Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  Mac dropped onto the hard bench of the booth. “Who, then? Mykroft? Dion said he was passed out.” Mhitshul shrugged his shoulders. “Somebody with a lot of power. Ily, maybe, but what’s she got that can cut through this? Subspace? Possible, but it would have to be a dish on the planet talking to another dish on the planet. I mean, look, this stuff is even making the comm a bit flippy.”

  Mac glanced down at the time. “Yeah, great!” He slapped the table in frustration and poked his head into the flight deck. “Power up! We’ve got less than a minute before Shik blows a hole in Ily’s roof.”

  “What?” Mhitshul cried. “You’re going to initiatewithout command control?”

  Mac pulled his head back to look over his shoulder while the thrusters built to a whine. “My friend is in that building-and I’m gonna go get him out. Everyone knows the plan, Mhitshul. If worse comes to worst, I’ve got First Section back there in the rear. We’re going after Sink ... and if we can kill Ily, so much the better.”

  “But you-“

  Mac shouted forward, “Lift off!”

  The comm buzzed next to Ily’s sleeping platform. Beside her, Arta moaned in dissatisfaction and reluctantly opened her eyes. “Wonderful, the first night of sleep I get, and you have a noisy comm.”

  “Part of government.”

  “That’s why you can have government, and I’ll take excitement. “

  Ily swung her feet off the platform as she pulled a shirt over her shoulders. She twisted her hair into a knot and called, “This is Minister Takka.”

  Gysell’s face formed on the comm, but the image carried a lot of static. Gysell, too, looked sleepy. “Ily? We’ve got trouble. My aide just pulled me out of the interrogation room. The comm system is jammed. I’ve sent someone over to Comm Central, but outside of our closed building system you can’t contact anyone unless it’s by messenger.”

  Ily’s heartbeat spiked. “MacRuder?”

  Gysell shook his head. “From what my people tell me, only the Sassans could muster this much power. Gyton doesn’t have the resources for this. Neither does Shiksta, if he’s the one responsible for-“

  The blast was deafening. The sleeping platform leapt into the air and crashed down with a bonejarring impact before a fist hammered Ily sideways amidst a spattering of dust and flying fragments.

  She lay stunned, ears ringing, as she blinked in the twisting pall of dust and smoke.

  “Pus-licking Gods!” Arta cried as she staggered up from behind the wreckage of the sleeping platform. Ily shook her head, mind reeling as she tried to think.

  Arta was bending over, blood leaking down her cheek from a cut. Fera’s insistent tug got Ily to her feet as a second concussion shook the building.

  “Gotta get out of here,” Arta’s voice seemed far away. “Come on!”

  Dazed, Ily stumbled along, stepping over broken crystals, shards cutting her bare feet. Her hair, matted with plaster and filth, swung with each step, sometimes obscuring her vision.

  The security door to the garage had jammed, the lintel buckled.

  “Don’t move!” Fera shouted. “I’ll be right back.” Ily leaned against the wall, trying to understand. Water shot out in jets from the splintered remains of her bathroom. What had happened?

  Arta appeared through the smoking rubble, her appearance striking: a naked woman warrior, bloody, hair in disarray, breasts bouncing, a blaster filling her hand.

  “Duck!” Arta leveled her weapon.

  Some instinctive response triggered, and Ily threw herself into the junk on the floor. The shrill ripping of the discharge was barely audible over the wailing in her ears, but the report deafened her as the wall bucked and exploded.

  Her wits scattered by the shock, Ily remained crouched until Arta hauled her up, and pushed her toward the gaping hole blasted in the wall.

  Ily half-fell, sprawling on the shattered junk on the other side. Arta was saying something.

  “What?” Fera leaned close, shouting, “LCs! Landing on the roof, we’ve got to time this just right. Ily, listen to me! We’ve got to wait until they settle on the roof, and drop straight down the side of the building. Once they’re blind-sided by the wall, we can cut off at an angle and climb for orbit. Do you understand?”

  LCs? On the roof? Why? She blinked, still lying on the shattered remains of the wall while Fera leapt for the shuttle, pulling the hatch open. Ily watched numbly, then looked down to where her hands clutched the crumbled duraplast. Blood ran down her arm in zigzagged patterns. Blood?’From whom? One of her prisoners?

  The room went blurry as Ily’s vision swam. From out of the haze, strong arms picked her up, lifting her limp body. The world swirled away into a liquid-gray fog that faded into a soft floating mist.

  Sinklar jerked awake with the first muffled concussion. Anatolia tensed where she lay in his arms on the pallet.

  “What was that?”

  “Explosion.” Sinklar threw the blanket aside, climbing to his feet. Another muted bang shook the building. Sinklar whooped, raising his fists. “Come on, Targans!”

  Anatolia scrambled up next to him. “You’re sure?” Sinklar put his arm around her. “More than I’ve been of anything.” He glanced up, trying to see through the building to Ily’s plush office. “Ily, you bitch, now you’ll get yours.”

  Anatolia looked down at her clothing, awkwardly rearranging it to hang right. “You know, the terrible thing about Mytol is that you remember everything that happened. “

  Sinklar chuckled as he hopped from foot to foot. “We’ll just keep it between us.”

  That’s when the lights went out.

  Mac cursed as the morning sun shot slanted bars of light through gaps in the clouds. For something to do, he sat on the ramp of his LC, dangling his legs. Chrysla had propped herself beside him, her perfect body giving the armor she now wore a very distinct shape-and to Mac’s disquiet, her body did marvelous things to the thick material.

  In search of a distraction from the nagging worryand Chrysla-Mac fiddled with the communications set clipped to his belt. “Comm’s still out.”

  “You don’t have to sit here,” Chrysla reminded. “I could cover the roof just as well as you.” She lifted the blaster that hung from its harness. “I am familiar with how to use one of these. Once, I almost outshot Staffa.” She paused thoughtfully, “But then, he was in a most human mood that day.”

  Staffa! Always Staffa. Mac fidgeted uncomfortably. “I’d better stay. If anyone needs orders, they’re going ‘to come here.” He slapped a hand against the heavy shoulder blaster that rested on his lap and glared at the gaping hole into which First Section had disappeared. Smoke still rose from the ragged edges.

  “If that’s your decision. Honestly, Mac, First Section are all pros. Without comm, you couldn’t be of much use down there anyway.”

  “Yeah, and if anyone can get in, find Sink, and. . . . Mac never finished.

  A shrilling rose in ever increasing volume to split the air-the wail like that of a thousand banshees. “Pus-Rotted Gods!” Mac jumped off the ramp, run-

  ning to the edge of the building. In the distance, the Ministry of Defense imploded from a grav shot. The shrilling continued, wavering up and down the scale as government buildings around the capital exploded.

  “Mac?” Chrysla came to stand beside him, one hand grasping his arm as if to seek reassurance. “Orbital bombardment,” he said soberly. “But what the hell are they doing? They’re blasting the government buildings, the administration centers and ... Holy Rotted Gods, we’ve got to get out of here, we’re a prime. . . .” He started back for the LC, clawing at his comm. “Boyz! Red! Andrews! It’s a trap! Evacuate! Get out!”

  Static hissed back at him, the effect drowned by another shrilling and POCK-KUMPH! as Comm Central-no more than two kilometers away—disappeared into a cloud of spiraling debris.

  Mac grabbed Chrysla, physically dragging her toward the LC ramp.

  “Mac! Wait!” She pointed at the pink-tinged sky.
He threw a desperate glance over his shoulder. The deadly wedges dropped like darts, leveling off and closing. He knew those craft. Once before he’d seen them drop from an empty sky. Now, as he looked up, he could make out the contrails.

  One of the deadly sleek landers arrowed over the roof of the Ministry-blasted a jet of reaction that staggered Mac-and settled to the side of one of the craters.

  Shielded by an arm, Mac waited as the ramps dropped and shining troops deployed with a machinelike efficiency that he’d once marveled at. This time, however, the gleaming ranks faced him, weapons at the ready.

  “Better drop your blaster,” Mac said evenly, his heart pounding as he unhooked his trusty blaster and let it fall. “These guys are real good, but they might shoot first and question later.”

  He heard Chrysla’s shoulder gun thump to the roof behind him.

  The STU team had them covered, several of the lander’s heavy batteries trained on the LC. Mac smiled, walking forward, his hands held out. “Ark? That you back of all that shiny stuff?”

  “Mac?” “Yeah. Hey, sorry, but you guys are a little bit late. First Targan beat you to the strike.”

  More of the assault craft were settling around the Ministry. Mac looked around uneasily, suddenly aware of the Companions’ intent. “Ryman! I’ve got people in there. If you can break this comm jam, tell your teams to stay out or we’ll all be shooting each other.”

  Ark frowned as he stepped forward, skepticism on his dark face, or at least what could be seen of it through the electronics-studded helmet. “Mac, my objective is to take this building, recover a prisoner, kill Ily if I can, and blow this place to Rotted hell on the way out. How do I know if you’re telling me the truth?”

  Mac hesitated, hating the sudden tension. He took a step forward, hands spread. “Listen, can you get me a line to Staffa? The code is Makarta. He told me that aboard Chrysla once. Staffa said, ‘Remember, Mac, you always have a place with us. If you ever need to get in touch with me, the code is Makarta.’ Ryman, if you enter this building and run into my Sectionwhich you will-we can’t tell friend from foe.”

  Ark chewed at his lip, raising his comm. “All STU, this is Ark. Hold your position! Repeat, hold!” To Mac, Ryman said, “You better be right about this, MacRuder, because if you’re not ... if it’s a stall to harm Skyla, I’m going to take you apart myself.”

  Surprised, Mac said, “Skyla?”

  Chrysla had come to stand at Mac’s shoulder. Ryman eyed her with obvious appreciation and called into the comm. “Patch me through to the Lord Commander. I got a Regan Division First here by the name of MacRuder. He’s using a Makarta code. That’s M-A-K-A-R-T-A. Check with the Lord Commander and see if we’ve got a roger on that.”

  Mac waited, itching and prickling from the effect of the deadly guns pointed at him. In the distance, he could see explosions as the orbital bombardment continued to flatten selected targets. “Ryman, what’s happening out there? You’re destroying the critical installations, the ones we need to survive.”

  Ark watched him hostilely-expression hacked from stone. Then he nodded, evidently hearing something on his ear comm. “Mac? You want to step inside? The Lord Commander will speak to you.” .

  Mac nodded to Chrysla, gave her a reassuring wink he didn’t believe in, and stepped forward. Ryman bounded into the guts of the assault craft and Mac licked his lips as he followed. Unlike the Regan LC, the seats were plush, designed so the fittings conformed to armored STU teams. A wall monitor flickered to life. Staffa’s hard gray eyes stared into Mac’s. “Lord Commander. Greetings.”

  “Good to see you, Mac. Ryman tells me you don’t want my STU teams inside. Why?”

  Mac took a deep breath. “Because my people are fighting in there, Lord Commander. Ily made a bid to take complete power. She took Sinklar, Mayz, Kap, and Ayms. We’re getting our people back.” He paused consideringly, then added, “What about Skyla? She’s in there, too?”

  Staffa’s cold stare would have frozen the fusion fires of Solaris. “I’ll hope you didn’t have a part in her abduction. “

  Mac waved his arms. “I’ve been off blasting hell out of Imperial Sassa! How could I know? I landed here last night, almost got arrested by Ily’s goons, found out she’s grabbed Sink, and spent all night organizing and initiating a civil war. This morning I launch my operation and the comm goes dead. Then you show up and want to get in a tangle with my

  Section while they hunt Ily. Now, can we bring this to a conclusion so you don’t have to level the planet and we can all get our people back?”

  Staffa watched him unemotionally. “Will you surrender your forces? Unconditionally?”

  “No. That’s crazy! If you were in my position, would you?” Mac shook his head. “Tell you what I will do. Let’s call a cease-fire until we can twist Ily out of her hole. Then let’s sit down and figure out what this is all about.” Mac paused, a sudden ache in his heart. “Besides, I’ve got ... Well, someone I need to deliver to you. She’s outside and she’s waited a long time. I guess we can postpone killing each other for at least that long.”

  Staffa shook his head. “Skyla is inside. I’ll do anything I have to to see her safe. “

  “We’re in total agreement about that. So let’s coordinate this operation at least that far. Agreed? I have to have communications with my people to do that. You can listen in if you want, but Sink and Skyla are both inside. We don’t want either one getting killed in the cross fire. Ily’s folks are bad enough without our contributing to disaster.”

  Staffa studied him, gray eyes frosty. “Very well, Mac. I’ll cut the jamming from Countermeasures.” Mac smacked a fist into his palm. “Great! Ryman

  and I can coordinate everything from here.” “Ryman. You monitored that. You are directed to coordinate with MacRuder until further notice, or until you deem the situation to justify other actions.” “Affirmative. “

  Mac grinned humorlessly. “Ily, we’ve got you now.”

  The chill of the room barely bothered Gysell as he paced in the dark before Skyla Lyma. He’d been pacing like this just before the trouble started. Yes, just like this, the list of questions Ily had handed him crumpled in his hand and clasped behind his back.

  Where she sat shivering in the chair, Skyla had stared at nothingness, her pupils dilated despite the lights.

  A beautiful woman, Gysell thought. But why wouldn’t she have those hideous scars fixed? No matter, Lyma would never leave this building alive. Such a waste.

  “We were talking about Itreata’s computer system. You said that only you and Staffa have the codes for the security systems. That means that any attempt at entry into the system needs your or Staffa’s approval?”

  “Yes. “

  “Isn’t there someone else? A programmer, perhaps?” “No. “

  “So only two people-you and Staffa-can tamper with the security computer?”

  “Yes. “ “But if.

  Gysell stopped when a tech leaned in. “’Sir? We’ve got a comm malfunction.”

  After that, everything had gone wrong. The muffled explosion cutting him off from Ily, then the power failing. Why? What had happened?

  Right offhand, he could name three reasons: Shiksta, MacRuder, and Rysta. Ily had failed to collect them all. And if Sinklar’s people were coming to free him, Gysell needed insurance,,a bargaining chip. The most powerful one available-since Gysell couldn’t make it up to Fist’s floor with the lifts out-was the Wing Commander.

  Cold sweat had started to bead on Gysell’s skin. How long would it be? Possibly hours, he assured himself. Everything had been set up. The door to the dressing room was left open so that they’d see him with his captive. At that moment, he could negotiate.

  As if to punctuate his thoughts, the rip-pok! of a blaster bolt striking a human body split the blackness. The tearing-linen sound of more firing echoed from the hallway, then a slight pause and the hammering blast of an explosion.

  Gysell ducked behind Lyma, placing his pulse
pistol

  against her head. His mouth had gone dry. Each beat of his heart pumped fear through his veins. The delicate touch of the air changed on his cheek. Was that the hall door?

  Gysell waited, attention riveted on the doorway. A soldier should step through soon.

  Skyla shifted, her teeth clacking from the cold. Gysell glanced down, making sure she hadn’t changed her position.

  When he glanced up again, he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t caught a glimpse of movement.

  It’s your nerves. He swallowed again, hard. Where were they?

  Something thumped in the dressing room. “Who’s there!” he called.

  Boyz dropped down on her lifeline, the lift shaft eerie in the images projected by her IR. She kicked her feet, playing out the line and landing on the lip of the drop.

  “Macks? That you? Who is it?” The Internal Security officer stared blankly in the darkness, a pulse pistol in his hand.

  Boyz walked up, smashed her blaster butt into the man’s face, and signaled to Marks who dropped behind her.

  Smart man, Mac. You taught us to function without comm. Targa, by God! Boyz started down the long hall, her team lining out behind her. One by one, they pressed the override studs, opening doors to peer inside the holding rooms. Some contained people who stared wildly around in the pitch blackness. Those doors they closed again, figuring people were safer locked up than wandering around in the dark where shooting would take place.

  Boyz had worked out a system. With it, her team followed a sequence of running down the hall to the next door, pressing the stud, and checking the contents before sprinting to the next.

  “Yahoo!” Red cried suddenly. “Found him! Sink, we’ve been worried sick about you.”

  “Where are you?” a familiar voice brought a smile to Boyz’ lips as she trotted back and ducked into a room to find Red crushing Sinklar Fist in a bear hug. Anatolia waited to one side, blinded by the darkness.

  “We’ve got night vision gear on. You want one?” Boyz asked.

  “Sure. Then patch me through to comm. I can’t get a damn thing on the room unit.”

  “Yeah, well, neither can we. The whole net is down.”