At Empire's Edge (11 page)

The first body Cato came across was that of Officer Kath Larsy. She was lying just outside the main entrance to the building, and it didn’t take a medical degree to figure out that she’d been killed by multiple energy bolts to the chest. Larsy’s once-shapely body was swollen by internal gases, and because her face had been made unrecognizable by scavengers, Cato would have been unable to positively identify the body had it not been for the name tag sewn to her uniform.

The way Larsy looked, combined with the way she smelled, brought Cato’s breakfast up. He turned, walked a few feet away, and threw up. Then, having rinsed his mouth with water from his canteen, he made a conscious effort to enter the neutral-observer mode, and went back to work.

After removing the camcorder from a cargo pocket, and clipping a wireless mike to his body armor, Cato began to narrate the video as he shot it. “Judging from the stains visible around Officer Larsy’s corpse, it looks as though the body is where it was at the moment of death, lying faceup in front of the main entrance to the building. That, plus the entry wounds on the front of her body, suggest that the fatal blaster bolts originated from
inside
Station 3. If true, it would indicate that the prisoner got loose somehow, or that a person or persons unknown were allowed to enter the building. A third, but less likely scenario, would be some sort of disagreement that resulted in a firefight between members of the team.”

Having examined Larsy’s body, Cato pushed the door open, and was nearly overwhelmed by the stench that awaited him within. It was so bad that he was forced to back away and wait for the smell to dissipate before trying again.

Based on the strength of the input from his sixth sense, Cato knew that while the “other” presence was still in the area, he, she, or it was a long ways off. So rather than take the shotgun with him, he left the weapon propped just inside the door as he reentered the building.

Once inside, the first thing Cato noticed was the blaster burns on the inside surface of the front door. He brought the camcorder up to document the scorch marks while resuming the narration. “The burns visible on the inside surface of the door seem to support the thesis that the person or persons who shot Officer Larsy were already inside the building when they opened fire,” Cato said grimly.

Then, having noticed the bloodstains near his feet, Cato tilted the camera down. “Here, just inside the front door, is what appears to be a large quantity of dried blood. And, given the absence of a body or bodies at this particular location, there is a distinct possibility that one or more of the intruders were wounded or killed and removed from the crime scene subsequent to a firefight. That theory will be confirmed,” Cato continued, “if I can account for the rest of the team members.”

The next thing that caught Cato’s attention was the glaring absence of both Fiss Verafti
and
his containment. “The prisoner’s cage was located right
here
,” Cato commented grimly, as the camcorder’s light panned a section of empty floor. “And it’s missing, which would seem to suggest that rather than escaping on his own, Verafti was
freed
. Or if not freed, then removed to another location, cell and all! If that is true, it raises the question of
why
, given how dangerous the prisoner is, not to mention
how
since the cage is large and heavy.”

But Cato knew that, fascinating as such questions might be, they would have to wait while he examined the rest of the crime scene. The nauseating task required him to cut fluid-soaked sleeping bags open in order to identify the bloated bodies cocooned within, then poke and prod at three rotting corpses to determine which ones were which.

Finally, having positively identified Tonver, Batia, and Honis, Cato allowed himself to go back outside, both to get some fresh air—and to find more bodies. For, assuming his preliminary identifications were correct, both Sivio and Moshath were missing.

It was midafternoon by that time, the sky was clear, and Cato could feel the heat that came off the stone stairs through the soles of his boots as he climbed onto the wall and paused to look around. It was quiet, almost eerily so, with nothing more than an occasional rumble of wind to break the near-perfect silence. But even though Cato couldn’t hear anything, he could “feel” the same presence that had been evident earlier in the day, and knew he was under surveillance.

So Cato opened a pouch, removed a small but powerful pair of binos, and began a painstaking sweep of the horizon. At first there was nothing to see other than the shimmer of a distant mirage, but the moment Cato tilted the glasses upward, he spotted what looked like a black cross circling high above. Except that the object wasn’t a cross but a living being, and far too large to be a bird.

Having seen them on other planets, Cato was fairly sure that the airborne creature was a Lir. This was sufficient to remind Cato of what Pasayo had volunteered back in Solace, that the massacre might have been carried out by Lir bandits. The theory made quite a bit of sense since the team had been largely unprepared for an attack from above.

But what about Verafti and his cage? Both were far too heavy for the Lir to fly away with, unless they had some sort of transport, and where would a group of bandits obtain something like that? And who would put them up to such a thing since it was hard to imagine how the Lir would profit from such an abduction?

Still, the presence of a Lir scout seemed to suggest that the mountain dwellers had some sort of interest in Station 3, otherwise, why keep it under observation? So Cato put the binos away and continued along the walkway until he came to what he immediately recognized as Sivio’s red caf mug. It was sitting on top of the outside wall.

The sight of the common everyday object brought a lump to Cato’s throat, and he wasn’t surprised to see the body lying about ten feet beyond, right next to a service-issue flashlight. Unlike the corpses Cato had inspected earlier, Sivio’s body had been subjected to direct sunlight and nearly nonstop feeding by stink birds for the better part of four days. As a result, very little remained except for an eye-less skull to which a few tufts of hair still adhered—and a skeleton that was largely lost inside a puddle of beak-ripped clothes. But the mug, plus the silver comets on Sivio’s body armor, left little doubt as to who the dead man was.

Farther on, Cato found the remains of Moshath’s body as well as his severed head. It had been picked clean by the birds and seemed to grin at Cato from where it lay on the walkway. “It appears that Moshath was on sentry duty,” Cato said for the camcorder’s benefit, “when he was taken by surprise. Quite possibly from above.

“Judging from the presence of Sivio’s caf mug,” Cato added, “it’s my guess that he was out making the rounds when the intruders killed him as well. All of the team’s weapons are missing, so there’s no way to know if Sivio and Moshath were able to fight back, but it seems unlikely since the sound of gunshots would have brought the rest of the team out of the main building on the double.” It was a sad commentary, and one that Cato was happy to conclude, as he made his way down off the wall.

The sun had started to set by then, and the air was beginning to cool, so Cato went out to bring the skimmer into the compound. With that accomplished, it was time to light a fuel tab and cook a simple meal as stars began to appear in the lavender sky. Cato couldn’t see the Lir spy anymore, but he could “feel” an alien presence, although the emanations had a different quality by then. As if another Lir had arrived to relieve the bandit spotted earlier that day. Not that it made much difference since Cato had a lot of work to do and lacked the means to blow the winged sentient out of the sky. Something he would have enjoyed had it been possible.

Cato was tired by that time,
very
tired, but couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his friends unburied during another long, hot day. So that, plus the knowledge that it would be easier to dig graves at night, combined to send him out to the rise where he planned to bury his teammates. It was the beginning of a long, often frustrating, night. Because it wasn’t long before Cato discovered that while the surrounding hardpan was impossibly resistant to his shovel, the occasional pockets of windblown sand were
too
loose, thereby causing every hole he dug to cave in.

Finally, in a fit of what amounted to an act of desperation, Cato returned to Station 3 and went looking for lumber. Then, when he had stacked a quantity of it near the front gate, it was time to carry the boards out to the lee side of the small hillock.

Once the necessary materials were on-site, the blob of light produced by Cato’s headlamp wandered left and right as he went about the lonely task of constructing an enclosure large enough to contain nearly a dozen bodies laid side by side. Though time-consuming, that effort went well, so that by the time a long horizontal smear of pink light lit the eastern horizon, Cato was towing the last body out to the burial site on what had been Station 3’s front door. Silence closed around the Xeno cop as he shut the engine down, removed Sivio’s remains from the makeshift sled, and gently placed them to the left of the other team members in the location where the Centurion would normally stand had he and the other team members been in formation.

With the first rays of the morning sun spiking up over the Sawtooth Mountains, Section Leader Jak Cato came to rigid attention. “I don’t know if you’re out there, God,” Cato said frankly, as the Lir spy circled in the distance. “Or if you would be willing to listen to a person like me . . . But these men and women are members of the Xeno Corps—and they were killed trying to protect other people from harm. So if there
is
a heaven, then assign them to guard the gates, knowing you won’t find any who are better. Meanwhile,” Cato added grimly, “you might want to notify the devil, because I plan to send whoever killed my team straight to hell.”

The salute was parade-ground perfect, and as Cato held it, tears began to trickle down his stubble-covered cheeks. “I’m sorry, sir,” Cato said as he looked down at what remained of Sivio. “I wasn’t here when you needed me, I failed to carry out your orders successfully, and I broke my word. But I swear I’ll make it up to you—no matter what that requires.”

There was no reply, and there
couldn’t
be any reply, as Cato dropped his arm and turned to grab a shovel. Thanks to the enclosure, which served to hold the sand in place, Cato was able to fill the newly constructed box fairly quickly, so that by the time the sun rose above distant mountain peaks, he was running the team’s flag up an improvised pole. An early-morning breeze found the piece of fabric, caused it to pop open, and held the flag straight out.

Having completed his task, Cato drove the skimmer back into Station 3’s enclosure, went looking for a spot that would remain in the shade for the balance of the morning, and threw his bedroll onto the ground. He was asleep three minutes later, something the Lir spy soon took notice of as his shadow caressed the fortress, and he prepared to land.

Having just returned from a trip to the city of Comfort, which was located on the opposite side of the planet, Nalomy was still clad in her travel clothes as she stepped into the palace elevator. Imood Hingo pressed the button for the third subbasement, and both felt a slight jerk as the platform began to descend. Though originally intended as a bomb shelter, to which the Emperor could retreat should Dantha be attacked while he was in residence, the underground facility was the perfect place to keep a prisoner like Fiss Verafti. For had he been allowed to escape, he would have cut through Nalomy’s troops like a hot knife through butter.

The platform coasted to a stop, the stainless-steel doors hissed open and Nalomy felt warm, humid air embrace her body as she stepped out into a small, utilitarian lobby. From there it was a short walk to Storage Room 3B13, where Verafti was being held. Four heavily armed guards were posted outside—each of whom was wearing a tamperproof ID bracelet. All came to attention as Nalomy approached, and extended their right arms, so Hingo could pass a reader over their bracelets. Then, having confirmed their identities, Hingo bowed. “Everything is as it should be, Highness,” he intoned. “It’s safe to enter.”

Nalomy wasn’t entirely sure of that, but she knew the being she was about to interact with could sense what she felt, and sought to push her fears aside. “Excellent. . . . Is the technician present? Good. . . . Open the door.”

Hingo went over to the control kiosk and took a careful look at the monitor that was set into the pedestal’s surface. A ceiling-mounted camera showed the cage, the reptilian prisoner housed inside of it, and the uniformed technician, who was busy cutting through one of the sturdy bars. He was wearing protective goggles, and as the plasma torch cut through durasteel, a six-inch length of metal hit the floor. It made a ringing noise, and the hot end continued to glow as Hingo pressed the OPEN button.

Servos whined as the blastproof doors parted company, and a wave of slightly rank air washed over Nalomy. Was that the way the Sagathi actually smelled? Or was it the odor of the meat he insisted on—some of which had started to rot? Not that it mattered so long as Verafti did what she wanted him to do. . . . Which was to assassinate Legate Isulu Usurlus.

Confident that she had the upper hand, Nalomy entered the room, but stopped well short of the cage. “Good evening,” she said politely. “My name is Nalomy.
Procurator
Nalomy . . . And I’m here to talk about freedom.
Your
freedom if you agree to my proposal.”

There was a long moment of silence as their eyes met. Verafti’s orbs were yellow, with space-black pupils, and they stared at the Uman as if able to see right through her. Finally, with the slight sibilance typical of his kind, Verafti spoke. His voice was deep and commanding. “I can feel your hunger,” the Sagathi said. “It burns like a flame. . . . You want to control
everything.
. . . But the more power you have, the more you want, which means your hunger can never be sated.”