Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  In the monitor window, Vega suddenly floated free as the grapples and umbilicals disconnected. “Perfect,” Ily cooed as a streak of searing light shot out from the vessel’s reactors. In the terminal, klaxons wailed a decompression warning. Confusion reigned as men and women sprinted for the pressure bulkheads spaced every two hundred meters along the dock.

  Meanwhile, Vega boosted for open space, changing her attitude and vector as she went. For long moments they watched as the slim vessel dwindled to a point of light.

  Ily sighed. “That’s about it. They won’t come up on the Orbital Defenses for another twenty minutes. Once there, your Shiksta will scorch their feathers slightly and send them on their way.”

  Sinklar’s jaw stuck out at an angle. “I suppose.” Ily gave him a smile. “Why don’t you come with me. I have something to show you. And I assure you it beats sleeping on that bench in your LC. You’re a Lord now, you ought to live like one. “

  Sinklar gave her a skeptical glance and she laughed. “Sinklar, you’re a man now, an important one. Come on.

  She took his hand and led him into her personal quarters. He followed her into the bedroom where she left him as she stepped into her wardrobe. She grabbed a coat and slung her weapons belt about her hips, letting him linger for a moment. As she stepped out, she caught him staring curiously at her ornate sleeping platform, and scuttled a smile.

  “What about Arta?” he asked, as if to force his mind to other thoughts.

  “She’s a troubled woman,” Ily replied easily. “You know what the Seddi did to her. They programmed her mind to kill anyone who tried to make love with her. You know how magnetic she is ... the woman oozes sex and draws men like Ashtan bees to nectar.”

  “You’re using her to assassinate people.”

  “You’re training soldiers to murder millions.” Ily pressed the lock plate and they both stepped through into a lift tube. Together, they dropped. “Tell me something. Have you ever thought about the morality of war?”

  Sinklar barked a sharp laugh. “Have I? Surely, you’re joking? It obsesses me.”

  She stepped out as the gravity field deposited them in the subbasement. The air smelled musty with dust and concrete. Ily gestured to a pneumatic capsule and seated herself next to Sinklar. He didn’t seem to mind the feel of her hip against his on the narrow seat. Ily tapped the control and as the canopy lowered over them, they slid into a dark tunnel.

  Ily studied Sinklar in the blue haze of the cabin lights. “Then let me ask you a question. You don’t have to answer it right this moment if you don’t want to. Which is really the most morally offensive, to employ an assassin to kill a political rival who, if appointed to an important position, will implement policies which will be detrimental to the people . . . or is it more offensive to ask an innocent farmer on Riparious to kill an innocent farmer on the Sassan world of Malbourne? Both farmers are good men who love their families and children and want nothing more than to make a living, raise their crops, and grow old in peace.”

  “And the official you’ve assassinated? He isn’t interested in the same thing?”

  “Of course he is, but he wants to do it at the expense of other people who are marginally making ends meet. If he has to bankrupt a couple of businesses along the way, or evict people from housing to raise a new office buitding that no one will rent, does he care? His bottom line is greed and profit.”

  He smiled sourly. “I’ve heard this argument before. Gretta, Mac, and I used to wonder about it, but not about the benefits of assassination.” Sinklar suddenly straightened, a curious look on his face.

  “Something wrong?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. Nothing wrong. I was remembering something I once heard about unilateral epistemology. “

  “That what we learn is presented in a one-sided fashion?”

  “Exactly. But in regard to your moral question, here’s the difference. When you assassinate your political rival, you’re assuming you know what’s best for everyone. You’ve cast yourself in the role of God.”

  “Very well put ... and, yes, I generally do know the intimate details of a rival’s personality. I don’t eliminate a threat casually.”

  “Like Bryn Hack?” She laced her fingers together, feeling the slight sway of the capsule as it raced on its superconducting magnets. “How much do you know about the Commander?”

  “Just that I thought he seemed like a decent human being. A good officer.”

  “He was Mykroft’s classmate. Roomed with him at the Academy. Hack’s deceased wife was Mykroft’s younger sister. Mykroft loaned Hack the money he needed to build his mansion outside of Trystia. Haven’t you wondered what’s become of Mykroft since he shipped down from Gyton?” Sinklar lifted a shoulder. “I’ve been too busy with other things to worry about-“

  “You should,” she told him softly. “Mykroft has been agitating for a military coup. Hack’s sudden death stifled a bit of his ardor, but he’s your enemy, Sinklar. And before you shift the conversation again, I’ll admit that Hack’s decision to slip you in irritated the hell out of me. But what frightened me was that he might do the same for Mykroft, or one of his other cronies and their fleet. Do you see the danger?”

  Sinklar took a deep breath and slouched in the seat. “You always have an answer, don’t you, Ily?”

  She took his unresisting hand in hers. “Do you think I’m really so utterly despicable? Yes, I’ve used Arta, and you might say that she’s a tool, but I had two choices. I could keep her, or send her to the Anatomical Labs where Seddi assassins are always sent. Tybalt would have insisted on that.”

  Ily saw him go tense, jaw muscles jumping on his angular jaw. Yes, Sinklar, I do know where your weaknesses are. You won’t question me about Arta again, will you?

  The pneumatic capsule in which they rode pulled into a lighted underground bay and Sinklar struggled to free his mind of the images conjured by Ily’s words. As if it were yesterday, he could feel the chilled casket sliding out of the rack as a faint puff of condensation rose from the cryogenically preserved body. The man’s face had looked alive, the yellow eyes open and immeasurably sad. He’d had a strong jaw, smoothshaven. An incision where his scalp had been laid back and his skull sawed through could be seen under the short brown hair. They’d done that to expose the brain for some study conducted in their search for deviance. In that single moment, Sinklar had found a face to go with his father’s name. In that dead visage, he’d looked to find something of himself, some recognition of person and place in the cosmos.

  Then he’d opened his mother’s casket and stared down into her half-open gray eyes. What a beauty she’d been, with long raven-black hair and a delicately chiseled face. Something about her expression had haunted him-that hint of disbelief in her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe her death even as it enveloped her. She’d looked so incredibly young in her state of preservation-perhaps even younger than he’d been at the time. For long moments Sinklar had stared into the face of the woman who had borne him-and the long years had been bridged.

  How would it feel to know that Arta, no matter how much he hated her, had ended up there like his mother and father? And had Arta Fera’s programming really been that different from Valient and Tanya Fist’s?

  He got to his feet, lost in his thoughts, his nagging suspicions of Ily lulled again. She’s a reptile, he kept repeating to himself.

  Now, however, as he stepped out onto the subterranean platform and saw the concern in her eyes, could he be so sure? Not once had she undercut him since his arrival on Rega. Not once had she interfered with his operations. She

  hadn’t even argued vehemently about turning the utilities over after he’d dropped and taken them from under her nose. Though he instinctively disliked many of her policies, each rested on a coldly rational political reality.

  Mac doesn’t like her. But then, Mac didn’t always understand the ramifications of command decisions either. An able lieutenant, Mac lacked that intuitive grasp of th
e larger picture.

  Ily left the First Targan to die on Targa. I was supposed to be her sacrificial goat. But he wouldn’t have advanced through the ranks had it not been for her manipulating the situation.

  “Are you all right?” Ily asked, a gentleness in her tone. Her gaze searched his as she stepped close. Her scent seemed to linger in his nostrils and the swell of her full breasts distracted him.

  “Where are we?”

  “Under the building I’m hoping you’ll move into.” She pulled her comm from her belt. “Kitchen, please. This is Minister Ily Takka. Please prepare a full meal for two. Riparian lobster, steamed ripa root, saut6ed Vermilion mushrooms, a side of chubba, and Myklenian ale.” She winked at Sinklar, “No Ashtan. And please deliver to the Blue Room within a half hour.”

  She clipped the comm to her belt and led the way to the lift. “I think this is perfect for your residence. No one has ever complained about the accommodations before, at least not to my knowledge.”

  “What about the landlord? What about rent? I mean, I can’t just move into someplace and throw the old tenant out.”

  She stopped and turned, giving Sink that look that made him feel immature and silly.

  “You’re not some orphan of the state anymore. You’re the interim ruler of the Regan Empire. Don’t you think you’d better start acting the part?” She lifted a shapely eyebrow. “Or do you think you can meet with ambassadors, governors, and Imperial administrators in an LC command center for the rest of your life?”

  Sinklar nodded agreement, thoughts muddled. Rot it all, she had a point. “Very well, let’s see this place. “

  The lift took them up interminably. Sinklar took another deep breath, admitting to himself that he enjoyed Ily’s company. She talked to him like an equal. Not with the joking intimacy Gretta had used, but as one respected leader to another. He sneaked a cautious glance at her, and yes, she was a damned attractive woman. Her formfitting black outfit accented all the right places, and she had what it took to fill a suit like that.

  But what about her? How can I trust her? She assassinated Tybalt when he got in the way. What’s she really after? If only he could point to an action she’d taken since Targa, and prove to himself that she really was the viper he believed her to be.

  The lift opened to a small security foyer lined with cameras, IR sensors, and other gadgetry. Ily walked straight through to a security door and raised a small escutcheon that Sinklar recognized as the jessant-delis. “Minister Ily Takka. Accompanying me is Lord Sinklar Fist.“

  “Acknowledged,” a voice called and the heavy door slid open.

  Ily strode down a long hallway and Sinklar followed, half his attention on Ily’s swaying hips, the other half on the splendid hangings and ornamental statuary lining the powder-blue hall.

  Ily took a right and pressed the jessant-de-lis to a lock plate. Double doors slid back into the wall and Ily gestured Sinklar inside. “These are the quarters I was thinking might suit you.” Sinklar stepped into a palatial waiting room appointed with grav chairs each with a private commmanufactured from jetwood inlaid with gold. A gleaming dispenser served those who might be waiting, and holos depicted scenes from places in the Empire that Sinklar could only guess about. Beyond that he found a functional, if ornate office for a secretary or receptionist. Two armed guards stood in the corridor beyond that, eyes to the fore, polished shoulder blasters grounded at parade rest. Sink stared at the odd livery-not quite field issue, but the armor looked real enough.

  Ily ignored the young man and woman and stepped between them to open a large, carved sandwood door that led into a spacious office with a wraparound desk that literally bristled with comm equipment. The desk had been gilded with gold and precious Etarian gems. Myklenian fabrics hung from the walls and between them, holographic niches displayed the Regan planets as if in real time against a background of stars. Beneath his feet, the fiber-optic carpet gave the illusion of walking on a sea of molten gold. Overhead, the crystalline ceiling panels rose into an endless blue that might have stretched beyond the infinite.

  “I think you will be able to work here in greater comfort than in your LC,” Ily said wryly as she smiled at his gaping wonder. She pointed. “The personal quarters are through there.”

  Sinklar glanced uneasily at her and headed for the alabaster doorway. It opened at his approach and he stepped into a lavishly appointed dining room with surrounding recliners and an amazing array of fine lead-crystal serving ware. Optic architecture had been used lavishly to create a dazzling rainbow effect as the eye was directed upward.

  “This is the Blue Room,” Ily told him. “Why it was named that is anyone’s guess since you can change the photo-effect by a simple order to comm. Airconditioning, too, will respond to your will-anything from the Etarian desert to a Riparian swamp, or, if you like, your favorite scent.”

  “And there?” Sinklar pointed to the next door. She gave him a mischievous smile. “The sleeping quarters.” He entered another splendid room hung with velvet

  and finished with sandwood alternating with jet and inlaid by the fabulous golden filigree. The sleeping platform, too, had been hung with delicate fabric that rose in folds to the refractive crystal ceiling. An ornate bar filled one wall while holo capability had been rendered for the entire room.

  Ily opened a shower and bath to his inspection and then showed him a huge walk-in wardrobe.

  “This place must cost a fortune,” Sinklar whispered. “You can afford it,” Ily told him as she came to stand before him.

  Searching for something to say, Sink blurted, “Mac wanted to know about that. Who pays who, I mean.” Ily laughed, placing her hands on his shoulders and staring into his eyes. “You’re the Commander, Sinklar. Pay them ... and yourself, anything you want. You control comm, you know. Hasn’t it sunk in yet that you can draw what you need from the Treasury accounts?”

  The overhead light sent bluish sheens through her hair. Amusement warmed her eyes. Close now, he could see how smooth her skin was. The lines of her face had a classic style. As if of their own volition, his hands went to her waist, feeling the firmness, the swell of her hips. Her lips parted slightly, and Sinklar’s heart began to beat with that urgent cadence.

  Ily pulled back, a shy smile on her lips as she turned away. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s ... wonderful.” Sinklar found his voice and swallowed. “How about access to my Division?” “Four minutes by tube ... or you can be in your

  LC in less than a minute and a half.”

  “And the security?”

  “You can program it yourself. Or have your pick of experts. Oh, Sinklar, when are you going to learn? We’re in this together. I want you to be happy. Yes, we’ll face distasteful events and decisions, but we’re building a new way. Isn’t that what you promised yourself?”

  “But all this ... I don’t know. Where is this place anyway?”

  “Just about the center of the city. Now how about that dinner? If the food displeases you, I promise you we’ll find someplace else for you.”

  Sinklar led the way into the blue room, seating himself on the velvet cushions at the low table. Ily settled beside him as the food rose from the center of the table, the mirrorlike stasis shells sliding back to present an incredible feast.

  Sinklar broke open the first lobster and handed it to Ily. She gave him a teasing look and dangled a piece of the steaming flesh before his nose, laughing as he gulped it down. She snuggled next to him, her body warm and firm against his.

  “What do you think Mac will say when he finds me in a place like this?”

  Ily ran a pink tongue along a slim finger where butter threatened to drip and gave him a saucy grin. “Put him across the hall if you’d like. Half this building is dedicated to military command.”

  “I didn’t know the military command lived so lavishly.”

  Ily made a graceful movement of her head, tossing silky black hair over her shoulder. “You don’t know the half of it. They
lived like kings, Sinklar. Why do you think they got together and wrote the manual the way they did? If you civilize war, you don’t need to worry about having to leave splendor like this to live in the field. Leave that to the common soldiers and the Companions.”

  “I don’t want to fall into that trap.”

  Ily rolled over and rested elbows on either side of his thigh as she stared into his eyes. “You can live anyway you want. You’re the most powerful man in the Regan Empire. Do it your way. But keep in mind, all this,” she waved at the room, “is nothing if you don’t beat Sassa.”

  He nodded, painfully aware of her breasts against his leg. “In six months, I’m going after His Holiness.” She seemed to wince, and her full lips quivered.

  Then she pushed him gently down onto the cushions and pulled him close to stare into his eyes. “You don’t even hesitate. You’ll go out there, won’t you? You’ll be in the thick of the battle. “

  He nodded soberly. “It’s the only way to break them. The Sassans play by the book, and I can use it against them. “

  “Then, you might ... I mean, a lucky blaster bolt, a projectile that gets through the screens. . . .” Sinklar ran his fingers down the side of her head.

  “I can’t do it any other way-not and be sure of winning. I don’t mind. My people are on the line. I can’t ask anything of them that I won’t do. The risk is worth it. “

  She leaned forward then, kissing him gently. “You’re a hero. Not just to me and your troops, but to the people. We need heroes.”

  :’What makes you so attractive?” ‘Would you believe pheromones?”

  He laughed, running his hands lower to caress her full breasts. His erection hardened, begging. Desire began to burn through him. “No. I wouldn’t.”

  She shivered, closing her eyes before she pulled away. “Sinklar, perhaps I’d better leave. Making love to you will change our entire relationship.”

  “Yes.” He sighed, pulse racing, breath short in his lungs. He knotted a fist to keep it from trembling. She looked away, sadness in the set of her mouth.