Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “Sinklar Fist.”

  Both men froze, staring closely at him, at his eyes. The second man stuttered, “Sinklar Fist ... as in the military commander?”

  “As of the last time I looked, yes.” He sighed. Would you like to check my identification?”

  “No, sir. I’ve seen your holo. No one has eyes like....I mean ...... His features had gone flaming red. “Go right ahead, sir. Do you need anything? I mean, an escort, or ... or ......

  “No, thank you. I know the way.” He nodded uncomfortably, and escaped into the lift.

  He stepped out into a foyer on thirty-five. A young man sat behind the desk, fully at attention, evidently alerted to Sinklar’s impending arrival. “Vet Hamlin, sir. At your service.”

  Sinklar walked forward. “I suppose it isn’t every night that a wet Lord appears at your desk, is it?” “No, sir. “

  Sinklar wiped at his face and realized he was dripping on the floor. “I took a long walk. Needed to clear my head.” He looked around, finding everything about the same as it had been-except last time Anatolia Daviura had been at the desk, bent over her books. “Is there anyone in the labs?”

  “I ... well, I suppose one of the other students, Ana, might be there. She works late.”

  “Ana? You mean Anatolia Daviura?”

  The man nodded, more than a bit surprised. “You know her?”

  Sinklar grinned for the first time. “How is she? Last time I was here, she showed me around.”

  Vet opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, and glanced sideways at Sinklar. “You really know her?” “She did me a great favor once. I thought at the time she was very kind. What’s the matter, you look worried. She’s all right, isn’t she?”

  “Uh, she’s fine-well, I mean she’s having a tough time. We had riots and she got in trouble. Not her rioting ... but as a result, you see? I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense. Listen. Some scum knew she worked here-for the government. They broke up her apartment, wrecked her things. Then your troops landed and found her.

  Ana had been on the run, hiding from the rioters.”

  Sinklar frowned. “I hadn’t heard. If I had known, I’d have done something. You said she’d still be at work?”

  “Either in the lab or women’s rest room.” “Women’s rest room?”

  Vet winced, expression ashen. “She sleeps there now-but just until she can get back on her feet, you see ... sir. “

  Sinklar shook his head, muttering, “Rotted Gods. It’s all right to go back, isn’t it? I mean, you can clear the security?”

  “Yes, sir!” Vet led the way down long hallways Sinklar remembered from the last time he’d come here. That time, too, had been a time of confusion, of searching for direction and identity. Hamlin seemed about to burst. The young security officer palmed the lab lock plate and opened the door. Sinklar could see a light in the far corner. “That’s her station?”

  Vet nodded.

  “I wouldn’t be disturbing her work, would I?’ “N-No! I’m sure of it.”

  “Thank you, Vet. I’d like to talk to her alone, if I could.” Sinklar smiled to dismiss the man and entered the lab with its dustcover protected instruments and the piercing laboratory odor that clung in the back of the nose. He walked thoughtfully across the tiled floor and rounded one of the long lab tables. She sat there, absorbed, her blonde hair pulled back, eyes to a hooded microscope.

  “Anatolia?” “Just a moment.”As she continued her observations, she tapped information into a comm, then pulled back and turned. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly and then went wide. “Blessed Gods ... it’s you!”

  Sinklar shrugged self-consciously. “I survived the war,

  Somehow, in the rush of events that had overtaken him, he’d forgotten what she looked like. Those marvelous blue eyes and finely chiseled features had faded in his memory. So had the determined arch of jaw and the fullness of her lips. No wonder he’d spun fantasies about her until he met Gretta-and even after, for that matter. Now, however, he could see a hardness in her expression, an alertness in the eyes, and a tension in the lips.

  “I hear you’ve had a rough time recently.”

  She nodded. “Trouble during the riots. I ... I never thought I’d see you again.”

  He fingered one of the covers draped over an instrument. “I wish you would have called. I could have solved your housing problem.” He cocked his head. “Are you really sleeping in the women’s bathroom?”

  She gave an exasperated sigh? “Vet let you in, didn’t he? Yes. For the last month. I lost everything on medical and damage payments.” Her fist clenched. “And not a Rotted bit of it was my fault.”

  He could see the gauntness now. She looked halfstarved. “What’s the project? You’re working kind of late, aren’t you? It’s almost morning.”

  She studied him closely. “And you’re soaked. Is it raining out there? Wait a minute. You’re in charge of everything. Why do you have to walk in the rain?”

  Sinklar stepped over and slumped down on the floor next to her chair, draping his arms over his knees. “Because I had to get away for a while. I walked out there in the storm for hours. You know, thinking. Trying to put it all in perspective. So much has happened. I-I came here. Thought maybe I’d see if I could talk you into sneaking me in to see my parents again. It’s silly ... they’re dead. But it would make me feel better. You know, just seeing them. Maybe it’s an anchor for a weary soul.” He paused. “Am I making sense?”

  “I think so.” She glanced nervously at him, then around the lab, lowering her voice. “Look, I’ve lost a lot of sleeP over vou and Utu sim:v& bombshell. Is there, you know, someplace we can talk?”

  “Well, sure. You didn’t get in trouble because you let me into the lab, did you?”

  She shook her head, gaze intent. “I don’t think anyone knows. “

  “They do. It’s in the records, somehow.” Just as Ily would know he’d been here tonight. A chill ate into Sink’s bones. And would Ily come after Anatolia to find out why?

  Anatolia frowned and shook her head. “I swear, I didn’t tell anyone. No matter, listen, remember the last time you were here? You let me take a sample? I think your words were, ‘On the condition that when you get the chance, you’ll let me know what you find.’ Well, this is my chance. “ She dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned close. “Valient and Tanya Fist aren’t your parents-at least, not your biological ones. “

  Sinklar stared, and an edifice he’d carefully built, brick by brick, shifted, cracked, and crumbled to nothingness. In a low voice, he said. “I’ll have transportation here immediately.”

  Anatolia shut down her system and locked it, showing Sinklar the key as she dropped it into the right front pocket on her worn clothing.

  “That’s important, I take it? What’s the project? I think I’m cleared for sensitive information these days.”

  She stood then, taking his arm as she led him out of the lab. “What’s in that computer, Sinklar, is you. And that’s what we have to talk about. Not only are you not genetically related to Tanya and Valient ... I’m not sure you’re even human.”

  Mac wavered on the precipice as he sat in one of the captain’s chairs on the Markelos. The woman he thought was Chrysla occupied a chair across from him, her broad shoulders hunched, as if under an immense weight. She absently fingered the gauzy material of her gown. Her gleaming hair tumbled down in silky waves that reflected the light in glinting copper tones.

  If he followed his gut instinct, he’d bend down, hug her to him, and stroke her hair as he told her it would be all right-anything to kill the haunted look in those sensitive amber eyes. That crystal-sharp, rational element of his brain, however, still warned that the Seddi were pus-Rotted clever bastards, and why wouldn’t they pass off a Chrysla assassin in juxtaposition to the Arta Fera version? A man might gaze rapturously into those melancholy eyes while she cut his heart out with a vibraknife.

  Mac spread his hands. “There’s one final bit of informati
on you’d have. You said, you’d know your son. How? If the story is correct, you were separated years ago. He was just an infant at the time.”

  The ghost of a smile quivered wistfully at the corner of her mouth. “He’s special, sir. Very special. And if you’re not a man of your word, it won’t make any difference. You’ll use what you will ... just as all the others have. I was born on Ashtan. When it fell to the Regans, I was a young girl. And yes, even then I had this strange curse-this magnetic attraction that obsesses men. I was captured, taken from my family, and tagged for export to be sold as a prostitute. Staffa saw me on the block and took me-not bought, mind you, but pointed and said, ‘I want that woman.’ “ She smiled wistfully. “Who in their right mind would say no to Staffa?”

  “You’ve skillfully avoided telling me about your son.”

  She gave him a hard scrutiny. “I know nothing about who or what my son might be today, but he’s still my son. When it comes to Staffa, he’s fully capable of caring for and protecting himself. And me ... I’ve been a possession-like a priceless piece of porcelain to be placed on the mantle with the rest of the trophies. It’s been that way for so long now that I’m not sure I’d know what to do with myself if I were free. You were right earlier, I have been a tool as you accused. I do not, however, want to endanger my son. I will not place him in jeopardy because of his heritage.”

  Mac chuckled. “I wouldn’t either-if he’s who I think he is. And by the way, stop calling me sir. I’m Division First Ben MacRuder. Mac to my friendsand whether or not I accord you that status depends on the answer you give me.

  Now, about this son of yours. It’s the final test. How would you know him?”

  She hesitated, twisted by the desire to hide her secrets, knowing that with the Mytol, it would be futile. “His eyes,” she admitted miserably. “I would know him, even as an old man, by his eyes. One is graylike Staffa’s-the other amber, like mine.”

  Mac smacked a hard fist into his cupped palm as the last piece fell in place. “It’s all right, Chrysla. You’re safe now. At least for the moment.”

  She watched with misgiving in her eyes. “And you believe that? About the eyes? Do you know what a rare genetic trait that is?”

  Mac nodded. “I do. Let me tell you a little about your son. You’ll be very proud of him. His name is Sinklar Fist. He’s my commanding officer ... and best friend. As soon as we complete this missionassuming we get out of it alive-I’ll take you to him. I think ... well, it’s going to be fascinating to watch the expression on his face.”

  “He thinks I’m dead, too?”

  Mac shook his head and leaned back. “He doesn’t believe you exist. Staffa tried to explain the situation to Sinklar-that Sink was his son. When Sink was still an infant, the Seddi hid him on Rega, gave him an identity of sorts. Seddi are vile at best, and to them it was a good way to bury Sinklar until they might need him. Turns out they thought they had a surefire method of drawing Staffa into their hands by means of a staged rebellion on Targa. Sinklar got drafted after having placed third in the interplanetary examsand I’m not sure the Seddi didn’t somehow arrange his draft notice. To make a long story short, the entire plan went sour. Staffa ended up fighting for the Seddi, and against Sinklar. Sink would have won in the end, but the Companions saved the day ... for a lot of us. After the fight, Staffa asked for a meeting, and there he confronted Sinklar about his parents. Sink saw a holo of you but thought you were Arta.”

  “Just as you did in the mess. Who is Arta? Why does she look like me?”

  “She’s a Seddi assassin. Evidently the Praetor cloned some of your cells. Arta is ... well, I’m sure a behavioral geneticist would love to get hold of the two of you.

  “You were telling me about Staffa and my son. What happened?”

  Mac winced, vitally aware of the effect she had on him. He kept trying to straighten, to suck in his gut and square his shoulders. He battled to keep from gazing into her hypnotic eyes. “Sinklar thought it was another Seddi trick to play with his mind—create a vulnerability. He assumed it was all a lie.”

  “It sounds like a lie. Why do you accept the story? You believe I’m Chrysla-and on rather flimsy evidence. I saw how you looked at me in the mess as you pointed your pistol - You were possessed with such hatred and anger. Yet you backed off.”

  Mac got to his feet and paced, touching the captain’s furnishings, anything to keep from going mooneyed and wanting to reach out and touch her to see if she were real. “Because Arta would have reacted very differently in that same situation. I know the way she reacts when you point a blaster at her. By the way, is the little fat guy really your husband?”

  Chrysla smiled, lacing slim fingers together. “No. But it was incredibly noble of him to have tried that ploy. I don’t know your motives for taking this ship, but I would plead for him as he pled for me. He got me off Myklene. I owe him a great deal.”

  “I’ll do what I can for him.”

  “Mac, you said you know Staffa. How is he?” The gentle concern in her voice moved him.

  “Last I saw him ... healthy, and worried. You know, it’s funny. We fought each other in Makarta Mountain. I always thought he was a heartless monster, but he put himself on the line to save us-his enemies. Quite honestly, he impressed the Rotted hell out of me. “

  She stared into some distance only she could see. “Perhaps he broke the conditioning, found a way to free himself.”

  “Conditioning? I don’t understand.”

  She gave him a weary smile that bruised his soul. “The Praetor was a brilliant-and malignant-human being. He conditioned Staffa from the time he was a child, trained him to be the ultimate strategist and tactician: the perfect human weapon. Staffa adored the Practor, worshiped the very dirt the man ground under his heel. The Myklenian Council had been fully briefed on the plan from the beginning; however, they came to recognize Staffa for what he was-the Praetor’s tool. So you see, your Seddi aren’t the only ones who use people as tools. Staffa was trained to conquer Free Space, and, of course, to hand it all over to the Praetor. That would have given the Praetor imperial power—even over Myklene. The Council ordered Staffa’s extermination, but the Praetor couldn’t bear to see his monster destroyed, so he set him free with the obvious results.”

  Mac gave her a skeptical look. “You called him a monster?”

  She granted him a wry smile. “What else? You see, the Preator conditioned Staffa’s mind-an elaborate version of stimulus-response combined with chemomanipulation of certain synapses and the blocking of critical neural pathways through a highly monitored and directed learning process. Each of us observes and creates our reality as we grow and in the process establish neural pathways which prove adaptive for different situations and circumstances in a changing environment.

  “In Staffa’s case, he never received the random chaotic jumble of stimuli like you or I did. Every waking moment, they directed him through a series of rewards and punishments to block portions of his brain from rational access. He didn’t gain that ability to abstract himself from the world, to see himself through other eyes. “

  “So he deserved his coldly inhuman reputation?”

  “ Absolutely. But the other part of him was still inside, blocked, living stifled within itself. The brain is an extraordinary and complicated organ, MacRuder. We’ve only begun to understand its power and potential. Unfortunately, the Praetor was the leading expert on physical psychology; however, he kept that knowledge to himself and utilized it for his own purposes. If Staffa broke that conditioning ... well, to say the least, it must have been traumatic for those around him.”

  Mac’s comm buzzed. “Mac? Everything all right?” “Just fine. What’s ship’s status?”

  " Gyton is matching and transferring personnel. We’ve got the rest of crew rounded up and everything’s under control. Rysta wants you to contact her as soon as possible.”

  “Affirmative. “

  Chrysla’s amber gaze unnerved him as she asked, “Why ar
e you here? What good could come from stealing a Sassan freighter?”

  Mac shrugged, hating the discipline he subjected himself to. “For security reasons that I’m sure you can understand, I can’t provide you with that information.,”

  She lifted an eyebrow and MacRuder flushed. Rot it all, she did have that effect on a man. He took a deep breath and relented. “All right, yes, we do have a mission to complete before I take you home to your son. “

  “And you stated earlier we might not make it alive. “ She tilted her head, spilling auburn hair over one shoulder. “Mac, you’re old beyond your years, but you still haven’t figured out how to lie to a beautiful woman.”

  He blushed and turned away. “I’m not used to beautiful women taking an interest in me.” How can I tell her we’re on a suicide mission? How can I get her to Sinklar if we’re all killed? Worse, how do I tell Sinklar I’m falling in love with his mother?

  “A warship?” Anatolia wondered as the LC settled on the Biological Research Center landing pad. Around them the storm-lashed skies continued to spit rain and gusting wind. The lights of the capital grayed the swirling twists of cloud that tore on the spires and glowed eerily around the arcologies.

  “Listen, I didn’t have fare for the shuttle. Would you rather walk?” Sinklar asked as he bowed his head against the slashing rain.

  She shot him a reproving glance and followed as he walked out to the whining LC and leapt up the ramp. Anatolia looked at the vacant benches as she stepped inside, curiosity brimming. Sinklar slapped the ramp control and ordered comm, “I don’t care where we go. Circle the city if you want. Just fly around.”

  “Affirmative. “

  “Come on,” Sinklar led her forward to his command center and pulled the fold-out table into position as he surreptitiously inspected her in the improved light. Wisps of hair had escaped the severe bun to gleam golden. Her pale skin looked soft and flushed from the chill rain. The only other woman he’d ever seen with eyes that blue had been the Wing Commander, Skyla Lyma.