Requiem for the Conqueror

by W. Michael Gear

  "We have no Staffa here."

  Tyklat rapped out the registration number.

  "Oh," Anglo's face began to smirk. "Him. I'm afraid you're a little too late."

  He pointed down the pipeline to the side of a slumped dune. Ily could see the pipe running into the mass of loose shifted sand.

  "Yeah," Anglo said with a sigh. "Ole Tuff, he was at the head of the line.

  We've beendigging for a half hour now. It'll be a day before we get all that cleaned out."

  Staffa? Buried alive? Ily's mind raced. Staffa dead would be better than Staffa loose. She had to know if the mysterious Tuff was the Lord Commander.

  "You will remove that sand now," Ily told Anglo in a voice like slow poison.

  "You will remove it if you have to stop the commerce of this planet to do so."

  Anglo gaped. "Look, Minister, you don't—"

  "I do! Tyklat, get the equipment here now! Officer Anglo, you get down there and dig! With your bare hands if necessary!

  Ily's eyes went to the mountain of sand. Threats or not, what chance was there? A bitter acid taste formed in her mouth—a taste of defeat.

  CHAPTER 18

  Blackness suffocated Staffa; it bled from the very air into his soul. The silence thundered, disturbed only by the pounding of his heart. Staffa tried to move only to find his legs trapped, pinned by the pressing weight. Kaylla's muscular body shivered in his arms. A painful awareness of her rushed through him; he smelled her hot skin next to his nose. Hugging her tightly, he reveled in the reassurance that he wasn't alone-not deserted in his sin and guilt.

  "Can you move your legs?" he asked, hoping his voice wouldn't break.

  Her muscles slid under smooth skin-a feeling of living flesh he cherished.

  "No." Then, "We're buried, aren't we?" "Yes. "

  "Will they get us out alive?"

  "Maybe," Staffa mumbled. "Depends on how long it takes to dig us out ... and how long the air lasts."

  "I think I can push enough sand past to free my legs. Then we can dig you out."

  They didn't speak as they worked to free Kaylla. Then together they scooped sand back to free his waist and thighs. He pulled himself forward and crawled to the center of the pipe.

  "At least it's cool." After a pause Kaylla added hesitantly, "Hold my hand."

  He felt around until he found her fingers. "How long would you estimate, Tuff?"

  "Four hours. Maybe six at the most for the size of the pipe and our respiration rate. That's about right for the cubic footage. "

  "We were in the middle of the dune." Her fingers tightened on his. "We're only slaves. The trenchers are miles away. They won't have this moved until sometime tomorrow."

  He chuckled hollowly, body sagging, glad for the rest if nothing else. "Then according to what Koree was telling me, we're spared the cowardice of death."

  He could hear her swallow. "I remember his lectures in the university on Maika. He was one of my professors when I was young. I always admired him. It broke my heart to find him here. " .

  "We could save a little oxygen if we didn't talk." It began to cool off rapidly, the heat in the pipe radiating into the sand around them.

  She moved over in that eternal primate desire to touch. "I don't want to die in silence."

  He tilted his head up to stare into the stygian darkness and braced his head on the back of the pipe. "I guess I've always been alone. Except for once. I had a woman. A slave I freed."

  "What happened to her, Tuff?" She snuggled closer, enfolding his arm in hers.

  "Stolen away from me along with my son." His voice soured.

  "She's Skyla?"

  "No. Skyla was my ... my friend, but ......

  "But what?" At his silence she added, "I think, considering the circumstances, you can tell me. We aren't getting out of this one alive. "

  "But I never knew how much I'd come to love her." He started to curse the wistful tone in his voice and stopped. In the name of the Pus Rotted Gods, what difference did it make? "I never told her. Never even allowed myself to ... to admit it. Since I've been here, it's all come clear."

  "What's she like?" Kaylla shifted, laying her head on his shoulder.

  "Tall, her hair is pale blonde." He smiled in the darkness, enjoying a deep-seated warmth. "Her eyes are an incredible blue. She's the most beautiful woman in all Free Space. There's a hard humor in her manner-a cynicism I never understood until recently. She's intelligent, smarter than I am, it seems. And when she jokes, a devilish light fills those magnificent eyes.

  He shook his head. "Ah, Kaylla, the things I should have done for her."

  He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, feeling her body warm and reassuring against his. "Tuff, you saved my life again—or tried to. Why?"

  "Justice," he whispered, thinking of Koree. "A small slice of ustice—and perhaps retribution. Atonement would be a better world." "Atonement for what?"

  "I am not. . . ." He bit off his confession. No, not here. Not in the last hours of life. She deserves a little peace. Instead he said, "During my life as a soldier, I was responsible for some vile things—things I have only barely begun to understand. Atonement is for those who have sinned." He stared emptily into the darkness. "Koree was right. So many have so much to pay for.

  I more than any other. You wondered about my nightmares? So much blood stains my hands ... my conscience, I ... I was a living monster, God's tool of injustice." And the Praetor's!

  He shut his eyes, images of the past rising from the depths of his mind, people hurting, scared, dying. Their terror seeped in with the blackness. Like them, Staffa saw himself being bonded by the collar and herded into a transport to be sold here or there—never to see a wife or son again. The same pain he now lived.

  She shrugged, moving against his shoulder. "No person can take the blame for all the misery and suffering. That's God's realm. Blame it on the times in which we live. Science has extended our lives. Existence is no longer short and sweet. Rulers become bored through time and seek something new—too often they find amusement in terror. My husband and I, we fought that on Maika. We enjoyed a shining brief instant of knowledge and art and freedom before the Star Butcher and the Emperor drowned it in blood."

  Staffa squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced, thankful for the cloaking blackness.

  "I can die proud at least," she told him. "I never sold myself. When they took me, they did it after beating me senseless. When I could, I fought back and—on the whole— . it was a good fight. I made life a little easier for some, like Peebal . . . and you."

  "Stop it!" Staffa cried, eyes shut tight, guilt and shame spreading through him in a flood he couldn't control. "Keep me out of this." He thrust her away and buried his head in his hands. "Don't shame me anymore, Kaylla!"

  Her hand—callused and rough—felt warm on his shoulder. "Shhhh!" she whispered.

  He sensed it as she shook her head. "Men. . . . Rotted Gods, what am I saying?

  I mean people, all people, condemn themselves for faults when they're about to die." She resettled, crossing her legs, grabbing up his hand. "Remember the Temple sewer? I was dead. A few minutes left before I would have fainted. You pulled that girl's body free and spared me. You have a good side too Tuff. No matter what you've done."

  Silence.

  "Why did you really kill Brots?"

  "Because of what he did to you. Because I would free you from this hell and restore you to power on Maika."

  She ran her hand up and down his arm, squeezing in appreciation. "Thank you Tuff. Tell me, does that mean you're in love with me?"

  He knitted his ragged emotions together. "Yes, I have come to love you. I would make you happy if I had to come with a fleet and blast this worid apart to do so."

  "And your Skyla?"

  "My Skyla, I would . . . make my wife." Why did I never know before? "You, I would make my friend. Ask you to forgive . . . though it be impossible in the end."

  She squeezed his arm agai
n and leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips.

  "Thanks, Tuff. I guess I don't need to point out that your use of subjunctive is hardly necessary. From here, it looks like the end is pretty close, hence there is no impossibility about it. You're my friend forever. Forgive? What for? You've always been a man of honor and courage as long as I've known you."

  Honor? Courage? If you only knew.

  He couldn't push her away when she leaned against him. Exhausted and numb, he hunched in the dark and stared into infinity.

  After several minutes she asked, "What happened that they made you a slave, Tuff?"

  "I was robbed on the street and killed two 'citizens' in the process." Was it so long ago?

  "You're kidding? Where?"

  "Here."

  She turned and he could feel her stare in the blackness. "Came to turn the whores in the Temple?"

  He remembered the brag he'd made to the holo recorder in his quarters in the far off Itreatic Asteroids. Honesty? He owed her that. It soothed his soul. "I probably would have." An image formed of the pale girl he'd pulled from the sewer. "But mostly, I came to leam, to understand more about life—and to catch a vessel to Rega and then make my way to Targa to look for my son among the Seddi Priests."

  "A scholar in search of trust and a son? And you found slavery. Come up with any answers yet, Tuff?"

  "Some. Enough to leave me more confused than ever. Every time I think I find a truth, something comes along to turn that foundation to sand. As long as I was arrogant and perfect, I could pick and choose. Now, I can't define right ... or justice ... or anything." He barked an angry laugh. "And I have less idea of who I am—or what I am—than when I started. At least, back then, I had a myth to cling to, a facade I could accept as being myself."

  "And now?"

  "I'm a nameless slave—a convicted madman with a collar—dying in a buried pipe in the middle of the Etarian desert."

  "Well, you won't die alone."

  "No," he grinned aimlessly into the dark. "No, if I've done nothing else, I won't die alone."

  They sat silent, lost in their thoughts. Staffa, bone weary, drifted off to sleep and the dream. . . .

  They came, easing out of the blackness. Mangled specters, they floated in gruesome death as they twisted in blood-crystallized vapor. Some screamed until their voices matched his memories. Some stood and stared, among them children with fear-glazed eyes. They awaited their deaths at his hands, lips pinched in pale faces. Women cursed him as they died, raped, bleeding, abused.

  Fists clenched as damnation lanced from their bloody gazes. Through it all, Chrysla watched him with hollow yellow eyes.

  He writhed and started awake to pant in the cool blackness. The air had grown bitter and stale in their cramped pipe tomb.

  A slight vibration shivered up through his buttocks and back. He blinked, feeling how much his ribs expanded with each breath. Kaylla's chest moved in long quick breaths next to his. A soft rasping could be felt through the sand.

  "Kaylla," he whispered, fearful the sound might go away. "Someone's digging."

  "Air's going, isn't it?"

  He nodded. In silence they waited. His lungs increased their pace, filling fuller and fuller, always gasping more.

  He didn't remember his consciousness fading out as the ghouls sifted through his thoughts. Planets died, men cried before him as blaster fire tore their bodies into fountains of gore. He watched a mother try to shield her daughter, a golden-haired girl, from a pulse rifle, watched them both disappear into pink mist.

  The restless dead reached for him, tracing icy fingers over his shivering skin. Ghost breath blew coolly over his cringing soul as they chuckled their glee. This time, he wouldn't escape from their clutches. This time, their ice fingers gripped him tightly.

  He screamed, feeling them pulling . . . pulling . . . down . . . ever down. . . .

  Butla groaned as the comm alarm brought him awake. What the hell time was it, anyway? He rolled over and pressed the button to answer the call. He blinked and rubbed a thick hand over his flat features and bull jaw as the screen beside his bed glowed to life in the darkness of his room. He started as Arta's features filled the comm monitor.

  "Arta? Thank the Blessed Gods. I thought you were gone." He stifled a yawn as his heart quickened. "Where are you?"

  "I watched them murder the Rebels." She cocked her head. "They must be punished."

  He worked his tongue over his lips and stared, eyes narrowed. "We're working on that. Look, why don't you come home. I'll--

  She shook her head slowly, eyes wary. "I know what the Seddi did to me. I'll never place myself within their grip again. As to Bruen, I'll find him again ... someday." "Arta, don't-"

  "I know you must make a strike soon. I am here. I'll be in touch. I have too many skills you need, I must kill to live, Butla. You know that. Tell me what you'need me to do. I'm good, Butla Ret, you taught me well."

  "Arta, let's talk this-"

  "I love you, Butla." She continued. "You were the only one who was good to me.

  I will always love you--only I can't have you, you know. I can't even see you again."

  "Yeah," he grunted, heart dropping.

  "Bruen condemned me to kill the ones I love," she whis pered as the screen went dead.

  Butla Ret rolled back onto his sleeping platform, haunted eyes searching the dark ceiling overhead.

  "Got two in the pipe!" The voice brought Staffa to drowsy awareness. His head ached terribly.

  He blinked at the glare and turned to see a face peering from the end of the pipe. The light burned painfully into his squinting eyes.

  Something grabbed the pipe. It rocked as mechanical whining sounded loud and grating. Gasping, he heard the sand being pulled away. Kaylla jerked awake with a cry.

  "Who's in there?" Anglo asked, face sweaty. A handheld light blinded Staffa.

  "Thank God, it's you."

  Lungs heaving, Staffa pushed Kaylla ahead of him. His muscles still shrieked from the beating Brots had given him. When he crawled out, he propped himself against the pipe and coughed. He blinked owlishly in the sunset, seeing a well-dressed woman in black striding down from the water tent. Heavy equipment roared and moved about him, coming to a stop amid swirling white dust' *A pile of sand-covered bodies had been laid to one side: Koree and the rest of his team. Staffa shook his head and closed his eyes.

  "You all right?" He turned to Kaylla to avoid thinking of the senseless deaths.

  "I think. Head hurts." She glanced up to Anglo and revulsion returned to her expression.

  Anglo grinned happily, relief apparent in his oily expression. Did he enjoy disgusting and degrading Kaylla so much? Using her as a.... Staffa swallowed his anger.

  "Only you could have made it out alive, Lord Commander." A woman's cultured tones brought him to his feet, whirling to face her. Beside her stood a dapper man, his face a curious blend of relief and worry.

  It took him a second to place her. "Minister Ily Takka." Ily flipped her head to shift her glistening black hair off her shoulder. "You have led us a most unusual chase, Lord Commander. I must say, I never would have believed your capacity for trouble. But come, we must get you back the Itreatic Asteroids.

  We have serious business to discuss."

  "With this slave?" Anglo asked, bewildered.

  "This slave, Officer," Ily announced in a viper's voice, "is the Lord Commander, Staffa kar Therma! I believe in your local quaintness, you call him the Star Butcher?" She raised an eyebrow suggestively as Anglo paled.

  Staffa glanced at Kaylla and a choking knot clamped at the bottom of his throat. Horror mixed with amazement on her stricken face. Stung by the, look of loathing she turned on him, he faced Ily.

  "You have a collar override?"

  The dapper man nodded and produced the controls. Staffa, triggered the override and turned to Kaylla. "I'm sorry. I would have spared you from knowing who I am." Then, nothing left to lose, he pivoted on his heel and killed Anglo i
n the most painful manner he knew.

  Despite the flares that rose over Vespa, the city had gone eerily quiet.

  Sinklar's comm chattered as his Firsts completed the mop-up and establishment of security zones throughout the city. Thankfully, his people had taken very few casualties.

  He stood on a balcony that jutted from one of the tallest buildings in Vespa and looked out over the quiet city. Here and there, lights had come on in the buildings-perhaps a better indication than any field report that the fighting was over. The breeze ruffled his hair as he stared thoughtfully over the shadowed rooftops and deserted streets.

  "Sink? Mac here," his ear comm told him. "I think that's about it. The city is definitely ours. From where we're sitting, we can see what's left of the enemy fleeing into the mountains in commandeered trucks and buses. They're licked. "

  "Affirmative. I want the patrols out and about. Just because they fled doesn't mean they won't be back." "Roger, I'm coordinating with Ayms and Hauws. Meanwhile, I've delegated teams to secure your building. Get some sleep, Sink.

  You've earned it."

  "You, too, Mac. Sink out."

  He turned at the sound of voices and the door inside closing. Gretta slipped her helmet off and stepped out on the balcony, letting the cool breeze blow through her hair "Quite a place." She jerked her head back toward the plush penthouse. "I just dismissed the comm crew in there. Told them to go get some rest. My Section is pretty well billeted. Thought maybe you and I might get some shut-eye, too."

  Sink pulled her close and kissed her. "Great idea. Thought we'd stay here, use this place for the HQ. You get a pretty good view of everything from here. The balcony goes clear around and the windows can be masked. When you look at the office buildings around this one, they're perfect for observation and sniping posts. We can land LCs in that plaza down in front." He grinned. "And not only that, I've been having fantasies for hours about that big fluffy sleeping platform in the bedroom. "

  She kissed him soundly. "Sounds great. A place like this ought to have a stupendous shower."