Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  She patted him on the cheek. “Yes, Vet. Everything, no matter how trivial.

  You wouldn’t want to fail me. Not with a wife and baby depending on you.”

  The chill in the room had settled in Vet Hamlin’s soul. He began to talk.

  “Given the nature of our existence, the question is begged: If we are all part of God Mind-Creators of reality in our own right-how does the State derive its authority over us?

  “The answer, my friends, is that Imperial power, the power of the church, or the government, is illusion. It exists solely because we create and observe its reality. We, ourselves, have created this tyranny, and we, ourselves, can tear it down. Singly and together, we have created this unilateral epistemology of social control, and in doing so, have surrendered ourselves, our integrity, and our very existence to it. Today, we live at the whim of the State. How ironic a twist since the State cannot exist without us. What sort of monster have we complicitly devised which devours our flesh and souls with such impunity?

  “We are not condemned! We need only question, apply ourselves, and devise another way of looking at government to reverse this multiheaded creature. Bit by bit, we shall defeat the unilateral epistemology we’ve been taught and change the very nature of government. The power of God Mind is not passive. Use it. Modify your situation through whatever means you have available. Cast off this artificial parasite we have made among us. Act now, today. In light of these broadcasts, consider your moral and ethical responsibilities to yourself, to your people, and to God. You have no one to answer to except yourself.”

  · Excerpt from Kaylla Dawn’s Itreatic broadcasts

  CHAPTER 23

  Skyla pushed her body, enjoying the heaving of her lungs, the sweat trickling down her sides. She exercised in the forward lounge, under Arta Fera’s watchful eyes. For Skyla, the exercise served not only to help her keep her edge, but by pushing herself, she could wear out some of the endless boredom of this trip. Anything was better than waiting.

  As Skyla went through her sprinter’s starts, Fera watched from the inset booth, her expression emotionless but intent, missing nothing. Not once had Fera let security slip.

  Skyla finished her set and extended to do her pushups. Expression straining, she counted off as she bobbed. At the same time, her mind raced. The weapons in the niche behind her sleeping platform headboard remained undiscovered. Unfortunately, Fera never left her unobserved for long enough to retrieve them. When the Seddi assassin slept, she shackled Skyla with the EM restraints first. The same procedure was followed before Arta went forward to check the yacht’s status, course, and progress.

  I needfour minutes. Two to retrieve the weapons, a minute to cut the collar off with the vibraknife, and another to charge the pistol. But would Fera ever drop her guard enough to allow those precious minutes? The collar had to come off first. As long as that deadly ring circled her neck, Skyla had no chance. If she grabbed the pistol,. smacked a charge in place, and shot Fera, the woman’s dying brain would trigger the collar to kill Skyla, too.

  Skyla finished her one hundred push-ups and bounced to her feet, warming her legs as she kicked out with increasing vigor to keep her combat reflexes toned. She pirouetted and leapt, striking with her fists in cadence to her deadly kicks.

  “You are very good,” Arta praised. “I’m not bad myself, but I don’t think I have your talent. Would you work with me?”

  “Not while I’m in the collar.”

  Arta’s lips quivered. “I can’t take it off. I’m sorry. I guess I’ll have to wait until after Ily’s done with you. “

  “A corpse can’t teach you much.”

  Arta stood, stepping over to the dispenser and pushing the button for a cup of stassa. “How did you get from the Sylenian cribs to the Companions?”

  Skyla lashed out at the air, finding her balance and rhythm as she pummeled an imaginary Ily Takka. She recovered, dropped to a neutral position, fists up, back straight, and caught her breath. “I cut the purse off one of the Companions. Then I gave it back to him. He got me an interview with Staffa.”

  “But why did you want to leave Sylene?”

  Skyla walked over and picked her towel up off the recliner, wiping at the sweat that ran down her face and neck. “I’d been sold into slavery, but the guy who bought me couldn’t afford one of these.” She tapped the collar with a fingernail. -

  “A man did that?” Arta seemed to be chewing on some distasteful memory.

  “A woman. That’s another reason I don’t buy all of your brand of reasoning. Yep, a dear sweet woman who saw me as nothing more than a credit on the hoof. I was free, Arta. I was also twelve and vulnerable. I needed a place and Roxy offered a warm place to sleep, two good meals a day, and all I had to do was clean up around the place and run errands. Thing is, pretty little virgin girls are worth a lot on Sylene. Stryker offered Roxy two hundred credits for me. One night a rag was stuffed in my mouth and my arms and legs were wired together. Roxy delivered me to Stryker’s doorstep. So much for trust.”

  Arta’s amber eyes burned. “You killed them for it, didn’t you? “

  Skyla nodded as she walked back toward the shower. Fera, ever vigilant, followed. “That’s what I did after I escaped. Haunted the streets ... killed people.” Skyla noted Fera’s interest as she stepped into the shower. “That’s right, Arta, I was an assassin-just like you.”

  Skyla peeled out of her sweaty gear and slapped the shower controls, letting water stream down over her hot skin.

  “Why did you change? Why leave Sylene?”

  Skyla ducked her face into the jetting water, rolling her head back and forth. She thumbed the water from her eyes and watched the cascade streak down her long hair. “I got tired of running,” she shouted over the shower’s noise, and slapped the controls to kill the spray.

  When she stepped through the force field, Arta waited, arms crossed, a pensive look on her face. As always, Fera’s inspection of her naked body spawned a crawly sensation in Skyla’s gut.

  “Running? Someone was after you?”

  “The whole planet. You see, assassination is illegal on Sylene. So I made myself an opportunity and escaped.” Skyla twisted away from Arta’s reach as the woman sought to touch the scar on Skyla’s leg.

  “You don’t like to be touched, do you?”

  “You know what I think about you touching me.” Arta leaned her head back, the glossy waves of her auburn hair tumbling. “I could order you. With the collar, I could make you love me.”

  Skyla pushed past, grabbing her space whites from the sleeping platform in her room and dressing rapidly. “Yeah, I suppose you could-but not with -me conscious. Is that what you want? To caress my body while I’m being choked by that damn collar? Sounds like real fun.”

  Arta wheeled and angrily slammed a fist into the wall, denting the paneling. “What is it with you? You keep trying to goad me. Is that it? You want to die?”

  “Rather than be Ily’s prisoner? You damn betcha! And when it comes down to sex with you, you’re Rotted right again!”

  Arta trembled, the crazy light back in her eyes. Skyla lowered herself to the sleeping platform, neck prickling in anticipation of the collar’s grim work. But nothing happened.

  “You infuriate me.” Arta slumped back against the wall and ran her fingers down the fine golden filigree. “You obsess my thoughts. I dream of you, imagine your touch. I want to be with you, learn from you. You are so powerful, so strong. Then you act so stubbornly, and I want only to hurt you, to make you pay for spiting me.”

  Skyla glared at her, heart pounding. Here the delicate game began. She’d considered long and hard, weighing Arta’s insanity against her cunning and intelligence. Desperate straits called for desperate gambles. Here goes. And if I lose, I’ll at least cheat Ily out of squeezing my mind dry of secrets. “I don’t have much choice about being your prisoner, but I won’t be your slave.”

  “Why not? Is it so bad?”

  Skyla gave her a malicio
us smile. “I’d rather be dead. And if you have any doubts, go ahead and trigger that collar. Go on, death doesn’t scare me. I’ve looked it in the eye more times than not. “

  “You want to die?” Arta’s anger vied with her growing curiosity. “Why? Just to keep out of Ily’s hands?”

  Skyla glanced sideways at Arta and stood, reaching for her comb. As she began working with her long hair, she added, “I won’t be alive when you hand me over to Ily. That’s final. I’m betting I can drive you to kill me before we get there. I’m going to win that bet. Ily isn’t going to suck my brain dry-and you’re going to see to it. “

  Arta shifted uneasily, eyes narrowing. “What’s your game, Skyla? Why are you telling me this? If you become a danger to yourself, I’ll just shackle you to your sleeping platform and let you lie there.”

  Will you? You’d better hope you bet right, Skyla, because she just might. “Fine. But then, I’d have won that way, too, wouldn’t I? We’d both know that the only way you could deliver me was as a piece of incapacitated meat.” Skyla shook her head chidingly, seeing Arta’s anger flare. “I thought you were better than that.

  Arta’s fists clenched. “Don’t push me too far, Skyla. “

  “I intend to, Arta. You’re my only hope. I have to goad you, insult you, push you into using the collar to either kill or disable me so Ily doesn’t get any use out of me except as fertilizer. I think I’m good enough to do that. “

  Arta’s face reddened. “Then you can Rotted well enjoy the company of the shackles.”

  Skyla slumped as the collar choked her. By the time she regained her swimming senses, her arms and feet were bound by the EM restraints and Arta had disappeared.

  But though I’m imprisoned here, she’s thinking about what happened and chalking this up as my victory. All I’ve got to gamble on is her vanity and stubbornness. If I’m wrong, I’ll only get one mistake.

  The blank screen on the main comm monitor mocked Staffa as he sat before it. A strangling sense of futility threatened to engulf the Lord Commander as he stared empty-eyed at the dark monitor while the other screens clustered around his desk flashed multicolored holographic updates on the mobilization that obsessed Itreata. Things were moving at an astonishing rate. The Companions were motivated as they hadn’t been in years.

  Ily, if you only knew what you did. His predatory wolves had their blood up. But how was he to hold them back if Rega turned nasty? Skyla had placed herself on the line for all of them, and that memory goaded each of the Companions.

  Staffa continued to stare at the monitor. How do I handle this? Within hours, his fleet would space. During the busy days, Staffa had found ample reason to put off this subspace communication.

  “I don’t believe a word of this. “ The words echoed in Staffa’s memory. “I think, Lord Commander, that I’ve had enough. . . . “ And Sinklar had walked out, hostile, believing himself the butt of some Seddi trick conjured by old Bruen.

  After what the Seddi did to him, after the war and the death, the constant manipulation, I couldn’t blame him. Staffa had found his son-and events had dictated that no conciliation could take place. It was the dance of the quanta, the joke so painfully played on all of them.

  Staffa took a shaky breath. How did he make this call? What did he say?

  “Working up the nerve?” Kaylla asked as she came to stand behind him, her hands settling reassuringly on his shoulders.

  :’Yes. Why is this so hard?”

  ‘Because he’s your son, and he may be involved. That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t know what you’re going to do if he’s a willing accomplice in Skyla’s abduction.

  Staffa’s vision narrowed., “You do know me too well. Damn it, why did this have to happen to me? The quanta laugh.”

  “You’ll have to speak to him sometime. As things stand, you know nothing of his involvement or his intentions. You’ve been putting this off because of fear, Staffa. The time has come to learn. Perhaps you can talk sense to Sinklar. Or if he is Ily’s accomplice in this, you’re better off warned now. You’ll have more time to come to terms with yourself, and with how you will deal with your son when you finally must confront him. “

  Staffa lowered his head in acceptance. “Comm, connect me with Rega. I want a subspace link to Sinklar Fist.”

  “Acknowledged. We’re powering the dish now.” Staffa’s stomach knotted.

  “Minister?” Gysell’s voice intruded on Ily’s dreams. “Yes?” She sat up as the bedroom lights grew bright, forcing her thoughts from scattered dreams to the present. She’d rumpled the bedding with her twisting and turning. Despite the setting of the climate control, her quarters felt chilly.

  Gysell’s square face formed on the bedside monitor, his eyes glinting. Lines had begun to form around Gysell’s mouth, evidence of the strain they’d all been under.

  “What is it? Anything wrong?”

  Gysell shrugged. “We’ve got subspace comm from Itreata. The Lord Commander wishes to speak to Lord Fist. “

  Ily straightened, mind racing. “We have a man in Comm Central, don’t we? One of ours?”

  Gysell smiled. “We do. A woman by the name of Zebra. We have a powerful lever on her. She had gambling debts, overextended credit, and two affairs with men she doesn’t want her husband or children to know about. She’ll do as we order.”

  Ily’s frown etched her brow. “Have her tell the Lord Commander that Lord Fist doesn’t wish to speak with him. Tell Staffa that Lord Fist will communicate when the Wing Commander is safely in his hands. That will be the appropriate time to initiate negotiations. “

  Gysell inclined his head. “As you wish, Minister. Is there anything else?”

  Ily glanced at her comm. “Yes. Have my car and four of my staff ready on the roof at 08:00. We are going to pay Jan Bokken a visit ... and, Gysell, make sure this Professor Adam is in his lab at that time. Hamlin said Daviura has a security file only Adam can override. “

  “Professor Adam will be there.”

  “That’s all, Gysell. Good work. Reward your Zebra with something suitable-and see that none of this reaches Sinklar Fist’s ears.”

  “Very well.” Gysell killed the comm and Ily lay back on the soft bedding, thoughts crowding her mind. What could Staffa have wanted with Fist? No matter, stopping him cold from communicating eliminated one more thing that could have gone wrong.

  Ily grinned happily to herself. “Poor Sinklar, your troops are busy guarding the strategic positions, while my tools are safely behind the energy barriers you installed. You innocent fool, you place far too much trust in the common people. True power lies in knowing which individuals to manipulate-and how to do it.”

  A Regan woman looked out from the monitor, her expression tense.

  “That’s the final word?” Staffa asked.

  “Yes, Lord Commander. Lord Fist does not wish to speak to you at this moment. When Wing Commander Skyla Lyma is within his control, then and only then will he negotiate with you. I can tell you nothing more. “

  Staffa gave her a barely, civil nod.

  Despite past wrongs, Kaylla ached in sympathy with Staffa kar Therma’s pain over this betrayal by his son. As the monitor went blank, weary resignation shadowed his features.

  Staffa slumped in the chair as Kaylla walked across to the dispenser and drew a warm cup of stassa. She returned to find him unmoving, wretched sadness in the slump of his shoulders.

  “Drink this. It will do you good.” She forced the cup into his hand. Staffa simply closed his eyes. “Staffa, you didn’t get the chance to speak to him.

  You only have partial data.”

  “He’s Ily’s,” Staffa whispered. “He’s.... Well, no matter. Perhaps the course was set long, long ago by

  the Praetor, by the quanta. Who knows?” He glanced up with a glazed expression. “Kaylla, we ship out tomorrow. We’ll be in Rega within weeks. When I take the planet ... I have to destroy my son.

  Sinklar woke up from disorienting dreams. Slipper
y images of Targa shifted like mist in his head. Blaster bolts exploded against rock, cracking the stone and puffing powder while deadly fragments spattered about. The images created a background for war as men and women charged among the boulders, shouting, shooting at phantoms as one by one they fell to maiming pulse fire and violet death.

  “Sir?” the comm interrupted his dream. “We’re landing on the palace roof.”

  Sinklar groaned and reached up to rub life into his face. Gretta had been there, dashing through the thick of the fight. Mac had been covering one flank, his anxious voice loud in the battle comm.

  Sinklar glanced around and sat up in the cramped chair in his command center. He could feel the LC settling, shifting attitude as the skids touched down. His muscles had that strained feel of deep fatigue. Anatolia gave him a weary smile from where she sat in the cubbyhole, elbows propped on the table. “Have a nice nap?”

  “Hardly. Bad dreams. Well, are you tired of a soldier’s life?”

  She appraised him with haggard blue eyes. “It’s been a fascinating day and a half. Your bench is a lot more comfortable than mine, and I got to read a little and learned a lot about war. So she hesitated. “What’s next?”

  “Come on. I told you I’d have a real meal for you. I ordered the pick of the Imperial kitchen. It should be waiting for us, hot and steaming.”

  She stood and let him take her hand as the LC’s shrill whine lowered to a moan and ceased. In the rear, Sinklar slapped the ramp control and led her to the lift. Light bars gleamed whitely to illuminate the interior as the doors closed overhead.

  :’This is really the palace?”

  ‘Yeah, the private garage used by Tybalt himselfonce.

  :’I thought it would look different.”

  ‘A garage is a garage. The only difference here is that you’ve been through fifteen different levels of security already. “

  “Oh. But .... “ She pulled back. “Are you sure this is all right?”

  "Trust me. If they let me in, you’ll get in.” He tugged her into the lift and let it carry them down to the powder blue hallway. There, Anatolia gasped, “Now this is what I thought a palace ought to look like. “