Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “When do we space?” The question was on every tongue, as hard eyes glanced at the comm monitors, awaiting the announcement.

  The “Regan Bitch” had Skyla ... she’d taken one of their own. The first burst of passionate rage settled into a seething anger alloyed with resolution and honed to a keep edge.

  Staffa knew, and his heart filled with strained pride as he walked the long white corridors toward the briefing room. He needed that to shore the rickety patches he’d made for his shattered confidence. Once again, the woman he loved had been stolen-not through any fault of her own, but as a means of harming him. And if Skyla, too, disappeared? If he was faced with another twenty long years of uncertainty and lonely anguish?

  That Skyla’s last words had been about Chrysla only turned the knife in the gaping wound.

  No, Staffa. This time it’s different. This time, you know who-and you can go and kill her with your own hands. His mouth had gone dry, eyes burning from lack of sleep and twisting worry. And if you’re too late?

  “Then Rega will burn for a thousand years, a monument to mark Ily Takka’s perfidy and cowardice.” He entered the briefing room, his assembled commanders rising and slapping fists to their chests. They stood silently as Staffa walked up to the raised platform before the room’s main monitor, his cloak swirling around him in a billowing mantle. Staffa climbed the steps and faced them. One by one, he took their measure. Here were the men and women of Kaylla’s nightmare. Free Space had rocked under their armored boots, cowered at the crackle of their blasters, and reeled in the wake of their attacks and the desolation they left behind. A hundred billion tears had been shed in the wake of these veterans.

  “Please be seated.”

  As they settled, Staffa cataloged the familiar faces: Tap Amurka, a human bear, black-skinned and with a professor’s eyes. Tasha, grizzled, gray-bearded, with his one gleaming black eye and his desperate passion for pretty flowers. Ryman Ark, a hard set to his jaw because his people had been responsible for Skyla’s security. Septa Aygar, with his long albino hair drawn into a ponytail that hung to his waist. Amrat, the fiery commander of Simva Ast, red-haired, with a temper to match. Seekore, the slim woman with honey-brown skin, sloe eyes, and a total lack of fear. Orchid May, Tiger, Delshay, and the rest of his capable captains and officers, waited with the impatience of angry sand tigers.

  The pounding of Staffa’s heart increased. “You all know what has happened. If you have any doubts, the records are on file. We’re not sure where Ily’s agent hid herself while the ship was being searched. We’re not sure how she circumvented our procedures and neutralized our STU personnel. Currently, a crew is retrieving Vega to answer that question-and ensure that we will never suffer the same again.”

  Staffa paced, locking his hands behind him. “The answer to the question burning in everyone’s breast is: Rotted right, we’re going after her. Ily has been ordered to return the Wing Commander to our ranks-unharmed, and immediately. The Regan Bitch knows the consequences of her action if she refuses.

  “In the meantime, the fleet will space within five days given no major problems with final refitting and provisioning. Black Warrior and Cobra, will change vector after boosting from Itreata, and will double back to Sassa. There, you will halt just out of detector range and spot for the Sassan task force currently outfitting there. if they space, you are to match and destroy them. “

  Staffa looked at the commanders of those ships. “Tiger, Delshay, you know the drill. We don’t want them showing up on our backsides---either here at Itreata, or on Rega. “ He lifted his gaze to the rest. “Yes, people, that’s the target for the rest of us.”

  “First, however, I think you need a little background. I’m sure you know that a lot of changes have taken place since the Myklenian campaign. A number of you have noticed that some of our strategic objectives have been reclassified. The Seddi, once our enemies, walk freely in the halls of Itreata. As many of you know, I had my eyes opened on my recent adventure in the Regan Empire. The cold hard facts, people, are that humanity is facing extinction. We’re teetering on the edge of overextending our resource base. I think some of you have read the Seddi report. Tap, Tasha, and Seekore have been working with the data. That information, along with some personal reasons, have dictated our modified agenda.

  “Simply put, humanity is living in a house of cards, one that we built. As -a result, we’ll have to be very careful with this operation. If we pull the wrong card, the resource procurement, manufacturing, and redistribution for entire star systems in Free Space will fail. If open warfare breaks out, enough worlds will be devastated that we will never recover. Companions, there’s no sense in winning a war if you’re going to lose the prize in the end. I don’t intend to lose. “

  They watched him warily, veterans of many such meetings in this room. Some sat with crossed arms, others made notations on pocket comms.

  Staffa triggered the holo projectors, images of Rega appearing in midair. “This is the target. You are all familiar with this planet, I presume.” He got a couple of grim chuckles. “All right, let’s get down to the fine structure of this operation. In many ways this will be the most difficult and delicate assualt we’ve ever undertaken. You are professionals, the finest military personnel alive. If anyone can do this, you can. Our mission is to take Rega, destroy the comm information processing centers, destroy the government agencies and buildings, and render the planet incapable of selfadministration. “

  He noticed more than one raised eyebrow in the audience. “I see that some of you don’t see that as a major problem. This time, people, we need to leave the planet intact. Habitable and, most importantly, capable of receiving restored comm via an outside graft. In short, we have to take the brain out and leave the patient alive and functional so a new brain can be implanted. “

  Silence descended on the room and frowns replaced the amused skepticism.

  “Now you’re beginning to understand the tactical difficulties. To further complicate matters, we will be facing Sinklar Fist. I see nodding heads out there. Some of you are familiar with Fist’s record on Targa. He is currently training the Regan military in those same tactics he employed so successfully against the Targan rebels. If we allow the Regan forces to anticipate our objectives, we’ll face some of the most desperate and bitter fighting ever encountered. Having fought him before, I can tell you he is like no general you’ve encountered since Phillipia-and certainly no toy soldier like Tedor Mathaiison.”

  Tap raised a hand and stood. “What about the Sassan element? Notwithstanding Cobra and Black Warrior, do we turn Rega over to them?”

  Staffa shook his head. “No. The time has come for unification. Assuming they remain stalled, we’ll take Rega, and immediately space in a three-pronged approach to Imperial Sassa. The purpose, of course, is to make that fat maggot on the Imperial throne abdicate-of his own free will and in one piece, or else as spayed fat, I don’t care which.”

  Tasha stood, his one good eye gleaming blackly. “And what next? We control everything and grow old happily?”

  Staffa met Tasha’s gaze from under lowered brows. “We assemble the best and brightest minds in Free Space.” He clenched a gray-gloved fist and shook it. “And by the quanta, we break these accursed Forbidden Borders ... once and for all!”

  Ily had begun to dislike military camps. In the not so distant old days, officers stayed in plush estates like Tarcee, or in ornately appointed offices in the capital * Now they stayed out here in the country amid the mud and bugs and dirt.

  Ily’s aircar settled in the midst of a cluster of LCs, HTs, and a variety of portable camouflage shelters. The place seemed to be a nexus of activity several kilometers back from where thousands of men and women raced over cropland and split the air with laser fire to the dismay of the landowners, and the property they set on fire. Nor did the damage stop at that, the huge all-terrain attack vehicles coasted along on hoverjets, rising over obstacles to target and mark, the data from their co
mputers feeding into the master comm which informed entire Groups that they had been “shot” and were -officially dead.

  Despite Ily’s disgust with the location, she experienced a certain thrill at the mobile power around her. In the light of day, her rage at Sinklar and at Staffa’s threat had dulled to an irritated pique. Now, after all parties had blunted their ire, each could get down to serious bargaining.

  Ily’s driver powered down and opened the canopy for her. She stepped out and filled her nostrils with the musty odor of soil and crushed vegetation. The whine of turbines and thrusters rose into a shrill, and as the wind shifted, she wrinkled her nose at the noxious odor of hot exhaust. Ily picked her way past several LCs and finally spotted Sinklar’s combat-battered ship, the ramp down like the tongue of an exhausted puppy.

  She strode purposely across the opening, physically starting as a Group trotted past, the males whistling and applauding.

  I could have them boiled alive, Ily reassured herself, glaring with enough venom to have poisoned anyone with sense enough to know what that look meant.

  She climbed the ramp, striding purposefully down the aisle to Sinklar’s sanctum. She bent and ducked through the hatch, finding Sinklar in his command center, legs braced, arms crossed, and his head at such an awkward angle his breathing sounded strangled. His mouth hung open, and, from the lack of REM movement, he’d fallen into deep sleep.

  Ily raised an eyebrow, cataloging the compact control center. The monitors all flickered with various scenes of armored men and women sneaking between trees, creeping through grass, or sprinting across fields. Other perspectives showed the entire front from on high while a large combat stat table provided rows of numbers-the scorecard for the battle.

  A woman-blonde, attractive, and young lay curled around the plastic bench where Sinklar usually slept. Her clothing looked cheap, shabby, and worn to holes. Soldier?

  Ily leaned down and nibbled at Sinklar’s ear. For several seconds, nothing happened, then he jerked upright, almost spilled out of the chair, and caught himself at the last minute. He swallowed and craned his neck as he looked up at her through sleep-bleary eyes.

  “How’s the battle?” Ily asked, indicating the screens. Sinklar worked his jaw around as if to clear his ears, and then stared at the readouts. “About what I expected. I’m firing another couple of Division Firsts and replacing them with people who can do the job.” Then, as if he remembered who he spoke to, he grew suddenly reserved.

  “Who’s she?” Ily asked, indicating the woman who still slept soundly.

  “Friend of mine.” Sinklar studied Ily thoughtfully, a slight squint in the set of his eyes. “Why don’t we take a walk.”

  Ily gave him a warm smile. “Let’s.”

  She led the way out into the noisy confusion of vehicles. “You know, there’s going to be a backlash. These Division Firsts, Mykroft, DeGamba, and the others, will be talking among themselves. They’ve just had their noses pulled from the feed bag-and you can bet they won’t go home and quietly fade away.”

  “How long do you think it will take them to act? What can they do?”

  Ily clasped her hands behind her as they wound past the ugly military craft and into the field beyond. “I’d estimate that they won’t be able to organize for another week or so. Their first action will be to stir unrest by planting negative propaganda about you. The next movement will be assassination so they can step right back in as saviors in the presence of looming disaster. But since you didn’t think of that, I did. I have most of them subdued-and in a safe place. Still, I’ll send over some of my best security people in case I missed anyone.”

  “I’ll take care of my own security. Second Section of the First Targan can handle it.”

  She gave him a swift appraisal from the corner of her eye. Second Section? Your old command from Targa? Very well, we’ll see how well your soldiers deal with this new battlefield, Lord Fist. “As you wish.”

  The air smelled of damp soil and decomposing plants. Overhead, the sky had taken on a somber look of coming storm and squall. The trees in the distance humped against the horizon as if crouching. Were it not for the mechanized din in the background,,the country would have been silent, waiting. Ily kicked at the rustling grass underfoot.

  After a moment of silence he shot her an angry glance. “All right, let’s hear it. You planned all along to abduct Skyla Lyma. The rest was a smoke screen, wasn’t it?”

  Ily exhaled irritably. “They weren’t going to take Tyklat in. I opted for the next best thing. Consider it damage control. Rather than alert them to the fact I was attempting to penetrate their security, I had my agents seize an opportunity I believe you military types call it minimizing loss.”

  “Where is Skyla Lyma?”

  “Safe. No, don’t look at me like that. I don’t have the faintest idea where she is. Somewhere between Ryklos and here. She won’t be harmed.”

  “You don’t know him very well, do you?” “Don’t know. . . . “

  “Staffa!” he snapped. “I do. I fought him, strategy against strategy, and I learned him, felt his tenacious soul while he struggled down there in the dark. I was there when the Companions dropped on us out of the empty ether. He’s coming now, before I’m ready. Before I could set the trap.”

  She stiffened at the anger in his words. “Sinklar, relax. We’ll have plenty of time before he moves his fleet. What do you think? That he’ll mobilize within a moment’s notice? He’ll need at least a month.” “Ily, you’re a fool.”

  The prickling ire she’d buried, slipped free. “Not even you may use that tone with me. “

  Oblivious, he pointed a finger at her. “The man began mobilizing the moment he returned to Itreata. Whatever he asked of Divine Sassa, he was turned down. Staffa kar Therma doesn’t like to be snubbed by anyone. No matter what, Free Space is about to boil over, and Staffa won’t be caught napping. We might be able to save things if you release his Wing Commander now.”

  Ily’s building rage began to cool. “What are you talking about? I want her to use as a hostage, a lever with which to work Staffa. Just what plan did you have in mind?”

  Sinklar closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “First, we pull Sassa’s teeth. Then we make a feint at Imperial Sassa itself, a follow-up to Mac’s raid. It’s perfectly rational, right? They’re weak, so naturally we’d take them out immediately. But in reality I’ll have spaced for Ryklos in three waves. The first two ships take the planet-and slap Staffa in the face. He can’t allow a Regan presence so close to his own borders. To do so is suicide. “

  Ily nodded. “And he’ll respond, dropping on your occupation force like a Riparian vulture.”

  “Which is when my second wave hits, decimating his attacking force.” Sinklar made a slicing motion with his hand. “Staffa knows I’m striking Imperial Sassa-and he’s more than passingly familiar with Regan fleet strength. He’ll throw his reinforcements into the fight, figuring it’s his best opportunity to cripple me once and for all. At that moment, the brunt of the fleet-the third wave-hits him with everything we’ve got. “

  Ily smiled cruelly. “And you’ve got a straight shot into Itreata.”

  Sinklar pulled at his knobby nose, raising his head to look at a lumbering chevron formation of HTs that banked overhead on their way to landing. A nagging gust of wind rearranged Sinklar’s unruly shock of black hair. “Maybe. Sassa will be down, but not out. So long as Staffa is severely wounded, unable to strike at my back, I have the flexibility to move on either him or Sassa, or to pull back and regroup. Either way, we face two badly damaged powers and maintain offensive momentum. Sassa must protect its assets which means they can’t mass against us. Staffa must assume a defensive posture in- Itreata. If he ventures out to pursue us, he leaves his base weakened and vulnerable ... but that was before you stole his second in command.”

  Ily throttled a growl of anger. “Last night, we were all tired. Staffa was enraged, I was startled, and you were incensed. In the light of day,
perhaps each of us is ready to listen and think. I’ll be in touch with the Lord Commander. I’m sure I can defuse some of his wrath-assuming what you say is correct, that he has begun the mobilization of his fleet.”

  Sinklar watched her suspiciously.

  “Sinklar?” she asked intimately. “What’s wrong? You’re acting like I’m somehow at fault. I had no idea you’d planned so far in advance. Let’s not act hastily.

  To do so is to invite disaster. In any event, we can always oider Lyma released, but perhaps there is a way to use her to distract the Lord Commander.

  “Let Lyma go, Ily.” Sinklar crossed his arms. “I don’t think you understand the Lord Commander—or his motives. You’ve never been a soldier. The creed is different. I’ll warn you now. Don’t harm a hair on that woman’s head, because if you do, you could kill us all. “

  “For the moment, I can’t do anything. Lyma is in null singularity. Listen, we’re both irritable. You look worn out. How about dinner and we’ll relax, share a wonderful bottle of Myklenian brandy, and talk. Not about politics and war, but about anything else that comes to mind.” She stepped close, staring intently into his eyes. As she took his hands and cradled them between her breasts, she could see the sudden flush of desire, followed immediately by caution. Where had that come from?

  “Maybe later,” he told her, glancing away toward a dropping LC. “This exercise is critical.”

  He pulled free, turning to head back to his LC. Then he stopped, raising a finger. “I meant what I said about Skyla Lyma. Don’t hurt her or we’ll never stop the Lord Commander until we’ve leveled all of Free Space. “

  She watched him walk away, a cold apprehension within. He turned me down. Why? That woman?