The responsibility rested on Sinklar’s shoulders; he’d made them what they were. For them, Fist had thrown the book away, defying two centuries of military tradition, and teaching them how to win. More than that, he’d taught them to respect themselves as both human beings and soldiers. Unlike the other officers who hid in safety behind the lines, Sinklar Fist shared their worries, ate their food, laughed at their jokes, and mixed his tears with theirs.
They passed through the gym and into the corridor that led to the small lounge. They stepped through the pressure hatch to find an oval room about thirty paces in length. Recliners and couches were located along the walls, which had holographic capability. The program currently running appeared to be Riparious since giant green trees arched over muddy brown waterways. Stringers of delicate palegreen moss hungdown from the branches like webbing, often dragging in the water. Sinuous scaled animals rested on mud banks, or splashed into the murky water.
Two of Sink’s Section Firsts, Mayz and Shiksta, sat reclined, feet up, engaged in conversation. Mayz was a tall, lanky woman with short-cut curly hair and
brown skin. Shiksta had ebony skin, a halo of kinky black hair, and broad facial features. He commanded the heavy ordnance for the Targan Divisions while Mayz commanded the Seventh Section. They both stood, warm grins spreading.
“You’re looking a little skinny, Sink,” Shik commented. “Aren’t they feeding you up in officer country?”
Sinklar gave him an infectious grin. “It’s not Targan beef. How have the two of you been?”
Mayz crossed her arms returning his smile. “Moderately bored. I hear we’re going into action soon.” Sink stepped over to the dispenser and thumbed the button for a cup of klav. “Probably the moment we slip out of null singularity. As soon as I know the situation I’ll give everyone a tactical rundown. In the meantime, enjoy the boredom. It might be the last you get for a while. “
“You just tell us what you want, Sink,”. Shiksta assured, a defiant gleam in his eyes, “and we’ll do it.” “You might let us have the lounge for a while.”
Mac crossed the room and punched the button on the dispenser for stassa. “We’ve got to have a skull session ... and a change of scenery from gray and puke-green might unstick some paralyzed brain cells. “
“We’ll post a guard. See that you’re not disturbed,” Mayz called as she headed for the door. “And maybe we’ll take your advice and get some sleep.”
Shik paused at the door, fingering the hatch seal pensively. “Sink? Will it be as tough as Targa? Are we still the sacrificial Divisions?”
Sinklar walked over, placing a hand on Shik’s muscular arm, searching his eyes. “Never again, Shik. This time we’re taking the capital-and after that, the Empire. The old ways came to an end on Targa. Now, we’re going to do it our way. Make sure your people know. It won’t be an easy operation and we may take casualties, but this time we’re fighting for a better Empire.”
Shik nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “For the little people, right?”
“For the little people,” Sink agreed in a fervent whisper. He remained standing, staring absently at the hatch after Shik closed it.
“You mean that?” Mac asked.
Sinklar cocked his head, lines etching his forehead. “You could ask that? I mean ... after everything we suffered on Targa? After Makarta?”
Mac slapped his free hand against his leg. “Rotted Gods, how do I know? Sink, everything’s all rushed and top-side down and spinning. A couple of weeks ago we were going to make a quick job of crushing the Seddi---of ending it all. Then the rug got pulled out from under us. You’d think that after everything we went through on Targa, I’d be used to that. What happened? How did the Lord Commander get mixed up in this? What’s his purpose? What’s Ily’s? For that matter, what’s yours? Ily made you a Lord. Tybalt, who ordered us murdered, approved it before he in turn was murdered.”
Mac lifted his stassa and took a sip, then he shook his head. “Excuse me, but I’m a little confused.” Sinklar chuckled, a wry glint in his too-old eyes. “I guess that makes two of us. But, Mac, you’ve got to know. I did everything I could to get you out of Makarta.” Sinklar exhaled wearily. “If I’d known Staffa kar Therma was in that mountain, I’d never have tried a physical assault.” Angrily, he thumped a fist against the bulkhead. “I thought we could get some of the Seddi out, answer some questions. Break them once and for all. “
“I know, Sink. We heard the fighting, and, believe me, down there in the dark, it scared us to death that the roof would fall in.”
Sinklar chewed at his lower lip, lost in thought. “What did Staffa offer you?”
“He said we could join the Companions. That there was always a place for fighters like us among his ranks.”
“You liked him, didn’t you?”
Mac smiled wistfully. “Yeah, I did. He’s got style, Sink. He reminds me a lot of….”
“Go on.”
“He reminds me a lot of you.”
Sinklar paced nervously, randomly jabbing a finger at the holo controls. The scene shifted to someplace carved out of blue ice. Sylene?
“He’s not my father. I mean it’s ... impossible. Mac braced his back against one of the walls and sipped his stassa. “You’ve never talked about them. Your folks, I mean.”
“No. I had my reasons. At the time I didn’t want any.... Look, they were Seddi. We were at war with the Seddi. Still are. I didn’t want any speculation about where my loyalties might be. Mac, I never knew them. I was raised by the state as an orphan. But now, knowing what we do about the way the Seddi program their assassins, I can’t blame my parents for what they tried to do. “
“They tried to assassinate Tybalt-the Regan Emperor, by the Rotted Gods!”
“And Arta, it appears, has succeeded where my parents failed. “
“Yeah ... maybe. But we’ll get to that in a bit. Look, Sink, how do you know they’re really your folks?”
Sinklar cupped his klav in both hands, staring down into the liquid. “I found the records...found the Judicial Magistrate who sentenced them...and located their bodies in the Criminal Anatomical Research Labs on Rega. I...I saw them, Mac. Pulled out the caskets and looked into their eyes. They preserve the worst of the criminals there to see what makes them tick. They study the brains, the physiology, in an attempt to determine the root of deviance.”
“Rotted Gods.” Mac scowled into his cup, a chill in his soul. “Bruen knew their names, didn’t he?” Sinklar nodded.
“Valient and . . . “
“Tanya. My mother. I saw them, Mac. I looked into their dead eyes. If I hadn’t done that, hadn’t found them before I left, I might have been thrown off by Staffa’s trick.”
Mac squinted at the blue methane ice that surrounded them. So why don’t I buy it? Something’s not right here. I saw Staffa’s desperation. “Did anyone know you saw the bodies?”
Sinklar lifted a shoulder. “A student there. I guess she felt sorry that I was going to war.” A pause. “For a while I thought I was in love with her, Mac. Considering everything Gretta came to mean to me, can you imagine that?”
“Let’s get back to Ily Takka. What’s her angle in all this?”
Sinklar continued to pace, klav cup clutched in his hands. “Ily wants to be Empress. She can’t do it without us. Her goal is-“
“Pestilent Hell! We’re not going to put her on any Regan throne! “
Sinklar raised his hands, gesturing for peace, amusement in his eyes. “Of course we’re not, Mac. At least, not for long.”
Mac tried to swallow the sudden tension in his breast. “You want to enlighten me?”
“As much as I can, sure. But, Mac, I want your word that you’ll tell no one. You’ve got to swear to secrecy. All right?”
Mac glared angrily; nevertheless, he nodded his agreement.
“Ily was one of the major movers and shakers who left us high and dry to die on Targa. I haven’t quite pieced all of her reasons together, but I suspect i
t was to woo the Companions away from Sassa. We were bait-a military debacle on Targa would have appealed to the Star Butcher’s vanity, and most likely to his pocketbook as well. The problem was, we didn’t do what we were supposed to. Worse, we won the damn war.”
“And she dropped those five Divisions on us? We bled for that, Sink. “
“They bled more. Actually, she held Rysta back kept her from slagging us from orbit. You might say that was the final test.”
“For what?” Mac watched him suspiciously. Sinklar turned his cup absently. “The test that proved our ability to conquer the rest of Free Space.”
Mac’s heart skipped. “Conquer . . .”
“. . . the rest of Free Space. Yes, you heard me right, Mac.” Sinklar whirled, pointing a finger. “Remember what I studied? I was a scholar before they made me a soldier. You wanted to know my angle? I’m tired of war, tired of the status quo. I’m damn tired of Seddi intrigue and Regan politics. I’m going to upset the fish cart and let the slimy bodies fall where they will. You and 1, Mac, and the First Targan Assault Division are going to rewrite the ‘Holy Gawdamn Book.’ First, we pacify Rega, then we move on Sassa ... and the Companions, if they get in the way. Then we set about governing the whole in a constructive fashion. “
Mac shook his head. “You’re talking about becoming the sole ruler of Free Space? Everything within the Forbidden Borders?”
Sinklar’s eyes had hardened. “I am. Are you with me, Mac?” He reached out a hand. “It’s a chance. Remember, you asked me about the little people? That’s us, Mac. You, me, the First Targan Division, all of us. We can remake human space. Help me. “
Mac struggled for words. “What ... what about Ily?”
Sinklar sighed and raised his eyebrows. “She’ll be an asset in the beginning. Somewhere along the line, however, our paths will diverge. She wants to be a tyrant-and I won’t allow that. Not if it takes every drop of my blood. “
“You’ll have to destroy the Companions, too,” Mac whispered, a chill of premonition running down his back.
Yes,” Sinklar mused. “We’ll have to be very good when we finally face them. But perhaps I know a way to crush the Companions and to remove Staffa kar Therma, once and for all.”
“As Seddi, one of the first things we ask ourselves is how we know what we know. We call this study epistemology, and it is essential for our purposes. Through epistemology we interpret the rules of thought and how they influence our understanding of the universe around us.Several assumptions are fundamental to the way we learn and perceive. First, we observe something in the physical realm we can sense, and from that observation, create. For example, a person looking at topography can reproduce what he sees with a map. However, the warning here is that the map is not the actual topography but an abstraction, a creation of the mind. We can create a name: tree, or rock, or planet. Nevertheless, the name is not the object named; it is a symbol. Taking,this process a step further, we can observe relationships between objects, note how they interrelate and act upon each other. These processes and forces are in turn labeled at yet another level of abstraction, such as gravity. Again, the name is not the physical process. When these processes and systems are placed into a hierarchy, we call that hierarchy a paradigm-a symbolic model we have interpreted from our observations. In the end, we have nothing more than an abstraction-not reality in its purest sense. We accept these abstractions, maps, names, and paradigms, as being true because of a lifetime of indoctrination. From the time we’re infants until we die, we are led to believe that the world is the way it is because everyone else believes it to be so. Not only that, such beliefs are operational. They help us to cope with the physical environment around us. However, when we look beyond the accepted, we find nothing more than a reality based on abstraction. My challenge to each of you is to consider how you know what you know. Are the truths you accept really true? Or have you simply been indoctrinated, trained to accept without questioning why? Among the Seddi, this process of indoctrination is called a Unilateral Epistemology. “
Excerpt from Kaylla Dawn’s Itreatic broadcasts
CHAPTER 5
Patches of smoke drifted among the canyonlike defiles between the glass-walled buildings. An eerie silence had settled over the Imperial city of Rega. Anatolia Daviura checked the monitors and looked both ways before she stepped through the security door of the Criminal Science Building. The street had a pathetic look, scattered with wreckage. Charred smears streaked up the sheer gray walls above burned out windows where the looters had done their worst. She dared not look too closely at the lumpy form wrapped in blue cloth which lay bloating against a wall no more than fifty meters from where she stood.
The Public Transit Authority had discontinued the shuttle system in response to the violence. Overhead, the skies remained empty of the usual bustle of commuting aircars and delivery vehicles-the traffic lanes curiously quiet but for an occasional racing vehicle. The air carried a pungent scent.
The heavy outer door-scarred now-snicked shut with finality as Anatolia waved at the security camera nestled in a recess above and turned to wait for Vet’s aircar. She shivered nervously. How long could people go on living in fear? The few times Civil Security had attempted to curb a riot, they’d been shot down in the streets and their mangled bodies left for their families to claim. This is a nightmare. It can’t go on. Something has to happen.
The garage landing thunked as Vet’s oblong aircar passed through and dropped down to pick her up. “Sorry it took so long,” he told her as she slipped into the passenger seat. “Bokken is being extra careful. “
Anatolia leaned back in the seat and fingered the padded plastic of the dash. “After the last three days, do you blame him?”
Vet chuckled dryly. “Not at all. The word is that people like us who work for the state are fair game. The message being broadcast is that all government employees are corrupt.”
Anatolia watched as they passed through the Biological Research Center complex. Wreckage lay in the devastated streets below-the shops plundered after the abortive attempt to sack the government buildings. Those gleaming structures still rose proudly, only their feet sullied by muck. At the edge of the complex, they were forced to skirt the Revenue Building. Even from this distance, the damage could be seen. They gang raped the women before they ripped them apart and strung their intestines from the ceilings. “Vet? What’s happened to us? Where’s it all going to end?”
He glanced at her and winked. “Hey, it’s not the end of the Empire. Someone will fill Tybalt’s throne. Probably someone from the military high comm.... Well, someone.”
Anatolia closed her eyes, hands knotting in her lap. It’s just me. It’s the work we do ... dealing with deviance. It sours your judgment of humanity.
She stared at the empty streets, many in shambles. “I don’t care if the military is corrupt. Why aren’t they here? Unlike the civil police, they’re armed. Can’t the Minister of Internal Security do something about this ... something besides arresting the nobility and executing them?”
“Listen, you sure you don’t want to come stay with Marka and me? We could roll out a bed for you.” Anatolia smiled gratefully. “Security locked us up
for three days in the lab. I want to go home and stand in my own shower, in my own tiny little bathroom, and sleep on my own platform. Besides, Marka’s probably been worried sick. Go home and be with her. Give her some relief from the baby. I’ll be fine.”
Vet wiggled his lips distastefully and sighed. “Okay ... but if you need anything, call.”
The aircar took the third tier entrance to her building and hummed down the passenger access corridor, a gray square concrete tunnel broken by light panels.
“Thanks for the ride, Vet. I sure appreciate it.” She took his hand, squeezed it, and opened the door as they pulled to a halt before the line of lift tubes that would take her up to her floor.
“No problem. You’d have had to walk, otherwise. I’ll be by to pick yo
u up at 06:00 the day after tomorrow. “
“See you then.
“Oh, Anatolia? Get to your room and lock your door. Stay there. All right?”
“Sure, Vet. “
He waited until she stepped into the lift. It carried her up to the fifty-sixth floor where she lived in her small cubicle apartment. A tickle of fear warned her. As the lift stopped, she heard the voices. Uneasy, she took a half-step out into the foyer, seeing the young men lounging around.
The pimply blond kid from down the hall looked up. “There she is! The one that works for the bulls! Get her! “
Anatolia dove back into the tube, smacking the plate that sent the lift rocketing down. Where? The ground floor? They’d go there first. She stopped the lift at level two and glanced out to see empty hallway and stained carpeting. Panicked, she sprinted down the long hall for the emergency stairs in the rear.
Think Anatolia ... think, damn it, or they’re going to kill you!
“Are you ready for this?” Staffa asked as they waited in the wide hallway beyond the Imperial Sassan throne room. A line of benches and chairs hugged the stone walls, while plants filled niches. The floor reflected the luster of thorough polishing. Staffa’s security troops surrounded them, eyes on the Sassan guards.
Skyla gave him a wary smile, a hard glint in her winter blue eyes. “I guess so. We’d look pretty funny trying to back out now.”
“Ryman? Are you and your people ready?”
Ark grinned, tapping a wrapped parcel he held. “All here, sir. We’re ready-no matter what happens.” Expressions went grim on the ST personnel.
As the speakers announced his entry, the heavy crystal doors lifted and a tense Staffa kar Therma stepped into the throne room. Here, for the first time, he would have to face his new self on old territory. He looked around at the gleaming glassy arches that rose toward the faceted ceiling. Crystal-diffused light was the hallmark of Sassan architecture and Divine Sassa’s throne room enjoyed the reputation as the penultimate example of the art. The walls gleamed as if molded from liquid diamond. High overhead, the optics splintered golden light into silver, violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, and, finally, red at the lowest level. The floor created the effect of walking on a sea of molten gold that ebbed and flowed in swirling patterns underfoot.