is so,” Gysell replied in a monotone.
Tedor’s jaw quivered, eyes glazing. “Then you’ve laid us wide open. If the Sassans move now.... Damn you, you’ve left us paralyzed!”
“Excellent.” Gysell smiled. “Then the same would be true about domestic control, wouldn’t it?” Unable to comprehend, Tedor nodded. “The Division Firsts won’t act without orders. Neither will the fleet.”
“Tell me,” Gysell’s voice dropped, “what do you think of Sinklar Fist’s military ability?”
Tedor’s lip lifted. “The man is a threat to every institution in the military. He’s a barbarian, an outlaw! If he’s not stopped, he’ll overturn three hundred
years of tradition. Make a mockery of honor an
d duty.” Tedor shook his head. “He’s a cancer, mister interrogator.”
Gysell ignored the slight. “You didn’t answer my question. I don’t care about outdated military rituals and privileges. What is your assessment of his military and tactical brilliance? Why did he survive his predicament on Targa-and win besides?”
Tedor glared up resentfully. “Because he defied the conventions of war. He threw away the rules, Gysell. That’s what makes him so dangerous.”
Gysell lifted an inquisitive eyebrow and Tedor laughed. “Look at your monitor, Gysell. Read your instruments and tell me if I’m lying. Here’s the truth, and I hope you and Ily Takka choke on it. Sinklar Fist is the most dangerous man in all of Free Space. I know that Ily’s playing for control of the Empire. But what kind of empire does she think she’ll inherit if Fist is allowed to spread his cancer? Don’t you see? He’s empowering the rabble! What kind of society will you have if the louts in the street feel they’re as important as the Emperor? You’re talking about chaos! Suicide!”
“And you think he’ll do that?”
Tedor spread his hands imploringly, his voice dropping to a hiss. “He’s one of them! Read his file. He’s the son of Seddi assassins. Would you want to rub elbows with the likes of him? He has no family, no lineage. And if you and Ily aren’t careful, you’ll have him on the Imperial throne.”
“I almost think you fear Fist more than either the Sassans or the Star Butcher.”
Tedor looked the other way, despair and defeat filling him. “Perhaps I do. What difference does it make? Very well, I’ll make my bargain with Ily. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Power struggle? You know my feelings about Ily.” He looked up, straight into the camera, into Ily’s eyes. “I’ve always despised you, Ily, but I’ll make my peace. I’ll become your minion. I’ll serve you and place you on the Imperial throne.
My only price is Sinklar Fist. Send me his severed head, and I will kneel before you ... Empress.
For the first time, Gysell smiled.
Relic of Empire Page 2