Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “I’m older ... and no blushing virgin.”

  He could see the reddening flush at the base of her neck. Her eyes gleamed, passionate, longing.

  In a husky whisper, he said, “I’m aware of that,” “I might be drugging you again. What would Mhitshul say?” A playful smile tugged at her lips.

  “I avoided the Ashtan ale.” He calmed himself. “This seems to happen every time. Yes, perhaps we’d better go back.” He got to his feet and pulled her up.

  She searched his eyes, looking for some sign. He bent down, kissing her hard,

  feeling the want build as she conformed to him. Her tongue darted into his mouth, striking fire as it slid across his teeth and probed.

  She’s a viper, a distant voice reminded—only to be drowned in the heat.

  “Come,” she whispered passionately, and took him by the hand, leading him into the next room. She stopped before the sleeping platform, asking, “You’re sure?”

  He exhaled raggedly and nodded, bending down to kiss her again as her fingers released the fastenings of his armor. Sinklar’s fumbling fingers undid her weapons belt, letting it slide off her undulating hips. He stepped out of the wadded pile of his clothing and peeled her top off. With practiced ease, she slipped out of the tight black pants, her hair falling around her in gossamer strands. She stood proudly before him, and lifted her chin at his expression of admiration.

  She gasped as he caressed her and they rolled onto the platform. He slid on top of her-her skin hot against his-and stared down into her midnight eyes to find a catlike satisfaction reflected there. Her arms went around his shoulders.

  “Sinklar,” she whispered, “we can do this fast ... or slow. No one is going to bother us. Let me show you how it can be. “

  Then she rolled him onto his back, long hair playing down his skin as she changed her position. He cried out as a swelling ecstasy energized his nerves.

  “I have just replayed a conversation I had several days ago with Ily. I feel like I’m dangling between the jaws of the Rotted Gods. Ily reports that Staffa is in the employ of Sassa. If this is so, what was he doing on Etaria? Why hasn’t he struck? Granted, the Sassans are still knotted up in the cleanup of their Myklenian occupation, but Staffa could wheel immediately and deal us an awesome blow.

  “in the meantime, the Targan situation continues, to deteriorate. The rebels have crushed the Second Division under Mykroft, and this Sinklar Fist has taken control. I have dispatched Commander Braktov’s hardened veterans to restore the situation-but who is this Sinklar Fist, anyway? In my conversation with Ily, I asked if he was another Staffa kar Therma, and Ily paused in her tirade, looking first thoughtful and then cunning. She has now spaced for Targa to investigate Fist. But what do I do about him? He’s refused to turn over his Divisions to Mykroft. Do I now face another rebellion on Targa, this time from within my own military?

  “I am consumed by doubt. If it were any other Minister, I wouldn’t feel this way. Face it, Ily is the second most powerful person in the Empire. If she perceives this Sinklar Fist as a tool—and if he is all she hopes-would she have the slightest hesitation about moving against me?

  “And if the Empire should fall to her, what a poor fate for my people. Ily as Empress? The Rotted Gods would pale. “No, I can’t believe she’d plot that, not with the threat of a Companion invasion looming. From a strictly objective standpoint, she needs me to hold the Empire together. Without my presence, the Empire would fall apart and the military would revolt. How then could she salvage anything?

  “I’m tired, that’s all. Jittery with worry. After all, this is Ily, my friend and lover. I’ve looked into her eyes and seen the concern. Yes, I truly believe she’s come to love me, not simpty because I’m EmpeTor, but lor who I am as human being. She couldn’t fake the passion of our joining. Tybalt, get some sleep, you’ll see things clearly in the morning.

  · Excerpt taken from Tybalt the Imperial Seventh’s personal journal

  CHAPTER 13

  Vega shivered from a hit as she boosted for the stars. “Pus Rot it!” Arta blurted as the ship recovered. “Damn them! Are we all right?”

  The pilot lay limply in the reclined nav-chair, his mouth slack, what she could see of his face under the shining metal of the worry-cap, expressionless.

  She checked the boards, watching the critical reactor as yet another of the violet beams flashed before them. By quick action, the pilot pulled the craft up, g bearing them down on the ragged edge of shredding the gravity-compensating field generators. If so much as one failed, every human aboard would be mashed into flat bloody goo-the effect the same as being shot into a stone wall from a field piece.

  “They’re trying to kill us!” the pilot’s metallic voice screamed through the ship’s speaker.

  Vega’s bridge had room for two people. The others waited anxiously in the cabins while the frantic run past the orbital defenses ensued.

  Arta glared at the boards. “Fly the ship, curse you. I’ll keep an eye on the ship’s condition. Which of these monitors are the critical ones? What should I watch for?”

  The pilot, a small bald man, swallowed hard, sweat starting from his face. His voice issued from the speaker again. “That square monitor to the left. It the red line. . . - “

  Vega groaned as inertia slapped Arta sideways, but the violet lance of deadly particles slipped harmlessly past their port side.

  “I’m going to learn to fly this thing,” Arta promised herself. “As soon as we’re away from here, you’re going to teach me.”

  “Assuming you live that long,” the pilot’s metal voice answered. “Watch those blue bars on the square monitor. That’s the life support and atmosphere system ... we’re in trouble if any of them shrink. The oblong monitor just above life support keeps track of the gravity field generation that keeps us from being crushed. The numbers you see are the compensating gravity generated against acceleration. If any of those numbers climbs above forty-two, or begins to drop, tell me in a big hurry. The LCD display to the right is the matterIantimatter fuel ratio. If that begins to show any disparity, tell me immediately. We’ve still got plenty of power, but that hit blew a breach back behind C2. “

  “See what?”

  “C as in cargo. Second hold. C2. It’s nothing critical.

  Arta licked her lips, watching the wavering displays on the monitors. “I know you wanted it to look good, Ily, but this is ......

  The Vega jolted sideways, rocked, and shot forward as the pilot played the controls. The displays Arta struggled to watch fluctuated wildly. “We’ve got a critical building in one of the gravity generators!”

  “Affirmative. I’m stabilizing.”

  Arta watched nervously as the readout lowered. “What happens if those get out of whack?”

  “We could suffer structural damage. This isn’t a damned warship, you know. We don’t have the kind of integrated hull design to absorb grav disruption.” A pause. “We’re past the worst now. The Rotted Gods alone know what it would have been like if they’d had warning we were coming.”

  Arta drew a breath to answer-and wheezed as g crushed her down into her command chair. Vega swerved past another of the deadly bolts.

  As the pressure let up, sparks danced before her eyes, and she felt dizzy, light-headed. She stared at the life-support systems monitor while her brain revived from the grayout. No wonder pilots flew flat on their backs.

  “I think that’s the extent of their range. Where to now, Miss Fera? Since you’re giving the orders, what next?”

  Arta shook her head, forcing her mind to work. “Ryklos. Set course for Ryklos.”

  “But that’s inside the Sassan-“

  “Damn right, it is! Now set course and go, or do you want to wait around for them to scramble a couple of battle cruisers after us?”

  Arta growled to herself as the Vega darted forward and began a long vector change that left her pale and dizzy.

  Holy Sassa stared at Myles through passionless eyes th
e color of water. Supported by his gravity fields, His Holiness hung in the air, a giant human balloon wrapped in brightly colored Myklenian fabrics that shimmered and glistened. High above, the light splintered into a thousand multicolored rays to sparkle over the Nesian rug that pulsed between blood-scarlet and translucent ruby. In that illumination, Sassa’s hairless scalp gave his head the appearance of a skull.

  Myles suffered an acute sense of unease as Jakre paced back and forth beside him, chin on chest, expression dour. The admiral had clasped his hands behind his back, and a frown lined his high forehead. Jakre wore the usual gaudy uniform, and, in the presence of Sassa, allowed his pot belly to sag completely.

  Myles stood quietly and let his wandering gaze play over the wall hangings, cunningly backlit by the light sculpture of the glassy walls. The air carried the scent of anise and juniper, a refreshing meld of aromas.

  “What are we to think of this report? What is this Sinklar Fist up to? Iban, what do you make of it?” Sassa asked in a flat voice. He knotted his pudgy fists, the rings sending scintillating patterns over his costly nacre robes.

  “What can we make of it?” Jakre turned and spread his hands wide. “We might have seen a play, some sort of theatric to confuse us.”

  “Legate? Do you agree? Is this a theatric?”

  Myles scratched his ear as he looked up. Sassa’s colorless gaze ate at him like acid. “Military matters are not my-“

  “I want your thoughts, your impressions.”

  Myles ground his teeth, pulling himself to his full height. The holo supplied by the Sassan spies had provided glimpses of military maneuvers where a veteran Regan Division had fallen to a piecemeal attack. Staffa warned me that Sinklar was brilliant. “Holiness, what do we really know? Sinklar Fist conducted an exercise and evidently demonstrated a sort of battlefield superiority over a Regan Assault Division. Could it be a charade? Something to confuse us? Perhaps.”

  How do I play this? What’s right in this morass? What will they believe? Myles suffered through the first pangs of his new role. He glanced nervously at Jakre, and noted the admiral’s veiled hostility. That same irritation was obvious in Sassa’s disdainful glare. With a start, Myles realized that neither of his once close confidants approved of him.

  Why? What have I done? Surely they can’t know of my meddling with the shipping schedules.

  “Perhaps?” Sassa echoed finally.

  A sudden understanding flooded Myles’ brain. “Divine One, it isn’t my place to give advice which should lie within Iban’s expertise.”

  “Do so. “

  ‘Yes,” Than added, a thin smile on his thinner lips. “Let’s hear your thoughts on this extraordinary affair. “

  A cunning thrilled within as Myles nodded sagaciously. “Very well, having looked at the tapes our Intelligence Service has provided, and having noted the consternation among the Regan Division Firsts for whom we have data, I think Sinklar Fist has turned their entire military on its head.”

  “You mean, added to their confusion and command paralysis,” Than offered in an upbeat voice.

  Myles slowly shook his head. “I don’t think that fits the data, my Lord Admiral. Remember, this Sinklar Fist is the man Tybalt thought to sacrifice on Targa. Our conversations with the Lord Commander provided a great deal of information on Fist’s tactical innovations. “

  “What is your point?” Sassa demanded.

  Myles made a deprecatory gesture. “I am not a military man. My expertise is the movement of supplies and the coordination of economic-“

  “We’re aware of your expertise, Myles,” Than interrupted. “Tell us what you think this charade of Fist’s is all about!”

  Myles adopted a pained expression. “In my opinion, Holy One, Sinklar Fist is a great deal more dangerous than you think. He has revolutionized warfare. That’s why the Regan Division Firsts are in such a tizzy. What we’ve seen in the report is no charade, but the implementation of a new tactical battle plan.”

  “Ridiculous!” Than cried. “How could such a system work on a large front? The command control would be impossible to coordinate!”

  “Nevertheless, I can’t help but believe that Fist’s-“ “Fie, Myles, what do you know about warfare?” Jakre roared, as he shook his fist.

  Myles looked up placidly and spread his hands wide, chortling the whole while in that private part of his soul. “Divine One, I only gave my opinion. Military matters are not my province. I must repeat, however, that Sinklar Fist is not to be underestimated.”

  Sassa nodded, his multiple chins flopping in the process. “We have given him every consideration, Myles. And, yes, you answered honestly. Perhaps we hoped to hear some other answer.”

  Censure? “Outside of opinions beyond my expertise, Divine One, have you any complaint with my work? Have I given you some offense?”

  Sassa worked his mouth as if something sour had marred his Divine taste. “No, Legate. Imperial production is up. We are disappointed with the rate at which our fleet is being prepared for the strike against the Regans ... but we recognize you’re not at fault. Your Herculean efforts and constant reports on the problems faced by your staff are lucid, informative, and, unfortunately, readily apparent to the most casual of observers. “

  “Thank you, Your Holiness. I will bear your kind words to my staff. I’ve had them working more overtime. If I might suggest, Holiness, perhaps a slight bonus would be in order for them. Your words are more than enough, but a token of Sassa’s Divine love and appreciation would spur them to even greater lengths. “

  “They shall have it. And for yourself?” Sassa asked. Without looking, Myles could sense Jakre’s growing anger. Logisticians got a bonus, and the admiral’s suffering soldiers got nothing? “For myself, Holy One I would like only your permission.”

  Myles waited, aware that Jakre had gone bright red in contrast with his turquoise and white uniform. “Permission for what?” Sassa slapped his immense belly and the fat rippled.

  “Permission to integrate the census records into the main data banks, Holy One. I realize that we’re already overextended, but I believe that integrating the data bases with the productivity charts will add another percent in production output while reducing some of the strain on the system.”

  “And what do you need for this?” Jakre asked in a cutting tone. “How many people and how much of the system capacity? I don’t want to remind you, but we’re attempting to mount an assault on the Regans while they’re still off balance.”

  Myles clasped his hands before him and nodded happily. “Yes, yes, I know, Iban. I wouldn’t have made the request if I hadn’t given all those details consideration. “

  “What would you require?” Sassa tilted his head, his mouth like a puckered wound.

  “Only communications with provincial governors, Divine One. I think I can do the rest on my own time. I’ve written some of the preliminary programs, and I think I can integrate the data without any extra assistance. “

  “You’re already working overtime,” Than interjected. “How can you squeeze more hours out of your day?”

  Myles frowned and sighed. “Iban, you yourself admitted that we face the most serious of consequences. After having delivered our decision to the Lord Commander, I’ve dedicated myself to making this new course of action work. You didn’t have to stand there and tell him that Sassa has decided to ignore him.” Myles ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “I didn’t eat for a week.”

  “We’ve noticed,” Sassa told him in veiled tones. “And that concerns us. You will see the physician. I won’t have you sick when we need you so, Legate. Assuming you don’t lose more weight, you may implement your program.”

  “And if it costs us time in preparations?” Jakre asked, raising a finger.

  “Then I will stop immediately,” Myles answered indignantly.

  “I think that will be all, Legate.” Sassa touched the tips of his bejeweled fingers together, the rings flashing laser fire. “You may be
excused. Iban, I want you to stay and discuss the effects this charade will have on the Regans’ ability to resist.”

  Myles bowed and headed for the huge platinum doors. A sense of satisfaction warmed his gut. Sassa and Jakre didn’t like his new look. To them it smacked mildly of treason-an affront to Divine Sassa’s fat-therefore any advice on the military situation would be soundly overruled. Nevertheless, his value to the Empire had been reinforced, and he’d just bought unlimited Imperial communications and the ability to manipulate the census and personnel files!

  Flushed with triumph, Myles passed through the huge doors. In the reflective walls, he got a good glimpse of himself. His new clothing fit neatly, and he hadn’t looked this good in years.

  His antigrav waited, Arron and Jorome standing at attention while Hyros lifted an eyebrow. “Did you. . . . “

  “Back to the office,” Myles directed as he seated himself. “We won, Hyros. But it means a lot of hard work. We won’t sleep in our own bed for a long time.”

  Hyros smiled wearily. “Perhaps it’s best that you’ve given up the rest of your lovers along with your belly, Myles.”

  As the antigrav moved out into the corridor, Myles frowned and stared up at the gleaming spires of Imperial Sassa’s capitol.

  Lord Commander? I told them the truth-but just how are you going to handle Sinklar Fist and this frightening army’he’s building?

  The mass and energy intertwined in the grip of the null singularity generation began to diminish as Chrysla’s reactors decreased their power. In the process, an artificial event horizon began to expand as the energy dissipated. Where once nothingness had surrounded the warship, now the universe reappeared as she slipped back into space-time amidst a burst of radiation.

  Staffa experienced the slight discomfort of the transition. Had he looked toward Chrysla’s stern, he’d have seen nothing but grayness and a hazing distortion around the sides as lightspeed hovered at the point of violation and light cones began to straighten.