At Empire's Edge (20 page)

“What about the weapons?” Belok wanted to know.

“We’ll take them with us,” Cato replied grimly, as he gathered three rifles into his arms. “It looks like we’re going to need them.”

The Lir survivors, many of whom were clutching blood-stained bandages, eyed the twosome sullenly as Cato and Belok crossed the room. Cato knew they would open the front door the moment he was gone, but couldn’t bring himself to shoot them, especially given the fact that it would have been pointless.

So the heavily encumbered invaders hurried past and made their way over to the flight of stairs located on the west side of the room. Meanwhile the front door shuddered as still another
BOOM
was heard.

Belok descended the stairs first, quickly followed by Cato, who lowered the weapons he was carrying to the Kelf. Once his hands were free, Cato secured a grip on the heavy trapdoor that was lying on the floor and pulled it down over his head. There were iron bolts to hold the thick slab of wood firmly in place, so Cato took a moment to push both into their respective fittings before completing the journey into the workshop below. “That will keep the bastards out for five minutes or so,” Cato observed. “But that’s all.”

The last couple of words were almost inaudible as a loud chattering noise came from the back of the room. When Cato turned to look he saw that an air car was parked in the middle of the multipurpose workshop, and judging from the thick layer of dust on it, the ancient vehicle had been sitting there for quite some time. The rear engine compartment was propped open, and Phelonious was bent over it, as the air car’s starter struggled to bring the dead power plant online.

Would the android succeed? Probably not, but with no other options remaining, Cato made his way over to a large set of double doors. They would need to be open if Phelonious was successful—even if that meant giving the Lir an opportunity to fire into the shop.

The warriors knew where the alien invaders were by then, and when Cato removed the bar that held the doors in place, energy bolts burned holes into them. “Get ready to fire!” Cato shouted, swinging the right-hand door open. “You’ll have plenty of targets!”

The prediction proved to be true as light flooded into the otherwise-murky shop, and the cold wind blew a host of snowflakes into the room. Four winged warriors, all of whom were armed with energy pistols, hovered outside. Or attempted to, since the wind was pushing them toward the building, and a lot of work was required just to stay aloft.

Belok opened fire first, with Cato joining him moments later, in an effort to drive the Lir away. Energy bolts flashed, bullets flew, and one of the warriors went down. But the incoming fire forced both defenders to seek cover as a thrumming was heard, and the venerable air car lurched up off the floor. It wobbled from side to side as the breeze hit it, and coughed uncertainly before catching again. “The ignition system was miswired!” Phelonious proclaimed triumphantly. “Hop in!”

There was no need to issue a second invitation as Phelonious took the controls and the others scrambled into the backseat. The utilitarian vehicle was open to the weather
and
incoming fire. That meant Cato and Belok had plenty of targets to fire at while the air car surged out into the snowstorm.

There was one extremely vulnerable moment when a single grenade would have been sufficient to blow the vehicle out of the air. But none of the Lir was expecting such an escape, so the surrounding warriors were caught off guard as Phelonious pulled back on the control yoke, sending the air car slanting upward. The bottom fell out of Cato’s stomach as the power cut out, and he was bracing himself for a crash when the engine came back on. The tubby vehicle had begun to trail black smoke by then, but wounded or not, it still had sufficient power to leave High Hold Meor behind.

Less than a minute later, Phelonious sent the air car down into the adjacent gorge, where it banked back and forth as it followed the twisting, turning canyon west toward the foothills and desert beyond. Cato was alive, and glad of it, but felt none of the joy he might have expected. Because while a victory had been won, the price had been steep, and only the passage of time would tell whether all of the dying had been worth it.

THOUGH NOT THE LARGEST CLASS OF WARSHIP THAT
the Navy had, the destroyer
Imperialus
was still huge, and as the ship coasted in from the east, it blocked the morning sun, throwing a dark shadow over both the palace and the city of Solace. The thrumming produced by the vessel’s main drives, combined with the roar of her mighty repellers, rattled windows throughout the city and brought thousands out to stare. The ship’s repellers caused the waters of Lake Imperium to boil; clouds of steam rose, and the warship seemed to float on them. Having hovered in place for exactly three minutes, the vessel pivoted toward the spaceport and slowly moved away. The whole thing was calculated to impress both the plebeians
and
Procurator Nalomy.

Brightly colored flags were flying, hundreds of militia troops stood at attention, and a crowd of local dignitaries was assembled in front of the one-story passenger terminal as the massive destroyer slid in over the spaceport and came to a well-timed stop. But in spite of the attempt to dress the place up, there was no hiding how run-down the spaceport was as Legate Usurlus eyed it via the screens in the destroyer’s U-shaped control room. Then the views of the surrounding landscape vanished as the ship’s repellers stabbed the ground, and the ship was lost in a momentary dust storm.

Once the massive skids made contact with the sun-baked tarmac, and the main engines started to spool down, the Captain rose from his seat and turned to face Usurlus. The Legate had been easy to deal with as VIPs go, but the role of taxi driver was one that the officer despised, and would be glad to get rid of. Though small of stature, he seemed larger thanks to an expansive personality and the aura of relaxed competence that surrounded him. “Welcome to Dantha,” the naval officer said cheerfully. “Your luggage will be on the ground in five minutes.”

Usurlus smiled. He knew that the Vord raiders had been aggressive of late, the Navy was short of ships, and couldn’t afford to leave the
Imperialus
sitting on Dantha. He also knew that the officer in front of him would be happy to lift off. “And you’ll be airborne twenty minutes after that?”

The Captain grinned. “No, sir. . . . I’m aiming for ten!”

Both men laughed. But as Usurlus made his way down to the main entry port and from there to the ramp that led to the ground, he was conscious of how vulnerable he would be once the ship left. Not
entirely
vulnerable, however, since Vedius Albus was waiting for him on the tarmac, along with a force of twenty smartly uniformed bodyguards. Their function was to provide a show of force and divert attention away from forty men who had exited the ship earlier and were boarding unmarked vehicles. One section would be stationed along the route into town, where it would serve as a quick-reaction force, while the rest continued to the palace, where the quarters assigned to Usurlus would have to be secured, inspected, and electronically debugged before he could take up residence there.

Would a force of sixty men be sufficient? If he ordered Nalomy to step down? And she refused to go? No, probably not, but that was the chance Usurlus had to take as Nalomy came forward to greet him. Usurlus had met her before, of course, but was still struck by how attractive she was, and made a note to steer well clear of her bed. “Welcome to Dantha!” Nalomy said brightly, as she came to a stop two feet away. “You look wonderful!”

Imperial etiquette was a bit vague where the relationship between Legates and Procurators was concerned. But technically, as the legal embodiment of the Emperor’s authority, Usurlus was entitled to a curtsy, and the honorific “Excellency,” upon an initial greeting. Especially if others were present. But in keeping with the size of her ego, Nalomy chose to greet Usurlus as an equal.

Though conscious of the slight, the Legate accepted the forearm-to-forearm grip, and the brief embrace that went with it. “You look wonderful as well,” Usurlus replied, cautiously. “It appears that the local climate suits you.”

Though seemingly innocuous, Nalomy knew the comment could be interpreted to mean that life on a rim world suited her, as opposed to higher office. That suggestion rankled, but Nalomy was far too practiced to let her unhappiness show, as she led Usurlus between two ranks of perfectly matched soldiers to the open ground car beyond. Such vehicles were vulnerable, especially to snipers and anyone who could fashion some sort of bomb. By riding in it, Nalomy hoped to demonstrate how peaceful Dantha was. Thanks to her.

Having spotted the open car, Vedius spoke to Usurlus via the plug in the Legate’s right ear, and urged him to insist on safer transport. But the last thing Usurlus wanted to do was to appear fearful, so he chose to ignore the bodyguard’s advice.
Besides,
Usurlus reasoned,
Nalomy isn’t likely to ride in an open car unless she thinks it will be safe for her.

The motorcade consisted of two cars packed with specially trained militia, followed by the open limo, and two hover trucks loaded with troops. Once under way, it traveled the empty road at a steady fifteen miles per hour. There weren’t any homes in the vicinity of the noisy spaceport, but cheering people lined both sides of the road nevertheless, which suggested that they had been trucked out from the city and
paid
to cheer. Or forced to do so by the militiamen who were stationed along the way—a stratagem Usurlus had employed on behalf of the Emperor on Corin.

Even though Usurlus was aware of the extent to which the situation had been stage-managed, it suited his purposes to ignore it. So he smiled and waved at the onlookers as if entirely taken in. Eventually, as the motorcade entered Solace, the crowds grew larger. And, by all appearances, it looked as though they had turned out voluntarily. That suggested that the flyover, combined with curiosity regarding the Imperial visit, had brought a substantial number of unpaid citizens out to gawk.

In marked contrast to the bystanders on the outskirts of town,
these
onlookers were almost universally silent, the single exception being the occasional insult often accompanied by a piece of flying fruit. Most of the missiles fell woefully short, but one struck the passenger-side door with an audible
thump
, and was celebrated with a reedy cheer.

None of which seemed to trouble Nalomy, who shrugged philosophically, as members of the militia went after the perpetrators with riot clubs. “Every planet has a few troublemakers,” Nalomy said dismissively. “And Dantha is no exception. A good thumping will put them right.”

What Nalomy said was true, Usurlus knew that, but as the limo turned onto Imperial Boulevard, he sensed that the hostility emanating from the crowd ran a lot deeper than Nalomy had implied. But the final determination would come during the days ahead. For in keeping with Emperor Emor’s wishes, Usurlus was going to need hard evidence of crimes committed by Nalomy herself, before removing her from power.

The latest bodies, both of which were quite ripe, had been taken down lest Usurlus see them and jump to the wrong conclusion. As the car passed below one of the gibbets, a long, thin shadow flickered across Nalomy’s face, but she failed to notice. Her eyes were on the palace, the future that lay somewhere beyond, and the eternal glory that was rightfully hers.

 

 

As the motorcade neared its destination, Fiss Verafti stood atop the palace’s flat roof and eyed the convoy through a pair of military-issue binos. He was still using the name Inhor Rypool, and still
looked
like Centurion Ben Sivio, since that cover was as good as any. His mind churned as the glasses found the man seated next to Nalomy and automatically held the image in focus while the convoy entered a U-shaped driveway. Killing Legate Usurlus would be easy—but what then? Nalomy had promised to free him, but she could go back on her word, which would leave the shape shifter right where he was: a prisoner with an explosive device attached to his right wrist.

Unless he could obtain a key . . . But
how
? Both Nalomy and Hingo wore pendants around their necks. But they were never alone, not around him, anyway, and what about the mysterious
third
person? Who was he or she? It was a puzzle, a very interesting puzzle, and one Verafti was determined to solve.

 

 

The balance of Usurlus’s first day in Solace was a long, drawn-out affair that began with a reception for local movers and shakers, and ended with an interminable dinner, during which Usurlus was sandwiched between a corpulent mining magnate, and a woman so elderly that her frail body was cradled inside of a life-support exoskeleton that whirred when she moved.

But Usurlus had survived worse gatherings on Corin. So when the sun rose the following morning, he was rested and ready to meet with the dozen people who had been granted audiences for that day, eleven of whom were seeking a favor and were of little interest. However, it was necessary to spend time with them in order to provide cover for the individual with whom Usurlus
wanted
to meet. That man was ushered into the guest suite at exactly 3:00 PM, where he was subjected to a search, before being allowed to enter a large sitting room. Usurlus rose from a couch and came forward to greet the newly arrived visitor. “Hason!” Usurlus said heartily. “It’s a pleasure to see you again!”

 

 

Meanwhile, comfortably ensconced in her lavish quarters only a few hundred feet away, Nalomy was receiving a pedicure while watching a feed that came straight from the guest suite. Her dog was sitting on her lap, and Centurion Pasayo was seated a few feet away. By leaving some nearly microscopic bugs where they would be found, the Legate’s staff had been lulled into believing that the quarters were secure, which they certainly weren’t.