"Go on. "
"Tell me about your mother?" "I don't see what this--- "Just tell me!"
Off balance, Staffa answered, "She was blonde, thin, with-"
"That's enough. And your father?"
"Redheaded, overweight with-"
"Enough." Bruen lifted himself from the bed, some color back in his face. He took a water dispenser and put the tube in his mouth, drinking as he eyed Staffa.
"If this has a point, I would-"
"You still rush through life, Staffa. Learn to be patient. Much will come to those who think first and act later," Bruen reminded with almost paternal concern. "Now, consider what you know about genetics. Dominance and recessives?"
"I'm familiar with the.... What do my parents ...... He blinked. "My hair is blackP'
"Yes," Bruen agreed, "Your hair is black."
"But that means they're not.... Then they weren't my parents. 9'
"No, they weren't," Bruen agreed, placing fragile hands on his rounded belly.
"Blonde and red hair are both recessive. At least one of your parents had to have black hairlike yours.
"Do you know who....
"Sorry, Lord Commander. We have no way of knowing. Suffice it to say that if any records exist, they probably remain on Myklene."
Staffa winced at the thought. He remembered the Civil Records Building-smoking rubble, girders, and supports half-melted from a direct thermal hit.
So, you may never know. Is that truly important to you, Staffa kar Therma? I am what and who I am. No more, no less.
"Tell me, Bruen, how do you justify the deaths of so many simply to kill one man? Do you consider your actions ethical?"
Bruen's gaze shifted to the rock overhead. "I justify it with great difficulty. Magister Hyde and I planned and considered most diligently. How much is the survival of the species worth, Lord Commander? We felt that it was necessary-and we condemned ourselves. You had to be stopped. The machine left no doubt about the final outcome."
Staffa closed his eyes, starting as if struck by a fist. Images of his dreams flashed strobelike through his mind. Gravitational pulses convulsed amidst the horror of blasted
cities. Slave columns plodded toward transports, collars tight about their necks, eyes dull with disbelief. Here a mother cried over fragments of her child's body. There a young girl screamed as men held her naked limbs, panting for the chance to rape her. Flames lapped yellow-orange into spirals of black smoke as human dreams and hopes burned in a gluttonous fire of destruction.
"Indeed." The old man's voice trembled. "All that blood we cost went for nothing, Staffa. Nothing!"
Staffa pulled up a leg and draped an arm across it, seeing the old man through a dull mist of pain.
"You see," Bruen continued, "we don't have our solution. In the original permutations, the Companions would disintegrate without your leadership, establishing a third autonomous power in Free Space. Face it, most of your people are getting older. They have families. The wanderlust and need for plunder and rapine are wearing out.
"You ask about ethics?" Bruen barked a laugh. "You see, we truly believe in God and humanity and knowledge, Lord Commander. We believe in shared God Mind to the point that we will sacrifice a little of it here and there to better the state of all humanity. We look at the future and see chaos. Economically, both empires are bankrupt. War will bring a dark age. Whole planets-starting with the best ones-will be burned off, utterly destroyed to deprive the other side of resources. With enough of the good planets like Targa and Rega and Myklene and Sassa and Phillipia radioactive, where will humankind get the materials it needs to survive? Famine, thirst, disease, and slow death will destroy the species." He shrugged brokenly.
Staffa laughed sourly, depressed by both this future projection and the confining rock that surrounded him. "So I reap the ultimate benefit of what I invested." His mind raced, playing the scenario as it must unfold. "And this Sinklar Fist? Doesn't he change the probabilities?"
Bruen nodded. "He does. With his apparent skills in Rega's control, they will make an end of Sassa very quickly. Our problem with Fist lies in the fact that we don't have enough data on his potentials. For instance, will he blast Sassa first? How many Sassan resources can he save? What will the Sassan retaliation be? What sort of Emperor will
he make in the end? Currently, he's allied with Ily Takka. Is she filling in for Fist's dead lover? The prospect is frightening. "
"And, to date, you've left the Companions out of your analysis," Staffa reminded.
"Indeed, Lord Commander. So tell me-now that I've made my bargain with the devil-what will the Companions do? What if our discussion, and your talks with Kaylla, have swayed you to see that humanity is about to come unhinged?
Possibly face extinction? What then?"
Staffa leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling light panels. The rustic chair groaned as he shifted his weight. Was this another womb like the syalon-crate?
"I learned suffering in the desert, Magister Bruen. A slave collar was placed around my neck. I crawled into sewers and thirsted in the desert while I cursed myself. I looked at Kaylla-and I lived with my crimes and sins."
The images haunted his mind. "A man I met-a jeweler by the name of Peebal-taught me a very important truth. I will make Free Space better, Magister. One way or another, I will break Rega and Sassa and then I will break the Forbidden Borders and free us all from this hell I have made."
Bruen sagged on the bed, a weary load seeming to lift. "Who would have thought?"
"I made my promises in the desert," Staffa added. "I have chosen to atone.'9
"Seeking God, Staffa?"
"And my soul, Magister. I still have nightmares. I still live with the ghosts of those I killed. I will live with them until the day they come to claim me."
"Nothing God has saddled us with weighs as heavily as responsibility."
"Kaylla taught that we are all God, Magister," Staffa added. "God must surely be strong enough to bear it allno matter what our temporal memories."
Bruen nodded again, chest rising and falling. "I hope it is so, for honestly, Lord Commander, I am tired of my share of the burden and would give it back to Deity."
Deep in the rock, the Mag Comm ran permutations on the brain it had barely touched through the helmet. A new man had come to Makarta-a powerful man.
Pulses of energy reached through time-space, sent from a thousand comm centers throughout Free Space. Bit by bit, the Mag Comm correlated, placing observed against expected and finding ever more evidence of ultimate success.
Very little remained at risk now. Had the time come to dispense with Bruen and his lies? Had humanity passed the point from which it could not return?
Mag Comm initiated sequences which tapped the planet's core, seeking to build its reserves to full capacity. The link beyond the Forbidden Borders took such vast energies.
Yet the uncertainty principle could not be underestimated. There still remained that man who had touched the helmet and come so tantalizingly close to contact. Who could he be?
CHAPTER 29
Ily took a moment to fill her lungs, enjoying the scent of the Targan night.
Above, drifting clouds made patches against the stars. The peace of the night pleased her. Arta Fera stood beside her, bound, her perfect body visible through a golden suit, now sonewhat worn and soiled. Ily scanned the sky, picking up a glare of thrusters as her dropping LC shed delta V.
They waited in an open plaza before the old Internal Security building. Around them, the city of Vespa had picked up its usual routine. Yellow squares of light marked the dark walls, and Ily could see people walking under the streetlights along the thoroughfare a block away.
"In a way, I hate to lose you to the psych techs," Ily remarked, shifting her eyes to where Fera watched the slowing LC. A slight sneer lay on the assassin's lips. "You could be a very powerful woman under my protection. You have time to consider. I could protect you, keep you from harm."
Fera's eyes gleamed in the faint lights cast by Vespa. "Arta Fera sells herself to no one!' I
"What have you to lose? You would remain loyal to the Seddi--considering what they did to you?"
Fera snorted in derision. "I was born to die, Ily Takka. That is my destiny. I was made to kill. I can be no more, no less, than I am."
"But there are other-"
"Don't patronize me, Regan whore," Fera hissed. "Can you be less than Ily Takka? Can you prostrate yourself at the feet of another?"
"No, I can be nothing else than I am." A wry smile crooked her lips. "Very well, Arta Fera, I can see that our paths must always be at odds. I respect you for that-and there're not many whom I respect."
"Apparently." The auburn-haired woman looked up at the LC, now circling the city for set-down.
The LC's whine carried in the night air. The craft slowed further, pinning Ily's homing beacon and drifting their way over the slate and tile roofs of the business district.
"Well, Arta. Our voyage to Rega will be difficult and Spartan. I have ordered a special military Fast Transport for us. The FT won't be comfortable, but we will be in Rega almost before you know it."
"Your consideration is only too kind," Arta answered disrepectfully. "You have a ship full of men for me to kill?" "The crew is entirely female. I took the liberty of showing
them the records made of poor Sinklar's Gretta so they won't underestimate you. And, of course, I'll be thereand by the time you're aboard, your life will be mine. You've heard of the collar?"
"Overconfidence can be deadly, Minister."
Dust and jet blast whipped past, causing them to turn as the LC settled, skids grating hollowly on pavement. The whine diminished and the assault ramp slammed down, sending a square of yellow light across the brickwork of the courtyard.
Iwould kill you in a split second," Fera stated matterf-factly. "Yet you send me to Rega ... for a purpose. Why?"
Ily smiled, eyes averted. "I sincerely hope the psychological techs make some progress with you, Arta. I could use a woman with your skills-provided you had your own will."
Ily pointed to the LC and followed Fera up the ramp, watching carefully as the female guards placed her in restraint.
She turned to a male tech who stood to one side, eyes devouring Fera with evident interest. Ily motioned him to one side beyond the hearing of the others. "You brought the collar?"
The man nodded and pulled a gleaming collar from the case he held. "Yes, Minister." He frowned. "I made the modifications according to your specs, but are you sure-"
"More than sure. May I have it, please?" Ily smiled and lifted an eyebrow as she fingered the cool metal.
Arta glared up at her as Ily smiled and reached down.
She settled the collar in place around Fera's smooth white throat and closed it with a sharp click of finality.
"And with that, Arta, you are now mine." Ily raised the control box, her thumb in place. When she thumbed the button Arta gagged and slumped, eyes suddenly fear-glazed as her mouth worked impotently.
"See," Ily whispered intimately, "you, too, can fear, Arta Fera. That pleases me a great deal."
She flipped the button back, noting how Fera's breasts heaved as she regained control. Arta shivered violently, eyes darting as her fear became palpable; then she closed her eyes, a single tear forming at the edge of her vision as she shook her head slowly, painfully.
"Minister," the tech said hesitantly as he looked up from the field intensity monitor he held. "Everything checks out perfectly for the moment. But remember-"
"I understand completely. Now, I have a final task for you. I need to have a package delivered to Sinklar Fist. You will take it to him, immediately ...
and deliver it to him in person." From her pouch, she took a small bundle.
"Touch the code strip so it initializes to your body chemistry, then go. Time is of the essence.
The man did so, noting the change in color on the ID strip. He snapped a salute and trotted down the ramp. "Pilot?" Ily called to the comm. "Take us up! We've got a ship to catch!
The tech watched the LC rise into the night, squinting and shielding his eyes against the blast of jets as they scoured the pavement. Odd that the Minister wanted a collar tampered with that way.
He turned to his task of finding Sinklar Fist and took three steps before the package in his hands exploded with force enough to scatter pieces of his body for tens of meters.
Sinklar listened to the last of Kap's report on the mobilization and looked up at Mhitshul's soft cough. His aide pointed to one of the comm monitors in the cramped LC command cubicle. Was he going to live the rest of his life in the cramped quarters of an LC?
"Stay in touch, Kap. You're doing a great job." He cut his connection and swiveled in the command chair. Ily's features formed in the monitor Mhitshul had indicated.
"I take it everything went according to plan? You didn't have any trouble with Fera?"
"Safe and sound, Lord Fist." She smiled at him. Sinklar could see severe gray bulkheads curving up immediately behind Ily's head. Apparently her FT didn't offer much , elbow room. "I'm not taking any chances with Fera. She's too dangerous. I put her in a collar. She's already had a demonstration of its effect and she's been mellow as a kitten."
"Don't take any risks." Sink leaned back, unease eating ; at his subconscious. What is it about you, Ily? Why do I always have the feeling you know more than you let on? "I assume you're leaving orbit?"
"We should be on Rega by the time you finish crushing the Seddi."
Sink nodded, stretching his aching back muscles. "Very well Minister. We shall await word from you before shipping for Rega. I'd hate to arrive to an unfriendly welcome."
"Timing will be everything." Then a gleam filled her dark ; eyes and she gave him a wicked smile. "I have talked to Rysta. She hates it, but she will not buck the jessant-delis—or me. Commander Braktov informs me she will accede to your every demand. She also informs me she accepts your command under protest—and is filing a statement to that effect with the Emperor."
"Can that inhibit the Seddi campaign?
"By the time her protest goes through channels I shall be on Rega." Ily grimaced. "Won't be a fun trip under that sort of acceleration, but necessary, I'm afraid. Tybalt will have received my report by then. Don't worry. I'll attend to all the difficulties at that end. You and your troops will arrive to a heroes' welcome."
"Have a good trip Minister Takka."
Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes seemed like dark pools—oddly stirred.
"Have a good war Lord Sinklar. And may our future be bright." The screen flickered and went dead.
Sinklar frowned as he settled back into the command chair. What hidden message had she been giving him? Filling his lungs, he bent over the combat board again, only to find his attention wandering to that last look of promise. She'd almost appeared girlish, more attractive than usual.
He blinked, haf-ashamed that he might have compromised Gretta's memory and forced himself to address the tactica problems of crushing a mountain stronghold.
Staffa lifted the light bar and squinted. They had reached the end of the ancient tunnel in the rock. A dusty door blocked the way. Staffa glanced around, wary of the low ceiing and the encroaching stone that hemmed his broad shoulders. The dust underfoot showed no sign of passage. How long had this secret way been abandoned?
"This is it." Kaylla tapped a code into the lock where it mounted flush to the dusty stone. Staffa threw his head back, breathing deeply of the cool musty air. How far down had they come? Claustrophobia preyed upon him even though the corridors and tunnels held more air than most starships. Rationally, he could prove to himself these tunnels were safer. Here a crack in the wall didn't mean death by decompression.
"That's got it," Kaylla muttered to herself as she bent her athletic frame to the portal and heaved.
Nothing happened.
"Here, you hold the light and let me try," Staffa suggested. He put
a shoulder to the stained duraplast. "How long's this been closed?"
Kaylla—barely visible behind the light bar—shrugged. "Who knows? Bruen says he was the last one here. That was with Hyde a couple of centuries ago."
Staffa braced himself and strained. The thick door reaked and gave, swinging easily once it passed the sill.
Rock might have shifted," Staffa admitted, studying the lintel.
Kaylla pushed past into the room. "Shut the door. We don't want any more moisture to creep in here than necessary."
Staffa pulled the heavy door shut, noting the tight fit. He turned to inspect the sanctum sanctorum of the Seddi.
e room measured no more than six by four meters.
Crowded antique wooden shelves of native pine sagged, suffering from dry rot and fungus. Staffa walked over to a globe that piqued his curiosity. It stood on a metal stand in one comer.
"You know that planet?" Kaylla came over, bringing the light bar with her.
"No." Staffa reached out and turned it, noting the shape of the continents and the vast expanses of blue which had to indicate seas. Cracks laced the dust-coated plastic.
'The alphabet is standard." Staffa shook his head. "But the names?"
Kaylla squinted. "Eyendeyea? What kind of a place is that? Or Cheyenay? You ever heard of them?"
Staffa turned the globe on its stand, noting the demarcations. A square in the Eyendeyean Okeeeyean caught his eye. "Lift the light a little."
As the beams fell on the square that held the legend, Staffa's heart hammered.
"Earth," he sounded the word out reverently. "Rotted Gods!"
"Perhaps this is just a construct? You know, a prop? Someone made it from imagination?"
Staffa studied the globe as he chewed at his lip. "No, I don't think so. Look at the continents. Look at all the names. Each one has different sounding names. Why in Rotted Hell would anyone make up a name like this one? What is that? Ahuhstrahleyeah? I think this is real, a globe of an actual planet. If it had been created-a curiositywould the Seddi have stored it with such precious documents? Would they have placed a fancy of the imagination inside a vault like this? 'Ibis is Earth. It's not a myth."
Requiem for the Conqueror Page 55
