Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  CHAPTER 6

  A foot grated in the darkness, the sound carrying in the narrow crack of an alley where Anatolia hid. High overhead, a faint slice of night sky could be seen. Anatolia tried to control the heaving of her stomach as fear wound cold fingers through her guts. One hand on the wall behind her, she backed another step into the blackness where thin sheets of plastic and other rubbish had built up. Her right hand gripped a fifty centimeter section of metal rod she’d found in the street.

  Luck had been with her during the escape from her apartment building. She’d run to the rear exit while her pursuers apparently raced to the front. She’d sprinted away before they could correct their mistake. But once in the streets, she’d become a fugitive in an alien environment. Now she sought to hide in the nether regions where the towering arcologies thrust their steel and concrete roots into the forgotten ground; in hidderr corners that collected the refuse of her society; in a world the enfranchised-such as herself-had never admitted existed.

  Clothing scraped against a filthy wall as this new pursuer stepped closer. She’d seen him clearly in a shaft of light that shot down from above-a muscular man, dirty, in a sanitation worker’s overalls. He’d been following, closing the gap as she trotted down the broad avenue, looking for access to one of the other edifices. Since the outbreak of violence, no gap had been left in the security systems.

  Why didn’t I accept Vet’s invitation? Why? “Where you at?” the gruff male voice called out.

  “You’re trapped, you know. Just give up. Come to Micky, little girl. I take good care of you ... good care. “

  The piled trash under Anatolia’s feet swished as if it had piled against.... Her questing fingers encountered cold cement seconds later. Desperately, she patted the square prison of the cul-de-sac.

  “I hear you,” the rasping voice called from the darkness. “I know where you at now. Come to Micky. Micky be good to you. You treat Micky good, Micky treat you good.” Anatolia braced her feet, grasping the rod in both hands. Blessed Gods, this can’t be happening to me! The plastic and foam packaging stirred in the darkness as Micky stepped closer. She could hear him breathing now, smell his unwashed body. She felt the air move against her skin. He couldn’t be more than a meter away. Adrenaline pumped with each terrified beat of her heart. A desperate cry broke from her throat as she swung her metal rod with all her might. He grunted and staggered as it thumped into his shoulder. Then he bulled forward with an enraged roar, smashing her against the wall, driving the breath out of her.

  “You hurt! That’s bad, little girl. Now Micky hurt you.” He chuckled to himself as he jerked her back and forced her down into the musty smelling trash. His breath reeked of rotten teeth and garlic. Anatolia tried to kick, to scratch or bite, but his muscular hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing. Pain mixed with panic and yellow spots flashed in her eyes.

  “You be nice,” Micky crooned as he choked her into submission. “There. Now Micky gonna see how nice you can be. “

  She gasped to fill her starved lungs, then cried out in terror as his thick hands groped her breasts. “Nice,” Micky sighed.

  Anatolic bucked as his hands went lower and jerked her pants down with a brutal yank that ripped the thin material. She began to shake as he probed between her legs.

  “Soft,” Micky crooned, the stench of him making her stomach twist. He dropped the heavy bar of his brawny arm on her throat as he undid his pants and drove a knee between her legs.

  “No,” she whimpered. “Don’t do this ... not to me ... don’t. . . . “

  “Micky gonna love you.”

  Think, damn you! How can you hurt him? What’s vulnerable on a big man? “All right,” she whispered through the shakes and fear. “If I make it good ... you’ll let me go? Won’t hurt me?”

  For a long second he hesitated. “You make it good. “

  “I-I will.”

  He released his hold on her slightly as he reached down to open her. At that moment, she twisted, got one hand behind his head, and with the other, rammed her fingers into his eyes, using all of her fearcharged strength to dig with her long fingernails.

  His bellowed shriek deafened and he thrashed like a Vermilion fog rhino, beating at her with tough fists, kicking and gouging, trying to roll away. She hung on, desperately wiggling her fingers deeper into his eye sockets, feeling wetness trickle down her hand.

  He got a hand on her wrist, savagely yanking it, howling as she hooked her fingers. In that instant, she broke away, groping for the metal rod.

  “Minister?” Ily glanced up from the report she was reading on her comm. A faint humming from the atmosphere plant and electronics filled her otherwise quiet office. “Yes, Gysell?”

  “We thought we’d alert you. Several unregistered ships have established orbit. I just checked with our people in Orbital Defense. They don’t have an ID, but apparently, the vessels cleared security.”

  Who? Ily pushed back in her chair, an icy anger building in her breast. Rotted Hell, where was Sinklar? He should have exited null singularity two days ago. She’d pulled her agents back, afraid the civil situation might degenerate into disaster before Sinklar could make the transit from Targa.

  She leaned forward, glaring into the monitor. “Gysell, if you value your life, get me the identification on those ships!”

  “Yes, Minister.

  She took a deep breath, forcing her an er away, stilling the violence burning in her heart. Wega teetered on the verge of out and out revolt. Everything had been manipulated to perfection. All she needed now was word from Sinklar that he’d be ready to drop his troops. With his muscle for backup, her people could occupy strategic positions. Thereafter, the petals of the Regan flower would fold around Ily Takka. And no one would be able to peel them back.

  Powered by nervous energy, she walked to the holo tank. There, a scale model of the planet blinked into life. Dots of gleaming color marked the critical objectives in the capital, in Trystia, Vedoc, and Rypan. Through those locations, she could control the entire planet, but she couldn’t move on them until she had Fist’s troops to protect her. Without them, she couldn’t resist the inevitable backlash as the reeling aristocrats recovered their wits.

  “And now I have ships in orbit?” she mused. “Is this some military stunt? Some Squadron Commander or First I haven’t thought of?”

  She called out, “Comm, give me the name of the person in charge of Orbital Defense.”

  Several seconds later the machine answered, “Commander Bryn Hack.”

  “Who would he have as an ally?” Ily pondered. She walked to her desk comm, calling up a schematic of the military command tree. Hack would normally report to Deputy Zhudall-but he’d been eliminated. No, this appeared to be something very different. An old combat buddy?

  She stabbed the call button with a long finger and Gysell’s worried face appeared. “Do you have anything?”

  “Not yet, Minister. We’re working on it as-“ “Alert all of our people. If this is a move by the military to circumvent us, we’ll have to throw the entire planet into revolt.”

  Gysell paled. “But that would cost…”

  “Yes, I know what it would cost. But we might not have any choice.” Rot you, Sinklar! Where in the pusdripping hell are you? Ily pressed another button, glancing up as the door to her private quarters opened and a striking ambereyed woman stepped out. She wore a gauzy robe that swirled around the sort of long-legged, full-breasted body men fantasized about. Long auburn hair fell around her shoulders in rippling waves that caught the light.

  The woman walked across the room with the presence of a goddess. Toned muscles slid beneath tanned skin. Her hips rolled alluringly with each balanced step. She placed thin hands on hips as she stopped before Ily. “Trouble?” .

  Ily rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Perhaps. In the meantime, I want you to make sure my shuttle is ready and that my battle cruiser is on alert. And, Arta, get out of that outfit. You’ll have half the men o
n Rega slobbering all over themselves.”

  Arta Fera laughed sensually. “That’s the general idea, Ily. If I can get a man to slobber, he’s stopped thinking about anything but getting his hands on me. He’s easy game. As Tybalt found out. But getting back to the current situation, do I dress for space?”

  “Combat armor might be appropriate. We’ve got ships in orbit.

  “Fist’s?” “He would have checked in.” Wouldn’t he?

  “You don’t look sure about that.” Arta tilted her head. “I’ve matched wits with him-and lost. I’ve seen my death in his eyes as he looked over a blaster’s sights. He’s not very predictable.”

  “No ... he isn’t.” And if he’s acting on his own, I’ll wring his neck! “If this is a ploy of his, we may not have to run for it. In that case, I’ll have another assignment for you before you meet Tyklat at the spaceport. The assignment’s name is Bryn Hack ... and he may have betrayed us.”

  A cunning smile crossed Arta Fera’s full lips, her skin flushing with excitement. “I’ll look forward to it. For the moment, I’d better go prepare our things. We’ll be ready to evacuate in ten minutes, five if things really go sour.”

  In the short time Arta had been in Ily’s service, she’d proven her ability. Arta had made no boast. They’d be ready to evaculate in ten minutes with nothing forgotten in the rush. “Go.” Ily couldn’t help but watch as Arta crossed the room. The woman reeked of sexual magnetism. The way the Seddi bred her. Curse it all, how do they do that with their assassins?

  She returned her attention to the comm, paging Gysell. “Check those ships. See if they’re Gyton and her assault fleet. “

  Gysell turned his head, issuing orders before he looked back into the monitor. “But Lord Fist would have checked in, wouldn’t he?”

  Ily gave her subordinate a cold smile. “Yes, he should have. According to our agreement, Lord Fist was-“

  “We’ve got it!” Gysell cried as one of his monitors glowed to life. “It’s Gyton and her squadron, all right.” He glanced up, worry bright in his eyes. “And they’re dropping LCs as we speak. All over the planet.... They’re falling like fleas off an Etarian siff jackal. “

  Ily stiffened, mind racing. “How long to get our people into position to take control of the critical objectives?”

  Gysell spread his hands. “Maybe a couple of hours.”

  “Do it.”’ She slapped her desk, white with anger. “And get me Sinklar Fist! I want to talk to him now!”

  “Lord Fist? I have the Minister of Internal Security calling. Should I answer the signal?”

  Sinklar sat in the command chair on Gyton’s bridge, back hunched, elbows propped on knees, chin cradled in the palms of his hands. He forced his attention away from the screens that monitored the deployment of his troops. Around him, the bridge had gone tense. A person could have heard a photon split in the silence.

  “Weapons First? Do you have any sign of resistence?”

  “Nothing, Lord Fist,” the gray-haired officer called, his eyes never straying from his detection equipment. “We haven’t even had a targeting laser pointed our way. Orbital recon shows no massing of forces on the planet’s surface. Nor do our instruments indicate fortifications around the objectives.”

  “I think she’s too late,” Sinklar observed. “Unless she wants to tackle us head on-and that’s not Ily’s style. “

  “You bet your ass,” Rysta growled from where she monitored the ship’s systems.

  “Put the Lord Minister on.” Sinklar sat back in the command chair, straightening, trying to look ... what? He smiled, amused at himself.

  Ily’s face wavered and firmed on the main monitor. She looked angry, a spark animating those deadly black eyes of hers. Yes, dangerous-but necessary.

  “Greetings, Lord Minister.”

  “Sinklar,” her contralto voice vibrated with intent, “I thought the agreement was that you would establish communications the moment you dropped from null singularity. Now, I understand that troops are dropping all over the planet-without my consent.”

  Yes,’just as he’d expected. He stood then, walking closer to the comm pickup. “Excuse me, Lord Minister, but I thought strategy and tactics were my responsibility. Yours was to manipulate the political climate on Rega.” He glanced at the chronometer. “My people should be within minutes of seizing their objectives. By this time tomorrow, Rega will be pacified. Order will be restored and the planet’s functions will be back on schedule.”

  The look in her hot dark eyes might have melted sialon. “We’ll discuss it later. In the meantime, you’ve left me somewhat embarrassed. I have people ready to take control of critical agencies, utilities, and public administration centers. They will be ready to relieve your troops at first opportunity.”

  Sinklar inclined his head. Buy time. You must give your people time to solidify their position! “Very well, Lord Minister. As soon as the tactical situation is sufficiently stabilized, we’ll see to making the transition. In the meantime, the military has continued to mass for the Sassan strike. I need to meet with twenty-one of the Division Firsts currently stationed on the planet. I’ll supply you with the list at first opportunity. The sooner you get them here, the better off we’ll be.,’

  He could see her begin to bristle, and added calmly, “Ily, you’ve baited the trap for the Sassans-without consulting me. Given the stepped-up timetable, I need to have the Imperial forces retrained, disciplined, and combat ready. I need to reestablish a command control, a functioning logistical operation which can handle supply, reinforcement, evacuation, and combat engineering. I have to be able to empower a civilian force to ensure that planetary damage control will be administered properly. Our industrial base has to be modified to a wartime footing, and critical manufacturing capabilities redirected for the military. That’s just the beginning. It gets a little more complicated after that—especially if Staffa is indeed in league with the Sassans.”

  Her anger still smoldered as she stood stiffly, arms crossed. Before his gaze, she mastered herself, regaining her composure. The ghost of a smile solidified and she lifted a shapely eyebrow. “Only one other man ever took that tone of voice with me. “

  And Tybalt’s dead, Sinklar told himself. “Do I need to worry about any surprises when my people hit the ground?”

  She shook her head, long black hair gleaming. “The population is in the perfect stage of ferment. They aren’t well enough organized to offer an effective resistance, but they are enraged enough to never want Tybalt’s government back. Most of the citizenry would worship anyone who will just restore order so they can get on with their lives. You see, that’s the secret to maintaining social control. You can do anything you want, so long as you don’t disrupt ordinary people’s lives in the process. “

  Sinklar chuckled, relief washing through him at her change in demeanor. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should have this all in hand within a day. I’ll be down to meet you then. We can talk more in person.”

  Her voice carried a multitude of overtones. “I can hardly wait. “

  The Comm First cut the signal.

  Sinklar rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled.

  “You know,” Rysta muttered from the side, “she’ll cut your throat as quick as not. “

  Sinklar nodded. “But not until I can hand her an empire.” Sinklar looked up at the various screens that monitored the operation. Command LCs were settling before various besieged buildings on the planet. As hatches dropped and slapped hard pavement, his troops dispersed with veteran efficiency, something Mac had seen the Companions do and had been trying to duplicate.

  Through long dragging minutes, Sink watched the monitors as his people shot open locked security doors and overran their defenseless objectives. The chatter on the battle comms reassured as no one got shot at, fried, or turned inside out from a gravity shot.

  “Pretty smooth operation,” Rysta finally admitted. Then she shook her head in a violent gesture.
“Pus Rot it, who’d have ever thought we’d be taking our own capital?”

  “The Rotted Gods themselves,” Sinklar whispered.

  “Enjoy it, Rysta. The next time we do this it will be all or nothing. It will be win or die-with Rega as the final stakes.

  Division First MacRuder braced one foot on the Regan Power Authority Director’s desk. The manone of the exalted and renowned Rath family-cowered in his cushioned gravchair, a sickly pallor dominating his pasty complexion. The belled muzzle of Mac’s blaster didn’t seem to calm the fellow any. Just now it hovered less than a foot from the Director’s rotund belly. Over in the corner, the man’s personal bodyguards stared uneasily into the deadly eyes of two privates who had disarmed them and now kept a careful watch.

  “Nice office,” Mac commented chattily. The place sat on the top floor of the Power Authority Building and rotated so that the view of Rega’s skyline changed constantly. The carpets were the finest Ashtan works that money could buy. The whole room dazzled with opulent elegance befitting a monarch. Through the comm, Mac could hear the frightened chatter of secretaries and staff huddled miserably under the guns of his troops on the floor below. Monitors displayed various parts of the building where his people had taken control.

  “Let’s get down to business.” Mac slapped a hand to the receiver on his worn blaster. The Director made a croaking sound, as if something had stuck in his throat.

  “You all right?” Mac asked, and leaned forward solicitously. “You might check with a physician. Throat problems can be a real nuisance. If it acts up at the wrong time, it can kill you.”

  Mac straightened, looking purposefully around. “Very well, folks, here’re the marching orders. First priority is to return power to all sections of the capital. We understand there’s been damage to the system. Call the work crews together and get them on it. We’ll work twelve hours on, eight off until the system is back to normal. Second thing, as quoted by the provisional government: As of this moment, all employees are considered owners of this utility. The Power Authority will charge to the accounts the cost of producing and distributing power plus fifteen percent. That fifteen percent goes for employee compensation and overhead. If we find out you can’t do the job, we’ll find someone who can.”