At Empire's Edge (31 page)

“It seems that Persus should have listened to her own advice,” Hingo replied dismissively, as he leaned in to brush his lips across a partially bared shoulder. “Because she’s gone. Which, I might add, is no business of yours.”

“Some of the soldiers are gone, too,” Alamy observed tightly, as she stared over her superior’s left shoulder. Her entire body was rigid, and her fingers were balled into fists, which were held at her sides. “So I thought there might be a connection.”

Hingo’s head came up as if jerked by a rope. For one brief moment, Alamy saw a flash of fear in his eyes before it was replaced by anger. “Your job is to work in the kitchen,
not
to track the comings and goings of your betters,” Hingo growled angrily. “The militiamen you mentioned were sent to the Imang Province as part of a regular troop rotation. There. Are you satisfied?”

It was a rhetorical question, and knowing that she had already pushed her luck to the limit, Alamy remained silent. But Hingo was scared of something—and that alone constituted a discovery. Why would a man in his position be frightened of anything other than Nalomy? Fortunately, for reasons the slave could only guess at, Hingo returned to his desk. “Get out,” the Majordomo said with a wave of his hand. “And mind your business from now on. . . . Or I’ll put a set of stripes on your back as a way to remind you!”

Alamy was only too happy to curtsy, turn to her left, and leave Hingo’s office as quickly as she could. It wasn’t until she was outside and twenty feet down the corridor that Alamy discovered that she was holding her breath and allowed herself to exhale. The session was over, and she had survived, but without learning anything really significant. Except that Hingo was not only lying but afraid of someone or something. But who? Or what? The answer, or so it seemed to Alamy, was to keep an eye peeled for anything unusual and follow up on it.

The rest of the day was largely uneventful. But that evening, Chef Undara summoned Alamy into his tiny office just off the kitchen. He’d been nice to Alamy, so she had positive feelings for the head cook, and wanted to please him. But now, as Alamy looked at Undara, she wondered why he was so pale. Tiny beads of perspiration could be seen on the chef’s broad forehead, and as he made use of a dishcloth to wipe them away, two of his four hands shook as if palsied. Alamy frowned. “Are you all right, sir? Should I call for a doctor?”

Undara swallowed, as if worried that the contents of his stomach might come up, and forced a hesitant smile. “No, child,” he answered kindly. “But thank you for asking. It’s just a bug. I’ll be fine in the morning. But there is something you could do for me. Go find Ooly. She’ll give you a cart. Do you know where the old pumping station is?”

Having been replaced by a new facility, the old pumping station was empty, and Alamy was well aware of this fact, since she had met Persus there on a regular basis. “Yes, sir,” she answered honestly. “I do.”

“Good,” Undara replied. “Deliver the cart to the old pumping station. Then you can take the rest of the evening off. Okay?”

Alamy was a slave, so there was only one thing to say, and that was “Yes, master.”

“And one more thing,” Undara added as she started to turn away. “You’re smarter than most, Alamy, so when I tell you to keep this errand to yourself, I trust you’ll do so. Correct?”

Alamy nodded solemnly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Undara said, as he dabbed at his forehead. “Run along now. . . . And deliver that cart.”

Never having seen the normally relaxed chef so upset, Alamy was extremely curious as she reported to a tight-lipped Ooly. The other slave provided instructions nearly identical to the ones Alamy already had, and opened the back door, so she could push the cart outside.

It was nearly dark by then, but conscious of the fact that she was passing beneath a series of pole-mounted lights, Alamy waited until the path took a tight right-hand turn before pushing the cart into a shadow where she could carry out a quick inspection of the wheeled conveyance. That was when Alamy discovered a strange fact—unlike every other cart she had been required to handle—this one was locked!

Unable to open the cart and see what was inside, Alamy had little choice but to continue her journey. And it was then, as she rounded the side of the maintenance shop, that Alamy was confronted by a
second
mystery. It seemed that the person the cart was intended for was dangerous, or in need of protection, because a dozen heavily armed soldiers had been posted outside the pumping station! An alert noncom spotted Alamy and came forward to meet her. “I’ll take charge of that,” he said officiously. “You can go.”

Ordered to leave, there was nothing Alamy could do but curtsy and withdraw. But she wanted to know what was in the cart, who was being held within the pumping station, and why he or she was important. So, excused from further work by Chef Undara, Alamy passed through the kitchen and entered the maintenance room beyond.

As usual, the dimly lit space was empty of people, making it easy to slip along the right-hand wall to the open end of the big blue pipe. Seconds later, Alamy was inside the pipe, walking bent over just as she had on many previous occasions. Except she had been on her way to meet with Persus back then, and now she was trying to find her friend, or failing that, to determine the other woman’s fate.

It was pitch-black inside the metal tube, but Alamy could see a small circle of light up ahead, and hear the faint rumble of muted conversation. As Alamy drew closer she saw that steel mesh had been welded over the other end of the pipe. There was no way to know if the barrier was intended to prevent intruders from entering or to keep a prisoner in. But that didn’t matter to her so long as she could see through the mesh and hear what was being said on the far side of it.

Alamy removed her sandals so as to move quietly and felt the cold metal under her feet as she crept forward. At that point she went to her knees, knowing that the slime on the inside of pipe would stain her clothes, but working herself forward anyway. Finally, when her nose was only inches from the wire mesh, Alamy could peer down into the room beyond. And it was something to see.

A large cage occupied the end of the room off to her right, and crouched within, a green reptile could be seen. It was roughly the size of an adult Uman, and judging from the muscles that rippled just below the creature’s slightly iridescent skin, its body was quite strong. The lizardlike thing’s triangular head narrowed into a short snout, which was covered with scales and pierced by two vertical nostrils.

That was strange enough, since the presence of what appeared to be an animal made little sense, but there was more. The table that had been placed adjacent to the cage was set for a formal dinner, complete with a crisp white tablecloth, and gleaming silverware! The beautifully dressed Procurator was seated at the end of the table opposite from the cage with Hingo on her right and Pasayo on her left. Both men wore formal attire.

“A toast is in order,” Nalomy said cheerfully, as she raised a glittering glass. “To our actor, the role he’s about to play, and the most memorable Founder’s Day the citizens of Dantha have ever witnessed!”

Then, much to Alamy’s astonishment, the creature in the cage morphed into an exact likeness of Vedius Albus, the man she knew as the Legate’s chief bodyguard! The Umans laughed as Verafti lifted a glass of his own. “Thank you,” he said smoothly. “I, too, look forward to the day after tomorrow, both as an opportunity to repay Procurator Nalomy’s hospitality,
and
earn my freedom. Please accept my heartfelt apologies for past indiscretions as well as my assurances that nothing of that sort will happen again.”

 

 

That statement elicited a pro forma, “Hear, hear,” from Pasayo, and a “Well said,” from Nalomy, who didn’t believe a word of it. Of course she didn’t care
what
Verafti said, so long as he killed Usurlus as planned.

 

 

For his part Verafti was under no illusions regarding his own fate, especially after the failed escape attempt, but was perfectly willing to take part in the charade in order to obtain a few moments of precious freedom. What happened subsequent to that would depend on him and dumb luck. In the meantime, he could sense the presence of a
fifth
person in the immediate area. A female persona, if he wasn’t mistaken, who was radiating a combination of curiosity, excitement, and fear.
Should I tell the others?
Verafti wondered.
Or keep it to myself?
Knowledge is power, and Verafti wanted power, so he chose to remain silent. For the moment at least.

 

 

Alamy struggled to take it all in as the imposter sipped his wine, and Nalomy signaled for the food to be served. That was when Ooly pushed a cart out of the shadows. Quickly, and with an efficiency that bespoke long practice, the senior slave served Nalomy and her Uman guests first.

Once that was accomplished, Ooly brought a
second
cart out into the light and positioned it next to the cage. Alamy recognized the cart as being the same one that she’d been ordered to deliver earlier. She watched with considerable interest as Ooly pressed a button and the top of the stainless-steel cart parted to reveal a large silver platter. And there, lying on a bed of greens was the unmistakable form of a pale Uman leg! Which, given all of the finely wrought tattoos that decorated it, clearly belonged to Persus! Alamy gave an involuntary gasp.

 

 

Nalomy heard something but wasn’t sure what it was until Verafti pointed at the screen. “She’s up there,” he said calmly. “Hiding in that pipe.”

Nalomy came to her feet, Pasayo spoke into a handheld com set, and Alamy had no choice but to run for her life!

 

 

It was dark in the Xeno Quarter except for the lights that glowed behind closely drawn shades, the occasional sweep of headlights as an armored ground car passed, and the harsh blue, red, and yellow glare produced by the signs that were hung along both sides of Orby Avenue. According to Lucia Ovidius, it was where all of the most important businesses in the so-called X-Quarter were located, including the medical center located directly across the street from the flophouse in which Cato and his two companions were staying.

The room had been darkened so that no one could see in, and Cato was positioned in front of one of three tall windows that looked down into the street below. Cato had a pair of binos Lucia had loaned him and was busy scanning the surrounding buildings when Phelonious came over to stand next to him. “So,” Phelonious said, as he stared through the dirty glass, “do you think this will work?”

“How the hell would I know?” Cato answered irritably. “It
might
work. And that’s all we have right now.” This was true, since even though the Lir bandit had been wounded while fleeing the safe house a half mile away, the bastard was still on the loose. And, assuming he needed medical attention, could be expected to show up at the clinic.

But more than twelve hours had passed since Lood’s escape, which seemed to suggest that the Lir didn’t need medical attention, had been able to get help elsewhere, or was lying dead in an alley somewhere—the worst of all the various possibilities insofar as Cato was concerned. But with no other leads to follow, all Cato could do was stake out the medical facility and hope for a lucky break. That explained why he was so irritable.

Having seen nothing of interest, Cato placed the glasses on a rickety table right next to a half-eaten take-out dinner and crossed the room to a sagging bed. It creaked loudly when he put his weight on it, but it felt good to close his eyes, and sleep came quickly.

Belok was already asleep, having prepared a nest for himself in a dresser drawer and conked out minutes earlier. Each one of his snores ended in gentle wheezing sounds, which were as regular as a metronome and familiar to Phelonious, who continued to scan the street below. And that was the scene some twenty minutes later when Phelonious heard three knocks and went over to open the door. Lucia’s eyes were bright with excitement, and she was carrying a canvas shopping bag. “Wake up, everyone!” she ordered loudly. “I know where Lood is!”

“Where?” Cato demanded, as he swung his feet off the bed.

“West of Solace,” Lucia answered smugly as she opened the bag. “He’s waiting for a caravan to depart! It leaves at daybreak. Isn’t it wonderful what money can buy?”

“It certainly is,” Cato agreed gratefully, as he accepted a roll and a cup of hot caf. Though not an expert on Dantha, Cato knew that caravans left for the west every couple of weeks or so, carrying supplies to communities like Donk’s Well. It was a slow way to reach High Hold Meor, but quite possibly the
only
way, if the Lir couldn’t fly.

So he gobbled the roll, made use of the caf to wash it down, and was soon ready to go. Five minutes later, Cato, Lucia, Phelonious, and Belok were outside jogging through the mostly empty streets. Being too short to keep up on his own, the Kelf was perched on top of his friend’s shoulders, where he felt free to offer a steady stream of instructions, a habit Phelonious had learned to ignore.

Thanks to Lucia’s intimate knowledge of the city, the group was able to pursue the shortest possible route through the shadowy streets. There were dangers, of course, including the militia patrols intended to keep dissidents under control, and criminals who made a living by preying on the quarter’s largely unprotected citizens.

So as the party followed a twisting path between gated courtyards, looming tenements, and shadowy alleys, dozens of eyes tracked their progress. Most of the local predators preferred to prey on citizens who were either too old or too weak to defend themselves rather than people so confident they were willing to jog down the center of a nighttime street. They let the foursome pass.

But one group of predators wasn’t so easily intimidated. Like Cato, they were variants who had been bioengineered to fulfill a specific need. In their case it was to perform physical labor on heavy-gravity planets, where most Umans could barely move, much less work.