Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  Then it was time for the scarecrow to back up the duracrete slope and out of the pit, as flames shot up through the metal framework to embrace the tightly wrapped corpse, making it disappear. There was a loud crackling noise, followed by intermittent pops when bits of fat exploded, and a throaty roar as a column of smoke rose to merge with the quickly darkening sky. Cato completed the salute, and Shani did likewise, as Alamy made use of a handkerchief to wipe her tears away. And that was when the Rahati assassins struck.

  They were led by a man named Kar Hotha. He was a hunter. A man known for his skill in the jungle—which he considered his friend. Like the rest, his face was decorated with death paint, and he was armed with a machine pistol and a razor-sharp bush knife. The idea was to close with the off-worlders quickly and do Rahati’s bidding with a minimum of fuss.

  It had been Rahati’s idea to monitor the daily list of funerals, figure out which was related to the dead police officer, then lie in wait. “They will feel sad,” she had predicted. “So sad that they will focus on little else. That will be your chance.”

  And, as with all things, the goddess was correct. Because as the funeral pyre was lit, and the off-worlders said good-bye to their friend, Hotha and his companions had been able to belly crawl to a point within fifty feet of the fire pit. And as the hunter uttered a low whistle, they rose and charged forward.

  It was a good plan, and one that would have worked flawlessly had it not been for a sudden shift in the wind that sent a pall of smoke drifting out in front of them. But Hotha had a pretty good idea where his targets were and opened fire on them as he charged into the smoke. The rest of the seven-person team did likewise, which was unfortunate for the Flame Master, who jerked convulsively as he took half a dozen bullets. He then fell, rolling down the slope and into his own fire pit. The flames welcomed him, fed on his flesh, and crackled happily.

  “We’re taking fire!” Shani shouted, and grabbed onto Alamy’s wrist with one hand as she drew her pistol with the other.

  Cato turned toward the car and swore as it pulled away. Was that by design? Or was the driver simply trying to save his ass? There was no way to know. “The headstones!” he shouted. “We need some cover.”

  All three ran as the machine pistols rattled, and bullets threw up geysers of dirt all around them. Cato passed between two tombs, circled around behind one, and turned to face his attackers. The Rahaties were free of the smoke by then, still running, and still firing. Or some were anyway, because the fully automatic pistols ate ammo quickly, and a couple of assassins had paused to reload.

  Cato took a marksman’s stance, chose a target, and squeezed the trigger twice. The pistol jumped in his hands, and the man went down. Then it was time to turn and run as the assassins fired in return. Chips of granite stung the right side of his face as projectiles hit the tomb to his right and bounced away.

  The markers, headstones, and tombs were like a vast maze, and as Cato dodged back and forth between them, he took occasional comfort from the distinctive bark of Shani’s service pistol and the knowledge that Alamy was with her.

  Shani slipped behind an obelisk-shaped monument, spotted a flash of movement, and fired. She heard someone cry out, smiled grimly, and gestured for Alamy to follow her. The slave obeyed, but as the police officer dashed between a row of identical headstones, she heard Alamy call out and looked back to see that she had fallen. A bullet in the back perhaps? No, the other woman was back on her feet and running again.

  Shani rounded a huge piece of statuary and turned to look back. Two men were directly behind Alamy and closing with her. The police officer had a clean shot at one of them. She brought her weapon up, and was about to squeeze off a shot, when something kept her from pulling the trigger. What happened next seemed to occur in slow motion.

  As Shani stood and watched, the men caught up with Alamy. One of them grabbed the slave, swore when she turned to claw his face, and hit her with his gun.

  Alamy fell, giving Shani a clear shot at both assailants. But even though she knew she should fire, the police officer couldn’t bring herself to do so and knew why. Cato was in love with Alamy even if he wouldn’t or couldn’t admit it. Which meant that what she wanted most in the world wasn’t going to happen. Not so long as the slave was alive.

  The first man, the one who had three diagonal scratches across his face, took aim at Alamy. But, when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. The magazine was empty.

  So the man swore, drew his bush knife with the other hand, and raised it high. That was when Shani heard the second assassin say, “No!” as he raised his weapon to block the downward stroke.

  Then Shani heard the familiar blam, blam, blam of Cato’s pistol followed by the sound of his voice. Judging from the strength of it, he wasn’t far away. “Shani? Alamy? If you can hear, don’t answer. I think five of the bastards are down. Watch yourselves. . . . There are more of them. Two or three at a guess.”

  Shani opened her mouth to reply but closed it again as the men took the other woman by the arms and jerked her off the ground. Then, dragging her between them, they hauled Alamy away.

  SIXTEEN

  The city of Kybor, on the planet Therat

  THE TRIP FROM THE GRAVEYARD INTO TOWN WAS both somber and dangerous. Somber because even though Shani had seen the assassins grab Alamy and given chase—she’d been unable to catch up with them as they had disappeared into the night and a maze of headstones. So there was a hole where the bottom of Cato’s stomach should have been. And he was so preoccupied by all of the horrible things that could be happening to Alamy that he was barely aware of the fact that people were taking potshots at the Vord vehicle as it wound its way through the city. The aliens had responded to Cato’s request for assistance, but the fighting had delayed them, and they had arrived too late to offer anything more than transportation.

  The large-caliber bullets made a clanging sound as they struck the truck. The smaller stuff rattled insistently but bounced off the vehicle’s armored skin as the turret gunner fired short bursts in response. But then there was a loud boom as something big slammed into the truck and threw the Umans against the left side of the passenger compartment. The force of the impact lifted the tires on the right side of vehicle off the ground and nearly tipped it over. “Sonofabitch,” Cato said, as the run-flat tires slammed back down. “What the hell is going on?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Shani replied irritably as she tightened her harness. “While we were at the graveyard, a Sagathi and a team of Rahati assassins attacked the governmental complex. All of the Umans were killed, but the shifter got away.”

  “Naturally,” Cato commented sourly. “Who were they after? The commissioners?”

  Shani nodded toward the driver’s compartment, where a haughty-looking Vord officer and his Ya were seated on the passenger side. “All I know is what they told me . . . but it sounds like there wasn’t any objective to speak of. They forced their way in, shot the place up, and got themselves killed.”

  “The Umans got killed,” Cato observed grimly. “Our Sagathi friends aren’t stupid. You can bet they had a reason. But never mind that . . . Why are people shooting at us?”

  “It looks like the attack on the government complex brought all sorts of resistance groups out of the woodwork,” Shani replied. “And they’re shooting at every Vord they see. This vehicle included.”

  Cato’s thoughts turned to Governor Arrius and his resistance fighters. Were they involved in the fighting? Or were they keeping their powder dry and waiting for a chance to do something meaningful? He feared the first possibility and hoped for the second. Because if Shani and he were to find the Sagathies, they would need more help than the hard-pressed Vords could possibly provide.

  The combat car swerved in order to circumvent an improvised roadblock, lurched through a hail of rocks that rattled all around, and bounced over what might have been a Uman body. “We’re almost there!” the officer shouted from the front
seat. “Get ready to jump.”

  So Cato and Shani released their seat belts and positioned themselves next to the side opening. They were ready when the vehicle screeched to a halt. The door slid open, they hopped out, and Cato pushed it closed. Then the combat car was off and running as gunfire echoed throughout the city.

  The police officers dashed across the sidewalk to the front door of the apartment building, ran upstairs, and opened the unpainted door. The living room was just as they had left it, which was to say messy, and empty without Alamy.

  There was a distinct possibility that the apartment had been bugged by the Vords. So as Cato dropped into a chair, he was careful to keep his voice down. “There’s a chance that the Rahaties killed Alamy. But the fact that they took her argues against that. And if she’s alive, we’re going to need help in order to find her. How many Rahati temples are there anyway? A dozen? Two dozen? I don’t have a clue. She could be in any one of them—or at some other location.”

  “Should we look for Alamy?” Shani inquired innocently. “Or should we look for the shifters? On the theory that if she’s alive, they’ll be nearby.”

  “We’ll look for both,” Cato concluded. “And take whatever we get . . .”

  He was about to say more, but someone banged on the front door and rattled the knob. The police officers made eye contact, drew their weapons, and took up positions to either side of the doorway. It was Cato who took a peek through the peephole, undid the lock, and pulled the barrier open. It quickly became apparent that Umji had been leaning on the door, as he fell inside.

  Cato bent over to help the Vord police officer up onto his feet as Shani eyed both the landing and the stairs. They were clear, so she closed the door and locked it while Cato helped Umji across the room. “What’s wrong?” the Xeno cop inquired. “Are you wounded?”

  “Yes,” Umji replied as he slumped into a chair. “Though not in the way you mean. Now listen, and listen carefully, because the fate of the people living on this planet depends on you. And I mean all of the people. Vord and Umans alike.”

  Cato frowned as an explosion rattled the windows. “I don’t see how that’s possible—but I’m listening.”

  Umji doubled over, as if in pain, then straightened again. His words came in short bursts. “There was an attack. . . . On the government complex. It was led by a Sagathi. It got away. The commissioners are frightened. What if the shape shifters get off planet? No one would be safe. Not even our leaders. What happened to Emperor Emor could happen to them.”

  At that point, Umji jerked convulsively, as if an electric shock had been sent through his body, and the next words came through gritted teeth. “Sorry . . . Quati believes I’m a traitor. He’s killing me. I don’t have long to live.”

  Cato was kneeling next to the Vord’s chair. He looked at Shani and back again. Because Umji spoke for both of them, he hadn’t spent much time thinking about the fact that the sluglike Ya was a sentient being in its own right. And that, he realized now, had been a mistake. Judging from the rapid manner in which the parasite was contracting and expanding, it was pumping something into Umji’s bloodstream. Toxins? Yes, that made sense.

  Shani produced a knife, flicked it open, and pressed the point against the Ya’s glistening skin. “No!” Umji said. “It’s too late. Now listen . . . A convoy is going to take the commissioners to the spaceport at about four in the morning.

  “Once the group boards the shuttle and lifts off the planet, they will be taken aboard the battle cruiser Annihilator . That’s when the bombardment will begin. The plan is to glass Therat and everyone on the surface. Vords included.”

  “So that’s why you came to us,” Cato concluded. “Because the commissioners are willing to massacre their own people in order to kill the shifters.”

  “Yesss,” Umji replied as his eyelids fluttered and another convulsion racked his body. “Quati and I were to lift with them . . . but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. We’re police officers. Our job is to protect people, not kill them.”

  “We’ll get medical help,” Cato said. “We’ll . . .”

  “No!” Umji said emphatically as his pain-filled eyes bored into Cato’s. “Go . . . stop them. Find a way to save my people. And yours.”

  At that point, Umji’s feet beat a brief tattoo on the floor before a final convulsion took his life. But the Ya was still alive, and Cato could “feel” the hatred that emanated from it until Shani pushed her knife in deep, and the emotional emanations came to an abrupt end. Green goo spurted out onto Umji’s chest as the blade was withdrawn.

  Cato looked up, and was about to chew Shani out, when he realized that it wouldn’t do any good. Shani was Shani. Not to mention the fact that Quati was a murderer. “All right,” Cato said as he lurched to his feet. “If we had a need to contact Governor Arrius earlier—we need him even more now. We’ve got to intercept the commissioners and prevent the Annihilator from dropping those bombs.”

  “But what about Alamy?” Shani inquired. “Shouldn’t we go looking for her?”

  “I want to,” Cato answered. “Believe me, I do. But that will have to wait.”

  Shani nodded obediently, and replied, “Yes, sir. . . . That makes sense.”

  It was a little past three in the morning, and the city was in a state of chaos. The Vords were trying to keep the lid on, but there weren’t enough of them to keep the city under control, and there was fighting in the streets. Not just between Umans and Vords, but among criminal gangs, and competing resistance groups. Because even though the presence of the occupying Vords should have been enough to unite them, some of the Umans wanted complete independence and saw the current situation as an opportunity to break free of the Empire.

  So as Governor Arrius and his fighters drove through the city, their vehicles came under occasional fire. But given the importance of the mission they were on, they didn’t fire back.

  It had taken hours to contact Arrius, gather all of the necessary supplies, and put everything in motion. So, as precious minutes continued to come off the clock, Cato battled the desire to start yelling at people. Because that would not only be pointless but counterproductive in a situation where he was trying to build unit cohesion, not destroy it. Still, meaningless as it was, Cato found himself turning to Arrius and asking the same question all over again. “How much longer?”

  “About ten minutes,” Arrius assured him, as the five-vehicle convoy turned a corner and something heavy hit the roof. “Don’t worry, Centurion Cato, we’ll get there in time.”

  Cato believed the politician but knew that reaching the ambush site in time, and destroying the Vord convoy, were two different things. However, there was no point in saying that, so he didn’t.

  True to the governor’s word, the vehicles came to a halt one block away from the ambush site with forty-five seconds to spare. “Keep a sharp lookout,” Cato said over the jury-rigged radio system as he opened the door to get out of the car. “And be ready to leave on a moment’s notice. Section Leader Shani will be in command while I’m gone.” Cato heard a series of clicks and “Okays” by way of replies.

  Even though some of them had been shot out, most of the city’s streetlights were still on, as was the orbital reflector. Though a layer of clouds was blocking some of the illumination the big mirror would otherwise provide. So as Cato, Governor Arrius, and the man called Bif got out of the Vord-manufactured vehicle, there was enough light to see by.

  They were in among the strip of five- to ten-story buildings that lined the south side of Commerce Avenue, the road that led from the governmental complex to the spaceport. Most of the structures belonged to businesses—and were therefore dark given the early hour. So there was no foot traffic to contend with as the three men jogged around the corner, ran half a block, and arrived on Commerce. An orange maintenance truck was parked in the middle of the street. Its hazard lights were flashing, luminescent barriers had been set up, and it looked as though the crew was working down below street le
vel.

  “There they are!” Arrius said happily, “just like I told you. Lots of the city’s workers belong to the resistance movement.”

  “You told me they’d be done by now and clear of the area,” Cato said critically as he glanced at his watch. “We have no way to know if the commissioners will leave early.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Arrius said soothingly. “Take cover by that building, and I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

  It was a full ten minutes before Arrius came back from the middle of the street. “The wiring is taking longer than expected,” he said. “But another five minutes will do. That’s when the crew will pack up and pull out. Here’s the remote.”

  “Excuse me, sire,” Cato responded, “but that’s bullshit! Because if the convoy appears, I’m going to press this button! You tell them to finish up and run like hell.”

  Arrius wasn’t used to taking orders from junior officers, felt a surge of anger, and was about say something when Cato smiled. The expression took on a ghastly appearance thanks to the glow of the green-blue streetlights. “Sorry, sire. . . . Please tell them to run like hell.”

  Arrius laughed, took off at a jog, and was back in the middle of the street when a thrumming noise was heard. A Vord air car flashed overhead, clearly headed for the spaceport. “It’s a scout!” Cato shouted. “The convoy will be right behind it. Tell everyone to get out of there!”

  Arrius could be seen bending over the open manhole. Then half a dozen people came boiling up out of the ground and took off in a variety of directions. “Good work,” Cato said, as Arrius arrived back on the street corner.

  “Here they come,” Arrius said, as the two men peered around the corner of the building where they had taken shelter. “May they rot in hell.”