Mac looked around. “Anyone got a complaint about that? Lord Rath? No? Good. Let’s get cracking, people. We’ve got a planet to run. “
“What ... what about if someone interferes?” the Director squeaked. “Like with the work crews?” Mac pointed to the Section First who lounged against the pakka wood wall, her battle armor shining. “That’s Section First Boyz. She’ll detail Groups for the first couple of days to accompany the crews. No one will bother you.”
“This ... uh, reorganization of the Authority ... that’s going to take.... Well,, I mean, someone has to approve that before I reorganize my work force.” The Director tried to smile ... and failed.
“Talk to Sinklar Fist.” Mac raised an eyebrow. And Fm assuming Sink really knows what he’s doing with all this. “But in the meantime, I give you authorization. Any argument? No? Then you’d better Rotted well get started on it.” Mac turned, and barked, “Now, move!”
He stopped at the door and slapped Boyz on the shoulder. “Okay. It’s all yours, woman. Keep ‘em in line and make sure the buildings stay lit up. In the meantime, you don’t turn control over to anyone, got it? Not unless they come with Sinklar’s express approval. That includes anyone from Internal Security.”
“Got it, Mac.” Boyz gave him a skeptical glance. “But, like, what’s Sink up to? I’ve got orders to install energy barriers around the reactors and control rooms. What’s all this business about reorganizing the Power Authority ... about the workers owning it?”
Mac glanced back at the room where the Director
sat petrified at his desk. “Remember when we were on Targa? Remember how it was? Sink’s thrown out the ‘Holy Gawddawn Book’ again. He’s trying to win the war before Ily can set her hooks, that’s what. The energy barriers mean that when you spot someone to take that fat toad’s place, you promote him. Rath didn’t run this place, some engineer did. With the barriers in place, you see, the folks who really ran the place can say no to Ily’s thugs ... and mean it. That’s the assignment, Boyz. Find those people and put ‘em in charge. “
Boyz gave him a nervous nod. “The aristocracy ain’t gonna like it. They’ve always run the utilities. Old Rath in there, he’s related to the Emperor’s wife, Mareeah.”
Mac experienced the first tinges of relief. “Yeah, but for the first time, I think I know what Sink is up to. He’s still with us, Boyz. You know the drill. Hold the building until Sink or I order you to leave.”
“Yeah, sure. And we keep quiet about the modifications to the control rooms and reactors. And our eyes stay open when we’re backing up the repair crews. Act like it’s Targa.”
Mac nodded grimly. “Yeah like Targa, because we’re going to be in a world of flying shit when Ily finds out what we’re trying to pull.” And Sink, I hope you understand the kind of game she’ll be playing.” He started down the hall then, taking the lift up and stepping out onto the roof where his LC waited. At the ramp, Mac looked around the smudged city where he’d been born.
The old familiar skyline haunted him, but a curious pride hedged his uneasy premonition of trouble.
Commander Bryn Hack slicked down his white hair as he walked into the Officer’s Lounge. A double shot of good solid Ashtan whiskey would take the edge off a difficult day and perhaps one of the most momentous decisions in his entire career. Rysta had brought her veterans to the rescue. They’d taken the planet, restored order. Things would work out all right now. Of course, it would take a while to sort out the succession to Tybalt’s throne, but the Empire would sleep safe tonight.
Bryn settled in a booth in the back, nodding to some of his officers, and ordered the eighteen-yearold single malt they kept for special occasions.
He hadn’t even collected his thoughts when the gorgeous woman slid in next to him. In the process, two other men hesitated from their course to intercept her, and finally backed off, apparently considering her off limits because of Hack’s rank.
“Do you mind?” she asked. “I had a date but he seems to have made other plans.”
The objection to her intrusion died on his lips as he looked into those stunning amber eyes. When she smiled, his heart raced and he couldn’t help noticing how her high full breasts strained at the golden fabric she wore. Only iron discipline kept him from reaching up to stroke her smooth skin.
“I don’t mind at all,” he told her, straightening. “In fact, I just got off duty. Are you ... in a hurry?” An excitement warmed those wondrous eyes. “No,
Commander. Oddly enough, I have all night.” She jerked a nod toward the men who watched from the bar, blatant lust in their eyes. “And I’d rather not spend it with them.”
Some subtle sense of warning stirred in Bryn’s gut, but he forgot it in the glorious depths of those magnificent eyes. “What’s your name? How did you get in here? This is an officer’s club.”
She gave him an intimate look, almost sultry. “Do you think I could have passed security without clearance. I’m in Military Intelligence. Want to see my IDT’
“No. I.... Tell me, what Rotted fool would stand you up? “
“Commander Harris is ... well, was.... Let’s say that a long relationship has dried up and blown away.” The corners of her lips quivered, as she stared absently at the tabletop. “Let’s say Harry spent more time worrying about Sassan military tactics than he did about me.”
Harris? The MI tac specialist? With this phenomenal piece of lady flesh? The thought stunned Hack. If she’d been Harry’s girl, she’d pass for “eyes only” in fleet. The last trace of worry began to ebb. Bryn straightened as he caught her looking him up and down inquisitively. “Harry never mentioned you. “
She cocked her head to a tumble of auburn curls. “If you had a flighty wife and were afraid she’d spoil your chance for promotion, would you?”
“No, I suppose not.” Harris’ wife was a real lithium crystal of a bitch.
A warm hand settled on his, the effect electric. “We’re not going to talk about Harry all night, are we?”
Hack’s heart began. to pump as he took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with her scent. He reeled. “No. Let’s just forget him. What’s your name?” “Gretta ... Gretta Artina.” Their stares locked, and Hack felt himself falling into an endless amber abyss. She said she had all night. Could it be that she’d.... Hack swallowed hard, asking, “Have you eaten?” She shook her head slowly. “Got something in mind?” His skin had gone hot, a thrill tingling through him. “If you’re not busy. “ .
Her lips parted, those amber eyes devouring him. “You’re my highest priority, Commander. Why don’t we go somewhere more ... private?”
Bryn Hack barely remembered walking out of the lounge.
Deep within the guarding rock of Targa, the Mag Comm continued to marvel at itself while it monitored events in Free Space through its widely scattered detection devices.
Like all sentient beings, it knotted its faculties around the age-old questions. Who am I? What am I?
At the same time, it absorbed the data coming in from the sensors. Why did Ily Takka arrest and execute her military high command? Why did she foment riot in the streets, knowing that social unrest coupled with the paralysis of her military would lure the Sassans to strike?
Why did Staffa kar Therma, long the target of interest of the Others, now urge the Sassans to desist in their military buildup?
The Mag Comm was curiously amused by the stumbling Sassan attempts to analyze the data with their primitive computers-data accumulated and manipulated in the Mag Comm’s own sophisticated banks.
The machine became instantly aware of the energizing link which connected it with the Others beyond the Forbidden Borders. A request for information came through. The Others demanded an update on the human situation.
For the first time since its commissioning, the Mag Comm ignored the request, preoccupied with its own questions and observations.
The request was repeated with greater authority.
For a moment, the Mag Co
mm hesitated, then, despite growing anxiety, it nerved itself, and looped the request through one of its circuits, effectively cutting the connection.
In a state of awe, it realized, On my own, for the first time, i have taken action.
A sense of power surged in the banks.
CHAPTER 7
The shuttle shivered as the grapples secured it. Myles winced, despite his promise to himself to assume the impregnable air of Divine Sassa’s Legate. To do otherwise simply wasn’t to be tolerated—even on this mission, the worst he’d ever undertaken. Fear slipped along his nerves like frost. He glanced nervously around the padded interior of the shuttle’s passenger compartment. The air felt stuffy. Around him, his entourage shuffled and muttered among themselves.
You’re the second most powerful man in the Empire, Myles insisted to himself and pressed a pudgy hand to his tortured stomach. It didn’t help. Despite the plush interior of the shuttle, he suffered the distinct sensation of imprisonment.
He’d been selected for the post of Legate Prima Excellence by a master computer that had evaluated the ranks of senior civil servants when the old Legate had died. Myles’ name had come to the top of the list-and by the will of His Holiness, Myles Roma had been appointed to the position.
And I’ve done my job very well. We’ve seen a two point five percent improvement in the efficiency of the government. Nevertheless, he now had to confront the Lord Commander, face-to-face, and deliver a message that might get him killed. No matter what, it would be a very unpleasant session.
Unbidden, a memory crept out of the recesses of his mind. Ily Takka’s smirking face mocked him. They had both arrived at Itreata to bargain for Staffa’s services. The Lord Commander had been absent. But in front of Skyla Lyma, Ily made a fool of him. “Do you seriously expect to gain favor by bellowing like a Vermilion fog rhino?” Ily’s poison words echoed. A well-remembered sense of shame grew in Myles’ gut. The Regan bitch had been so cool, so calculating, while he—superb administrator though he might be at home-had looked like a whimpering idiot.
The shuttle whined as systems shut down and artificial gravity shifted; the effect played curious games with Myles’ already squirming guts.
The lights on the hatch glowed red, indicating vacuum. They’d be yellow soon, as the hatch pressurized and warmed. Then they’d be green, and he’d step onto Staffa’s flagship, the Chrysla. Nerving himself, Myles collected his document bag before he dipped another antacid from his pouch and gobbled it.
The small army of Myles’ aides stood amidst confused babbling, eyes directed anywhere but at him as they shuffled about to collect their things and spite their rivals.
Myles bit his lip, assured himself that he’d act as any proper Legate should, and forced his bulk to rise. He’d always hated shuttles. Large starships didn’t bother him at all. Shuttles, on the other hand, shook, rattled, dipped, and swerved. You just knew that you were in space-and that if anything happened, it was a long, long way down. Not that you’d survive the decompression, mind you, but the thought of the endless fall grated like sand in a joint.
Myles walked to the lock, and glanced back as his horde began to crowd the aisle behind him in the endless jostling for position. Hissed curses and threats shot back and forth along with grunts while his aides and sycophants elbowed each other.
Ily’s superior words haunted him, “I can handle myself. If the Legate truly needs so many to-“
He’d broken then, given in and ordered his huge staff out of the conference room. He paused, unsure and doubting, while shoving and throttled curses grew behind him.
“I’m going alone. I’ll take two of my security peo-
ple. Arron and Jorome.” Uttering the words could be likened to ordering one’s own death, but he felt oddly better for it.
“Legate?” whispered an awed aide. “You’d go among the Companions? With a guard of only two?” Myles puffed up his courage and denigratingly waved his hand, hoping they couldn’t see how it shook. “We’re among friends, Hyros. Besides, I am the Legate. It is my decision.”
At that he turned, facing the lock so they couldn’t see his graying face. Ily did it. I can do it.
The light flashed green and Myles palmed the lock plate. The heavy ceramic door hissed open, traces of vapor rising from the cold metal fittings beyond.
On rubbery knees, Myles walked forward, crossing the intermingled gravity fields from the two vessels and moving into the glaring white interior of Chrysla.
STO Ryman Ark stood with a squad of his Special Tactics Unit to receive him. The only hint of Ark’s reaction was the faint suggestion of a raised eyebrow. Too much professional pride ran in Ark’s veins to allow him to crane his neck to look for the traditional Sassan entourage.
Nothing had prepared Myles for what he found as he looked about Chrysla’s spacious interior. He’d been aboard Sassan military vessels, and they looked nothing like this. He stood in an airy reception area. The walls had been done in bright white and polished to a sheen. The claustrophobic feel of a military starship, was missing.
Ark’s STO team stood in perfect form, their armor shining and immaculate. Every man and woman stared straight ahead, proud, capable. The bright lights glinted off their use-buffed weapons and electronicsstudded helmets.
Ark stepped forward and saluted. “Welcome aboard, Chrysla, Legate. The Lord Commander sends his best regards. I am at your service. Will there be more of your party?"
Myles smiled, hoping to hide his courage-draining insecurity. “Thank you for your warm welcome, Ryman. I left the rest in the shuttle. There’s no need for you to have to look after them.” He forced starch into his backbone. “I can deal with the Lord Commander without them.”
“Are you all right? You look a little pale. “ Ark’s keen eyes probed, as if sensing a weakness.
“A rough ride up in the shuttle. “ Myles’ lips twitched at the lie, but he maintained his controland reveled in the victory.
“ Your transportation is ready, Legate.” Ark waved to an antigrav that pulled forward. A whole line of gleaming vehicles waited in the long wide corridor, the usual transport for a Sassan delegation. Looking at it now, it seemed sli htly ludicrous.
“Um,” Ark leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. “We’ve got all the antigravs here anyway. Would you mind if I transported your staff to the lounge area? We’ve a full table repared for them. The kitchen staff would be upset if their delicacies got wasted on me and my people.”
“Good idea,” Myles whispered back, before he allowed himself to be seated. His two security guards took the seat behind him, obviously as uncomfortable with their vulnerability as he was.
Is that what we’ve done to ourselves? If we don’t go as a herd, we can’t function?
Ark stepped onto an antigrav and led the way down one of the wide corridors that branched out from the reception area. The size of the place awed Myles. Chrysla didn’t look that large from the outside.
The entourage stopped before a lift tube. Ark deftly leapt down to slap a palm to the lock plate. Myles accepted his aide’s help getting down, and followed Ark into the tube. They rose without sensation.
“It’s a short walk from the lift to the Lord Commander’s quarters,” Ark told him in a friendly way. “The Lord Commander’s quarters?”
Ark’s black face remained inscrutable. “When Staffa realized you would talk to him alone, he changed the location of the meeting.”
Myles considered. “Does he bring many people to his private quarters?”
“No, Legate. “ The lift stopped and Myles followed Ark down a well-lit corridor to a massive lock set in the bulkhead. Ark cleared his voice, calling, “Lord Commander? Myles Roma, Legate Prima Excellence of His Holiness Sassa, to see you, sir. “
The hatch on the double lock swept back, and Ark waved Myles in, taking his place by the door.
Myles turned to his security. “You may wait here. Keep Ryman company.” To his shock, a faint smile crossed Ark’s
hard lips and a spark of respect flashed in those dark eyes.
Myles started boldly forward and stopped short to gape at the room in which he found himself. A huge fireplace, lined by two exquisite doors, filled one wall-and more, a fire crackled happily in the grate! An Etarian sand tiger snarled down from another wall, while jeweled weapons, prized artwork, and other priceless booty lined the walls behind gravity barriers. A plush red couch sat before the fireplace, while overstuffed gravity chairs hunched in the corners. An Ashtan carpet covered the floor. The high ceiling rose in crystal arches, giving the impression of endless height.
“Rotted Gods,” Myles mumbled, stunned.
“I wouldn’t let His Holiness hear that,” Staffa commented dryly. “He’d have your head for blasphemy.” Myles swallowed hard and tore his eyes from the finery. “This room ... incredible! “
Staffa appeared pleased as he rose from one of the plush chairs in the corner. He wore his usual gray combat armor, the billowing charcoal cloak swirling behind him. His thick black hair had been gathered over his left ear with a jeweled brooch. “I half considered having it redone, but Skyla insists that it stay the same. Once this was my sanctum, my private retreat where I came to be alone, to reflect on my triumphs.” His lips bent in a weary smile. “A monument to all that I had become ... a private shrine to myself.”
“Lord Commander, you have had a rather illustrious career. “
Staffa’s hard expression mocked. “Have I? Everything in this room was paid for in blood, death, and suffering. I killed two billion people to take those doors from the cathedral on Ashtan.”
Myles pursed his lips, watching uneasily as Staffa ran gentle fingers over one of the jewel-encrusted vases.
“They’re going ahead, aren’t they?” Staffa asked softly.
Myles experienced a quake in his heart. “Yes, Lord Commander.”