Bones of Empire (35 page)

So Nimji steered his boat downstream toward the island temple, turned the bow upstream at exactly the right moment, and dropped the lateen sail. As the tiny vessel drifted stern first along the edge of the landing, he stood ready to step ashore with a line. The end loop dropped over a rusty cleat, a few yards of line ran out, and the boat jerked to a halt.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, Nimji went to fetch a small pot from the stern before going ashore once again. With the vessel held in both hands, he followed the well-worn path into the domed temple, where he paused to bow.

As Nimji's head came up, the goddess's coal black beast eyes met his and seemed to penetrate his very soul. What light there was came down through wedge-shaped strips of colored glass that had been set into the gently curved ceiling and the oil lamps that occupied niches all around the room. Most were running low on fuel and were starting to flicker.

One by one, Nimji filled each lamp with oil from his personal supply of fuel before placing the nearly empty container next to the door, where he would retrieve it on the way out. Then, having honored Rahati by ensuring that her likeness would remain lit for another day and night, he went forward to kneel in front of her.

It was then, as Nimji looked up at Rahati's beast face, that the miracle occurred. Slowly, as if in a dream, she came to life! Although Nimji had never witnessed such a quickening personally, he had heard about them and uttered a shout of exultation as the living embodiment of Rahati came forward to rip his throat out.

Nimji didn't live long enough to witness the moment when the goddess morphed into her true form, or to see her mate emerge from a dark alcove, but it didn't matter. He had already been borne away into the holy cycle of birth, death, and rebirth by the time razor-sharp teeth began to rip at his blood-drenched body.

 

 

It took Verafti and Demeni fifteen minutes to eat their fill. Then, with full stomachs, it was time to morph into Uman form and step out into the sunshine. Both were partially covered with blood, so they went down the stairs to the landing, and from there into the brownish water that gurgled below. Thousands bathed in the Punja each day, so the people on passing boats barely noticed the naked fishermen as they washed their faces and splashed around.

Then, still dripping, they hoisted themselves back onto the landing. The boat rocked gently as the Sagathies stepped aboard. A quick search produced very little in the way of clothes because most of the river's boatmen wore little more than loincloths while plying their trade. Fortunately, those were easy to improvise from the tattered towels found next to a woven sleeping mat.

But there was no way to disguise Verafti's lack of knowledge where small boats were concerned. So he did the best he could to steer the little vessel with rudder alone as the current carried them downstream. There were some very close calls. The worst of them was when the scow hit a small passenger boat a glancing blow, bounced off the port side, and Verafti was roundly cursed by the captain.

Fortunately, the trip to the outskirts of Kybor wasn't all that long. The moment Verafti spotted a gently shelving riverbank where other boats were beached, he made straight for it—and felt a sense of relief when the bow nudged up into a layer of mud. But then the current took hold of the stern, swung it around, and was threatening to suck the flat-bottomed scow downstream as the Sagathies went over the side.

 

 

It took the better part of a full hour for the pair to reach the city's largest Rahati temple and the apartment that Demeni maintained there. If three of the Sagathi's most trusted lieutenants were in any way nonplussed by their leader's sudden metamorphosis from male to female Uman, they gave no sign of it as they followed the half-naked beauty into a sparsely furnished living room.

As Demeni took her place on the thronelike chair positioned against one wall, she could “feel” her mate's impatience, as well as the other emotions that permeated the air. The Umans were frightened—very frightened indeed. Serious errors had been made, and they were worried about what she would do to them. And for good reason, too, since every single one of them had been present when others were punished and knew how unpleasant such sessions could be. “You're frightened,” she said accusingly, as her eyes flicked from face to face.
“Why?”

The most senior acolyte had short black hair, which she wore in a bowl cut. In spite of her efforts to appear composed, she was clearly terrified and barely able to meet Demeni's eyes. The woman was hesitant at first, but once she got going, the words came out in a flood. The essence of the story was that despite the team's painstaking efforts to prepare for the attack—the Rahati assassins had run into unexpectedly stiff resistance. At least fifteen heavily armed Vords had been waiting in the apartment, plus Cato and his team of Umans.

Demeni knew that wasn't true since Cato had been chasing Verafti and her through the jungle about the same time that the assassination attempt took place. The acolyte clearly
believed
what she was saying, however. Which indicated that the person or persons in charge of the attack had lied to her. “So some of our assassins survived?”

The acolyte nodded.

“They failed you,” Demeni said harshly. “And more importantly, they failed
me
. Had they been true to the Rahati way, every single one of them would be dead. Kill them,” she instructed. “And do it personally. From that point forward, your subordinates will understand that when you give an order, it must be carried out regardless of cost. Now, leave me while I think about the implications of this failure and how to compensate for your incompetence.”

Heads hung low, the Rahaties left the pool area. “So,” Verafti said, once they were gone. “We tried it your way, and it didn't work. So it's my turn.”

Demeni eyed him skeptically. “Your turn to do
what
?”

“To attack the source of the Cato problem,” Verafti replied, “and that's the Vords. They brought him here—so they should pay. And, who knows? If they feel sufficiently threatened, perhaps they will kill him for us!”

 

 

Shafts of late-afternoon sunshine streamed down through skylights mounted high overhead to probe the water reservoir below. The ground-level facility was the size of a small lake and protected by a duraplast dome designed to keep contaminates out. A twenty-foot-wide service platform ran all around the perfectly symmetrical container and made a good place for Governor Arrius and his resistance fighters to meet.

The air was muggy, and occasional drops of condensation fell from above as Cato addressed a group of about thirty men and women. They were seated on or around a cluster of color-coded manifolds that fed water to various underground pipes and from there to the entire city. Most of the guerrillas were middle-aged, some were relatively young, and a few were elderly.

Cato was reluctant to spend time with the resistance group since Verafti and Demeni were still on the loose—but had chosen to do so in hopes of reaping benefits later on. Because the men and women in front of him knew the planet much better than he did and could be very helpful if they mastered the skills necessary to survive. It had been necessary to brief Governor Arrius regarding the Sagathies. But the others didn't know the exact nature of the criminals Cato was chasing.

That day's lesson was on the subject of command and control. Specifically the need to break the larger organization down into four-person cells, each of which could function independently, or come together as military fire teams when the time came for an all-out battle with the Vords.

“So rather than meet as a group as you're doing today,” Cato told them, “you will come together as individual cells. Then, if there's a need to feed information up the chain of command, you'll do so through your team leader. Once this system has been implemented, he or she will be the only person who knows how to contact top commanders. . . . And how to contact
you
. That means that a traitor, or a person who has been forced to divulge information, can't compromise more than four other people. Do you have any questions?”

A hand went up. Cato pointed toward a pleasant-looking middle-aged woman. “Yes?”

“What you say makes sense,” the resistance fighter conceded, “but isn't the system pretty unwieldy? What if we need to communicate with each other quickly?”

“I'll respond to that one if you don't mind,” Governor Arrius said as he stood. “Without getting into specific details, I can tell you that personnel within certain news organizations are working with us and will go on air in the case of a full-scale uprising. So any instruction preceded by my name and the appropriate code word should be obeyed.

“Unfortunately, we won't be able to communicate electronically because such calls can be intercepted and tracked. So be sure to delete all relevant numbers from your computers and pocket coms.”

And so it went for the next half hour, until the meeting came to an end, and it was time for Cato to leave. Not to hunt the Sagathies, or to get some much-needed sleep, but to attend a funeral. Because he was an Imperial officer, one of his men had fallen, and it was time to say good-bye.

 

 

There was nothing subtle about the attack on the palace. Verafti was seated next to the Uman driver when she turned into the driveway that led toward the government complex and put her foot to the floor. The military truck had been stolen the day before, and the massive front bumper proved to be more than a match for the aluminum security gate, which flew into pieces as the vehicle hit it.

The truck was taking fire by then, which was to be expected, since the buildings that lay in front of them were the most heavily guarded structures on the planet. That made them a very tempting target for anyone willing to die to score a psychological victory. And, with the exception of Verafti himself, all of the other people riding in the vehicle were already dead insofar as their families were concerned. In fact, it had been the goddess Rahati herself who had presided over the elaborate death ceremonies held the night before—and promised each warrior a very fortuitous rebirth.

A hail of bullets pinged, spanged, and whined as they hit the well-armored truck. A series of white divots appeared on the windshield, but none of the projectiles was able to penetrate the reinforced glass as the huge tires rode up and over the front of a combat car and kept on going. “The stairs!” Verafti shouted. “Aim for the stairs.”

There was another security point up ahead, so the grim-faced driver swerved around a concrete barrier onto the nicely landscaped median, smashed through an ornamental fountain, and turned back onto the road. The engine roared, and smoke belched out of twin stacks as she upshifted and ran over three troopers who were shooting at her. The truck bounced as the knobby tires hit the bodies.

Then all the driver had to do was turn the big steering wheel to the left and right again to line up on the stairs. The front tires hit hard, the vehicle bucked, and made it halfway up the formal stairs before stalling out. “Now!” Verafti yelled as he opened the passenger-side door.

The driver took a bullet between the eyes as she opened her door and fell while two dozen heavily armed Rahaties bailed out the back. “Follow me!” Verafti yelled as he ran up the stairs. A group of Vord troopers were there to defend the entrance, but when the first Uman morphed into a reptile, they stopped firing. And that was a serious mistake as he whirled and cut all of them down.

Verafti felt a sense of exultation as he arrived at the front door and nearly took a head off. There were plenty of security cams, so the Vords had pictures of him by then, which was half the battle insofar as Verafti was concerned. But just to make sure that they got the idea, he morphed into an exact likeness of Cato as he and the surviving Rahaties burst into the lobby beyond. “Kill them!” the Cato creature screamed. “Kill all of them!”

 

 

Meanwhile, as a Klaxon
beep
ed, and a series of flat-voiced orders were issued over the building's PA system, Commissioners Narth and Oomo had retreated to the heavily defended security center, where they were watching the attack via a bank of monitors. They were outwardly impassive, but that was deceptive given the dialogue within.
Did you see that?
Narth demanded.
It's one of the shape shifters! Right here in our headquarters building.

Yes,
the Ya agreed.
You read the report. . . . Officer Umji and the Umans came very close to capturing or killing the creatures a day ago but failed. And it's little wonder, seeing what they're capable of.

But why?
Narth wondered.
Why launch such a hopeless attack against us? Are they stupid?

I don't think so,
Oomo replied, as the Cato creature morphed into a Vord trooper and turned to attack the luckless Rahaties.
Did you see that?
the Ya inquired.
The shape shifter is sending us a message. He's bragging about what they can accomplish! It's an attempt to scare us into calling off the hunt for them.

That's impossible,
Narth said firmly.
Our home world is in danger so long as they exist.

Yes, it is,
came the reply, as the last of the Umans fell, and the Sagathi morphed into a different Vord likeness before slipping out the front door.

Think,
Oomo replied.
And act in the best interest of both the Vord and the Ya.

 

 

The graveyard was located just south of the city. It was a sprawling affair that covered more than a hundred acres of gently rolling land. As Cato looked out of the car's window, he saw a confusing maze of markers, headstones, and tombs. They came in a bewildering array of shapes, sizes, and styles. Some were no larger than a single flagstone. Others resembled ornate summerhouses.