Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  Here and there, rioting broke out, fueling the spread of death and disaster. Estimates claimed that a million people a day were dying.

  And no end is in sight. How many more will we have by the time the fallout, radiation, climatic disruptions, and civil breakdown take their toll?

  Outside of the wound in the planet itself, the systems which supported the people-the very systems Myles monitored-were now strained past his ability to administer. These days Myles napped at his deskas did all of his staff-as they tried to coordinate rescue, evacuation, emergency medical services, the flood of refugees, failing power, water, food distribution, collapsing communications systems, repair crews, relocation camps, and, most of all, the building fear as people’s imaginations prodded them toward panic and chaos.

  May your Seddi God help us, Staffa. For we cannot help ourselves.

  Earthquakes continued to disrupt the already staggered attempts at relief. No sooner was a supply line established than the planetary crust slipped, destroying buildings, ruining water supplies, and leaving new masses homeless.

  The poor suffering people. They plagued him, staring out at him with horrified eyes from the crumbled ruins of their homes, lives, and dreams. The crowding refugees raised rag-wrapped hands to him, begging him to feed them, to find them shelter from the falling snow that wound down from the clouds of solarmasking particulate blasted into the skies by the Markelos explosion. They staggered through croplands, the half-mature plants black and wilted by the sudden frost. Bodies lay in the rubble, frozen by exposure to the cruel wind and sleet. The dying wailed, not even able to gain the relief a single ampoule of medication would have given.

  Even in the sanctuary of the Capitol, Miles could still see them in his mind, begging him for the most important gift of all, to save them, to simply give them and their families a chance to live.

  My people are dying ... dying ... and I cannot save them all. Staffa, come help me. What you hinted has come true, and it wasn’t my fault.

  “Legate?” Hyros asked softly.

  Myles jerked, blinking awake and shaking the fluttery fragments of the dream from his muzzy mind. “Yes, what?”

  “We’re here, sir. We’ve reached His Holiness’ audience chamber. “

  “Oh,” Myles exhaled and rubbed a hand over his masklike face. He tried to collect his thoughts, gave it up as impossible, and stood, stepping down to the polished creamy white tiles before the golden doors. Here, too, nervous guards stood in immaculate uniforms, weapons grounded. These, too, looked spooked, ready to bolt at the least hint of trouble.

  Myles, his staff following, entered as the wide doors opened. A fanfare played from overhead as he strode into the chambers with their crystalline architecture. Today the optics pulsed, as if the colors they pumped were the lifeblood of the Empire. Lines of guards snapped to attention, saluting with a vigor and pomp that Myles struggled to understand as he came to a halt before the floating holograph of Divine Sassa. Than Jakre stood to one side, his uniform a sparkling and resplendent display of turquoise and white. Nevertheless, looking closely, Myles could see a pallor to his flesh, a tightness to the eyes where worry ate with little needle teeth.

  “Myles Roma, Legate Prima Excellence, welcome,” Holy Sassa announced with a grand eloquence. Myles glanced up and blinked at the burning sensation in his eyes-the aftereffect of the several minutes of sleep he’d stolen in the antigrav. “Yes, Holiness?” Divine Sassa tilted his head, the impact of the action no more than a node shifting atop a mountain of fat. “We have called you here to obtain an idea of how long it will take you to assemble the resources for a retaliatory strike against the perfidious Regans who have desecrated our sacred planet and laughed in the face of the Sassan God. Such infamy cannot be toler-

  ated, not by me, not by my loyal servants, or by my enraged people. Our honor has been insulted and sullied. We will have our revenge.”

  Myles looked at the God-Emperor in amazement. “What?”

  Sassa’s bejeweled fingers knotted, the gems sending sparkles over the endless yards of his shining robe. “I don’t think I need to repeat myself. In simple

  words, how long will it take, given your highest priority, to assemble a strike force to repay the Godless Regan filth for their blasphemy?”

  Myles stared, wondering if his ears had been affected by the lack of sleep. “Divine One, our military is currently occupied with rescuing our own people from the disaster. Every ship we have left is transporting critical medicines, food, clothing-the bare necessities of survival. Our resources have ‘all been rerouted to simple survival ... and, with a great deal of luck, we might, might make it. Holy One, we have no resources to spare.”

  Sassa’s colorless eyes widened, a tinge of anger reddening his bald scalp. “I don’t care to hear your excuses, Legate. You will do as your God orders!”

  “Myles,” Jakre warned softly, making the barest motion with his hand. Fatigue-befuddled as he was, Myles almost missed the hint, and then teetered on the brink of blurting out just how asinine any such policy would be.

  Fortunately, Than stepped forward, saying, “Divine One, I’m sure the Legate will manage with his usual skill and innovation. He and I need to work out the details and we’ll provide a complete report to you within,the day. Myself, I can understand the Legate’s current preoccupation. And, Holiness, I can only praise our Legate’s ingenuity and commitment in this time of severe trial. Since the Regan infamy, I’ve worked in cooperation and close contact with his staff. If we could, Divinity, the Legate and I would like a chance to discuss this, to determine a target which will humble the enemy and strike terror into their accursed souls.

  Than spread his arms wide, chin lifted defiantly. After all, we wouldn’t want to be too hasty with this operation. We must make sure we demonstrate how such perfidy will be repaid!”

  Sassa smiled. “You are a balm to my spirit, Iban. Yes ... yes, indeed, go and plan. Bring me the fruits of your cunning and wrath. I will hear from you by the time I have my evening meal.” He made a smoothing motion with one hand. “It will help my digestion.”

  Myles sputtered, “But we-“

  “Shut up,” Jakre muttered softly from the side of his mouth as he took Myles by the hand.

  Something clicked in Roma’s prickly head and he nodded, “By your evening meal, Holiness.” “Splendid! Begone! Go, angels of my vengeance!”

  Sassa made a flipping gesture with his fingers. “Come on,” Than growled, leading Myles down the long tessellated hall, the military retinue filing in after them, most forced to jockey with each other for position since Myles had come with only three aides, and they’d immediately moved in close behind him.

  “I don’t understand this.” Myles looked over at Jakre as they exited through the golden doors. “Neither does he,” Jakre grunted, jerking his head

  toward the chambers. “But then, I’m not as tired and politically clumsy as you appear to be. He wants a strike against the Regans-and we have to figure out how to do it. “

  Myles walked over to his antigrav, settling loosejointedly into the seat. “Very well, ride with me and we’ll discuss it.” There might indeed be a way. Hyros, you will accompany me. Arron, you and Jorome, meet me at the aircar. “ He waved away the crowd of Iban’s aides as they rushed forward for a seat on the privileged antigrav. “Iban and I will go ... with Hyros, and no one else. “

  Jakre flashed him a glance of understanding and waved his staff away. Hyros powered up the antigrav, pulling away.

  “Iban, you’re speaking nonsense. You know the situation,” Myles said. “If we so much as pull one warship from a defensive position around any planet or station, we’re begging for a riot like you’ve never seen. Or, worse, perhaps a willful defection to the Regans—surrender in return for peace.”

  Jakre slumped in the seat beside Myles, his front of bravado collapsing into a weary pallor. “I know that. But, Myles, would you tell that to Sassa?- I’ve been out there, seen what’s happening here
, on this planet. By his Holiness, we’re hanging by a thread. Every soldier I’ve got is out there fighting to keep our people alive, to maintain social order. I’ve let you have every vessel I could spare to bring in supplies, because, by the star-shot heavens, we’ve got two weeks of stores left. After that, millions will starve.”

  “And as soon as they get hungry, we won’t be able to hold them back.”

  Jakre nodded. “Myles, if I could relive these last months, take back some of the things I’ve said ...... “We would all do things a little differently.”

  “In the meantime, we’re living on borrowed time. You may not know the entire situation. We can no more stop a Regan invasion than Divine Sassa could run up a flight of stairs. Unless we wish to inflict holocaust on every Sassan world, we can’t even slow Sinklar Fist down. When Markelos impacted on the planet, it killed every Sassan hope and dream.”

  MacRuder nodded to the two guards who stood at the hatch and entered the observation blister on Gyton’s port side. The unmanned instruments looked like ungainly insects in silhouette. She stood on the other side of the spectrometer, outlined against the tactite transparency of the bubble, as she watched the motionless stars beyond, now redshifted and elongated. “Am I disturbing you?”

  “No, Mac. Come in. I’ve been a little lonely these past couple of days. I don’t know how many gravities we took during the escape, but the ship sounded like it would crumple into scrap at any second. I take it we’re out of danger?”

  “I believe so. The Sassans were so confused- and disorganized they barely put up any resistance. Their fire was mostly ineffectual, mostly directed by line of sight, and the computer control system had to be input manually.”

  She turned, seating herself on one of the observation chairs. The faint starlight and dimmed overheads softened the perfect features of her face, those marvelous amber eyes in shadow. Talking to her this way didn’t leave him nearly as flustered.

  “Then you achieved your goal?”

  Mac went to stand before the tactite, staring out at the reddened smears of starlight. “We bought time for Sinklar and the Regan Empire.”

  “I can’t say that I care much for Rega. The Tybalts never brought me anything but misery. But for them, I suppose I’d have been a well-to-do psychologist with an established practice. I’d be married to some delightfully boring man with a home and a family.”

  " If that is your wish, perhaps Sinklar will be able to grant it for you. “

  She turned and ran slender fingers over the hood of the spectrometer, eyes focused on something beyond the blister. “It’s a delightful thought, Mac ... but far too late for me. My destiny changed when I was hauled off to be sold into slavery. It changed again when Staffa saw me standing there, naked and horrified, before all those men. It changed yet again when the Praetor stole us away. But tell me honestly, can you see me married to a boring man and practicing psychology? No, Mac. I’d go mad.”

  :’What would you like?”

  ‘To stop the insanity,” she whispered. “I’d give anything to stop the fighting, the bloodshed, and the misery. Fool that I am, I used to pray for anything, any way out of the Praetor’s clutches. All those years while I lived in his polluted shadow, I prayed for Staffa to come, to blast me out of that eternal hell.

  Then when it happened and I landed in the wreckage of Myklene, I saw what real hell was like.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Too long. I saw terrible things, Mac. Bodies piled and frozen while the dying survivors picked among them. At first they looked for anything of value.

  Later, as more died and services failed, I saw corpses stripped of meat. Somehow the worst nightmare of all was reflected in the eyes of the children. Something animalistic and wild. Even I cursed the Star Butcher.”

  Mac bit his lip, thinking about the devastation on Imperial Sassa. “I think it will be over soon. I think Sinklar will have all of Free Space under his control within the year.” And if he doesn’t? If the strike against Sassa is just the first? How many did you kill with that stunt, Mac? How many piled corpses did your tidy little plan leave behind?

  “Are you all right?”

  “Thinking about what we did to Imperial Sassa. I guess I’m struggling with my conscience. Rysta ran the projections before I left the bridge.” Mac bowed his head. “From the best estimates, we probably killed somewhere around half a billion human beings. “

  He turned, piercing gaze locking with hers. “How do you comprehend a number like that? Half a billion people ... human beings like you and me. Why? How did we get pushed into this situation?”

  Chrysla’s expression mirrored her concern. “Mac, what is the situation in Free Space? What’s really happening out there?”

  He took a deep breath. “Sinklar is retraining the Regan army in tactics he worked out on Targa. Before we could complete that, Sassa would have been able to launch an attack, probably against a world like Ashtan. My duty was to eliminate the strike force outfitting at Imperial Sassa. They’d never suspect a single ship of such mischief. I sort of innovated and crashed Markelos into their big military base as we took out their fleet. “

  “And Staffa’s role?”

  “Unknown. He went to Sassa on some mission just before I spaced. Of that, we’re sure, and we think he asked them to sit tight, but we’ve no proof. We’re also sure that Sassa turned down his request.”

  “Sinklar is in charge of Rega? The new Emperor?” Mac made a face. “He and the Minister of Internal Security.

  “Ily Takka,” Chrysla said coolly. “I read the Praetor’s file on her. She was listed as extremely dangerous.” “She’s that, all right. And I’m hoping Sinklar has kept out of her greedy little claws.”

  “You say that with a bitter tone in your voice.” “Sink isn’t.... All right, he’s young, Chrysla. I may be young, too, but I’m not naive when it comes to women. Sink fell in love on Targa. Her name was Gretta Artina. Arta Fera killed her-and because of that, the Blessed Gods know what he’s going to think when he sees you. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re a psychologist. Sinklar took Gretta’s death pretty hard. Ily’s been laying for him. You know, the coy, charming, sexy bombshell. I may not know much about bigleague politics, but there will be a power play when this is all over. “

  “And Staffa remains an unknown?”

  “He told me once he wanted to stop the coming war. He’s interested in helping humanity find a new dream. My question is, can we believe him? I instinctively liked him, but where does Star Butcher end and new dream begin?”

  Chrysla nodded thoughtfully. “And my son?” “He’s after a new order. We’re fighting for the little guy. I told you about Targa. We made a vow down there that we’d tear the old system down and fix it so people didn’t have to march out and die for a political expedient. If Staffa really means what he says, maybe he’ll stay out of it. If not, we might have to take him head-on. “

  "Don’t, Mac. Sinklar might be his son, and he might have a brilliance all his own, but you must believe me, if Staffa launches an attack, you’ll never stop him. “

  “We’re pretty good.

  Chrysla stepped toward him, passionately determined to make him understand. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he swayed, aware of how close she stood. His heart began to race.

  “Mac,” she whispered, “you must make sure this never happens. Trust me. As good as you might believe you are, Staffa’s senses for battle are those of a siff jackal. He’s a past master, intimately familiar with all the tricks. Strategies Sinklar might entertain as possibilities, Staffa has used, modified, and discarded years ago. The ploy you used on Imperial Sassa, he used on Phillipia and Nesios before I even knew his name. “

  Her aura had wrapped around him, its hold tightening with each breath. His soul wavered as he surrendered to the endless amber pools of her eyes. Escape! Get away so you can think, damn it!

  “All right. I believe you.” And he broke away, retreating to the hatch, one hand
to his breast as if he could still his aching heart.

  “Mac?” she called, following him, placing a hand on his shoulder. An electric thrill shot through him at her mere touch. “You’re trembling. Are you all right?”

  “It’s ... nothing.” He tried to pull away.

  “I didn’t offend you, did I? Did I say something wrong. Mac plastered his brave face on and shook his head. “No. Maybe I’m just tired. 1. . . .” In the brighter light by the hatch, their eyes met and he stared into hers, his soul strained with longing.

  She nodded then, amber eyes searching his. “I see. Come, let’s go sit down and talk this out. “

  He could hear the blood racing in his ears as she led him back to the bench and pulled him down. He ground his teeth, searching for words. “I don’t ... don’t know what to do with you.”

  “You think you’re in love with me,” she said frankly.

  He laughed bitterly at himself. “That’s what makes it all so difficult. I know how you affect men. I’m no one’s fool when it comes to women, love, and all the rest. Unlike Sink, I’d turned myself into a veteran by the time I hit twenty. Now, if I was smart, I’d walk out of here, forget all about you, and concentrate on finding something worthwhile to occupy my time with until I get back to Rega and find out what sort of mess I have to bail Sinklar out of.

  “And I frighten you?”

  “You bet you do. You’re Staffa’s wife, for the Blessed Gods’ sake! You’re my best friend’s mother ... mother! Granted, I’m a little older than Sinklar, but not that much.”

  “There are times when age isn’t a matter of years, Mac,” she replied wearily. “I’m sorry. I was starved for companionship for twenty years, wishing I could talk to someone without being ogled, or feared, or hustled away by the guard. If I lose that now, I’ll go mad. But I don’t want you frustrated and berserk because your hormones are pumping so hard you can’t think. “