"Big enough for four."
"Let's make it two." She hesitated, looking out over the city. "You know, I never would have thought we'd do it. Back in the mountains, when they pulled the transport, I thought we were dead. Now look at us. We own this place."
"A presage of things to come," Sinklar promised as he looked up at the lights of the orbiting fleet. "No one leaves
Sinklar Fist or the First Assault Division to die in the backcountry." He grinned crookedly as he lowered his gaze to the darkened city that was his.
The next step would be to win the whole damned war.
Air travel had become too risky. Bruen rubbed his hip with a thin hand as a whooshing sound grew in the tunnel. Over the years, the Seddi had mapped much of the honeycomb of tunnels that wove through the Targan rock like onorail that empty arteries. They seldom used the single in ran between Kaspa and the hidden chambers of Makarta. Seddi resources had been funneled into other causes through the years and if the one car should fail, well, there were worse deaths than starving in the blackness of the tunnels, though not many. Sending out a rescue party would take weeks.
The hiss of the approaching car grew louder until it pulled into the lighted chamber. Butla Ret glanced up as he rocked to a stop and turned off the motor.
He puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled and shook his head. "I'd started to wonder if I'd ever get here. "
"So had we," Bruen greeted.
Ret climbed out of the vehicle and followed Bruen through a winding maze of corridors hewn out of the rock. They entered a lighted room filled with monitors, several tables, and a couch where Magister Hyde lay under a warmer.
Butla went over to take Hyde's weak hand.
Bruen ignored them as he walked to the pine table. Finally he turned. "I guess you know why we wanted to see you, Butla. "
The big assassin gave Hyde one last encouraging smile and moved into the center of the room. "I think so, Magister. "
"You have made a decision?"
Butla rubbed his hands together and nodded. "Yes, Magister Bruen. I will accept. It seems there is no other way.
Bruen cleared his throat. "Then you are now formally in command of the field operations of the Targan resistance." Hyde nodded in somber agreement from the couch where he lay. His flesh had sunk around the skull like a death mask. "The quanta are making fools of us all, Butla. We thought the Star Butcher would be our greatest threat, and now he may be in the clutches of Ily Takka. Who knows what that might mean. Nothing is proceeding as we had planned. All of our predictive models are on hold. This new general of the First Assault Division is completely—"
"This Sinklar Fist?" Butla frowned. "He was promoted from sergeant. How could he. ..."
I can't tell him who Sinklar Fist is, or about his heritage. "We don't know."
Bruen lied as he lowered himself carefully into a chair. "At the time he was appointed, we were hesitant. Apparently the Regan Minister of Defense abandoned Fist to his destruction in the mountains between Kaspa and Vespa.
Fist has turned the tables. We had begun massing in the hills around his position—but he evacuated, on mining equipment, of all things, before we could launch a strike. He not only refused to be destroyed, he took Vespa, butchered our counterattack with almost no losses, and has, through some magic of his own, incorporated the prisoners he took into his own corps of loyal irregulars."
Bruen avoided Ret's questioning gaze and pulled at his ear. Of course, we knew he was brilliant. After all, he's probably the most incredible mix of genetic material to come along in the eight hundred years of Free Space.
"There is always assassination," Butla mentioned casually. "Now that she's contacted me, I could send Arta after him—or go myself."
Bruen lifted an eyebrow. What are you hiding, Butla? You now something we don't. Why don't you speak? Or don't you trust us anymore? "Perhaps. Let us keep that option open. On the other hand, he will be most difficult to get to.
His people are very loyal,"
"Perhaps," Butla's deep bass rumbled. "For the moment, the Targan forces are scattered, morale is down. I will repair that damage and then we shall see to this Sinklar Fist . . . and his First Division."
"We are placing our trust in you, Butla Ret," Hyde added, voice barely audible. "And perhaps . . . our last hope."
What do I do now? How will things work out on Etarus. Is there truly any hope for an alliance with the Companions? This is all changing too rapidly. We're on a wild ride, and the coaster is out of control.
CHAPTER 19
"She comes with me," Staffa insisted, arms crossed resolutely as they stood in the burning Etarian sands.
Ily lifted a questioning eyebrow. The Lord Commander wanted her, a work-toughened cock-pinch? The brownhaired slave woman was filthy—not that Staffa looked any cleaner. Ily could see a bruise healing on her cheek, and a man had obviously been sucking at her neck from the fading purple splotches.
Why, she'd probably been had by every man in Etarus—and in every orifice!
True, she exhibited a curious animal magnetism in the way the muscles rolled under that tanned flesh. Was she what he'd been screwing out here?
Ily took the time to get a good look at Staffa. He was dirty. Even in the dry hot air, his body reeked of sweat and his personal odor, unwashed these many days. The sun had blackened his skin and a wealth of old scars stood out pinkish-white along his massively muscled chest, shoulders, and arms. He, too, she noted, carried bruises—especially around his swollen throat. His eyes never left hers, measuring and wary, suspicious of her next move. He kept the override box gripped tightly in his battered hand.
Ily experienced a slight flush as she met those gray eyes. Here, by the Rotted Gods, stood a man! She looked on a feral male, one she could respect.
Nevertheless, he had changed. The haughty arrogance had vanished to be replaced by something else, some dangerous cunning coupled with an unnamed anguish. What had the cursed Warden done to him?
"Very well, Lord Commander, you may bring her. But what, pray tell, will you do with her?" Ily gestured for the aircar, aware of Tyklat's spongelike attention. He hadn't missed a word, not a single nuance. A very bright young man, this Tyklat. He would have to be used carefully—and watched vigilantly.
Ily heard Staffa say to the woman, "I made you a promise. I can't change the past... no matter how much I would like to. I also gave you my word that I would free you if I could."
Ily speculated as the slave woman shrank from Staffa's touch and climbed unevenly to her feet. She walked suspiciously toward the approaching aircar, silent, ignoring Staffa who still stood there with a dumb misery in his eyes.
Most interesting! The Lord Commander could be hurt through this woman. Who was she? How could she be used?
Ily reached for Staffa's hand and almost jerked back. His flesh felt like wood! She noted the scabs where they had cracked and sand now caked the coagulated blood. "Come, Staffa, a cool shower and clean clothes await you. We will discuss our business, and then you may be free to go."
His deadly gray eyes met hers and he nodded, voice raspy as he said, "After you Minister," and gestured, his long black hair flipping and twisting barbarically in the searing wind.
Tyklat took the front seat next to the slave woman. Ily switched on the privacy shield as the vehicle rose from the swirling sand. She analyzed Staffa's slit-eyed stare as they rose over the pile of corpses pulled from the collapsed dune. For a split second, she caught a glimmer of rage in his expression as he looked down at the long length of pipe reflecting brightly in the sun.
"Lord Commander," she asked in her most sympathetic voice. "How did you come to be sold like a common criminal? The Empire is terribly embarrassed by the entire incident."
As they moved beyond sight of the pipeline, he turned, and she experienced a thrill at the brute power in his eyes.
"You must have found the case records . . . and the Judicial Magistrate, if you found me."
"How would you like the matter to be han
dled? The Emperor will want your every wish accorded to." She settled herself and pulled the flask from the seat beside her. His sharpened expression cued her and she graciously handed him the energy-rich rehydrating fluid.
"Drink it, I believe you need it more than I." She smiled, letting her lids drop &ver so slightly, her mouth set in the practiced half-smile that enticed and invited.
He drank but half, handing the flask forward. The slave woman, Ily noted, might not be interested in acknowledging the Lord Commander, but she finished the flask. Evidently, in the desert, water overrode social concerns.
"I leave the problem of my arrest to your sensibilities, Minister." He turned to her, gray ice in his gae. "However, were I making the decisions, I'd finish the job this pus-searing sun started, and melt this hellhole to slag with a cobalt bomb."
She nodded thoughtfully and was surprised when he looked at her again. "The only other request I make is that anyone you punish, you kill outright.
Enslave none of them."
"Very well." She fought the urge to gasp in the heat, wishing she had worn anything but black in this burning waste. How many pounds had she sweated out in the five hours since They left Etarus? She appraised him again, noting the hard set of his jaw. How in the name of the Rotted Gods had even he survived?
How could anyone live—let alone work—in that?
He looks like a man returned from hell. The glare in his eyes is that of a fanatic. For what? What has the desert, the heat, and the degradation done to him?
They set down minutes later before the Internal Security Directorate. Ily led Staff a and his slave woman into the building. "The Director's offices have complete facilities. Tyklat, find some proper clothing for the Lord Commander and his ... lady."
Staffa glared at her. "Get the thrice-cursed collar off me! Now!"
"Tyklat?" Ily raised an eyebrow.
For the first time, Tyklat seemed flustered. "My Lord Minister, I fear the equipment to do that . . . well, we can put them on here, but take them off, I don't know."
"Give me a blaster." Staffa's muscles rippled. "I'll take the Rotted thing off."
Ily smiled, raising her hand. "I don't think we need to get that carried away.
Tyklat, get the equipment. I don't care if you have to turn the city over."
Staffa glanced nervously at her and nodded, the control override jealousy guarded as they entered the main lobby.
Ily climbed the stairs, noticing the veiled woman who waited outside Tyklat's office. Her robes looked well to do and Ily could feel the woman's stare through the gauze. Some matron ratting on her husband for turning the servant perhaps? Why did these simple Etarians insist on their proper women wearing that ridiculous veil? It seemed ludicrous when they let their Priests pimp.
She opened the door and waved Staffa into the Director's spacious office. The slave woman followed, tall and straight, tan eyes catching each detail.
"The bath is through there." Ily motioned and tapped the intercom. "I will need a complete meal served for three with lots of beverages--and, as you value life, you will spare no expense. "
She watched Staffa and the woman disappear into the lavatory before settling into the plush contouring chair behind Kapstan's old desk and considering the developments. Who is this new Staffa? How do I bend him to my will?
Tyklat entered, bearing serviceable clothing if not the absolute finest. He deposited the garments in the dressing room, returning to inquire whether she needed anything else.
"I think that will do, Tyklat. Your service will be remembered. I want you to find out about this slave woman. Who is she? What's her history?"
"I've already checked, Ily. She is Kaylla Dawn, formerly the hand servant to the First Lady of Maika."
"Very good, Tyklat. If I ring, come and claim the girl. he was enslaved for a crime, I take it?"
The corner of his mouth lifted. "Murder of her master, Ily. A most heinous crime."
"And the equipment to remove the collar?" "Downstairs. It should be here in a moment."
Ily glanced toward the bath and lowered her voice. "Take your time. "
She ran her hand down his, touch light. His expression reflected his understanding of the potential implications. "Tyklat, have you ever thought about leaving Etarus? Perhaps to take a higher post in the Empire?"
"Constantly, Lord Minister," he replied artfully as he left the room on silent feet.
Staffa stepped out of the bath with his long black hair twisted over his left ear as had always been his penchant. TykIat had found a white robe which Staffa now wore. Against his sun-blackened skin, it made a most striking contrast. "What about the collar?" he demanded first thing.
"Tyklat was just here. The equipment is on the way." "How did you know to search for me on Etaria?" he asked, settling easily on the pillows across from the desk, the collar control clutched tightly.
Look at the exhaustion in his eyes! Time to get some of my own back. "In spite of what you might have thought, we take our Empire very seriously. Your Wing Commander informed us that you were going on vacation-incognito. It wouldn't do to have you get into ... well, the sort of mess you did on one of our possessions. We had an alert out for any disturbance or unusual mention of your name. It came out on a routine cross-check of the court system."
He nodded slowly, feral eyes never leaving hers. Did he believe her? No, she could see his skepticism. Happily, she realized his exhaustion would work to her benefit. She could read him; his discipline was compromised.
The food arrived as Kaylla stepped out of the dressing room in a bronze formfitting shift that did wonders for her. She had combed her shoulder length hair and it set off her tan eyes and weathered complexion. Not a planet-stopping beauty, but this woman would dominate a room where others with more classic features would fade against her magnetism. Staffa's perceptions must have held true-even through the dirt and stink and bruises.
By caught herself staring at Kaylla. Yet another potential rival? Rotted Gods, how did the man draw such competent women when the female half of human space seemed filled with ignorant fawning titterers and empty-headed breeding stock?
By gestured to the low ebony-topped table and settled herself across from the heaping plates. As Staffa and Kaylla seated themselves on the large cushions, Ily said, "I would offer a toast, but I doubt anything I say would be appropriate. Therefore, please, let us eat."
Ily kept her face straight as Staffa and the woman demolished a complete dinner in ravenous fashion. The after-dinner lethargy would lower Staffa's defenses even further.
"You mentioned business?" The Lord Commander leaned back, wolfish gaze on Ily.
Ily poured them both more wine, aware of how Kaylla missed nothing. Sharp, and she hadn't said a word since the rescue.
"Indeed. We would offer you and the Companions contract, Lord Commander.
Currently, the Targan situation is deteriorating. The Rebels, it seems, are better armed and led than we had at first suspected." Long practice had given her the ability to project credible hesitation and dismay. "They have destroyed an entire assault division and threaten our very control of the planet. Tybalt the Imperial Seventh believes it would be cheaper to hire the Lord Commander than to suffer the inefficiency, cost, and loss of life, equipment, and property the present situation would indicate as necessary to subdue the planet."
Kaylla's attention turned to Staffa, mouth opening slightly in the first show of emotion Ily had seen her display. Staffa looked from one to the other, face as impassive as the damned desert.
"For the moment, Lord Minister, the Companions are not accepting any contract.
If you will be so kind as to extend my best wishes to his Imperial Tybalt, I would-"
"I don't think you understand the gravity of this situation, Lord Commander."
Ily remained firm but pleasant. "Consider the current balance of power between Sassa and ourselves. We would prefer not to tie up large portions of our forces at this time. In the event we we
re to suffer heavy casualties during the pacification of Targa, would that not . ?" invite Sassan aggression.
"No," Staffa told her easily. "Having just come from Myklene, I can tell you they are in no position to threaten you." He looked into the tan eyes of the slave woman and added, "It is none of my business, Minister, but may I suggest that you approach the Rebel parties and attempt to find a political solution to the problem which will not bleed you so badly." He wiped his black beard with a dampened napkin and met her level gaze. "I take it, however, that I am free to leave this planet and continue my travels unrestricted?"
"Then you have no interest in helping us?" "Not for the foreseeable future."
"Surely, Lord Commander, we can sweeten the pot. Make you an offer-"
"You have my final word."
By smiled to cover her racing thoughts. With all the options available, where does my advantage lie? I can't allow Staffa loose-potentially bearing a grudge against the Imperium that enslaved him. If he returns to the Itreatic Asteroids, what guarantee do I have that he would ultimately side with Rega?
Against that, I must balance his anger and wrath. What hope is there to coerce him to throw the Companions into the fray on the side of Rega if I threaten him? Most of all, I need him ... need to win him to my side in the desperate gamble I must make. For that, I need time with him. Time to manipulate him, to bind him to me.
He told her politely, "In any case, I would have to take it up with the Companions, and we agreed upon my leaving to all take time to recuperate from the strenuous campaigning. Now why don't we get this damned collar off, and we can all be more pleasant."
"Then perhaps you would allow me to show my sincere regards and personally escort you through the Regan Empire at his Imperial Majesty's expense? I could offer you the finest in entertainment aboard my personal cruiser. You could consider yourself a. . , . "
He raised a hand to stop her. "I am most honored by your offer, Lord Minister.
I would, however, remind you that the Companions have never accepted such privileges from any government. To do so would bias our neutrality. As always, I will go on my own and bear my own expenses. That way, there can be no appearance of conflict of interest." His voice changed. "Ily, I want this collar off-now!"