At Empire's Edge (37 page)

But the protests were for naught as more steely fingers sank into her flesh, the crowd growled, and Nalomy was torn apart. There were screams, but not very many, and by the time the killing frenzy was over, Nalomy’s remains were spread far and wide.

As the mob began to disperse, a sixteen-year-old girl named Celia spotted something shiny lying on the ground, and bent to pick it up. The object consisted of a red gem-stone and a gold necklace that was attached to it. Eventually Celia would discover that a button was concealed behind the stone, but that wouldn’t occur for many days yet, and her immediate instinct was to hide the wonderful find as quickly as possible. It was a day that Celia would never forget.

CATO WAS HALF WALKING, HALF RUNNING, AS HE
pursued Verafti through the streets of Solace. The majority of the city’s citizens, visitors, and food vendors were inside the coliseum, which left The Warrens’ normally bustling streets nearly empty of foot traffic. That should have made the task of finding Verafti easier, but due to the shape shifter’s ability to continually change his appearance, there was no way to know
who
to look for other than a man wearing a military uniform. And there were plenty of those given all of the militiamen in town. The longer the chase went on, the more likely it became that Verafti would find an opportunity to change clothes. So rather than simply look for the fugitive with his eyes, Cato was also scanning the area for Verafti’s emotions, which were as unique as his fingerprints. And, depending on how strong the emanations were, he would be able to gauge how close the shape shifter was. It was a nerve-wracking process that was anything but exact.

Fortunately, Cato had help in the form of an Assistant Section Leader Jaith and five members of the Legate’s bodyguard, whom Livius had detailed to assist him. Not only had Livius seen Cato’s badge and been impressed by it, he knew Albus had been murdered and was eager for revenge. Since the fast-moving group was clearly military, and the militiamen who patrolled the streets were unaware of what had taken place within the coliseum, Cato and his escorts were allowed to proceed unimpeded.

Suddenly, as Cato rounded a corner with the bodyguards right behind him, the strength of Verafti’s emotions soared by tenfold! Because, unlike Cato, who couldn’t conceal his emotions from other empaths, Verafti could mask his to a large extent. But not at extremely close range. So as the two of them came together—Cato could sense the other empath’s presence. But the trap had been sprung, and when Cato turned onto a side street, a sudden volley of shots rang out.

One of the bodyguards swore as a bullet smacked into his right thigh, and he made an instinctive grab for the wound as he fell. Assistant Section Leader Jaith raised his rifle, peered through its scope, and fired. “He looks like a woman!” Jaith shouted. “The one in the blue toga! Shoot her!”

A number of people tried, and bullets dug divots out of a graffiti-covered wall, but Verafti had disappeared. The wounded bodyguard was a loss, as was the man left to care for him, but all Cato could do was carry on. And he was closer,
much
closer, as Verafti entered the maze of wooden stalls inside the animal market. The pungent odor of animal feces hung in the air as the angens bawled, snorted, and squealed. “Split up!” Cato ordered, pointing to the right and left. “I’ll go down the middle.”

The bodyguards obeyed, and, as they spread out to either side, Cato began to advance down the main corridor. His weapon was ready, and all of the empath’s senses were on high alert, as he sought to detect where Verafti was hiding.

Cato could “feel” what the animals felt, including sensations of hunger, fear, and in some cases mindless contentment. Then, seeing a group of people ahead, he “felt” their curiosity, fear, and hatred. The men and women who owned the animals believed they were looking at a group of Nalomy’s militia and had every reason to be suspicious of their motives.

Such were Cato’s thoughts when the stocky meatimal in the stall immediately to his right suddenly morphed into a green lizard! That was when Verafti took hold of the shovel leaning against a wooden partition and swung the tool through the air. There was barely enough time for Cato to make note of the blue toga that lay in a corner—and realize the extent of his mistake—before the flat part of the shovel made contact with the side of his head. There was a
clang
, followed by an explosion of pain, and a fast fall into darkness.

 

 

Verafti felt a profound sense of satisfaction as the blow connected with Cato’s head. He would have struck again, and finished the job, but Jaith spotted him and fired a short burst. Two of the bullets went wide, but the third passed between Verafti’s left arm and his side, as he morphed into a replica of Cato and bent to retrieve his pistol.

Then, with weapon in hand, Verafti bolted from the pen while a hail of bullets punched holes in the wooden stalls, ripped splinters out of support beams, and slammed into some of the animals. The noises they made were so pitiful that Jaith and his men stopped firing to give chase on foot as Verafti zigzagged his way to the far side of the market.

With no empaths on his trail, Verafti stood a better chance of escaping. The problem was that the wound in his side hurt like hell and was bleeding copiously. Verafti started to limp, and that slowed him down, as he made a dash for the other side of the narrow street.

There weren’t many people about, but those there turned to stare, as a man without any clothes on dashed out of the animal market, ran across the street, and hurried into a bazaar crammed with secondhand goods.

Verafti was in need of clothes, so as he hobbled down a crowded aisle, he took whatever was handy. He paused occasionally to fire a shot back toward his pursuers and to pull items on. Then, having morphed into a likeness of Albus, he left the bazaar for a cobblestone street and tucked the gun away. The thoroughfare sloped downhill toward the industrial area that bordered the lake, and that was fine with Verafti so long as there was a place to hide.

 

 

Jaith was down to three men, counting himself, having been forced to leave one of the bodyguards to look after Cato. The good news, such as it was, lay in the fact that Verafti was bleeding. And even though Jaith wasn’t an empath, he could sure as hell follow a blood spoor, which led straight across the street and through a bazaar hung with pots, pans, ladles, tools, clothing, and other items. Some of them were still swaying in the wake of the shape shifter’s recent passage. Then, having kept his eyes down, Jaith was rewarded with a tight grouping of three red droplets. He waved his men forward. “Come on! Stay sharp! This is one tricky bastard.”

By the time Usurlus rolled out from under Livius and stood, the angry crowd had already surrounded Nalomy, and was tearing the Procurator apart. Her piteous screams were audible over the angry roar. It was
not
the sort of process that Usurlus had envisioned, but having no way to put a stop to it, all he could do was try to restore order.

Half of the seats were empty, the arena was filled with angry citizens, and it wouldn’t be long before they began to stream out of the coliseum into the streets of Solace, where Usurlus feared that
more
violence would occur. “Livius!” Usurlus said urgently. “Where’s Centurion Pasayo? Never mind. Take some men, find a senior officer, and take command of the militia. Then seal all of the gates. Don’t let anyone out until I say it’s okay. Got it?”

Livius nodded obediently. “Yes, sir. And if they refuse?”

“Place them under arrest and find someone else,” Usurlus replied. “Shoot them if you have to. Now hurry! We don’t have much time.”

As Livius departed, Usurlus went out onto the platform, bent to retrieve one of the fallen microphones, and straightened up again. His voice boomed through the coliseum’s speakers. “My fellow citizens!” Usurlus said. “There has been enough violence on Dantha. . . . Enough corruption . . . And enough suffering. Return to your seats and listen to what I have to say! Because while the wrongs of the past cannot be righted, a new day is about to dawn. Emperor Emor is aware of all that you’ve been through. . . . That’s why I was sent to Dantha, why I made the announcement that I did, and why I stand before you now!”

The words were enough to cause most people to stop what they were doing and listen. There was even a reedy cheer. So while a few people made for the exits, most of the crowd remained in the arena, curious as to what the Legate would say. And Usurlus, who was anxious to prevent rioting, went on to deliver the speech begun earlier. He told the mob that a commission would be established to review governmental procedures on Dantha and bring them into compliance with Imperial standards. He told them about plans to rotate the militia off-planet for retraining, and to try corrupt officials, and to create jobs by replacing crumbling infrastructure. And while there were some boos, most of the audience cheered, as slaves scuttled out to throw buckets of sand onto the bloodied ground.

Usurlus felt someone at his side and turned to find that Livius had returned. “Pasayo is dead,” the Section Leader informed him, “and most of the militia officers are cooperating. All of the gates have been sealed.”

“And Albus?”

“We assume the shape shifter killed him, sire. . . . And took his place. The bastard escaped, but a Xeno Corps officer is on his trail, with help from six of my men.”

“Let’s hope they catch him,” Usurlus said grimly. “Now . . . Let’s get that circus troupe in here. . . . The crowd has had their blood. It’s time to entertain them.”

Verafti followed the gradient down toward the industrial area below. Not because he had a plan, but because his side hurt, and the downward slope made it easier to jog. What he needed was a place to hide, a den where he could stop the bleeding, and wait for the excitement to die down. Then, once Verafti had room to breathe, he would formulate a plan.

So when Verafti saw the foundry and the sprawl of sheds, outbuildings, and ore containments that surrounded it, he paused to check his back trail, and with no pursuers in sight, entered the complex through an unguarded gate. From there it was a short walk over to a set of double doors that had been left open to let out some of the heat. A glowing furnace was visible against the far wall where a group of heavily swathed workers were preparing to pour molten metal into a form. That gave Verafti an idea.

He entered the foundry room, turned to pull the doors closed, and felt for the gun. Then, with the weapon held down along his right leg, Verafti made his way toward the furnace. It was
hot
, extremely hot, which made it difficult to breathe. The workers were aware of him by then, curious as to why he had closed the doors, and annoyed as well. There were five in all, and as the foreman opened his mouth to speak, Verafti shot him in the face. There was a sudden explosion of both blood and fear as the others tried to run. They didn’t get far. Verafti killed them one after the other. He wasn’t a very good shot, but his victims were only a few feet away, and that made the process easy.

Once all of the Umans were dead, Verafti took the moment necessary to throw the pistol into the furnace. The remaining rounds cooked off almost immediately, but the
pop
,
pop
,
pop
could barely be heard over the persistent roar of hot air and the blood pounding in his ears.

Having rid himself of incriminating evidence, Verafti selected the smallest Uman, pulled the long scarf away from the man’s face, and took a good look. Then, after memorizing the worker’s features, he managed to heave the body up off the floor and stagger over to the furnace. The last few feet were extremely difficult, both because of the persistent pain in his side, and the skin-blistering heat. But thanks to his indomitable will, Verafti was able to get close enough to throw the dead worker into the glowing maw, before backing off, to watch the body melt away.

The next part was going to be hard,
very
hard, but there was no getting around it. Not if he wanted to get off Dantha and find the person he’d been searching for when the Xeno cops captured him. So Verafti morphed into his true form, went over to a workbench, and chose a hatchet from the hodgepodge of implements lying scattered on the surface of it. With the tool in hand, he went back to where the bodies lay sprawled on the floor.

The tourniquet was already in place, and had been since early that morning, just in case Nalomy decided to trigger the explosive device attached to Verafti’s wrist in spite of her promises to let him go. It would have been able to stop the bleeding quickly. So all he had to do was to tighten the elastic band and tie it off. Then, while he still had the courage to do so, Verafti knelt in front of the anvil, and placed his wrist on top of it. He lifted the hatchet high, brought it down until sharp steel made contact with his scaly skin, then raised it again. At that point he brought the hatchet down with all of the strength he could muster!

There was a loud
clink
as steel met steel, followed by a sudden lightness, and a feeling of unexpected warmth. Blood spurted, stopped just as quickly, and began to congeal in response to the heat. Then, before the pain could begin, Verafti morphed into Uman form. That was when Verafti allowed himself to clutch a seemingly uninjured left hand to his abdomen and howl. It was a primal sound that had been born in the hot primordial jungles of Sagatha, where pain was a constant.

Even as he battled the dizziness that threatened to pull him down, Verafti managed to summon up enough strength to pick up the severed hand and throw it toward the furnace before collapsing onto the pool of half-coagulated blood that lapped around the dead workers.