Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  “However,” Usurlus added sternly as he glanced from lens to lens, “each citizen is presumed to be innocent unless proven guilty in a court of law. It will be up to a tribunal and a jury to determine Senator Nalomy’s guilt or innocence. I, of course, will be satisfied with whatever decision they reach.”

  There were lots of shouted questions from reporters who were watching the feeds from their various offices, but Usurlus waved them off and went back inside. That left the cameras to hover just off the veranda in hopes of getting more pictures of the Legate or, if they were lucky, a sound bite from a member of the Usurlus household. Meanwhile, Livius was waiting for Usurlus in the living room. “You have a visitor, sire. . . . Imperial Secretary Arla Armo is waiting in your study.”

  Usurlus was surprised and let it show. “Really? It usually works the other way around. What’s the purpose of her visit? Did she say?”

  Livius shook his head. “No, sire.”

  “It probably has something to do with Senator Nalomy’s arrest,” Usurlus mused. “Please ask Satha to bring some refreshments.”

  As Livius departed on his errand, Usurlus made his way down the hall and entered his office. Though not required to do so, Armo rose to greet him. A scarf covered her partially shaved skull, and she wore plain clothes, as if to avoid notice. And that was when Usurlus realized that rather than arrive by air car, as an official of her rank would normally do, Armo had chosen ground travel instead. Why?

  “Please forgive me for dropping in this way,” Armo said as they embraced. “But there is an urgent matter that I must discuss with you—and one that is very confidential as well. That’s why I came by ground car, and judging from all of the news cams hanging around your home, it’s a good thing I did.”

  “No apologies are required,” Usurlus assured her, as Satha arrived with a tray and placed it on the desk. “Please,” Usurlus said as his slave poured cups of hot caf, “have a seat. What is the matter you spoke of? And what can I do to help?”

  Armo waited for Satha to leave before attempting to speak. And when she did, the tears began to well up. Usurlus offered a box of tissues, and she took two of them. “I’m sorry,” Armo said, as she dabbed at her eyes. “But this is very difficult. As you probably know, given your connections, Emperor Emor has been somewhat reclusive of late. Frankly, many of us, myself included, feared that he had become mentally unstable.

  “But late yesterday we discovered that a shape shifter not only managed to infiltrate the Imperial residence, kill Emperor Emor, and take his place. Worse yet,” Armo said as she broke into tears, “it appears that the Sagathi ate him!”

  Even though Usurlus not only was aware of the possibility but had attempted to warn authorities about it, he was still shocked and saddened. In spite of the fact that Emor had been tough, even ruthless at times, most of his initiatives had been selfless. Which was all a reasonable citizen could hope for. So his death was a real loss.

  “I’m sorry,” Usurlus said as he sat down next to Armo and tried to comfort her. “What about the shifter? Did they capture or kill him?”

  Armo had regained control of her emotions by then and shook her head. “No,” she responded. “It gets worse, I’m afraid. The investigation is still under way, but at this point it looks as though the Sagathi murdered a Vord diplomat as well and took his place! That allowed him to escape off planet.”

  Usurlus produced a low whistle. “That’s bad. . . . Very bad.”

  Armo bit her lower lip and nodded in agreement. “There’s more I’m afraid.”

  A look of disbelief appeared on Usurlus’s face. “More? You must be joking.”

  “No,” Armo said apologetically, “I’m not. Rolari ordered us to secure the Imperial residence and bring the Xeno Corps in to investigate. He also ordered us to notify you—in the hope that you could help.

  “Then he went to his office,” she continued, “tore down the curtain that blocked the windows, and went out onto the balcony. His body was found in the street below. Fortunately, it was unrecognizable, so the news combines don’t know who the jumper was, and that gives us time. Not much, though, since everyone who works in the tower is a government employee, and they’re clamoring for a name.”

  Usurlus swore softly. Emor’s death wasn’t Rolari’s fault, although it might have been possible either to capture or kill Verafti had the Chief of Staff been courageous enough to take immediate action. But Rolari had been chosen for his ability to implement policy rather than create it, so the outcome was almost inevitable. “And Emor’s son?” Usurlus wanted to know. “Has he been notified?”

  “Yes,” Armo replied. “Or he will be soon. He’s on Inva II with the 8th Legion. A courier has been dispatched. We can expect Brunus to arrive on Corin roughly seven days from now.”

  “Good. . . . A smooth succession will be extremely important,” Usurlus mused out loud. “What about the Vords? How much do they know?”

  “Nothing yet,” Armo answered. “We thought it best to keep them in the dark until the initial phase of the investigation is complete.”

  “I agree,” Usurlus said. “In the meantime, we have a great deal to accomplish.”

  “Such as?” Armo inquired.

  “I suggest that you begin by notifying members of the Senate that the Emperor died in his sleep. Then, about two hours later, put out a press release informing the public of the same thing. Tell them that Emor will be buried with full honors in two weeks’ time. Rolari couldn’t deal with the loss and committed suicide. Meanwhile, consistent with Imperial law, his son Brunus will take the throne assuming that the Senate confirms him. And I believe they will.”

  Armo was silent for a moment, as if giving the proposal some thought. “Yes,” the official said as she came to her feet. “I agree. . . . Let’s get to work.”

  The inside of the Imperial residence was much as it had been when the Praetorian Guards had broken in except that technicians in white clean-suits could be seen here and there, snapping hundreds of pictures, collecting bits of evidence, and recording their observations into hand corders. And standing in the middle of it all, watching them work, was Centurion Jak Cato.

  Having survived an assassination attempt, and been witness to the lengthy interrogation that followed, Cato had been asleep on the squad-room couch when Shani shook him awake. Now, two hours later, he was in charge of a very high-profile murder investigation. By all rights it should have been carried out by members of the city’s Xenocide team, but because of Cato’s knowledge of Verafti and the need to limit the number of people who knew about the manner in which Emperor Emor had been killed, the job had fallen to him.

  That was tough enough. But making the situation even more difficult was the fact that he was still working for Inobo, and having entered the residence from whatever meeting he’d been in, the senior officer had spotted Cato and was on his way over. The variant had a pretty good idea what would happen next and steeled himself against the coming onslaught.

  As Inobo followed the “safe” path the technicians had established across the enormous living room, he was worried. Having given the report from Cato and Usurlus short shrift and failed to follow up after his initial meeting with Rolari, Inobo was in a very vulnerable position. Fortunately for him, however, the Chief of Staff had committed suicide, and in doing so, had effectively taken responsibility for the entire episode. Would that be enough to satisfy Brunus Emor? Inobo certainly hoped so and was eager to complete the investigation quickly, as a way to both look efficient and cover up his failure to pursue the Verafti threat.

  So as he began to close with his subordinate, Inobo’s priorities were clear: Wrap up the investigation, write a self-serving report, and send Cato to a place far, far away. “There you are,” Inobo said. “What’s taking so long? This is an open-and-shut case, for God’s sake.”

  Cato frowned. “Sorry, sir. . . . I don’t understand.”

  “I asked what the hell is taking so long,” Inobo replied irritably. “Good God,
man. . . . How many pictures do you need? Verafti killed Emor, took his place, and did the same thing to Nusk. Case closed.”

  “Not quite,” Cato replied. “Based on what we’ve discovered so far, Verafti killed a Praetorian as well. . . . That’s how he got access to the Imperial Residence in the first place. Then, posing as the guard, he could come and go freely.”

  “Terrific,” Inobo put in sourly, “I’ll make a note. But my comment stands. We know what happened, and we know who did it, so let’s wrap it up.”

  “We know what happened,” Cato agreed steadfastly, “and we know Verafti did it. What we don’t know is why.”

  “Are you stupid?” Inobo demanded incredulously. “The answer is obvious. . . . Verafti killed Emor in order to become Emperor! Any fool can see that.”

  “I don’t think so,” Cato countered stubbornly. “I am very familiar with the Sagathies. . . . And this one in particular. Verafti has no interest in power or the trappings that go with it. He would hate this place. Look around. . . . See all the random destruction? That’s Verafti venting his frustration. The residence was like a prison, and he wanted out.”

  “Assuming you’re right, why come here at all?” Inobo wanted to know. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Cato agreed. “And that brings us back to where we started. Verafti was looking for something, and if we want to catch him, we need to know what it was.”

  “Why bother?” Inobo replied dismissively. “The Vords are our enemies. . . . Let Verafti kill them for a change! Maybe we should give him a medal.”

  Inobo had been so fixated on Cato, he didn’t realize that Usurlus was present until the Legate spoke from only a foot away. “I’ve heard some stupid comments during my life, Primus Pilus Inobo. . . . But that could be the worst of all. Has it occurred to you that in his role as Emperor Emor, Verafti had access to all of the government’s most sensitive files? Including detailed information regarding the strength and disposition of our troops? What if he were to supply that information to the Vords? Or, worse yet, to seize control of their empire, just as he took over ours?”

  It was clear from Inobo’s horrified expression that neither one of those possibilities had occurred to him. Possibilities which, should they become reality, could easily be blamed on him!

  Usurlus had a pretty good idea what the other man was thinking. He smiled thinly. “That’s right, my friend. . . . There are some very good reasons why you should support Officer Cato’s efforts! So I suggest that you return to your office and stay out of the way until such time as you are needed. Do we understand each other?”

  Inobo tried to think of something to say, failed, and left without a word. Cato sighed. The outcome of the confrontation had been a victory of a sort. But what would happen once the whole thing was over? And Usurlus lost interest in him? He would be at Inobo’s mercy then. . . . And payback would be a bitch.

  Usurlus couldn’t read emotions the way an empath could, but he could see that Cato was exhausted, and said as much. “You’re tired, Jak. Go get a bite to eat and some sleep. That’s an order.”

  Cato nodded stiffly, said, “Yes, sire,” and followed the safe path out. He intended to go home but never made it past the neighboring reception hall, which had been transformed into a temporary office/laboratory for the investigative team. That was where Shani found him curled up on the floor. She threw a blanket over the Centurion. Then, having threatened to kill anyone who woke Cato up, she went back to work.

  It was two in the morning, the forensic team had completed its work, and robots were busy preparing the residence for the new Emperor’s arrival, as Cato sat at the same computer access point that Verafti had been using. For hours he and an artificial intelligence named Orl-48 had been hard at work sifting through the thousands of searches the shape shifter had carried out over the last couple of months, and certain things were becoming clear.

  Among them was the fact that there was very little if any alignment between government priorities and the files the imposter had chosen to access. That seemed to support Cato’s thesis that Verafti had little to no interest in actually running the government.

  In fact, according to Orl-48, who was buried in an Imperial computer somewhere, most of Verafti’s searches had to do with Sagathi shape shifters. And that made sense if the fugitive was trying to find out what efforts, if any, were directed at trying to find him.

  But, because he had supposedly been killed on Dantha, there hadn’t been any hits associated with his name. A fact which had probably been of considerable satisfaction to him. There were hits regarding other Sagathies, however, including two executions, and an escape that predated Verafti’s. An extremely rare event in which a female shape shifter had been able to get off her home planet by posing as a human corpse. The question was whether Verafti was interested in the activities of all Sagathies or that individual in particular.

  Even with all of the computing power that Orl-48 could bring to bear, because Verafti’s searches were so varied it took another half hour to reach what Cato believed to be the answer. The search terms the shifter used included missing persons, cult activity, serial murders, fluctuations in the financial markets, crime statistics, and everything having to do with one Jak Cato. Including his assignment to the bunko squad and activities since.

  Tempting though it was to focus on the personal threat, Cato knew that the real objective of Verafti’s activities was buried somewhere inside all of the other searches. And, having focused on those, it wasn’t long before the Xeno cop was able to assemble a working hypothesis that not only explained why the shape shifter had chosen to kill the Emperor but where he was likely to show up next.

  So with that information in hand, Cato thanked Orl-48, signed off the system he would probably never be allowed to access again, and went looking for Usurlus. Because, if his theory was correct, the danger posed to the Empire by Sagathi shape shifters was double what it had been.

  Once Cato was ordered to take control of the overlapping murder investigations in the Imperial Residence, leadership of the bunko squad fell to Section Leader Shani, who was determined to complete the pickpocket investigation and bring the ringleader to justice. The plants, none of which were judged to be sentient, were being returned to their home world for reintegration into the ecosystem from which they had been removed.

  Meanwhile, the Kelf who was believed to be responsible for importing the plants to Corin and training them to become pickpockets was on the run. But now, thanks to information provided by a paid informant named Dybo, the squad knew where their suspect was hiding. And as Shani stood in the middle of a deserted street and peered down into the pitch-black storm drain below, she didn’t like it one bit. “You’re sure about this?” she inquired sternly. “Because if we go down there and come up empty-handed, I’m going to be very unhappy.”

  Dybo had a rounded head, one beady eye, and a short muzzle. His clothing consisted of a jeweled eye patch, a heavily embroidered satin jacket, and matching shorts. With the exception of a gold toe ring, his feet were bare. He was only three feet tall—and had to crane his neck in order to look up at Shani. “Taget is down there—I swear it.”

  Based on what Dybo felt, he was telling the truth as he knew it, but that was no guarantee of success, so Shani opted for an insurance policy. “Good,” she replied, “because you’re coming with us.”

  Dybo turned and ran, or tried to, but it was more of a waddle. A cop named Vium grabbed the Kelf by the scruff of the neck and jerked him off the ground. The criminal’s face was partially lit by the spill from the streetlight above, and she could “feel” his fear. But fear of what? The storm drain itself? The creatures that were said to live down there? Or her? It was impossible to tell. She stared into Dybo’s good eye. “You tried to run. . . . Why?”

  “Everybody knows there are pipe crawlers down there,” Dybo replied heatedly. “Some weigh as much as I do! If you were my size, you’d be scared, too. . . . Besides, I’m we
aring my good clothes. I’ll wait here.”

  “Like hell you will,” Shani growled. “Cuff him, Siby. . . . And put him on a chain.”

  “Will do, SL,” the cop said tightly, and went to get the necessary hardware out of the unmarked police van parked a few feet away.

  “All right,” Shani said as she eyed the rest of the squad. “Pair up, check each other’s equipment, and don’t forget gloves and kneepads. You’re gonna need them. Three-Ball will be on point, and I’ll take the two slot, followed by our furry friend. Siby, Vium, and Nutone will bring up the rear. Keep an eye on our six, Nute; otherwise, something nasty could crawl up your ass and nibble on your tonsils!”

  The comment was meant to get a laugh, and did, which helped lighten the mood a bit. Then, with Dybo chained to Siby, it was time for Three-Ball to descend into the maze below. Like news cams, the robot could fly, although not as high, and was equipped with a powerful light. He was also packing a stunner, lots of com gear, and the capacity to feed live video to the team.

  So as Three-Ball dropped down the vertical shaft and arrived in the pipe below, Shani could watch via her HUD as his light swept across badly pitted metal. Like so much of the city’s infrastructure the tube had been there a long time and was overdue for replacement. Having checked the immediate area for heat signatures and come up empty, Three-Ball radioed the all clear.

  Shani activated her helmet light before following Three-Ball down. Like the rest of the team, she was wearing black body armor, two pistols in shoulder holsters, and a hydration pack. Her cargo pockets were stuffed with ration bars, a first-aid kit, and miniflares.