At Empire's Edge (15 page)

When the cups eventually came to a stop, they formed a straight line. Phelonious eyed the faces around him. His plastiflesh face couldn’t register all the nuances that a real flesh-and-blood countenance could, but his stiff number two smile was serviceable enough. “So, my friends,” the android said genially. “Where’s the ball?”

“That’s easy,” a bearded prospector replied confidently. “The ball is under the middle cup.”

Phelonious lifted the middle cup, and sure enough, there was the ball! The robot frowned. “Everybody gets lucky once in a while,” he grumbled. “Let’s try it again.”

The second go-round played out exactly like the first, except that a half-drunk solar tech made the call, which the rest of the onlookers took note of. Phelonious was visibly agitated by that time. “Okay,” the android said irritably, “it looks like
everybody
is lucky tonight! But it can’t continue—and I’m willing to bet on it.”

The prospector raised two bushy eyebrows. White circles marked the hollows where sun goggles had protected his eyes out in the desert. “How much?”

“If you choose a cup, and you turn out to be wrong, then I get to keep your money,” the robot replied. “But, if you get it right, then I’ll
double
your money! So a one-Imperial investment would pay off with two!”

“I’ll take some of that action,” a high-pitched voice said, and all eyes went to the Kelf who was standing on top of the wooden table. His name was Belok, and, like all of his kind, the furry sentient was about three feet tall. His grandparents had been brought to Dantha to work in the high-altitude silver mines, where their small size and capacity to deal with wintry conditions were a real advantage, but Belok wasn’t interested in that sort of employment.

Belok had a rounded head, beady eyes, and a short muzzle. He was dressed in a hand-tooled leather vest and matching shorts. Having climbed up onto the table so he could see what was going on, the Kelf waddled forward. The shiny Imperial rattled as it hit the table, then settled into place. Some of the others were interested in placing bets, too, especially on what looked like a sure thing, but were happy to let someone else risk their money first.

Phelonious nodded gravely, raised the right-hand cup to remind everyone where the so-called pea was hidden, and put all three of the aluminum cups into motion. They circled, swooped, and finally came to rest. “Well?” Phelonious demanded, as he eyed Belok. “Where is it?”

“Under the cup on your left,” the diminutive said unhesitatingly. And, when Phelonious lifted the shell, the ball was right where Belok said it would be!

The android looked disappointed, and was forced to pay out two Imperials, as bets flooded in from all sides. The next bettor lost, as did the one who followed him, but the next gambler
won
. That served to stimulate the betting once again, and thanks to the fact that most of the participants had been drinking, none of the people gathered around the table noticed that the overall ratio of wins to losses had shifted subtly so that Phelonious was taking in more money than he was paying out. A result that was a foregone conclusion given the android’s ability to shift the rubber ball from one cup to another without being detected.

So everything was going very well indeed until an off-duty lineman entered the saloon and went straight to the bar to get a beer before wandering over to join the crowd. That was when a look of anger appeared on his weathered face. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded loudly. “The robot is cheating you! And so is the Kelf! They work together. . . . I saw them run the same scam over in Tolly’s Crossing.”

That announcement produced a brief moment of silence, followed by a roar of outrage, as the crowd turned on both coconspirators. But the larcenous duo had been in such situations before and knew what to do. There was a soft
pop
as Phelonious triggered a smoke grenade and rolled it under the table. Then, as a cloud of thick gray smoke billowed upward, people collided as they sought to grab onto the con beings.

Meanwhile, the patter of small feet could be heard as Belok crossed the table, made the leap onto his friend’s back, and was careful to hold on tight as Phelonious ran for the front door. The android could see the exit quite clearly thanks to his alternative infrared vision.

But the lineman had seen all of it before, and knowing what to expect, sought to rally the bar’s patrons. “Don’t let them get away!” he bellowed, and successfully led half the group out through the door and into the street beyond.

Phelonious could run, but not fast enough, as one of the more fleet-footed members of the crowd tackled the android from behind and threw both con artists to the ground. “I’ve got them!” a townsman trumpeted triumphantly as he managed to grab Belok by the scruff of the neck and hang on to Phelonious at the same time. The rest of the mob arrived seconds later.

At that point, the twosome was subjected to some very rough treatment as members of the crowd battled not only to recover
their
money but even more if that was possible. Once the rough-and-tumble process was over, it was time to mete out some vigilante justice. “Let’s take them to the pit,” the prospector with the beard proposed. “But remember. . . . Only one rock per person.”

“What about the droid?” somebody wanted to know. “He ain’t no person!”

“Wait!” Belok insisted, as he was hoisted over the solar technician’s head, and borne toward the town’s garbage pit. “This isn’t fair! We deserve a trial! Put me down!”

But the crowd was in no mood for trials, so when the mob arrived at the edge of the man-made pit, they threw both of the miscreants down into the stinking hole. There were squeals of outrage, and rustling sounds, as more than a hundred red-eyed rot rats scurried away. There were no streetlights in Donk’s Well, so many of those present routinely carried flashlights, and a dozen blobs of light converged on the filth-covered twosome as they struggled to find firm footing on top of the latest layer of garbage. “Okay,” the prospector said. “One rock apiece! Let ’em have it!”

There was a
clang
as one of the missiles hit Phelonious, followed by the unmistakable double-
clack
of a pump-style shotgun, as Jak Cato emerged from the surrounding gloom. The red dot projected by the weapon’s targeting laser slipped from chest to chest and that was sufficient to bring the stoning to a halt. Cato had just entered town and was still carrying his pack. “Hold it right there,” he ordered, as people turned to look at him.

“Why the hell should we?” a grizzled drifter demanded defiantly.

“Because I’m an Imperial law officer,” Cato replied calmly, and raised his left hand to prove it. Like all his kind, Cato had a phosphor badge that had been chemically “printed” onto the palm of his hand shortly after graduating from the Xeno Corps Academy on Regulus IV. He could trigger it simply by thinking about it, and, while visible in daylight, the device was especially effective at night. And the bright green glow left no doubt as to the extent of his authority.

The solar tech swore bitterly. “Well, I’ll be damned. . . . A Xeno Corps freak in Donk’s Well! What’s this planet coming to?”

“Not much,” Cato commented matter-of-factly, as he swung the shotgun from left to right. “But let’s see if we can’t maintain at least the appearance of civilization. Now drop the rocks, and crawl back into your various holes, or I’ll arrest the whole lot of you and let Procurator Nalomy sort you out.”

That wasn’t entirely true, of course, since there was very little chance that Nalomy would back him, but the residents of Donk’s Well didn’t know that.

There was grumbling, but the crowd melted away, as most returned to the bar. Cato waited until all of the townspeople were gone before stepping over to the edge of the pit. The light from his torch wandered a bit before spotlighting Phelonious and Belok. They were halfway up the other slope and clearly headed for the desert. “That’s the wrong direction,” the policeman said mildly. “Keep those hands where I can see them. . . . That’s right. Now turn around and come this way. I don’t know what you two did to make everyone so unhappy with you, but we’re going to have a nice chat.” Though long absent—the rule of law had returned to Donk’s Well.

THOUGH LOCATED ONE STORY UNDERGROUND,
Imood Hingo’s office was large and well-appointed. An abundance of sunlight had been piped in via solar tubes to provide the room with a sense of warmth. Well-chosen pieces of art conveyed a sense of restrained elegance, the huge granite-slab desk testified to Hingo’s authority, and the fact that it sat on a raised platform ensured Hingo’s dominance over those who came before him. However, comfortable though his surroundings were, there was plenty to worry about.

Legate Isulu Usurlus was going to arrive on Dantha in two days, and there was a tremendous amount of work to get done prior to the dignitary’s arrival, which was why Nalomy had instructed Hingo to buy more slaves. The investment would probably pay dividends in the future but was something of a liability at the moment since the newly acquired slaves were untrained and had a tendency to make mistakes.

But there was nothing Hingo could do about the situation other than make some carefully considered assignments and hope for the best. With that in mind, he was interviewing the new slaves to identify those who could be assigned to the more-visible tasks, while the rest would be put to work in the kitchen, or out on the grounds where they would be less likely to cause trouble. And that was where the awkward-looking boy who stood in front of him clearly belonged. “That will be all,” Hingo said sternly. “Remember what I told you. . . . Follow orders, work hard, and don’t steal. Because I’ll have the hide off your back if you do! Dismissed.”

The sixteen-year-old mumbled, “Yes, sir,” bowed awkwardly, and shuffled away.

Hingo sighed, put a check mark next to the boy’s name, and said, “Next!”

 

 

All of the slaves who hadn’t been interviewed yet were lined up in the sterile corridor outside of the Majordomo’s office. Alamy heard Hingo’s voice, saw the boy leave, and knew it was her turn to enter. She wasn’t looking forward to the visit. Life in the palace was a shock after a youth spent in The Warrens, and the young woman had been in trouble twice. Once for failing to curtsy to a visitor, and once for dropping a vaseful of freshly cut flowers, which exploded into a hundred pieces as it hit the marble floor.

So knowing that there were already two strikes against her, the young woman was understandably anxious as she passed through the door and went to stand on the large “X” that had been set into the stone floor directly opposite Hingo’s raised desk. It was made out of white marble and seemed to glow as she placed both feet on it. Alamy curtsied and the Majordomo nodded approvingly. “A slave who learns from her mistakes. I like that.

“Now,” Hingo continued, as his fingers formed a steeple, “let’s talk about the future. You were born free, unlike many of your fellow slaves, and that could present a problem. Some of the people who find themselves in your position waste a lot of time and energy trying to fight the system. Others, those who are more adaptable, learn to accept their circumstances and try to better themselves.”

Alamy was surprised to hear that a slave could better him- or herself, and that must have been visible on her face, because Hingo smiled bleakly. “That’s right,” Hingo assured her. “There are slaves—and then there are slaves. Because those lucky enough to join an establishment such as this one can rise to high office if they work hard and keep their wits about them.

“By now you may have realized that a hierarchy exists within the palace walls,” Hingo added clinically, “with groundskeepers on the bottom, kitchen help in the middle ranks, and housekeeping at the top. You were placed in housekeeping, largely because Procurator Nalomy likes to surround herself with beauty. It will be a while before you can return to that assignment given the vase incident.

“However,” Hingo said, as he rose from behind the desk, and came around to stand in front of Alamy, “a kitchen assignment can be useful as well. Especially if you have the opportunity to become a server, because once the Procurator sees how pretty your face is, she might decide to promote you over the head housekeeper’s objections. Especially if I concur.”

By that time Hingo was standing only inches away, so close that Alamy could smell the garlic on his breath, and feel the male energy that surrounded him. Their eyes were locked as Hingo brought the knuckles of his left hand up to caress her right cheek. “CeCe,” Hingo said experimentally. “I like that name. And people that I like have a tendency to do well.”

Alamy shivered and bit her lower lip, as the hand followed her cheek down to her neck and from there to the curve of her breast. “So follow orders, work hard, and don’t steal,” Hingo advised. “Do we understand each other?”

Alamy nodded, because there was nothing else she
could
do, other than feel slightly sick to her stomach. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Hingo said, as he turned away. “You are dismissed.” The interview was over, but as Alamy left the room, she knew something far worse had begun.

More than a full day had passed since Cato’s arrival in Donk’s Well, and he was asleep in his hotel room, when a persistent tapping noise woke him up. It took a moment to realize that the sound was coming from the window rather than the door and to roll out of bed. That sent a spike of pain deep into his brain and triggered the usual regrets. One beer had led to another, and he was suffering from a full-fledged hangover.

It was second nature to grab the pistol off the nightstand and take it with him as Cato padded across the floor. The sun hadn’t cleared the mountain peaks yet, but there was enough light to see by, even if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Because there, peering through the dirty glass, was a Kelf! And not just
any
Kelf but one of the con beings he had rescued two days earlier. The window rattled as he pushed it up. “What the hell do you want?” Cato demanded irritably, as cold morning air flooded into his room. “And why couldn’t you simply knock on the door?”