Cato knew she was frightened, just as he was, and was impressed by her courage. In all his years as both a legionnaire and a cop, he had never been paired with a better partner. He grinned. “Were you born? Or issued? Come on. . . . Let’s drop in on the goddess Rahati and say hello.”
Governor Arrius and the Centurion in charge of the police cordon were there to escort the pair as they walked up the street, through the pool of light at the intersection, and over to the heavily guarded gate. Cato could “feel” what the nearest cops felt—which was happy that they weren’t going in. He looked from face to face. “Any signs of activity?”
“No, sir,” a burly cop answered. “It’s quiet as a tomb.”
“Just what I wanted to hear,” Shani deadpanned, as Cato turned to the Centurion.
“Order everyone to come out with their hands on top of their heads. It’s ridiculous, I realize that, but we’re going by the book.”
So the Centurion raised his megaphone, gave the necessary orders, and told whoever might be listening that they had three minutes to come out with their hands on their heads. Time seemed to slow as all 180 came off the clock. Finally, having timed the interval with his wrist chron, the Centurion nodded. “Time’s up. . . . You can go in.”
“Lucky us,” Shani said, as the gate squealed open. “This should be fun.”
As they crossed the open area beyond, Cato half expected a group of murderous Rahaties to burst through the door, guns blazing. But, with the exception of the distant pop, pop, pop of gunfire from gang warfare, everything was quiet.
Once they had taken up positions to either side of the door, Shani pumped a shell into the chamber of her shotgun. “Shall I knock on the door?”
“Hold that thought,” Cato replied as he reached out to try the lever-style handle. The door opened easily.
“Damn,” Shani said. “Either we came to the wrong place—or the shifters can’t wait to see us.”
“Yeah,” Cato answered laconically as he pushed the door open. “Cover me.”
The blob of white light thrown by Cato’s helmet preceded him as he slipped through the door into a dimly lit lobby. His visor was down and the only sources of heat visible on his HUD were two oil lamps, one located to the left and one to the right, each marking a doorway.
Cato’s headlamp played across a colorful painting that covered the wall between the doors. From what he could see, the well-executed mural was meant to show how wonderful life on Therat would be if the goddess Rahati were in charge. Her throne was sitting on top of a flat-topped pyramid. Each of her three faces was looking in a different direction as the sun rose directly behind her and thousands of adoring worshippers looked on.
“Left?” Shani inquired pragmatically. “Or right?”
“Left,” Cato answered as he angled across the lobby to the open door. So far nothing was the way he had imagined it. No forced entry, no gun battle with a group of fanatical Rahaties, and no confrontation with the shifters. Maybe his central assumption was wrong. Perhaps the Sagathies wanted to hide rather than fight.
That theory seemed all the more likely as Cato entered the large room beyond. It had a high ceiling supported by thick pillars. Widely spaced lamps threw arcs of light onto the splotchy green walls. The floor was covered with dozens of overlapping area rugs. But judging from the absence of heat signatures, none of the Rahaties were present. “Damn it,” Cato said as he lowered his shotgun. “It looks like—”
That was when a whirring noise was heard, and a silvery sphere drifted out from behind one of the columns. Light from Cato’s headlamp reflected off the drone’s metal skin as it hovered over their heads. “Officer Cato?” a masculine voice said, as Shani tracked the ball with her shotgun. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” Cato responded gravely. “It’s me.”
“Good,” the voice replied. “Even though you aren’t especially intelligent, you are persistent. Or should I say ‘were’? Since Demeni and I plan to eat you for breakfast.”
Cato was about to respond when a single spot came on. The previously dark altar was flooded with light. “Look!” Shani said. “There’s an opening in the floor.”
Cato brought the shotgun up. “There’s a saying where I come from,” he said. “Be careful what you ask for.” And with that, he pulled the trigger. There was a loud boom as the drone exploded and showered the room with metal confetti.
At that point Cato pressed the transmit button on his radio. “This is Cato. Do you read me? Over.”
“We read you,” Governor Arrius replied. “And we heard a muffled thump. Over.”
“We have contact,” Cato replied as he approached the altar. “There’s an opening in the floor. We’re going down. I suggest that you put some people to work sealing off the surrounding sewers and storm drains. Over.”
“Understood,” Arrius replied. “But that will take hours if not an entire day. Over.”
“Roger that, but do the best you can,” Cato said. “It’s my guess that the shifters plan to use an underground escape route. That’s why they let us surround the temple without a fight. Over.”
“Be careful,” came the reply. “We’ll seal everything off as quickly as we can.”
Cato clicked the transmit button twice by way of a reply. Then, knowing who and what he was up against, the Xeno cop brought the shotgun around so that it was pointed at the lifelike replica of the goddess Rahati. She was seated just beyond the black rectangle. A single blast was enough to blow her head off. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, given that he couldn’t “feel” any emotions emanating from the statue, but it felt good nevertheless.
Then, secure in the knowledge that the graven image wasn’t going to come to life, Cato removed a ball-bearing-sized flash-bang from a pocket in his vest, squeezed it twice, and dropped the device into the black hole. There was a flash of light followed by a loud bang. Hopefully, if someone was lurking down below, they would be momentarily blinded and disoriented as well.
Cato went down the stairs first, fully expecting some sort of attack. It was pitch-black down below, or would have been without his night-vision capability and the beam from his helmet light. The air was not only stale but smelled bad. The foul odor reminded Cato of Emperor Emor’s apartment after Verafti had been in residence.
Shani joined him, and the beams from their headlamps crisscrossed as they followed the narrow corridor toward what Cato’s HUD claimed was west. Three inches of water covered the floor, and Cato’s boots made splashing noises as he pushed on. The ceiling was oppressively low, and the walls were made of brick, suggesting that the structure might date back to the colonial period. The toe of Cato’s right boot made contact with something and sent the object skittering ahead. A blob of light splashed the floor as he tilted his head down. That was when he realized that the object in question was a bone. It was too long and too thick to be Uman. Vord then? Quite possibly—although there was no way to be sure.
A wall appeared ahead, leaving Cato with no choice but to turn left and hope for the best. Something slithered through the water, entered a hole between two bricks, and disappeared. Cato had the momentary impression of a dim intelligence eternally driven by hunger.
Then it was time to peek around another corner to make sure there wasn’t an ambush waiting for him, before making the necessary turn. This corridor was wider, and as Cato’s headlamp threw a wash of light across the wall to the right, he saw an unexpected sign. The white letters were faded but still legible. FADO’S BAR & GRILL.
Had there been stairs down from street level in the distant past? That appeared to be the case as a double-wide doorway appeared. “Careful,” Shani cautioned. “I can’t get a clear reading yet . . . but I’m pretty sure we have company.”
Cato could feel it, too. A seething cocktail of volatile emotions. He slipped two shells into the shotgun’s magazine to replace those fired earlier. His heart skipped a beat as Verafti spoke. The hoarse-sounding voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere a
t the same time. “Demeni said you wouldn’t come. She said nobody, not even a Uman, could be that stupid. I told her she was wrong, that you are that stupid, and I was right!” he said triumphantly.
Shani pulled a flare and held it up for Cato to see. He shook his head. Tempting though the idea was, a flare would illuminate everything, including them. With that in mind, he reached up to kill the headlamp, and Shani did likewise. The night-vision technology built in their helmets would have to do.
Water sloshed away from Cato’s boots as he stepped into the blackness beyond. He looked left, then right, as lights at the far end of the rectangular room came on. Cato brought the shotgun up, saw three people standing on what had once been a stage, and froze. All three of them looked like Alamy! Naked Alamys, wrists tied to hooks in the ceiling, all of whom were clearly terrified. Cato’s heart soared as he realized that one of them was the real thing. Alamy was alive! But which one? It was impossible to tell the beings apart given the way their emotions overlapped each other’s.
The Sagathies wanted him to come closer. Then they would strike. In the meantime he couldn’t fire for fear of hitting the woman he loved. That was when the Alamy on the right spoke. “Jak? Is that you? Kill all of us! It’s the only way.”
There was a splash as the shotgun fell, followed by a soft whisper as Cato drew a pistol. Alamy was the only one of the three who would say something like that, so he knew it was safe to fire at the woman to her right. But the shot was hurried, and the bullet hit Demeni in the shoulder rather than the chest. In spite of appearances to the contrary, her wrists weren’t tied. That became apparent as she staggered and fell over backward. Verafti produced a roar of bestial outrage and threw himself forward.
Cato fired, but missed, and felt the pistol fly from his hand as an exact likeness of Alamy crashed into him. Except that this was a stronger Alamy, one who had razor-sharp teeth and three-inch claws. The impact sent Cato reeling.
He’d never seen a shifter half morph before, but knew Verafti couldn’t revert to his true form without losing his right hand, thereby placing himself at a tremendous disadvantage. Cato was grateful for the helmet as he fell, hit the back of his head on the concrete floor, and felt the fake Alamy pin his wrists. Then her teeth were at his throat as she brought her right knee up between his legs. Cato felt an explosion of pain as the quickly gathering darkness threatened to pull him down.
As Verafti charged off the stage and threw himself at Cato, Demeni was already getting up off the floor. Like Cato, Shani couldn’t fire the shotgun without running the risk of hitting Alamy as well. So she dropped the weapon and ran forward. Shani had had the opportunity to kill both Alamys and wasn’t entirely sure why she hadn’t as she jumped onto the stage.
Unlike the other two, Alamy’s wrists were tied to a ceiling-mounted hook, which meant she couldn’t escape. Demeni morphed into her true form and turned in her direction. Blood was dribbling out of the hole in her shoulder, but the Sagathi was in no way disabled as she threw herself at Alamy.
Time seemed to slow as Shani entered the gap. Not for Alamy, but for the man who loved Alamy and could never be happy without her. The pistol was out, and about to come into alignment, but not soon enough.
Demeni stopped. Her right hand went back. Razor-sharp claws cleaved the air. Shani felt something tug at her throat. She saw a curtain of blood spray the stage and “felt” Demeni’s bloodlust. The lights went out of focus. Shani fell through the floor. Or that was the way it felt. There was no pain. Just a wistfulness. Why Alamy? Why not her? Then it was over.
As Alamy reared back, blood dripping from her razor sharp teeth, Cato saw his chance. The pink-tipped breast was only inches from his mouth. He bit into her nipple, heard Verafti scream, and threw the shape shifter off. Then, ignoring the pain where his neck had been ripped open, Cato scrambled to his feet.
What looked like Alamy stood as well, one hand cupping her bloody breast, as Cato drew the second pistol. He had already fired once and missed by the time Verafti shifted into the form of an Esselon Dire Beast.
But the second, third, and fourth bullets were on target as the vicious carnivore took to the air and launched itself at Cato. There was a mighty splash as it fell, twitched once, and lay motionless in the water.
That was when Cato looked up, saw Demeni step in front of Alamy, and knew there wasn’t time to save her. Or so it seemed until Alamy brought both of her bare feet up and kicked the shape shifter in the chest!
Demeni toppled over backward and was still in the process of falling when Cato shot her four times. Each bullet threw up a geyser of blood, until the Sagathi landed and the water seemed to explode. Demeni’s eyes stared sightlessly into the bright lights, and as she died, another shape shifter died, deep within her body.
Cato pushed the visor up as he made his way onto the stage. His knife made quick work of the ropes on Alamy’s wrists. Then she was in his arms, sobbing convulsively and shaking like a leaf. “You came! You really came. I prayed that you would. . . . Then I prayed that you wouldn’t, knowing they would try to kill you. I’m so sorry.”
Cato held her close. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he said gently, “other than the fact that it took us so long to get here.”
“Shani saved me,” Alamy said sadly, as she turned to look at the Xeno cop’s body. “I didn’t think she liked me—but I guess I was wrong.”
“Yeah,” Cato said regretfully. “I’m going to miss her. Come on. . . . Let’s get out of here.”
“Not yet,” Alamy said firmly, as she bent to scoop up one of Shani’s pistols. Then, gun in hand, she shot both shape shifters once in the head. “There,” she said, as the echoes of the second shot died away. “Now I’ll be able to sleep at night.”
“Good,” Cato said. “Jump on my back . . . I’ll carry you out of here.”
Alamy wrapped her arms around herself. “Are people waiting up above?”
Cato nodded. “Lots of people. Out on the street.”
“Then I need some clothes.”
“We’ll find something on the floor above,” Cato predicted. “It’s my guess that you and the goddess Rahati are about the same size.”
The city of Imperialus, on the planet Corin
More than three months had passed since the harrowing night under the streets of old town in Kybor, the restoration of Imperial rule on Therat, and the subsequent arrival of a naval battle group. Unfortunately, war with the aliens was still extremely likely, but thanks to Emperor Brunus, the Empire had strong leadership and was more prepared with each passing day.
All of that was important, but not as important as the ceremony about to take place on a raised platform in front of the smartly uniformed 3rd Legion. The much-celebrated organization of which the Xeno Corps was part.
Alamy was seated next to Chief of Staff Isulu Usurlus, along with half a dozen senior officers and as many politicians, all of whom were present to honor Centurion Jak Cato. Her Jak Cato.
As Alamy looked out over the glittering troops to the lake and the crater wall beyond, she felt a tremendous sense of pride and wonder. Because somehow, unlikely though such an outcome seemed, she had been elevated from sandal maker to the head of a household on Corin. A place where even slaves such as her could earn a modicum of respect.
Alamy’s thoughts were interrupted by a blare of trumpets as Tribune Hathis completed his introduction, and Emperor Brunus Emor stood. He was a sturdy man, who had fought on many worlds, and was much loved by his troops. There was a noise similar to rolling thunder as thousands of fists made contact with brightly polished chest plates.
The real Brunus smiled as news cams hovered all around him—and the giant images on screens to either side of him smiled as well. “Greetings,” Brunus said as he looked out over the assembled legionnaires. “The men and women of the 3rd have had many proud days, the defense of Maago, the charge at Cylon, and the taking of Tygo being excellent examples.
“But this day, and this victory are esp
ecially noteworthy, as are the actions of Legionnaire Valentine Keen, Section Leader Yar Shani, and Centurion Jak Cato. Together, they tracked two dangerous criminals to an enemy-held planet where, with assistance from Governor Arrius and his valiant resistance fighters, Centurion Cato and Section Leader Shani led a successful assault on the Vord battle cruiser Annihilator.
“That accomplishment alone is worth celebrating,” Brunus continued, “but consistent with the 3rd’s motto ‘never give up’ these military police officers went on to find, battle, and ultimately kill two escaped criminals. Unfortunately, both Legionnaire Keen and Section Leader Shani were killed in action. But it is my honor to call Centurion Cato forward to be recognized by a grateful Empire.”
Cato heard his fellow legionnaires pound their chests and felt slightly dizzy as he stood and crossed the platform to the spot where the Emperor was standing. Like it or not, he could “feel” what Brunus felt, which was a genuine sense of pride. He was about to bow when the Emperor preempted the move with a soldierly forearm-to-forearm grip. “Centurion Cato,” Brunus said formally, as Usurlus appeared at his side, “it is my pleasure to award you the Legion of Honor. As you know, it’s the highest decoration that a member of the military can receive for actions above and beyond the call of duty.”
Cato felt a profound sense of embarrassment and pride as he bent his head so that Usurlus could place the ribbon and medal around his neck.
“Furthermore,” Brunus continued, “I would like to be the first to congratulate you on your promotion to Primus Pilus with responsibility for all Xeno Corps operations on Corin.”
That announcement was sufficient to elicit another round of chest pounding from all of the assembled legionnaires, except for Tuso Inobo, who, having been left in place up until that point, had been hoping that his failures would go unpunished.
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