“Glad you know where you’re going,” Buchman replied quietly. “This reeks too much of Makarta.”
“If that’s all you can say, don’t say it,” Wheeler responded from behind.
Anatolia led them down an angled accessway where they had to duckwalk straddling a giant powerlead. What light there was filtered down from a narrow slit overhead. The rank air carried the scent of hot oil, must, and decomposition.
“Attention, mayday, mayday, this is Sergeant First Buchman, Third Section. Anyone out there? Mayday, mayday. If you’re getting a copy, we’ve been attacked by members of Internal Security. We’re approximately fifteen klicks north-northwest of the palace. We’re down in the sublevels, about ... hell, where are we?” Anatolia called over her shoulder, “Sorry, Sergeant. I only know the way by having traveled it. I couldn’t pick it out on a map to save my soul. “
“Forget it,” Wheeler said. “If they haven’t picked us up by now, they’re..”
Buchman’s belt comm spouted faint static, but through it, Anatolia could hear: “Sergeant First Buchman? Do you read? This is Division First Mayz. Please reply. Buchman, please reply. Sink’s getting worried about you. Do you copy?”
“Here! Mayz! We’re in the sublevels!”
“Hey, quiet!” Wheeler hissed angrily. “What are you trying to do? We’ve ditched two parties of bad guys down here already.”
Buchman shifted in the faint light. “Yeah, and if we can get a Group dropped in here with us, you tell me who’s gonna tag who. “ He bent to his comm. “Mayz, do you read me. We’re about fifteen klicks north-northwest of the palace in the sublevels. We’re trying to ditch Ily’s people. Situation Targa, repeat, Targa!”
For long moments they waited, then: “Sergeant First Buchman. Do you read this? We’re getting a very faint reading that might be background static. If that is you ... if you read, I’m organizing a search. We’re going to come looking. If you can get to a place where you can transmit and we can triangulate, we’ll find you. If you can hear me, please respond.”
“I hear you. Tell me this isn’t background! We’re fifteen-“
“Targa!” Wheeler warned. “Cut and run, damn it. We’ve got company coming down the chute behind us. Looks like four or five.”
Anatolia craned her neck, spotting the faint shadows entering the tube half a kilometer behind them. “And in this narrow crack, sound carries.” Anatolia forced herself to move faster. “Let’s just hope they don’t have someone waiting at the bottom.”
“If they do, I’d better pop out first.” Buchman placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing past. Over his shoulder, he asked, “When we get out of this hole, which way?”
“Right. It’s maybe fifty paces along the foundation piling and you’ll find a trash-filled nook off to your left. Looks like a dead end, but about ten paces into the darkness is a rusty metal stairway that drops down to the next level.”
“How’d you find all this?” Wheeler asked. “Running,” Anatolia answered. “Just like now.”
The holographic tank gleamed with ghostly yellow light that bathed Rysta Braktov as she bent over the display, accenting the folds in her uniform and the wrinkles in her skin. Against the blue dimness of the command conference room, the old woman appeared witchlike and sinister.
Mac propped his arm on one side of the tank, bending to peer over Rysta’s shoulder, squinting slightly in the glare of the holo. To him, the figures were meaningless.
“What do you think?”
She shook her head. “Not a cock-Rotted sign of trouble. The clandestine bands are mostly quiet. Nothing different here from a routine batch of exercises. What did you turn up on the media reports?”
“Nothing,” Mac replied. “Apparently everyone knows about the military exercises, the reserves are being called up, and Sinklar’s name is mentioned every now and then-and generally favorably. Ily’s name never crops up, and the people seem to be worried about the war but heedless of any domestic trouble. It’s just what we’d expect.”
Rysta made a face and straightened, her back cracking as she pressed on it. “Then maybe you’re worried about nothing. “
He nodded, crossing his arms as he leaned against the holo tank. “Yeah, maybe. I’ve listened in on all the military frequencies. Mayz, Ayms, Shik, they’re all there, talking like nothing’s gone wrong but overwork. Sinklar’s chatter is the only thing really missing-but then maybe he’s had a lot of other things to do over the last couple of days while we’ve been slowing down.”
“That’s reasonable to assume.”
Mac stared into Rysta’s level gaze. “You don’t buy it either, do you?”
“Buy it? What have we got to go on? Just the fact that Sinklar didn’t drop everything to burn up the comm lines welcoming us home and telling us what great guys we are for whacking hell out of Sassa and getting away alive.”
“You saw his face that last day. “ Mac smacked a fist into his palm. “That’s Sinklar. He was hurting, Commander. He was sick to his soul because he thought he was ordering us on a one-way trip. He felt trapped and guilty and miserable. I’ve known him for too damn long. He’d be on the line first thing, happy as a damn lark that we made it-to hell with the protocol, he’d be on the horn, and beaming.”
Rysta raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I tell you, I know him.”
“Mac, I don’t doubt that. I thought I knew him, too. I didn’t like him, but I thought I knew him.”
“Past tense?”
“Whatever. Tenses in words can have a lot of shades of meaning.”
“Would you like to be more specific, Commander?” Rysta sucked at her lower lip as she bent over the holo tank again, the cad-yellow light washing her ancient features and hooked nose. “Maybe the Sinklar you knew. . . . Well, he’s young. I’ve seen a lot of young men, watched them with interest over the years. Young men are impressionable-and Ily’s a cunning pro with all the tricks in the world up her sleeve. “
“Sink wouldn’t fall for-“
“Wouldn’t he? She’s a beautiful woman, and like you say, he was hurting because
he’d just ordered his best friend to his probable death. How do you think he’d react if sweet Ily caught him like that and looked at him through those soft limpid eyes she can adopt like a different coat?”
“Sink’s too sharp for that.”
“Right! He’s had one love and lost her. He’s alone, adrift, preoccupied, and pumping testosterone. If she used the right tricks, she’d have him in the sack in a matter of days-and, Mac, she’d leave him dazzled.” “I tell you, Sinklar is too smart for that.”
Rysta nodded, eyes narrowed. “So are you, right?” “You bet. “
“Then maybe you’d like to tell me that if Chrysla invited you to bed some night, you’d smile politely and walk away?”
“That’s different!”
Rysta’s expression remained wooden. “Right. Like I said, I get a lot of enjoyment out of watching young males. And unfortunately, at my age, that’s all I’ll get. “
“Could we get back to the subject?”
“Don’t get so Rotted hot under the collar, boy.” “And stop calling me that!”
“We’ve got a day before we’re in docking orbit. What’s your plan?”
Mac struggled, overcame his pique, and spread his hands. “I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.” “Good, because if Ily’s been working on Sinklar, you better hope she has a good use for you. If not, it might turn out that you’d have been better off if your smart plan to keep us alive after Sassa hadn’t been quite so successful.”
If they’re searching, where in hell are they?” Buchman demanded of the darkness. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the exhaust fans that pumped hot air into the space overhead. The twisting currents not only kept the place pleasantly warm, but eddies carried trash into the narrow cul-desac Anatolia had led them into. -
Anatolia sat hunched in the litter. Every ten minutes, Buchman would try his co
mm. Tired, hungry, and parched, they rested, cushioned by the plastic and paper. Masked by the roar of the fans, their voices couldn’t have been heard more than four meters away.
Not a bad hole,” Wheeler praised, her image barely visible in the darkness. “Got to hand it to you, Anatolia, you’re a damn fine soldier. And you lived down here for how long?”
She rubbed her arms nervously, the precious printout resting on her lap. “Seems like it was forever.”
“ That true? What you said about using a metal bar to kill somebody?”
“Yes. He followed me into-a place like this. Started to rape me, so I beat him to death. “ She glanced up, hating the darkness and the memories it brought. “He’s probably still there, rotting away in the garbage. People don’t come down here very often. If you want food, you’ve got to go higher, closer to the surface where the garbage is better.”
Buchman joined in, “You sure you want to talk about this? How about dreaming about what we’ll do when we get out of here, like going out for Ashtan steak and Riparian ale.”
“ How about going up to the Ministry of Internal Security and cutting Ily’s throat,” Wheeler suggested. “Done, but I hope it don’t piss Sinklar off. He’s close to her. Heard it from Mhitshul.”
“He’s not close to her,” Anatolia defended. “I think he knows what she’s all about.”
“You know something I don’t?” Buchman asked, anxious for the gossip.
“He’s not the fool you think he is,” Anatolia insisted stubbornly. “She used him. Well, don’t just sit there like holy Myklenian mystics, it could happen to anyone. Ily’s sharp, and Sinklar had a lot on his mind. She knows how to work a man.”
“In more ways than one,” Wheeler quipped. Anatolia’s ears started to burn, and she raised a finger, pointing it in the darkness. “Give the man a break. He was lonely. The weight of the entire empire was on his shoulders.”
“From what Mhitshul was saying, he had all of Ily’s weight on his shoulders a time or two.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this! What’s with you? After all Sinklar’s done for you, can’t you cut the man a break? He’s working himself to death trying to straighten out the military so the Sassans don’t crush us like rotten siva roots. So he made a mistake and Ily took advantage of it. Back off.”
“ ‘Scuse me,” Buchman retreated, laughter spoiling his apology. “Uh, we didn’t know you were such a Sinklar Fist fan.”
“Sounds like you aren’t.”
“Easy,” Wheeler calmed. “Sink kept us alive on Targa. We wouldn’t be down here hiding in the dark from Ily’s thugs if it wasn’t for Sink-not that that’s a lot to crow about, given the circumstances, but it beats being a corpse on Targa. You bet we pick on Sinklar Fist ... but he’s ours to pick on. Get it? We can say what we want about Sink. Somebody elselike a Regular-mouths off, and we twist his left leg off and shove it down his throat. “
“Rotted right,” Buchman said in the darkness. “But what about you, Anatolia? Where do you come into the picture? What’s Sink mean to you?”
She frowned into the darkness. “He’s an old friend, that’s all. I did him a favor once. He did me one, and that’s about it.” Or was it? She kept imagining his worried expression, remembering the warmth in his eyes as he slipped the ration packs across the table and handed her the hot choklat.
“Doesn’t sound that way,” Wheeler prodded gently. Uh, look, most of us, the troops I mean, we’re a little protective of Sink. It weirded a lot of us when he was hanging around with Ily. You see, we all knew Gretta ... loved her, in fact. To a lot of people, she’s an impossible act to follow.”
Anatolia cocked her head. “I’m not Sinklar’s lover. We’re just friends.”
“Never said you weren’t.” Wheeler shifted in the papers. “But knowing the lay of the land never hurts.” Anatolia sniffed and hugged her knees close, pressing the precious printout against her breasts. I don’t even know what Sinklar is, let alone if I could love him.
Nevertheless, the question, once asked, stuck in her mind. What would Sinklar be like as a lover? He seemed so kind and vulnerable. That sadness in his curiously colored eyes spoke to something in her soul. She’d appreciated the way he touched things, his actions fraught with gentleness, as if he worried about hurting the physical world.
But if he were so bright, so kind and gentle, how could he have been involved with Ily? Had she really played him as smoothly as Sinklar claimed? Or did he have a quirk to his character Anatolia hadn’t seen manifested yet?
She barely noticed the stirring in the trash, as if the wind eddied in the narrow niche. That sense of something wrong barely had time to click when a bright light blinded them. Despite being dazzled by the agonizing white beam, Anatolia dove to one side, digging down into the protection of the mounded refuse. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Buchman leaping to his feet, his blaster leveled and ripping violet threads toward the searing light.
Anatolia thrust the printout and the data cube into the musty midden and crawled backward, knowing she had no way out.
Buchman’s body contorted as a blaster bolt caught him in the shoulder, spinning him. Meanwhile, Wheeler was on her feet, charging the light, one hand lifted to shield her eyes, the other gripping the pistol as she raised it and triggered the weapon.
To Anatolia’s horror, the woman’s head exploded in a pinkish puff of atomized blood, bone, and brains. Wheeler’s lifeless corpse pitched forward into the scattered trash, the headless neck leaking red.
“Anatolia Daviura? Stand up.” An amplified voice boomed over the roar of the fan. “You will not be harmed if you surrender now. You will not be harmed.”
For long seconds she remained rooted, paralyzed by a different terror.
“Do you hear me? You will not be harmed.” Slowly she shook her head. She couldn’t nerve herself to rise. Only when black silhouettes appeared out of the light, did she managed to lift herself from the trash.
“Got you at last,” a young woman called over the fan. “You don’t know the half of what you’ve stirred up. “
“I didn’t do anything!”
“No? You can tell that to Ily Takka.”
“Somehow, some way, there must be a means by which we can stop these accursed Seddi broadcasts. They eat, like slow acid, at the people. Field reports continue to flow in and each shares a common theme: the people are growing restless, ever more disobedient. My staff in Comm Central have run their usual statistics and predict that if Kaylla Dawn persists with her seditious preaching, we will face civil revolt within six months. As usual, the hot spots are Sylene, Terguz, and Maika. Slogans and revolutionary statements have been painted on walls. Acts of sabotage to government buildings have been reported.
“I have weighed the matter carefully, studying all the data. Is there a better time to act than now? Mykroft-who has reviewed the Sassan intelligence reports’s fully confident that he can subdue them in a matter of only four months. That leaves Staffa as the only real opposition.
“Why does he refuse to answer my communications! All I get from Itreata is that insipid Comm First who repeatedly asks: “Has the Wing Commander been freed?”
“Staffa, you may enjoy your game of nerves because I will not blink first-I cannot.
“So be it. The final die is cast and the gamble for all of Free Space made. I’m sorry, Sinklar, but your usefulness has been greatly curtailed by your own success. You are mine, now. I have won---or lost everything.”
Excerpt recovered from-fly Takka’s personal journal
CHAPTER 28
Driven by nevous energy, Sinklar paced back and forth, tramping from his bedroom out to the powderblue hallway where elements of the Third Section watched uneasily from behind the energy barriers. As he walked, he smacked a fist into his palm, the sound somehow reassuring.
The tension had escalated, and as Sinklar continued his stalking of the fantastic rooms where Tybalt had lived and died, he could feel the Empero
r’s presence, watching, waiting.
“Sir?” Mhitshul asked as Sinklar passed his aide yet again. Mhitshul sat behind the desk, attention alternately on Sinklar and the comm monitor. “Could I get you something? A cup of stassa perhaps?”
“No. Rot it, where’s Mayz? I figured she’d have reported by now.”
“Why don’t you call her?”
Sinklar made a face. “I don’t want her to think I’m bothering her. She’s fully competent to organize a simple search without me driving her berserk asking questions. “
“But you’d feel better,” Mhitshul said, driven to the edge of craziness himself.
Sink slapped his arms helplessly against his sides, turning, staring at the glittering woodwork and the cut-crystal splendor of the ceiling with its endless rainbow hues. “You know, I hate this place.”
Mhitshul rubbed his hands, as if trying to clean them and studied Sinklar warily. “We could get out of here. Personally, sir, I’ve never had any use for anything Ily suggested. And that includes these rooms . . .the place in general.”
Sinklar knocked absently on the polished paneling and inspected the deep luster and delicate filigree. “This place is claustrophobic. Do you feel it? A heaviness to the air. What else don’t you like about it?”
“It’s just not you. Yes, sure, the communications are superb. You can contact anyplace in the empire within a moment’s notice. But seriously, sir, you could do that from anywhere in the Capital. The subspace uplink is through Comm Central no matter where you are.” Mhitshul adopted an appealing look. “You said I could -speak my mind, well, all right, I’m speaking it. I think you’ve forgotten who you are. You’ve been taken in by Ily, and now that you’ve started to come to your senses about her, I think we ought to get the hell out of here and find someplace we can call our own. I don’t trust Ily. This place is ... is a gilded cage! “
“Cage? I had Shik check out the comm. So far as he could tell no one had tampered with it. Our security is designed to keep people out, not us in. We’ve got Third Section holding the hallway. We can break out at any time-no matter what happens.”
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