Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  Cato shook his head and sighed. It seemed some battles were lost before they even began. “All right,” he agreed. “You win. . . . But you may be sorry.”

  “Perhaps,” Alamy conceded, “but it’s what I want.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” Cato said contritely, as she allowed him to capture her hand.

  “No,” Alamy answered with a stiff smile, “you don’t.”

  “But you deserve this,” Cato countered as he pushed a small box across the table. “Go ahead—open it.”

  Alamy hadn’t been on the receiving end of very many gifts during her life, so receiving one was special in and of itself, but the fact that it was from Cato made it doubly so. She removed the ribbon, fumbled the lid off, and looked within. And there, cradled in a nest of red velvet, was a necklace. It consisted of a stylized sun, complete with wavy points all around and a sizeable ruby at its center. Alamy looked up. Her face was flushed. “Really? For me?”

  “Yes,” Cato said gently, “for you. For the sun that rises in front of me every morning.” Cato wasn’t very good at coming up with such sentiments on the fly, so the words had a rehearsed quality, but that did nothing to lessen Alamy’s pleasure as he came over to fasten the silver chain around her neck. And that was when the empath learned what it felt like to give a gift and receive it at the same time.

  It was just past 6:00 AM, the morning was cold, and Usurlus was naked from the waist up as he started across the vast parade ground that the legionnaires referred to as “the grinder.” The open area occupied the center of the huge military base that claimed the northwest quarter of the city. Usurlus normally rose about 10:00, so it was the last place he wanted to be at that time of day, but the new Emperor routinely rose at 4:30. Not only that, the ex-general was a fitness fanatic and expected everyone else to be one as well. Even reserve officers like Usurlus.

  So Brunus thought nothing of combining meetings with exercise on the theory that doing so was more efficient and served to keep such gatherings short. Just one of the prices Usurlus had been forced to pay in order to take what was arguably the second-most-powerful position in the Empire. Was it worth it? No, Usurlus decided as he arrived at an oval of green grass surrounded by an elliptical track. But it was too late to back out as Brunus turned to greet him.

  Like Usurlus’s, the Emperor’s torso was bare. He had slablike pectorals, biceps as thick as an average man’s thighs, and sinewy forearms. Scars could be seen here and there, along with a tattoo for each legion he had served with, nine of them. “There you are!” Brunus proclaimed cheerfully, as a small group of equally fit officers looked on. “Now there are six of us. Three against three. It will be the pilum this morning, gentlemen. . . . A rather primitive weapon to be sure, but useful in a pinch, and still used against us out on the rim.

  “Team one will consist of Chief of Staff Usurlus, Tribune Oracus, and me. A rather creaky army that the rest of you should be able to defeat without difficulty. Any questions? No? Then let’s get to it.”

  After flipping an Imperial, which came up heads, it was agreed that team two would throw first, with each member having the opportunity to hurl three javelins at a man-shaped target located sixty feet away. There were lots of good-natured insults as the first officer stepped up to the white line—then backed away to the point where his short run would begin. That gave Brunus and Usurlus an opportunity to talk. “So the Vords said yes,” the Emperor observed as he began the process of selecting three pila.

  “Yes, sire,” Usurlus answered, as a cold breeze swept across the grinder, and he fought the impulse to shiver. “Thanks to our demonstration, they understand the danger and are eager to counter it. They insist on transporting our team to Therat, however—rather than allowing an Imperial ship to enter orbit.”

  “And after our empaths find the shape shifters? What then?” Brunus inquired.

  Usurlus took note of the Emperor’s nonchalant assumption and was glad that Cato wasn’t present to hear it. “Based on the observations of Xeno Corps personnel who were present at the last meeting, the Vords are going to attack us,” Usurlus responded as he examined a six-foot-long shaft. “Their emotional responses were quite clear. . . . Each time they spoke about peaceful coexistence, they were lying. The Vords have a burgeoning population, a warlike culture, and an economy based on conquest rather than commerce. So once the two empires came into contact with each other, war became inevitable. Then, once we allowed them to take Therat by force, the matter was settled.”

  “That’s one of the things I like about you,” Brunus said, as a javelin hit the mark and a cheer went up. “You’re very direct in spite of all the years spent rubbing up against bureaucrats here on Corin.”

  Usurlus heard the gibe but chose to ignore it. “The good news is that while Centurion Cato and his team are on Therat, we will have additional time in which to prepare. But once their mission is complete, the Vords will have no further reason to delay.”

  “Tell me about Centurion Cato,” Brunus said, as the third javelin nicked its target, and a communal groan was heard. “What kind of man is he?”

  “He’s brave,” Usurlus answered honestly, “he tends to be very single-minded when pursuing a goal, and he cares about his subordinates. On the other hand, he has occasional problems dealing with alcohol, money, and authority. All of which explain why he’s rather old for his rank.”

  “Yet you promoted him,” Brunus observed, as his gun-barrel eyes bored into Usurlus. “Why?”

  Usurlus shrugged. “Because in spite of his many flaws, Cato is a man of honor. And honorable men are hard to find.”

  Brunus tested a spearpoint with one of his blunt thumbs before turning to look at Usurlus. The look had a knowing quality about it—as if the Emperor was thinking about his newly named Chief of Staff rather than Cato. “Yes, honorable men are hard to find. Come. . . . Team two is finished. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

  Brunus threw first. All three of his pila struck the target, with two strikes being classified as kills, while the third was scored as a hit.

  Oracus went second. Two of his javelins penetrated the target, one qualifying as a kill and one as a hit.

  Then it was time for Usurlus to throw. Each six-foot-long javelin had a sharp, three-edged point on a two-foot-long steel shank, which was attached to a four-foot-long composite shaft. Taken together, the weight of the various components added up to almost seven pounds—so a considerable amount of strength was required to use the weapon effectively. Throwing a pilum took skill as well, something Usurlus lacked because it had been at least ten years since he had participated in such a competition. And even then he hadn’t been very good at it.

  So as he stepped up to the line, then backed away, all he could do was try and maintain his dignity. And it wasn’t easy. The first javelin fell three feet short. And the second pilum landed point down in the turf some six feet beyond the man-shaped target. The throws were so bad they were met with grim silence rather than the usual insults.

  Having learned from his mistakes, Usurlus was fortunate enough to score a hit with the final shaft, thereby avoiding the ignominy of being the only officer to miss with every throw. Even if the other team still won.

  Brunus laughed as the last javelin hit the target in the crotch—and slapped Usurlus on the back. “Right in the balls! Not bad for a rear-echelon stylus pusher.”

  The other officers laughed appreciatively and were about to follow Brunus to the chow hall for some breakfast, when the Emperor raised a hand. His expression was serious—and so were his words. “Tribune Didus. . . . Notify the procurement department that the Uman-shaped targets currently in use are to be replaced by Vord silhouettes as soon as possible. This order will apply to all units, in all sectors, on all planets. Understood?”

  The Tribune’s expression was suitably grim. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “Good,” Brunus said. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

  TEN

  The city of Kybor, on the plan
et Therat

  FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT ON THE BALCONY OF A spindly one-hundred-foot-tall prayer tower, Fiss Verafti could look out over the city and marvel at how industrious its residents were. Kybor wasn’t especially beautiful, not by conventional Uman standards, but there was something about the steamy sprawl that he found to be appealing. Especially when compared to the sterile verticality of the skyscrapers clustered around the Imperial Tower on Corin. An environment he hated.

  Verafti knew that some three hundred years earlier, Kybor had been founded as a penal colony where Emperor Titus II could send citizens who objected to the manner in which Titus I had been murdered. Eventually, new Emperors took the throne, criminals were no longer being sent to Therat, and the people who lived there were granted citizenship.

  Since then, the discovery of zinc deposits containing high concentrations of the mineral sphalerite had brought a sort of shabby prosperity to Therat. Because sphalerite was the source of an important semiconductor named germanium, which was used in thousands of electronic devices and increasingly rare on the heavily mined core worlds.

  That was the good news. Unfortunately for the citizens of Kybor, it was the abundance of both germanium and the refineries required to produce it that attracted the Vords to Therat and caused them to occupy it. That decision was also intended to test the Umans to see what they would do, which, under Verafti’s questionable leadership, was nothing.

  The thought brought a smile to a face that looked exactly like Jak Cato’s. Except that his version of the Xeno cop was dressed in native garb that included a pillbox-style hat, a V-necked pullover shirt, a red vest complete with gold embroidery, trousers that were baggy at the thighs but tapered down to a tight fit at the ankles, and a pair of sturdy sandals. All of which helped him to blend in.

  But now, after having impersonated Nusk and subsequently switched identities several times prior to landing on Therat, it was time to tackle the most difficult problem of all. And that was to find a member of his own species who didn’t want to be found—and was hiding among the city’s population of approximately three million sentients.

  But as Verafti looked out over the city’s patchwork quilt of tile, metal, and duracrete rooftops, and across some of the city’s busy canals to the half-seen blur of germanium refineries to the north, he was looking forward to the task that confronted him. I know you’re out there, dearest, he said to himself, and I will find you. Then, with a whole planet to feed upon, we will eat our fill.

  Aboard the Vord destroyer Light of Yareel, in orbit around the planet Corin

  Cato didn’t like Vord police officer Pedor Umji, or Quati, his so-called advisor. And based on the emotional feedback coming his way, the feeling was mutual. But they were going to be stuck with each other during the three-week voyage to Therat, so Cato was determined to mask his contempt for Umji and keep the relationship civil. The task might prove to be difficult given the Vord’s abrasive manner.

  The Umans had just come aboard the destroyer and were standing in front of a pile of gray footlocker-sized trunks, when Umji spoke to them via a translator attached to his belt. There was a fraction of a second delay between the first version and the second. He was at least a foot shorter than most of his peers. Did that have something to do with what most Umans would regard as an obvious inferiority complex? Or was Vord psychology so completely different that comparisons couldn’t be made? There was no way to know.

  Umji’s face had a gaunt appearance, mainly because of his deep-set eyes and the way his dusky gray skin was pulled tight over prominent cheekbones. His “advisor,” a Ya named Quati, was midnight black. The parasite pulsated rhythmically as it injected both stimulants and waste products into Umji’s bloodstream.

  The Vord’s uniform consisted of a shapeless cloth hat with a shiny zigzag-shaped lightning bolt pinned to the front of it, plus a broad-shouldered jacket and jodhpur-like trousers that were tucked into knee-high boots. Cato, Shani, and Officer Valentine Keen knew that Umji’s true feelings were at odds with the words that came out of his mouth.

  “Welcome to the warship Light of Yareel. Before I can show you to your quarters, it will first be necessary to surrender your weapons. As you can see,” the Vord said as he gestured toward an open box, “a storage container has been provided for that purpose. It will remain sealed for the duration of the voyage. Once we reach Therat, your weapons will be returned to you. Are there any questions?”

  Cato and Shani were reluctant to part with their sidearms and backup pistols. Still, they knew such a precaution was to be expected, so there was no point in complaining.

  Keen had short blond hair, a moonlike face, and a stocky body. He looked to Cato and Shani for guidance, saw his superiors release their gun belts, and followed their example.

  “I believe you brought other weapons as well?” Umji inquired. “In addition to body armor, com equipment, and related gear?”

  “Yes,” Cato conceded. “All of it is stored in the cases marked SQUAD 1 and SQUAD 2.”

  “Those containers will be sealed and locked away,” Umji said sternly. “Now, please be so kind as to remove your clothing, so I can verify the fact that you are unarmed.”

  Cato glanced at Alamy and Shani, saw their disapproving expressions, and looked back again. “It was my understanding that we were to be treated as guests,” he said. “And a strip search constitutes an insult within Uman culture.”

  “That may be,” Umji allowed coldly, “but on the Light of Yareel, you are subject to our culture. So you will comply, and do so quickly, before I lose my patience. If it makes you feel any better, I can assure you that I have absolutely no interest in whatever passes for Uman sex.”

  “If we must, we must,” Keen proclaimed cheerfully as he eyed Alamy and began to disrobe. Cato could “feel” the other man’s unabashed interest in Alamy and wanted to intervene somehow. But to do so would reaffirm his status as her owner and signal the fact that they were lovers. Would that please Alamy? Or make her feel resentful? He wasn’t sure.

  Then there was the way such an admission might impact his relationship with Shani. They weren’t lovers, but he knew she would be willing, and he wasn’t ready to completely foreclose such a possibility. The situation was hellishly complicated, and as all four of them took their clothes off, Cato wished he was somewhere else.

  Cato made a point out of looking away, but as he removed his clothing, he couldn’t help but imagine what Shani would look like without hers. A bit more angular than Alamy, he imagined, with smaller breasts and skinny legs.

  Then Cato remembered that Shani might be able to pick up on his emotions from the other side of the room and ordered himself to think about something else. But when he tried to do so, an image of Alamy without any clothes on popped up, and he was in trouble again. And so was Keen, whose thoughts were anything but pure, and he continued to eye Alamy out of the corner of his eye until Cato cleared his throat and sent him a dirty look.

  Fortunately for the Umans, Umji’s inspection was much less intrusive than a similar check by their own law-enforcement officers might have been, so it wasn’t long before they were given permission to get dressed and place their luggage on a robo cart. It followed along behind as Umji led the Umans through a maze of passageways. It was a big ship, and there were lots of Vords in the corridors, most of whom radiated undisguised hostility. That made sense since the aliens had been raised to believe that their race was not only superior to all others but destined to rule the galaxy.

  Cato knew that the Light of Yareel was far too large to pass through a planetary atmosphere and had an H-shaped hull. He made an attempt to memorize the path that took them across the bridge that connected Hull 1 to Hull 2, but there were far too many turns, and he was thoroughly lost by the time they arrived in front of a storage compartment.

  Uman-style metal bed frames had been spot welded to the deck, along with a communal work/eating table and some bench seats. Four Vord-style lockers had been secured to a bulkhead,
a large crate of field rations occupied the far corner, and the single sink was equipped with some sort of zero-gee hose arrangement that was unlike anything Cato had seen before. “What about the head?” Shani wanted to know.

  Umji frowned. “The what?”

  “A place to take a shit,” Keen said helpfully.

  “It’s next door,” Umji replied distastefully. “Other than that, you are to remain in this compartment at all times. Your actions will be monitored—and if you leave the area, I will know.”

  “Terrific,” Cato replied sarcastically. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes,” Umji replied without the slightest trace of irony. “Have a nice trip.”

  The city of Kybor, on the planet Therat

  What had begun as a medium-sized cave hundreds of years before had been gradually enlarged until the domed room could accommodate more than five hundred true believers. Such a crowd was rare, of course, since most of the Rahati cult’s thirty thousand members were busy working, but this was the “Day of the Feast,” so the cavern was packed with worshippers.

  What light there was emanated from the flickering oil lamps mounted on the rocky side walls, ropes of multicolored lights that crisscrossed the area over the supplicants’ heads, and the green glow-rods that the heavily armed ushers wore thrust through their broad leather belts.

  The result was a warm glow that glazed the surface of the massive altar that dominated the front of the space, while the corners of the room fell into darkness. Complex stonework served to frame the graven image of the goddess Rahati, complete with all three of her faces. The beast, its fangs bared, stared out at those who worshipped it. To either side of the central image, the idealized profiles of a man and a woman could be seen, looking in opposite directions.