Requiem for the Conqueror

  In her dreams, Staffa twisted just beyond reach of her frantic fingers.

  Condemned to eternal suffering, he spun slowly while a laughing black-garbed woman sliced at his body. Try as she might, he always turned a whisker beyond Skyla's fingertips—beyond rescue from the vicious knife. Skyla cried her anguish and the woman in black glanced at her with features that molded into Ily Takka's.

  * * *

  Ily regained consciousness in a small room. She blinked and tried to move.

  Nothing happened. She glanced down to discover herself encased in a hospital unit. Staffa! He and that Kaylla had. . . . Yes. It all came back. She pulled her scattered thoughts together.

  "Awake at last?" She turned her head to see Tyklat's pensive dark features measuring her from where he sat in a cushioned chair.

  "What happened to you back there?" She asked through a dry throat.

  "We were attacked. Moriai and I organized the defense of the Internal Security Directorate on Etarus." He frowned. "So far as we can determine, they must have been Companions. The Ministry offices are totally wrecked, fifteen people are dead. I immediately ordered a planetary emergency and confiscated Skyla Lyma's craft. She, however, cleared its release on your personal ID—which I did manage to recover. Evidently, they didn't recognize the power of the jessant-de-lis."

  Ily gasped, trying to sit up in panic, stopped by the medical unit.

  Tyklat continued, "I've already instituted Imperial proceedings against the slave, Kaylla. I put a death warrant on her head. I thought I'd better await your approval before I instituted any further action." He gave her a studied look. "Ily, what's going on here? I'm not asking for all of the details, but you must give me enough to create plausible cover for you and your operation.

  The Ministry of Defense is making inquiries Economics is screaming. Everyone wants to know what happened here."

  "Is my battle cruiser still up there?" she asked, mind racing. "Where's my ID badge?" God, to have lost that token of unlimited power The consequences would be unthinkable! What next? How do I cover for this damage? How did everything go so wrong so fast?

  "I have taken the liberty to order your cruiser readied; it's at your disposal." Tyklat handed her the escutcheon emblazoned with the jessant-de-lis. The leopard glared angrily at her, its visage discolored from being touched by the wrong fingers, as if she had disappointed it through her failure. Iron resolve tightened in her breast.

  What now? Where would Staffa have gone? What do I do?

  She organized her thoughts. "We must get a message to the Emperor and tell him Staffa kar Therma is—and has been—in the pay of the Sassan Empire since he took Myklene. Perhaps, if we play this right, we can still shortcut that bastard!" She gritted her teeth. "By the Rotted Gods, get an LC down here and transfer me up to that cruiser!

  Have the First Officer get a fix on their plasma trail." She frowned at the wall, hearing Tyklat's steps and a door closing.

  She brooded for a moment, her pale brow creasing with rage. "I'll get you, Staffa kar Therma. I'll get you if I have to plunge all of Free Space into war."

  CHAPTER 20

  "It's coy!" Gretta told him, straight nose wrinkled, fn in her gulf-blue eyes.

  Below their balcony, the city of Vespa spread in the morning sun. Beyond the city he could see the verdant hills rising against the azure morning horizon.

  The sun spiUed over their little breakfast table. He could smell the freshness in the air along with a slight tang of city. The buildings seemed to gleam and the pale streets reflected as people and aircars passed his checkpoints below.

  "Why?" Sinklar demanded. "It's a very old ritual that goes back over a thousand—"

  "What difference will it make?" A reproving curve of her lips accented her dimples. "It's just a way of keeping the administration of property simple, isn't it? What happens if you throw me over for some other woman down the line? Then you'll have all those legal entanglements."

  He shook his head, rolling his eyes up toward the fluffy clouds that filled the morning sky. Slowly, with measured tones he said, "It's a commitment.

  That's all, just a commitment."

  Her gae lingered on his for a long moment. "All right, Sink. I'll do it." The twinkle came back to her eyes. "Still won't change anything. Won't make me any sexier. Won't make me any more docile or submissive. We're not having babies any time soon either."

  "No," he admitted, "but you will be the only Divisional Second married to a First."

  She frowned suddenly as she stared over the flat-topped roofs of Vespa. "Ever thought of the confusion that would result if we ever had a bad fight? I'm not sure it's a good idea to have the two of us so close to each other at the top of the command structure."

  "Got a better idea?" he asked dryly, tapping his fingers on the plasti-foam tabletop. "There's only one other Division on the planet. I don't think Mykroft is about to let you have it."

  "No. No better ideas."

  "If you wanted, I could put MacRuder in as Second. You could take a well deserved rest."

  "You're sweet Sink. A little impractical . . . but sweet." She threw up her hands, shifting in her chair as she looked over the city. "If something happened to you, who do you think would take over? Mac?" Her eyes danced with mischief.

  "I don't think you've been whispering plans into his ear at night like you have mine."

  "No, lovely Gretta, I haven't."

  "Good, keep your Rotten God-chewed ass in one piece. We'll sort out the odds and ends when we get to Rega."

  "Rega," Sinklar said through an aspirated sigh. "Rega's a long way away."

  "The Rebels have to talk soon Sink. We've got Vespa and all the land to the mountains under patrol. We're recruiting Targan citizens by the drove." She frowned. "I think you've got enough to form a new Division if you could get the supplies."

  "Division and a Section," Sinklar mused. "All of them trained in my tactics."

  "And completely loyal Sink. They love you. You've made too many promises, you know. God help us if you can't get a deal hammered out between the Rebels and the Minister of Defense."

  He felt that shiver of fear that always got him when he thought of the odds.

  "I know." He fingered the smooth surface of the table. "I honestly hope the Minister of Defense takes the settlement. That way, we get the credit for stopping the war and live like lords on our pension and bonus."

  "It's the other way that's scary."

  "Hey. I can do anything! I just talked you into marrying e!" He joined her laughter before adding soberly, "I have time. There's still no Staffa in the skies overhead."

  "Suppose he went Sassan?"

  Sinklar grunted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then Tybalt is going to need me more than anyone he's ever needed in all his life."

  They sat silently for long minutes as the morning warmed. Finally Gretta leaned forward, expression tense. "Sink, do you ever wonder if greater powers are at play? I mean we already know that your appointment was part of a larger game ... but what about this whole revolution? Targa wasn't really in that bad a shape. Sure, she was stretched to pay off the war debt to the Star Butcher.

  But no one was starving. They worked long hours for poor pay, but places like Terguz and Sylene would be better spots for revolution than here."

  His mouth puckered and he nodded agreement. "You're right, of course. But there's more to it. Have you noticed anything missing from Vespa-and even Kaspa for that matter?" He felt across the table for her hand.

  She thought for a second before she shrugged and said, "Etarian Priestesses?

  Myklenian wine? Street festivals? What?"

  "Seddi priests," Sinklar told her flatly. "The temple in Kaspa was vacant, not a soul there. Abandoned. The temple here in Vespa was empty when we rolled in.

  I had Mac check it out. He says the place looks like it's been vacant for months-but no longer than that."

  "Since the war began."

  "Like they might be afraid the who
le blame would be pitched in their lap again." He tightened his hold on her fingers. "You know. There hasn't been a name bandied about by the Rebels, no leader of the movement whose praises are shouted in the streets. Odd for a revolution, don't you think?"

  She glanced at him suspiciously. "I ... well, you're the scholar. I never studied revolutions."

  "Generally, a revolt has a leader, a figurehead the people can identify with, someone to rally around who is concrete and represents their ideals. That person, too, is missing from this revolt." Sinklar shook his head. "Yet they fight very well; you can't help but get the feeling they're organized all over the planet."

  "Which is where you think the Seddi priests come in?" She arched an eyebrow.

  "Makes sense. They have a network of communication and resupply over the whole planet. How do they get around?"

  "Each of the temples is underground." Sinklar steepled his fingers. "We don't know much about the layout of the volcanic vents that underlie Targa."

  "A system of tunnels?" She thought about that as she flipped brown hair over her shoulder.

  "Could be. That's how they fought the first Sylenian revolt. It was a battle of boring machines eating their way through the ice. The idea was to cut around the other guy's tunnel and sever his power supply. The loser froze to death stranded in the dark and the cold. I guess they still find them in abandoned tunnels-looking just like they did the day they froze to death."

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Gruesome. They'll kill us in the clean air and sunlight here."

  A black dot moved against the sky, an LC scudding low over the mounded hills that composed the horizon. Sinklar watched as a swarm of aircars rose from the hills around and approached the incoming craft. Good, his units weren't napping.

  "Visitors." Sinklar stood and walked to the balcony to 5are ou.t over the city. Below, he knew A Group had sniping positions established to cover the approaches to the headquarters building. Hunter patrols constantly circulated through the city, seeking Targan revolutionaries for real, trying to ambush other Groups for practice and prestige.

  MacRuder's running steps came from inside the plush suite. He passed the ornate glass doors and came to stand by Sinklar. "I just got the word. That's Mykroft coming in."

  Another three or four LCs appeared in the distance. "Mykroft?" Sinklar's gut churned. He gave MacRuder a quick inspection. "You have any idea why?"

  "He just said to prepare to receive him and two Sections. I told him to land in the square." MacRuder motioned to the open expanse before the commandeered headquarters building.

  "Something's not right," Sinklar muttered sourly. "Have your Section and Shiksta's ready for support. I want our people in position to handle anything he tries."

  Mac's lips twisted under his bent nose. "Mutiny?" "Maybe," Sinklar told him coldly. "You think the Division will stand by me if it comes to that?"

  Mac bit his lip and dropped his gaze. His nod came with reluctance. "We've all talked it over, Sink. Every man and woman out there knows you kept them alive when the Holy Gawddamn Book . . . and the Emperor would have let them die. I think they'll stand."

  He turned into his quarters to change, an odd throttling pride resting deep under his heart.

  Dressed in battle armor, Sinklar, with Gretta to one side and MacRuder on the other, waited as the LC settled at the head of the other five craft.

  "They look shot up," Gretta shouted over the din of whining thrusters and blowing grit.

  Listing heavily, a sixth LC slowed to land at the edge of the square. It wobbled, hit with a grinding crash, and bounced.

  "Mac!" Sinklar yelled. "Get some people to work on that LC. They'l have casualties after that landing!"

  MacRuder left at a run, arms waving signals over the decreasing whine as the LCs powered down and the dust whipped around in vortices.

  "They've been hit all right," Gretta said grimly. "Look at the blast marks."

  The ramp on the first LC lowered with a shrill of hydraulics. Part of a Group clattered down to the sunny pavement, eyes wary and strained as they took position and stared over their blasters. Their scorched and hardened armor told more than words.

  Sinklar felt a sudden premonition and straightened. Mykroft appeared in a tattered dress uniform. One arm hung in a sling and his expression was strained with pain. He walked slowly down the ramp.

  "First Mykroft," Sinklar greeted formally, pounding out a salute.

  The man nodded, eyes bitter and angry. "Good to see you, Sinklar."

  Into his helmet comm, Sinklar called, "Shiksta? Get me ambulances immediately, we have wounded to tend to. I need every hospital machine that isn't in intensive or critical care evacuated immediately." He looked to Mykroft while Shiksta was affirming in his ear. "How many hurt?"

  "Fifty or sixty," Mykroft told him.

  "Got sixty units?" Sinklar asked as he glanced at the wrecked LC where Mac's team pulled people from an escape hatch.

  "Maybe," Shiksta's voice came through.

  Sinklar noted the dejected nature of the troops who departed the landed LCs.

  Many walked in a daze. Others limped. The worst were brought out on antigrav utters, plasta-heal pasted over their wounds.

  "Let's go inside First Mykroft. I think you could use a glass of Scotch and then you can tell us what happened." Sinklar turned on his heel as Mykroft followed. "Second Artina, if you will attend and have Mac come as soon as he has the casualties taken care of."

  "Yes, First Fist!" She snapped him a salute and turned on her heel, issuing orders.

  "Tighten your perimeter, Sinklar," Mykroft told him shortly. "I don't want to get hit again like last night."

  "How's the rest of the Second doing?" Sinklar ignored the order as he led Mykroft into the plush lobby of his headquarters building. The gleaming basalt floor had been polished to a sheen. Furniture upholstered in scarlet velvet had been placed decorously around the room to contrast with the oate woodwork and white walls.

  "Gone." Mykroft said it with a shudder. "All dead . . . or fled into the city.

  I would imagine they've been hunted down and dispatched by now."

  Gretta and MacRuder entered, eyes grim as they glanced at Mykroft where he settled into a chair and winced as he jammed his arm. Sinklar poured from the cut glass decanter on the wet bar and handed the glass to Mykroft.

  "The LCs?" Sinklar asked, tuing to them.

  "Shiksta's in the plaza making an assessment now," Mac offered. "I think that sixth is pretty rattled. Might not be fit for vacuum duty."

  "I want that perimeter drawn tight, Fist." The order was strained as Mykroft sipped his drink and gasped a pained sigh.

  Sinklar straightened, Gretta's face flushed with anger. Sink noted the wary shifting of Mac's eyes. "First Mykroft, this is not the Second Division. I appreciate your concern; however, our security is ample."

  "Ample?" Mykroft blinked. "You've got people spread out all over the city!"

  "Absolutely." Sinklar moved to pour himself a glass and filled two others for MacRuder and Gretta. "I have a full Division with secondary support from my loyalist Targans."

  "Your what? Loyalist Targans?" Mykroft looked appalled. "You have Targan troops?"

  "Among the best," Gretta told him from where she watched. "For the last two weeks we've been having war games. The First is still ahead, but the Targans are narrowing the gap. If we could get them all armed, our comparative strength would effectively triple for combat purposes."

  Mykroft closed his eyes. "This is unbelievable! How could you make such a wretched mess of this, Sinklar? I trusted you to keep the First.... Rotted Gods," he groaned, what will this do to my record?"

  "The loss of a Division is rather serious," Mac agreed with a crooked grin.

  Mykroft shot a look of hatred at Mac. "Very well, I shall attempt to rectify this immediately. Sinklar Fist, you are hereby relieved of command."

  Mac and Gretta stiffened.

  inklar swirled the amber fluid i
n his glass. "I beg your pardon? The Second Division has no authority here, Mykroft."

  "Sergeant," he snapped, "don't press your luck!"

  "A man with only two Sections left from an entire Division shouldn't be talking about luck!" Sinklar snapped. "Furthermore, who was the dung-dripping fool who ordered my transport revoked while I was out in the mountains? Right now, Mykroft, the First isn't any too keen on book form, not after some rear-echelon pus-sucker with a comm, clearance hung us out to be Targan blaster fodder!"

  Sinklar paced, his gaze searing Mykroft's. "And may the Rotted Gods help you if I find you had anything to do with it!"

  "Damn you, Sinklar, I didn't!" Mykroft's haggard eyes narrowed. "I didn't know a-"

  "Good." Sinklar stopped, thinking. "I'll accept that because I don't think you did." He took a deep breath. "In the meantime, you're here. What's the situation in Kaspa? Is the whole city under Rebel control?"

  Mykroft's expression betrayed barely contained fury. "I suppose so. There might be a few pockets of my people who got out and holed up."

  "How did they get the whole Division?" Sinklar cried. "I mean, even an attack in force could have been handled. You had the personnel, the weapons, the power plant for heavy stuff. Even in the middle of the night, the barracks should have offered-"

  "They hit us during the Divisional ball. The first we knew anything was awry, the lights went off. We heard the explosion a half-second later and by then everything was chaos with people stumbling around in the dark. Since it was a formal occasion, very few had battle gear. Fortunately, the two Sections I managed to bring out were from outside town. They'd come in field gear.

  Although it distressed me at the time, I'll not look to see if there's mud on a gift bearer's shoes. "

  "But how?" Mac asked in disbelief. "That's the second time the Targans did the unexpected. You didn't.... No, of course you didn't!"

  "Didn't what?" Mykroft demanded. "I'm not used to being questioned by a ...... He swallowed his last words as Mac's fists clenched and he took a step forward.