“I’d order a Section into the ravine below the knoll to reinforce their drive,” Rick observed, pointing. “If they get hit from the side, they’ll be completely flanked and the drive will be crushed.”
To Mykroft’s surprise, his request for a conference room and a computer simulation of Sinklar’s tactics had been granted. Also granted was the request that the captive Firsts work together. Ily had smiled, a glint in her black eyes, and agreed.
Looking back, Mykroft suspected that Minister Takka had hoped for just such a request, for he had been escorted to the conference room within hours. Moments later, his fellow prisoners had been shown into the room. Since then, no one had left. Instead, they’d remained absorbed by the tapes and the challenge of beating Sinklar Fist.
“If you do that,” Henck replied, “you’re falling into the same trap I did in Kaspa. Trust the soldiers.” “Trust the soldiers?” Rick cried. “What do soldiers know about tactics and war?”
“Evidently a great deal,” Mykroft interjected.
As if to prove his words, the ravine was blanked out by the master computer. The other side had responded by the book, expecting reinforcements to have been massed exactly where Rick would have placed them.
“And there,” Mykroft told them, “is the classical response. Why try and flank when ordnance can keep the bother to a minimum? Theoretically, that Group taking the hill would have been supported and commanded fiom the ravine. Instead of being paralyzed, they’ll keep going.”
True to Mykroft’s words, the Group continued their assault and took the command point.
“And now,” Henck growled, “they’ll abandon it. Just watch. “
“Of course they will,” Tie Arnson cried, raising his hands. “To stay there is to invite a grav shot or disrupter. “
The Group proceeded to check a map, and then trotted down the far side.
“Multiple objectives,” Henck whispered. “Who’d have thought.”
“Sinklar Fist, that’s who.” Mykroft walked forward. “Comm, stop the action.” He stood in front of his comrades. “Minister Takka tells me the comm has been programmed to simulate Fist’s tactics. Let’s try it out. “Henck, you and I will take the defensive forces, Rick, you and Arnson offensive. Let’s play each other and see if we can play Sinklar’s game. If we can duplicate his tactics here, the next thing will be to try them,in the field.”
“Fat chance,” Tie sputtered. “You think Ily will let us get to a Division? And if she does, just what do you think Fist is going to say when we ask to borrow some of his troops? And why would Ily trust us, anyway? What if we skip out on her?”
Mykroft narrowed his eyes. “The first part of that is up to Ily. As to why she’d trust us? Gentlemen, outside of the fact that our lives depend on Minister Takka’s good will, we have an empire to gain. Ily may indeed place herself at the head of the government, but I’d rather be with her than against her.”
Sinklar sat hunched at the comm in Tybalt’s old office. Reports were coming through and he’d begun to learn how to work the system. Still, his fumbling had generally caused frustration. Tired, possessed by a glow from the last bout of lovemaking with Ily, he should have been asleep. However, exercises started in another eight hours. If he could check the disposition of the new Divisions, he could....Sinklar’s weary fingers entered Yams instead of Ayms. The system immediately began to load. He stopped a plunging index finger already started on its mission to escape the program.
MONITOR ONE ACCESS ONLY SECURITY CODE: YAMS ACCEPTED. DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED?
“Yes,” Sinklar told the system. Not in a thousand attempts could he have pulled this up-even assuming he knew it existed. Monitor One access only? So, the files couldn’t be pulled up on any other system?
A long directory of files appeared, rows upon rows to fill the monitor. Sinklar frowned, reading the important names, including his own. He immediately accessed that file and skimmed the contents-facts of his life as far as Tybalt had known them. Crossreferences for Tanya and Valient Fist were provided. Where gaps in Tybalt’s knowledge occurred, he’d left notes or question marks. All in all, the report, though skimpy, seemed accurate. At the very bottom, however, Tybalt had written:
“At this moment, Sinklar Fist appears to be a significant threat to security. According to Ily’s report, he has defeated five of Rysta’s best. Should such a scourge be allowed loose, how could we stop him? He seems to be able to galvanize his troops to superhuman feats. Ily has gone to Targa. If she cannot turn Fist, turn him into my tool, she will assassinate him. If, however, he can be harnessed and leashed, could this be the answer to breaking Staffa?”
Sinklar paused, rereading the section carefully. Then he abandoned the file and called up Ily’s. He absently picked up one of the spicy, meat-filled pastries and munched as he started to read.
An hour later, the pastry unfinished, he saved the file and got unsteadily to his feet. Sinklar closed his eyes, an ill feeling churning in his gut.
The plush apartment pressed down on him in spite of all its luxury. He palmed the lock plate and stepped out into the guardroom, nodding in passing at the soldiers on duty, desperate to avoid any human contact. Once beyond, in the powder blue hallway, he stopped and braced himself against the wall. Tybalt wouldn’t have lied! The palace seemed to press down on him, a giant trap. How did he get out?
Sinklar walked to the right and down another hall, the way he’d learned, then took the lift that let him out where his battered LC sat under the dark skies.
He gasped deep breaths of the chilly night air, rubbing his hands as if to wipe away the filth.
Sink slapped the ramp control and climbed inside. :’Sir? That you?” the pilot called, sounding sleepy. ‘Yes. Take me ... I want to go. . . . “ His brain
had become a dull knot. “Land me on the streets. Just anywhere so long as I can’t see this filth-choked place. “
A low whine built as Sinklar settled on one of the assault benches. One by one, he recounted the details of Tybalt’s report on Ily. From the very beginning, Tybalt had kept track of her as she’d advanced up the ladder of Internal Security-rung by ruthless rung.
" No wonder she’s so Blessed wonderful as a sexual partner ... she tortured Etarian Priestesses to uncover their secrets.” And then she’d used her sexual talent to augment her position. A woman might not be able to sleep her way to the top, but when she backed it with her natural beauty, assassination, blackmail, planted evidence, conspiracy, and a raw native genius for her craft, it had proved a potent weapon.
What does she want with me? Sinklar stared at the scuffed deck below his feet, his arms tightly clasped about his stomach. She didn’t control Sassa-and’ the Star Butcher remained to be dealt with.
Could that look in her eyes have been a lie? Could she have faked that veiled excitement every time she saw him? How? He shook his head, baffled. How could a woman be that incredibly cold and calculating?
Tybalt claimed she did exactly that. He’d come to believe that she loved him. He’d fucked her on the floor-in front of that very desk in his office, his mind on possessing Arta Fera.
“Ily, how could you ... when you knew Fera would kill him?” He closed his eyes, imagining the scene. She’s a reptile, the voice hissed in the back of his head.
“Where did you want to be set down, sir?” the pilot called through the comm.
“Anywhere. On a street.”
“Going down.”
Sinklar stood as the craft settled. Mindlessly, he slapped the hatch, then ran down the ramp and into the misty rain that fell from the black skies. Heedlessly, he walked, ran some more, and walked again, head down, splashing in the puddles.
Tybalt had enjoyed the fact that Ily had sex with her victims before she destroyed them. Sinklar’s stomach twisted.
He’d looked into her dark eyes, fallen into those pools, and seen, seen them shine for him! Could that parting of the lips be faked? What about her incredible energy in bed? The hoarse cries of he
r passion? A woman couldn’t do that with a man she didn’t love, could she?
Tybalt said she did.
And her words about Tybalt, about how he’d failed her in her bid for reform? Tybalt’s own words never hinted at anything accept a willing accomplice. He wished she’d been his wife.
Did she look at all of her lovers that way, Sinklar? Is that part of her sexual excitement-part of the violent orgasm she has-knowing that you’ll be the next corpse on her pile?
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, echoing among the endless canyons of the giant buildings. A terrible fear had wormed into his gut. He glanced up at the night sky as trickles of rainwater sent caressing tickles of cold down his face.
“Mac? Gretta? Where are you? I’ve never felt this lost before.
In mute agony, Staffa watched the monitor as two suited figures emerged from Vega and, propelled by pods, crossed the distance to Skyla’s yacht. Staffa knew that white armor, but the other, wearing a gleaming golden suit, defied him. Of one thing he was certain. No Special Tactics uniform looked-like that, and though he couldn’t discern the features, no one could mistake that classic female body.
His rage had burned out, having nothing to vent itself against. Where the anger had surged hot and red, now a wailing disbelief drowned out all thought. And what would come next? The horrible lingering guilt? The wretched ache as Skyla disappeared from his life? How could he function, his imagination spinning and respinning the implications of her capture? His dreams would be haunted as indistinct forms tortured Skyla’s flesh. He’d cry out as sweat-streaked men twisted her legs apart, raping, and raping, and raping....
And just like last time, her eyes will follow you, Staffa. She’ll look out of your nightmares . . . pleading. . . .
“She’s alive,” Kayla grated. “She’s moving.” Staffa stared helplessly, the image engraving itself. Kaylla placed a reassuring arm on his shoulder, her fingers tightening to emphasize her concern. “Obviously, they’re expecting to use Skyla as a lever against you. Just like they did with Chrysla. You know that deep inside, don’t you? Now, are you going to fall apart? Let them use you?”
He braced himself on the desk, a weary desolation of the soul welling black and thick. Through misty vision, he watched as Skyla and her captor passed out of the receiver’s view, leaving only the silent Vega in the pickup.
“No,” he gasped. “Not again. Must everyone I love be taken, used because of who I am?”
Kaylla studied him with hard tan eyes. “I may not be the best one to answer that question. For the moment, they’re out of our range of influence. But, Staffa, if they head in this direction, we’re going to have to begin considering the options. On the other hand, if they space toward Sassa or Rega, other decisions may be warranted. What are you going to do?”
Do? What am I going to do? It’s just like before. I’m watching the woman I love taken ... taken....”
“Close your eyes. Imagine yourself floating in a sea of black nothingness. There is no time. No sensation.
“Picture God in this state of deprivation. Is this eternity? How could it be, for eternity is a function beyond that of time. Time, the ultimate enigma. Of all the abstractions, time is the most difficult and elusive to study. If all of reality is condensed into one infinite point, and there is no space, no duality, time is nonexistent.
“Those who tie the existence of God to a miracle need only consider the moment that God became aware and asked,’ ‘What am I?’ For at that moment, the universe was born.
“More than one scholar has posed the question: Why does the universe exist? The answer is in the quanta. When we perform the classical experiment with light using a box with two slits, we find that observation affects the patterns of light projected through the two holes. The results differ if we wish to observe waves or photons. Observation influences the behavior of subatomic particles. Through mathematical procedures, we can predict complementarity of position and momenTurn and the superposition of states. And that very act of observation determines which aspect of that relationship we will see. We are, in effect, changing the state of nature by observation.
“This simple truth of existence explains how the ancient Myklenian mystics could dance barefoot in a bed of glowing coals and never sear their flesh. Reality is infinite in its manifestations. By placing themselves in a trance-state, the Myklenian mystics were altering the reality they observed.
“You ask the purpose of the universe? You ask why we are conscious? We—as possessors of God Mindare here to observe. We can no more alienate ourselves from God, or the purpose of the universe, than we can breathe vacuum. It is our nature.
“But why did God choose to observe?
I submit to you that to be conscious, one must observe. It is a sufficiency ... it is an addiction. “
· Excerpt from Kaylla Dawn’s Itreatic broadcasts
CHAPTER 19
We were friends once, Myles thought as he met Admiral Than Jakre’s hostile glare through the comm monitor. But then that was before I began to sabotage Jakre’s military buildup. Myles reached down over his maroon robe and patted his belly affectionately.
“Let me get this straight.” Jakre steepled his fingers disdainfully, his begernmed rings glinting in the light. “You have a source in the Regan Empire who claims one of their ships is missing.”
“The Gyton. Apparently it has spaced for parts unknown. I would suggest the unknown parts are somewhere inside our empire. Also of note, Sinklar Fist’s second in command disappeared at about the same time. I would suggest that we alert our-“
“You would suggest?” Jakre gave him a cold smile, chin lifting so the admiral could stare down his long nose. “Myles, I thank you for your concern. You’ve already bothered His Holiness about this, and now you’re plaguing me. I’ve alerted our agents to locate Gyton just because your ‘reliable’ source might have stumbled onto something, but an invasion of Sassan space by a single ship?”
“Iban, what if it’s an attempt to throw us off balance, perhaps strike one of our planets? You know how fragile our infrastructure is. You know what would happen if Gyton blew up the processors at Ryklos, for example.”
“I do indeed. Staffa, despite his insufferable vanity, would consider that a slap in his face! He’d be out of Itreata and after this Fist so fast Nesian bees would look slow in comparison. Ryklos carries its own security by virtue of its location-and its own vulnerability by the way, but we’ll deal with that after we castrate Rega.”
Myles stiffened. “First Rega-and then the Companions?”
Jakre smiled stiffly. “Myles, go back to work. My schedule is in shambles. Another of the Formosan freighters is coasting along seven light-years from where I need it while a cruiser, a military cruiser, spaces out to match and provide them with a new modulator so they can arrive here in less than seven years with a cargo I needed two weeks ago. “
“Admiral, has it occurred to you that the fact that our merchant fleet is decrepit might be due to the priority of parts manufacture for military vessels? Would you care’ to inspect the procurement figures spatial transport has filled in the last ten years?”
Jakre closed his eyes and shook his head. “You always have an answer, don’t you, Myles?”
“That is my job. Are you going to take precautions against this Regan?”
Jakre’s grin widened. “Oh, I will make plenty of notes about it, Myles. In fact, I’ll attend to that as soon as I can get rid of you and make a report to His Holiness. Be assured, I’ll make a very big thing of your phantom Regan warship.”
Myles groaned as the image faded. He shot a cross look at the holo of His Holiness where it watched benevolently over his shoulder and then rummaged another antacid from his pouch.
You’d better be Rotted right, Staffa ... or you may be breaking a new Legate into this game of treason and intrigue!
Rain felt from the night sk in pelting cold dyops, while lightning flashed in strobes that exposed the turbulent cl
ouds. Water sheeted down the polished fronts of the buildings and gushed from spouts to slap angrily on the pavement before racing down hidden ways to the drainage system.
Icy trickles ran through Sinklar’s soaked hair and down his wet cheeks and neck to slip under his collar, there to chill his flesh. His breath frosted in the cold. He walked from one cone of light to another, his shadow splitting and lengthening ahead as it shortened behind. Alone in the storm, he traveled empty concourses, disturbed only by the passing of an occasional aircar high overhead. How long had he walked? How far?
He stared up at the inky storm, squinting his eyes against the patter of the rain as indecision ate at him. What do I believe? Is Ily using me? Was I right in the first place? Is she nothing more than a cunning reptile? How can I tell the truth? What do I do next?
Tybalt’s words had been so convincing, those of a man who had followed Ily’s career, watched her in action against her enemies-and bought her lies even as she planned his death.
“I’ve been a dupe!”
Sinklar splashed through a puddle and looked around him. Recognition soaked in; he knew this section of the city. Had his steps brought him here on purpose? Had his subconscious been playing him with a greater surety than Ily?
He turned, following the curve of the rising wall to his left. In the ghostly light and slanting rain, he could see boarded up windows, closed shops, and across from them, a glowing white light over the building entrance across the street. He made for that entrance and pushed through scarred security doors. Not one but two guards sat at desks; they looked up from the monitors and gazed warily at him.
“Wet night,” one, a young man, offered. “You on patrol, soldier?”
Sinklar smiled, realizing how he must took, his armor rain-stick and the rest of him like something washed out of the river. “Working late. Is there anyone on the thirty-fifth floor this time of night?”
The guard nodded. “Someone will be on duty at the security station there. Could I have your name, Private?”
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