At Empire's Edge (22 page)

Warm air pushed its way into the air-conditioned room as Usurlus opened the twin doors and made his way out onto the tiled surface beyond. When he turned back toward the palace, Albus was waiting. “Please accept my profound apologies, sire,” the bodyguard said miserably, as he looked down at his boots. “We thought we had located all of the bugs—but it appears we failed.”

“So it would seem,” Usurlus agreed indulgently, “because if Nalomy saw or heard Ovidius make his report, she would certainly want him dead. Both as a means to protect herself and as a way to intimidate me. So resweep the suite, destroy any bugs you find, and keep a sharp eye out for new ones.”

“Yes, sire,” Albus agreed humbly, his head still down.

“And one more thing,” Usurlus added thoughtfully. “Once the suite is secure, take my brother out of storage—and energize my face mask. We’re going out.”

Albus brought his head up. His eyes were filled with concern. “Please, sire, I don’t have enough men to fully protect you here, much less out on the streets,”

“No, you don’t,” Usurlus agreed. “Which is why you and I will go alone.”

 

 

In addition to Legate Usurlus, the destroyer
Imperialus
had been carrying other cargo as well, including a great deal of correspondence for Nalomy. Much of it related to routine governmental matters, but the sealed container included personal messages as well, like the holo that Nalomy’s father had sent her. So when Centurion Pasayo entered the Procurator’s office, a full-sized likeness of Senator Tegor Nalomy was striding back and forth in front of his daughter’s elaborate desk. His voice was raised far more than was necessary as he railed on about how incompetent Emperor Emor was and always had been. One of his favorite subjects. Nalomy cut her father off in midrant by touching a button as she turned toward Pasayo. “Yes?”

“The box was delivered, Highness,” the soldier said expressionlessly.

Nalomy’s carefully sculpted eyebrows rose incrementally. “And?”

“After opening it, Legate Usurlus went out onto the veranda with his chief bodyguard,” the officer added. “He remained there while members of his staff searched the suite for bugs. Subsequent to that palace security officers were summoned and the box was given to them. When questioned regarding its contents, Legate Usurlus admitted that he knew Hason Ovidius and identified him as being little more than an acquaintance.”

Nalomy smiled tightly. “And were they able to find the remaining bugs?”

Pasayo nodded. “Yes, Highness. All of them.”

“See if you can get some more in there,” Nalomy instructed. “But, even if you can’t, the trade-off was worth it. Now he knows that I know. And that will slow the bastard down until we can get rid of him permanently.”

Pasayo wasn’t so sure about the benefits to be derived from the so-called trade-off, since he thought that killing Ovidius, and thereby revealing how much Nalomy knew, was a tactical error. But she rarely took his advice on such matters. The real truth was that the decision to eliminate Ovidius had been the result of Nalomy’s unreasoning anger rather than the master stroke she claimed it to be. But the soldier couldn’t say that, so he didn’t. “Yes, Highness. . . . It shall be as you say.”

“Of course it will,” Nalomy replied smugly. She pressed a button, her father blossomed in front of her, and continued his rant.

 

 

It was a long walk up from the Bone Yard, where Hason Ovidius’s remains were waiting to be cremated, to the terraced hillside where many middle-class homes looked out over The Warrens to the south and the lake to the east. But Lucia Ovidius welcomed both the hard exercise and the opportunity to be by herself after being required to deal with so many people. Her husband had lots of friends, business associates, and business contacts, many of whom had been part of the long, sad processional that had taken the body from the point where it was found to the Bone Yard below. There had been tears, lots of them, and there would be more. But at the moment, Lucia was trying to think, trying to adjust to the very different life suddenly thrust upon her.

Lucia had been opposed to what she initially called “a dangerous waste of time.” But as Nalomy’s despotic rule gradually became even worse, and the resistance to it grew stronger, her cynicism had eventually been supplanted by a zeal that was just as strong as her husband’s. The main difference between them was that Hason was an idealist, who enjoyed political discourse, while Lucia was a pragmatist who preferred action over words.

And now, having lost her husband to Nalomy’s agents, Lucia was focused on revenge. As were many other members of the resistance—one of whom was crouched next to the long flight of stairs that led up to her whitewashed home. He was dressed as a beggar and pushed the usual bowl out in front of her. “Two men, mistress,” the man said. “Both waiting at your house.”

That was sufficient to bring Lucia to a halt and open her purse. Because even though Hason was dead, Nalomy’s agents could have been sent after
her
as well, which was why the “beggar” had been assigned to keep an eye on her house. Of course the visitors could be well-wishers, come to convey their condolences, or business partners who wanted to follow up on some transaction. Two decims rattled as they hit the bottom of the otherwise-empty bowl. “Are they security agents?” Lucia inquired. “Or regular citizens?”

“There’s no way to be sure,” the man answered cautiously. “But they didn’t look like agents. Their clothes were expensive, both of them had off-world accents, and one gave me an Imperial! How many security men would do that?”

“Not many,” Lucia admitted with a wan smile. “Watch my veranda. . . . If I hang a rug over the rail, everything is okay.”

The beggar eyed Lucia from under his hood. He had brown eyes and three days’ worth of carefully cultivated stubble. “And if you don’t?”

“Then send help,” Lucia answered grimly. “
Lots
of it.” And with that she began to climb the stairs.

 

 

“Here she comes,” Albus said evenly, as he peered through the window.

Usurlus was on the other side of the nicely decorated living room inspecting a photograph of Hason Ovidius and his wife Lucia. She had short brown hair, intelligent eyes, and a face that while attractive was too narrow to be called beautiful. Would she blame him for her husband’s death? Yes, probably, and with good reason. Because immediately after meeting the businessman the year before, Usurlus had taken advantage of Hason’s anger toward Nalomy to recruit him as a spy. Which led directly to his death. Usurlus turned toward the front of the house. “Did she talk with the beggar?”

Albus was still looking out between the white curtains. “Yes, sir. She did.”

“So she knows we’re here and still has the courage to climb the stairs,” Usurlus mused out loud. “Something tells me that Hason was a lucky man.”

Lucky men got to keep their heads on their shoulders, or so it seemed to Albus, but the bodyguard knew better than to voice his opinion. “If you say so, sire.”

“I do,” Usurlus replied. “Now come over here so she’ll see both of us when she enters.”

Albus obeyed, which meant that as Lucia pushed the front door open, the sun threw a carpet of gold over the floor. Usurlus watched Lucia Ovidius enter the room and pause. There was uncertainty in the woman’s eyes, but determination as well, and her voice was steady. “You broke into my home.”

“Albus picked the lock,” Usurlus replied, with a nod toward the other man. “But the effect was the same. And for that we apologize. Please accept our deepest sympathies regarding the death of your husband. . . . He was a brave man and a patriot. I know it will be small recompense but I will do everything in my power to see that his service to the Empire is officially recognized, and that you as his widow receive the financial support that is due you.”

Lucia’s expression remained unchanged. Her eyes shifted from face to face. “And you are?”

“I am Legate Isulu Usurlus,” the official said. “And this is Vedius Albus. My chief bodyguard.”

“I’ve seen Legate Usurlus,” Lucia said skeptically. “In fact I was in the crowd when his motorcade carried him down Imperial Boulevard. And he’s better-looking than you are.”

Usurlus brought a hand up, pressed the nodule located behind his right ear with his right index finger, and felt the face mask begin to squirm. Then, once the pseudoflesh had separated itself from his real skin, it fell free. Usurlus’s hands were positioned to catch it. “There,” he said. “How’s that?”

“Better,” Lucia said grudgingly. “Please wait here. . . . There’s something I need to do.”

Both men watched as Lucia went over to pick up a colorful throw rug, which she carried out onto the veranda that spanned the front of the house and threw over a railing. Once that was accomplished, she came back inside. The two men were right where she had left them. “Please,” Lucia said politely, “have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No,” Usurlus said, as he sat on what had been Hason’s favorite chair. “Thank you.”

Albus, who had taken up a position at the window, made no reply. He was scanning the surrounding buildings with a small but powerful pair of binoculars.

“All right then,” Lucia said, as she took the chair next to the one Usurlus was seated on. “It was dangerous for you to come here. Dangerous for you—and dangerous for
me
. And while I appreciate all of the nice things that you said—every one of those sentiments could have been expressed in a letter or holo. What do you want?”

Usurlus took note of not only the direct manner in which Lucia spoke, but also the woman’s failure to use any of the honorifics to which he was entitled, and felt a mix of emotions. Lucia Ovidius was strong, which was important given the task he wanted her to carry out, but she was either lacking in the social graces or simply disrespectful. Which made a marked contrast to her husband, who had been a good deal more deferential, and properly so.

But with only a limited number of tools at his disposal, Usurlus was in no position to be picky. So, as his eyes locked with hers, Usurlus was frank. “I know that you were aware of your husband’s work on behalf of the Empire. . . . So you have an excellent understanding of what’s at stake. Were it not for the steadily increasing conflict with the Vord, I would have arrived with a Legion of Imperial troops, and been able to carry out my investigation in a normal manner.

“But, because his resources are stretched rather thin at the moment, all the Emperor could send was me and my personal bodyguard. That means that when I make my move, which will occur in the coliseum on Founder’s Day, popular support will be critical. And not just acquiescence, but active support by such a large majority of citizens that the people in command of the militia will realize that it would be foolhardy to continue their support for Nalomy. Then, and only then, will I be able to pull this tyrant down! So what I ‘want,’ as you put it, is for you to continue your husband’s work. Which was to find hard proof of Nalomy’s guilt, or failing that, to help build the support I need. If you refuse, his death will have been for nothing.”

The last was a blatant attempt to manipulate Lucia’s emotions and she knew it. But the tactic was effective nevertheless, because Hason
had
given his life to improve conditions on Dantha, and Usurlus was the only person who could deliver on that dream. Lucia was silent for a moment, but in the end she bowed her head as if in submission, and spoke the words Usurlus wanted to hear. “I will serve you as my husband did regardless of the cost.”

THE ENGINE WAS RUNNING, AND THE AIR CAR WAS
ready for takeoff, assuming that the repairs held. But it was pitch-black in the mountain clearing, and without even the stars to guide them, it would be easy to hit one of the trees that stood all around. Still, Phelonious claimed that he could manage it, and Cato
wanted
to believe him. Because if the threesome remained where they were, and waited for daybreak, there was a good chance that they would be discovered by High Hold Meor’s warriors.

So as Cato and Belok checked their seat belts, Phelonious checked the air car’s instrument panel, before applying power and lifting straight up. There was a limit to how high an air car could go without traveling horizontally. And, because some of the surrounding trees were a good twenty feet tall, it was necessary for Phelonious to push the tubby vehicle to the very edge of a stall before finally leveling out. The air car shuddered as the hull brushed a treetop before soaring out over the slope below. They were free! And, more importantly, alive.

Ten minutes later, when the lights of Donk’s Well appeared in the distance, the air car turned toward the south. The little aircraft wasn’t designed to fly higher than a thousand feet, which meant it couldn’t cross the Sawtooth Mountains directly, and would have to negotiate the S-shaped east-west pass instead. A tricky business at night, but not impossible, thanks to the solar-powered nav beacons positioned along the way.