"Then where is it? Perhaps the answer lies in the files," she suggested, turning away.
Staffa wanted to growl as she took the light with her. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the globe, following her to the musty drawers. A single case rested on the top of the numbered cabinets. Staffa reached for it, noting the atmosphere seal that guarded the contents.
"Odd," he mumbled. "Doesn't weigh much."
Kaylla checked the instruments hanging from her belt. "We haven't changed the internal environment much. Would you like to open it?"
"I'd like to ransack this whole room! I want to study every document here." He looked up from the duraplast case he held in his hands. "Kaylla, don't you understand? This is the legacy of our ancestors.
These are the only clues to who we are, where we came from."
She caught his infectious excitement.
Staffa propped the case on the file cabinet and unlatched the hasp. The hinges moved stiffly, but the case opened to reveal a square of fifteen by twenty centimeters. Staffa lifted it carefully from the case, noting, to his surprise, that one side fell apart.
Taking another grip, he lifted it all the way out. The outside consisted of fabric stretched over a hard leaf while the inside consisted of sheets of paper bound on one side. "What do the words say?" Kaylla wondered.
"I don't know, the alphabet is similar to ours, but the words? I've never seen anything like them before. Why didn't they make this out of flexible ceramic, or use a data cube? Paper, for God's sake? What a poor medium to write on.,,
"Indeed," Kaylla agreed.
He filled his lungs with the musty air as if to suck in the knowledge hidden here. Staffa pattered his fingertips on the file cabinets. "Why do you suppose Bruen had us come here?"
Kaylla lifted the light bar, and reached to rub dust from an inscription on the wall. It read:
THE PAST IS MYSTERY THE PRESENT IS NOW ASSUME THE MANTLE YOU ARE THE LEGACY
"My God," she whispered, awed. "Of course!"
"Of course what?" Staffa grumbled absently as he reverently fingered the ancient book.
"Bruen knows he's going to die soon." She turned to him. "He sent us here to see. He's made us his successors! Given us the legacy!" Her face went blank, eyes losing focus. "Why us? Why not ... someone more. . . . "
"Responsibility. Oh, Bruen, you do make me suffer." He closed his eyes, seeing the old man's plans. "Another irony, Kaylla. From the destroyer, I have become the savior. Your
Bruen moves in deep circles. From sin, he would turn me to grace."
"Possibly." She continued to stare at the inscription. "The Magister is a more charitable person than I am." Kaylla used her fingers to brush the fine dust from one
of the wooden cabinets full of documents. "If we are to share this legacy, Staffa, how do I work with you? I can't forget what you did. I don't even like being around you right now. I know you as a monster. "
He placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. "We'll work that out. You decide what you're comfortable with. And there's something else you should begin to think about. I don't know what Bruen is planning for us, but don't you think it's odd that he's given you so much responsibility in the short time you've been back."
She shifted nervously.
"He has . . . and you know it. He's also spent a lot of time talking to me. He's dying, Kaylla. He knows he's only got a short time to live and too many of his possible successors have been killed in this crazy Targan revolt trap of his. The rest of his people aren't ready for the political maelstrom about to be unleashed."
:'What are you getting at?" Her expression had hardened. 'He's going to leave the leadership of the Seddi to you, Kaylla. "
She glanced away and shook her head. "That's crazy!" "Is it? Do you think Wilm could wield the power of the Seddi? Nyklos? Name anyone here who has the ability to keep the order alive and safe. Name anyone who could do it better than you. You've been forged by processes that would have broken just about anyone else. You have the political savvy from your days on Maika. You have the intelligence, the endurance, and the will to survive-no matter what it takes. And, yes, you know me as a monster. You don't trust me-and neither does Bruen, at least, not totally. You'll keep a careful watch on me and the Companions. "
"And your role?"
"I control the Companions, the wild card in Free Space politics. You and I can make the difference, Kaylla. You've lived in grace, I in sin. Now we must combine our
strength-Seddi intelligence and Companion force. That's what Bruen is betting on."
Kaylla sighed, forcing herself to relax as she stared around the room. "Damn you, Staffa. I don't want to be a leader. I want time to heal, to mend the wounds and come to grips with everything that's happened to me. I can't assume the mantle of leadership."
"Sometimes we're chosen for our strengths, Kaylla-not for our desires. "
She exhaled, eloquent in the silence, resigned.
Staffa pulled one of the file drawers open, It bothered him that the flimsies were cracked and falling apart. He closed the drawer before more damage could be done. "My people will be needed here."
She turned, face ashen. "Oh? Your people? Your bloodsoaked Companions? In here?"
Staffa bit off a retort. "Among other things, the Companions have siphoned off the finest minds in Free Space. My technicians can save all this. How many more years do you think these documents will last locked away in this environment? That globe, for God's sake, is made of plastic! Plastic! The book, is, of all things, paper! Organic, can you imagine? The flimsies in the drawers-possibly the very information we need to break the Forbidden Borders-are fragmenting.
Kaylla looked around. "And how do you propose doing all this? Do you think Tybalt will allow your Companions to come tromping into this nest of Seddi sedition to release all this information?"
Staffa's grin tightened his lips. "Oh, I'll find a way. I promise that." He paused. "And maybe Tybalt will. Despite some of his other faults, he's a rational human being. By the time I give him an earful about Ily, he might just listen to reason."
Kaylla crossed her arms, a pensive quality in her eyes. "And the Seddi? Do you think Tybalt will just forget everything that's happened? Allow us to hang out in Makarta and preach a new epistemology?"
Staffa paced around the dim room. Shadows danced on the walls and between the cabinets as Kaylla moved the light bar nervously. How much knowledge lay crumbling in this damp, fungus infested fortress? "I doubt Tybalt would appreciate your staying here. But there's room for you in the Itreatic Asteroids. And what the hell could Tybalt or Sassa the Second do about you then? I think Free Space needs the Seddi. What's left in Rega? What's left in Sassa? Nothing! People spend their lives perpetually rebuilding from the wars.
No, we're bottled here-stagnant and dying. What is life if humans are stagnant? We must have a new frontier. The Seddi might be able to breathe a little hope into humanity." He balled his fists, looking at the machine smoothed rock overhead. "We must have a dream!"
:'Brave words. 'Watch me."
The ground shook under their feet. Staffa braced himself, calling, "What the.
"Earthquake!" Kaylla shouted, bolting for the door. Staffa swung it open, pushing her out into the darkness.
With all his strength he pulled it shut. The lock clicked gratifyingly. They stood there in the narrow rock-lined tunnel. The silence was overpowering.
"Just like the pipe in the desert, Staffa," Kaylla whispered with a quaver in her voice.
"Let's go.,,
They didn't make five minutes' progress before the rock around them vibrated and pitched. The second shock pulsed violently, the stone groaning, dust and particles cascading from above.
Staffa bellowed, "Run!"
The sun rose over the eastern horizon to shed its bloody rays over the mountainous terrain of Targa. A breeze whispered softly through the pines that dotted the ridges. The stringers of clouds that raced westward across the indigo sky burned w
ith the fluorescent red-orange of morning. A faint nip lingered from the cool night air.
Sinklar sat on the crest of a rocky ridge, on a basalt outcrop, his back to the vanilla-scented trunk of a pine. Around him lay a blanket of needles that had turned brown to match the soil. Dry grasses clung precariously to cracks in the scabby protrusions of rock that jutted irregularly from the soil. As the morning brightened, Sink picked a branch
from the ground beside him. One by one, he snapped off the brittle twigs from the limb and began peeling the desiccated bark with a thumbnail.
Sinklar heard the careful steps behind him, but he didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the intrusion.
"You all right?" Mac asked softly. "Mhitshul's half-panicked because your bunk's empty. He's sure the Seddi have assassinated you. "
Sinklar took a deep breath and tilted his head back against the rough bark.
The breeze made a shushing sound through the thick needles above. "I'm fine, Mac. I just wanted to think. "
"Want me to leave?"
Sinklar frowned, rolling the stick between his fingers. "Oh, I don't know."
Mac stepped over and squatted on an outcrop across from Sinklar. "You don't sound so good."
"What is there to feel good about?" When Mac remained silent, Sinklar continued, "I'm tired, Mac. And I don't know what's what anymore. I've lost my center, my balance. That old certainty I had when we ... you, me, and Gretta
.... " He looked away, trying to ease the hurt.
"You can't change what happened, Sink. You can't change what's real. People get killed in wars. Even people we love get killed. You know that. It's just the way the universe works. "
"Why?" he asked hollowly.
Mac pulled a knee up, looking out over the valley below them. While the sunlight rouged the ridgetops, the valley bottoms remained in velvet purple shadow. Mac's blond hair glinted in the ocher light; his face remained thoughtful. "I don't know. I don't think anybody does. I loved her, too, Sink.
I just wish ... wish I could bring her back."
"Yeah." A vision of Gretta laughing, her blue eyes sparkling with love, filled Sink's memory. The gaping wound to his soul opened, and an ache built under his jaw. He couldn't stop the welling of hot tears. When he got control of himself, he looked over to see Mac wiping his eyes and sniffing, too.
"Hell of a pair, aren't we?" Sinklar asked as he blew his nose.
Mac rubbed his puffy eyes and spat. "Just human, I guess. Maybe we needed that-needed time to cry, to grieve. "
Sink retrieved his stick from where it had fallen and studied the smooth wood where he'd chipped off the bark. "Sink?" Mac asked uncertainly. "What's going on? I
mean, well, you spent a lot of time with Minister Takka. You haven't been yourself. You're ... different. I'm worried. "
"I'll be all right. I'm just tired, I guess. Mourning does strange things to the brain. Maybe I'll ask Anatolia Daviura when we get back to Rega ... find out what happens exactly. See if I can find out why it's so hard for me to feel free anymore. "
"We're safe, aren't we? I mean from Rega? The Emperor isn't going to arrest us or anything?"
"No." Sinklar raised his eyebrows. "Ily's going to make sure we're heroes, and then we're going to war against the Sassans." He studied his friend through bleary eyes. "Suddenly we're the salvation of the Regan Empire. First we crush Divine Sassa, then we tackle the Companions. After that, we live out our lives in splendor and bliss, our every want acceded to, our every desire fulfilled by a grateful humanity."
"You never sounded this bitter before."
Sinklar gave his friend a weary smile. "Until now I never had time to think about it in the grander context. We were too busy, remember? Too many people were trying to kill US."
Mac chewed on his thumbnail. "And Minister Takka?" "I'd trust a Cytean cobra before I'd trust Ily." Sink tapped the slim stick on his armored knee. "She needs us right now-maybe even more than we need her. Free Space is about to come apart at the seams. Rega and Sassa are going to war. We're the random factor, the one that changed all the scenarios. But, Mac, be very careful around her. Don't ever speak freely."
"You think I'm an idiot? I didn't like her from the moment I met her." Mac hesitated, shifting uneasily. "Sink? What are you going to do when she tries to seduce you?" "When she what?"
Mac fidgeted. "You heard me. Maybe you're still too close to Gretta's death, but she's laying the groundwork,
friend. She's very good, very discreet, but watch how she postures, the way she meets your eyes, how she hangs on your every word. I might not have noticed
myself, but Mayz did-a woman's eye. Once she mentioned it, I couldn't help but notice.
"I'm not interested in any woman.
"I'll remind you of that periodically." Mac shook his head. "In the meantime, the seismic charges are set. I guess we're ready to take out the Seddi.
Sink nodded. "Then let's do it. "
"You don't have your usual enthusiasm."
Sinklar shrugged, watching the sun creep into the valley below. "I'm just gloomy, Mac. I've got a bad feeling, that's all. I need more time to get over Gretta, to deal with myself. I'd just like to go somewhere, be alone, think.
Can you understand?"
Mac gave him a warm smile. "I understand. I think everyone else does, too.
Anything else bothering you?"
Sinklar threw the stick, watching it spiral in the morning light. "I never told you the truth about my parents. They were assassins, Mac. Seddi assassins. That's why I was a ward of the state. I never knew them, but I suppose they were the same as Arta Fera. "
"Is that why you're so determined to finish off Makarta?" Sink climbed to his feet, stepping out where he could shade his eyes and stare up at the sun.
"Think about what they did here on Targa, about how many people they killed-and for what? They wouldn't even send this Bruen to talk about ending the war. What kind of people could sleep at night after what they made Arta Fera into-and probably my parents? Well, Mac, one thing at a time. If we're going to make a difference, we've got to start here. After that, we'll clean up Rega before we're done."
"That's a tall order, Sink." Mac got to his feet and smacked the dust from his butt.
Sinklar gave him a sober look. "Oh, I don't know. We've sort of become used to filling tall orders, don't you think? I'm going to make a difference, Mac.
Let's see what kind of legacy we can leave. The Seddi are only the first disease I'm going to destroy."
Kaylla took off like a frightened antelope, sprinting up the rocky tunnel. The light bar's illumination bounced weirdly before her while Staffa pounded along behind, aware of the tons of rock hanging over his head.
He almost lost his feet as yet a third stunning shock wave shivered the rock.
"That's no earthquake! That's bombardment! Those are seismic gravitational charges that we use for underground installations!"
The fourth blast left them stumbling as echoes rolled ominously down the tunnel.
They ran out into a lower corridor, now black from power failure. A man called and came staggering out of the darkness. "Everything's cut off! We've lost power!"
Kaylla whirled on her feet, staring at Staffa.
Staffa pulled his blaster, and leveled it at the narrow entrance they'd just exited-the only entrance to the archives.
"What are you doing?" Kaylla cried as he exploded the top of the tunnel. She was pulling at his arm as he shook her off, taking two more shots to cave the branch in. "You.... You.... What have you done?"
Kaylla's
voice echoed with stricken disbelief.
Staffa slapped a hand on her shoulder, spinning her around and staring into her eyes. "As soon as they can shatter the defenses, the Regans are going to be all over this mine of yours, Master Dawn. You really want them to find all that?"
She looked at him in a daze and shook her head. "We've got to get to Bruen.
We're out of time here!" He turned, seeking his
way in the blackness.
"Here! This way, Staffa." Kaylla pointed in the beam of the light bar. She left at a run. In the broader tunnel, Staffa had no trouble keeping up.
Occasional rocks hit the floor while swirls of dust eddied in the bouncing light as Staffa pushed himself up the slanted floor. Occasionally, frightened men or women ran past with light bars.. Calls and screams became more common.
Staffa vaulted over a man who lay facedown in a pool of blood, his scalp laid open by falling rock.
"Go right!" Kaylla ordered. "It's shorter to Bruen's." Staffa made the turn to come face-to-face with a collapsed
tunnel. Cursing, he backtracked to the main hall and ran again, leery of the debris that littered the floor.
"Another ... blast ... like that," he gasped, "and the whole place will come tumbling down."
"Bruen!" Kaylla shouted as they rounded a corner. The old man was being carried out of the personnel section, face matted with blood.
The Magister waved at her. "Easy, child. It was only a silly little rock.
Scalp wounds always bleed terribly." "How are the surface entrances?" Staffa demanded. "Did
they target them from orbital?"
Wilm looked up from where he dabbed at Bruen's head with plastaheal. "Not yet.
We think they just cut the tunnels to Kaspa, Vespa, and Decker. That seems to be what they were after. "
Staffa smacked a fist into his palm. "Then we have a chance. Wilm, Kaylla, take separate squads and gather all the weapons you can. Evacuate all the tunnels. We've got to get out. If they seal us in with a seismic pulse, we die in darkness. Pray they haven't cut off escape."
"And just what do you think is outside?" Wilm demanded hotly.
Staffa wiped sweat from his face. "Maneuvering room. We have any combat armor here?"
"Armory three," someone said from behind him. "Wilm, Kaylla, go!" Bruen ordered, waving his hand, taking the plastaheal from Wilm. "Do as Staffa says.
He may be our salvation."
Requiem for the Conqueror Page 56
