Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “ And the data I provided?”

  “They believe it is interesting, but not convincing. The very complexity of the data is a two-edged sword. Swung one way, it convinces completely, swung the other, it could have been cleverly manipulated.”

  “You say ‘they.’ “ Staffa watched him through pensive gray eyes. “Is that why you came alone?” Myles paced out into the room, raising his hands.

  “I argued for restraint, for time to check the data. The Sassan system is a triumvirate. Than and His Holiness voted against me. Therefore, the course is set. The fools. What were their arguments?”

  Myles hung his head. “That this was Sassa’s chance. The Regans will be disorganized, absorbed with the secession. They’ve had rioting in the streets; the people are panicked. Ily executed the military leadership, in effect decapitating their ability to resist.”

  “And my warnings?”

  Myles steeled himself and met Staffa’s hard gray eyes. “They say your objections stem from vanitywthat for once, the Companions aren’t needed. Further, so long as you can keep Sassa and Rega at each other’s throats, there is a role in Free Space for Staffa kar Therma.”

  “I shouldn’t be surprised. What else would they think? Still, the Seddi data are so convincing.”

  “His Holiness is more than concerned about your association with the Seddi.”

  Staffa pulled up short, his cloak twisting around him. “Old Sassa isn’t starting to buy that God business, is he? His grandfather and I cooked that scheme up years ago to convince those bone-headed ice miners on Ryklos that continued resistance against Sassan rule was futile. They always had a skewed sense of the divine. Making Sassa’s grandfather a deity dovetailed nicely with political necessity, nothing more. Sassa is as much a man as you or I. Rot it all, I watched him foul his wrappings when he was a baby.”

  Myles blinked, half startled. “A political necessity? I didn’t know that. The records say that.... But then, using Jakre’s argument, data can be modified, can’t it? Especially if you’re an emperor.”

  “You learn quickly, Myles. What else do they say about me?” Staffa stepped to a golden dispenser and poured two bulbs of amber liquor. He handed one to Myles. “Myklenian brandy, the last of the good stuff. You don’t know it yet, but you’ll never duplicate the taste when you get the Myklenian climate back under control. The yeast, bred over a thousand years, have all died. “

  Myles took the bulb and sipped, the heavenly taste mellow on his tongue. “That’s about all they say, Lord Commander.”

  Staffa measured Myles with hard gray eyes. “A great many lives may hang in the balance, Myles. Maybe even the whole of humanity. Imagine all of Free Space devoid of human life. Planets scorched and silent under baleful suns. It could happen. You must tell me what you know.”

  A sinking sensation eroded his will to resist. Myles turned the cut crystal drinking bulb in his ringed fingers, feeling the edges of the expensive glass. Can I trust him? He’s the Gods Rotted Star Butcher! “If this is a time for honesty, Lord Commander, what happened to you on Etaria? Our agents managed to take a holo of you in the presence of Ily Takka. You were filthy, in rags-and wearing a slave collar. Moments later, the Internal Security Directorate literally blew apart.

  “The next we heard, you were on Targa, under Ily’s guns, and fighting for the Seddi. They’d tried for years to assassinate you. Yet, suddenly, you evacuate them from the Regan Empire?”

  Staffa smiled then, a gleam in his eyes. “I underestimated you, Myles. Perhaps this time your computer promotion system has found platinum in a sea of dross. Very well, let’s you and I gamble.”

  “Gamble?” Staffa leaned close. “Is your word, your integrity, any good? Can I depend on you? Trust you? Or are you up here dickering for the benefit of expediency? Are you here for the sake of the Sassan people? Or are you here for your own benefit and profit? Ask yourself, Myles. Make your decision before we go any further. “

  Staffa backed away like a feral cat retreating from a stockman’s lamb. Myles took a deep breath, feeling sweat begin to bead on his pallid flesh. What do I do? What have I gotten myself into?

  “What’s your interest, Myles?” Staffa probed. “Humanity? Or yourself?”

  Myles closed his eyes, heart racing. His mouth had gone dry, the taste of the brandy cloying. Who would I choose? What would it cost me?

  “It’s never been serious before, has it?” Staffa asked, a wry tone in his voice.

  No. And he means it. What do I chose? Blessed Sassa, I could die as a result of this! His voice cracked. “If I choose the people, you’ll want something from me. “Myles, the Seddi data are correct. I must keep Sassa and Rega from beginning a conflagration. My reasons ... well, make up your mind where you stand. “

  If the data are correct, as he says, and the interpretations valid, then war would destroy us all. That’s what he wants me to choose. He wants to know if I’ll fight with him ... or with Sassa. Myles failed then, his knees went weak and he lowered himself into one of the overstuffed chairs, his blood pounding.

  “Lord Commander? Why? What made you pick me?”

  Staffa studied him through slitted eyes. “Because you had the courage to face me alone. From the moment you stepped off the shuttle, you’ve been scared to death. Yet you proceeded. Why, Myles?”

  “To prove something to myself.” He glanced up. “Because I’m the second most

  powerful man in Sassa, and around you and your Companions, I feel ... impotent.” He blinked hard, damning the frustration, daring to glare back at Staffa. “And when you landed the other day, you treated me like a man. I saw something in Ark’s eyes, a measure of respect because I’d lost weight. 1-I liked that. I saw it again when I told Ark I’d see you alone, and I liked it more. “

  Staffa’s thin lips hinted at a smile. Not of amusement, but of understanding. He said, .”Accepting responsibility for yourself as a human being is a terrible and harrowing ordeal. I speak from bitter and sobering experience. Whatever you choose, you’ll live with the consequences forever. It’s your self-respect, no one else’s. Don’t fail yourself, Myles.”

  Myles took a deep breath and stared into the Lord Commander’s eyes as he struggled with himself. Staffa reached out to touch him reassuringly on the shoulder. “You might want to take some time and think about it. Perhaps check the Seddi data in greater detail. It’s not a decision to be made on the spur-“

  “I choose the people, Lord Commander. I...I believe you and your Seddi.” He pursed his lips, alternately relieved and horrified at what he’d just done.

  Voices carried in the still, predawn air. Anatolia crouched in the shadows, reaching up to pull a stray lock of blonde hair back with a grimy hand. A faint hiss issued from a metal grate behind her. She’d slept there, warmed by the air pumped from the guts of the building. High overhead, reflected from the gleaming walls of glass and ceramic, she could see the lights of the city, while here, down in the shadows and the hidden passages, night and danger lurked. She shivered, hardly bothered by the moldy tang of the heavy air. No one had tried to molest her since she’d dealt with Micky. The other denizens of the darkness steered clear of her, recognizing the dark smudges on her stained clothing. They shared a silent companionship, she and the others. Each had been tried in his or her own way, and each had survived.

  “Here,” one of the voices called. “This one.” Metal clinked on metal and Anatolia inched forward, peering around the rusty square strut of her building. Her stomach growled angrily for food. Her mouth tasted stale and musty, the lingering aftertaste still present from where she’d licked condensation from a pipe to ease her thirst-parched throat the night before.

  Four people stood there. Two technicians in Power Authority uniforms and two others, women in ... combat armor? Soldiers? Here? Guarding the Power Authority technicians?

  Anatolia gaped. Had order been restored? She crouched back, trying to decide what to do. Animal caution struggled with desperate hope.

&
nbsp; She sneaked another glance around the strut, poised for flight.

  “Who’s there?” the call echoed down the narrow confines of the foundation. “We see you on IR.” Anatolia froze, refusing to believe they’d spotted her. One of the soldiers had stepped to the side, weapon at the ready as she approached. In the dimness, Anatolia could make out the woman’s helmet, the IR visor lowered.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Anatolia cried out, stalling for time, trying to make up her mind. Did she date sprint dQmn the, square tunnel that led under the building? Would they just hunt her down? Her fist clenched in the pile of crumbly scale rusted from the strut.

  “The killing’s over. Why don’t you come out of there? What the hell are you doing down here, anyway? Who are you?”

  Anatolia licked her lips, adrenaline pumping. Run! Escape! “I’m Anatolia Daviura. People have been trying to kill me. Don’t come any closer! You’re scaring me. “

  The woman halted, heavy blaster still half-raised. “The rioting has stopped. The army is here. We’re restoring the power grid where it was damaged. Everything’s okay. You can go home now.”

  Anatolia began to shiver. “No ... I can’t. They chased me. They wanted to kill me.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I ran...and he...Micky...caught me.I...he tried to rape me...beat me. . . . “

  The world went blurry before her eyes, images shimmering as she began to sob. “Blessed Gods, what’s happened to me?”

  “Hey, here, it’s all right,” the woman’s voice sounded so close.

  “I don’t want to die!” Anatolia sobbed. She stiffened at the touch on her shoulder, trying to leap to her feet, to flee, but strong arms held her.

  “Here, damn it! Stop it! You’re safe!” The strong arms pinned her effectively, despite her struggles. “Safe,” a second voice assured.

  Dazed, Anatolia looked up into the reassuring eyes of the woman who stroked her hair.

  “Come on. Why don’t you come over and sit with us. We’ve got to make sure the repair crew is safe, too. Then we’ll take you home.”

  Anatolia shook her head violently. “No. Not there.” Images of the pimply blond kid lurked within. “Then anywhere you want to go,” the woman told

  her. Anatolia blinked as a light almost blinded her. “Rotted Gods, Corporal, she’s been beaten half to death. Not only that, she’s covered with dried blood.”

  “Simms, get her out of here and to medical care. I’ll cover the repair crew.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Come on, Anatolia. You sit down right here, we’ll have an antigrav here in a lightsecond. “

  Mhitshul had that stare in his eyes that Sinklar had come to both love and hate. Sinklar had named it the mother look, and he translated it as, “I hope you know what you’re doing-but I disapprove.”

  The LC bucked as it dropped through the clouds. The short winter season had come to Rega. Except on the poles, that meant rain and constantly cloudy skies, and, therefore, turbulence on the descent from orbit.

  Sinklar sat at the command station, the nerve center of the Regan Landing Craft. The command station consisted of a tactical communications center, weapons override, and a wall of monitors which could present combat information. From this tiny cubicle behind the cockpit bulkhead, Sinklar had directed an entire war. Behind him, a fold down table could be opened. More often than not, Sinklar had slept on the curved plastic bench seat. Mhitshul now sat there, rubbing his long hands together, giving Sink that motherly look.

  The LC bucked again, stirring Sinklar’s memories of another descent he’d made in what seemed another lifetime. He’d been a raw recruit then. The drop had been onto hostile Targa. He’d been in the back, on one of the assault benches, and Gretta had been sitting next to him.

  He closed his eyes, remembering how she’d looked. He’d stared at her throat, firm and white. She’d had Mac’s scarf-a totem for luck. How beautiful she’d been.

  How different from the corpse Sinklar had discovered on another day. Gretta had been bloated, her body rotting in the hot humid air. And crouched on the far side of the cell, Arta Fera had waited, her craziness obvious in the set of her body, the expression on her face. Despite the distance, the stench lingered in Sinklar’s nostrils.

  He shook his head to clear the image, forcing himself to deny the ache. If he allowed himself to feel, the knot would tighten and tears would come. Grief could blind him, distract his mind-and he’d need every faculty this evening.

  “Five minutes, sir,” the call came down from the cockpit.

  Sinklar turned to his comm, “Mac? You there?” “Got you, Sink. You on the way in?” “Affirmative. I should be at the Ministry within five minutes. Everything all right on the ground?” “Affirmative. I’ve been in touch with Mayz. She says that everything’s on schedule. Kap checks in green, too. He says that it all came off smooth as could be. Not a shot was fired. Only one of my groups had any trouble. They ran into a mob at University. Took a couple of shots to take the ardor out of the students, and since then it’s been quiet.”

  “Wish they could all be like this.”

  “Yeah ... uh, I’ve had a couple of batches of guys show up demanding we turn the installations over to them. They claim they’re Ily’s people. We sent them packing, but she’s probably gonna want some explanations. Thought I’d warn you.”

  “Thanks. Keep ‘em out. How are modifications coming along?”

  “Just fine. Some folks think we’re nuts, but no one bitches at us to our faces. They shrug, look at our guns, and let us chop up their offices anyway we like.”

  “I’ve got a minute left. Anything else pressing?” “Negative. MacRuder out.”

  Sinklar flipped the comm. switch. So Ily’s agents had been turned back at the doors? She’d be twice as mad-and three times as dangerous.

  The LC whined, g pulling Sink sideways as the machine decelerated.

  The skids hardly grated as the LC settled on the roof of the Ministry of Internal Security. Sink sat silently, clearing his thoughts as the thrusters whined and died. Mumbled conversation could be heard as the pilots talked and thumped things in the cockpit.

  Sinklar unstrapped from his seat. Mhitshul rose obediently, eyes on Sinklar.

  “You stay here,” Sink ordered. “I’ll be fine. Ily isn’t going to abduct me, or anything like that.” He grinned. “Not yet, anyway. She still needs us too much.”

  “Sir, I don’t like the idea of you going in there all by yourself! What if she ... well.

  “Drugs me?”

  “Yeah! What if she drugs you? Does something?” Sinklar placed a calming hand on his aide’s shoulder. “Mhitshul, she won’t. She may decide to poison me one of these days, but not until we’ve destroyed the Sassans. Until then, she’ll be as sweet as Riparian chubba leaves. Trust me. I’m going in there alone. We’ll have a hell of fight, and then we’ll get down to business. Right now, we need each other.”

  “And later?”

  “Then we’ll get down to scratching and clawing but I’m hoping we’ll have already won by then and she’ll be nothing more than a relic of empire.”

  “Right, sir.” The primness of Mhitshul’s expression said that he didn’t buy a word of it.

  “Trust me.” Sinklar slapped him on the shoulder and ducked through the hatch. Rows of empty benches waited mutely, crash webbing neatly stowed overhead, restraint belts all hanging limp. Sinklar’s steps echoed hollowly on the deck plating. He placed a palm against the lock and the assault ramp dropped in a squeal of hydraulics to slap the roof of the Internal Security Building.

  Evening had purpled the thick clouds overhead. The skyline of Rega appeared unchanged. He’d never noticed the air before, but after Targa’s scent of pines, earth, and rain, Rega smelled noxious.

  The city made a muted roar, like the sound a river makes from high in a canyon. Not even the Targan capital city, Kaspa, loud as it was, had this sound of endless activity. A cool wind buffeted his unadorned combat armor. Sinklar wore no insignia of rank, no fine
fabrics, just the armor of the common soldier.

  A door opened, a young man stepping out. “Lord

  Fist? This way, please. The Minister is awaiting you in her apartments.”

  Sinklar shot a look back. Mhitshul stood awkwardly in the hatch. Sink waved reassuringly and started across the flat roof. Inside, a lift tube carried him down a floor. The young man, an innocuous looking youth, gestured and bowed as Sink stepped out. Behind him the lift hissed and the young man disappeared.

  Sinklar walked down the wood-paneled hall and two large brass doors opened before him. He stepped into a spacious office. Floor to ceiling windows filled one wall. The other contained artwork and monitor screens. Ily sat at a large desk in one corner. She smiled and rose as he approached.

  “Welcome the conqueror,” she greeted. She wore the formfitting black jumpsuit he’d become accustomed to seeing her in. The thin fabric accented her high breasts, thin waist, and flat belly. With a graceful movement of a slim hand, she flipped the gleaming wealth of her raven black hair over her shoulder, black eyes sparkling as she tilted her head. Sink had forgotten what a beautiful woman Ily Takka was. Her delicate skin contrasted with her hair; her features were perfect.

  “I ought to choke you to death,” she told him. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, Sinklar, but I don’t like it. Why won’t you let my people take control of the buildings you occupy? Are we at war with each other?”

  Just like I thought we’d start. “Not to my knowledge, but we are about to be at war with Sassa-just the way you’ve planned. Do you have any idea as to their preferred target?”

  One of her thin eyebrows raised, a glow of enjoyment warming her translucent skin. “I assume it will either be Ashtan, Etaria, or Sylene. I’ll know by the time they’re ready to strike. Now, you tell me. What’s this nonsense about employee ownership of the utilities? They belong to the people.”

  “Stop it. Right now, they belong to me. My troops occupy the utilities, the Communications Center, most of the critical administration complexes, and are handling public security. You, on the other hand, are in control of a comprehensive web of information gathering services and the judicial system. Want me to give you half of my government buildings for access to half of your spy net?”