Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  Ily watched as Skyla’s skin reacted to the cold air, her nipples tightening. Lyma was a handsome woman, muscular, full-breasted. The long scars that accented that alabaster flesh added an exotic allure.

  “Shall we begin?” Ily gestured to the chair. Skyla’s stomach spasmed, and her face contorted, as if she were fighting desperately to keep from breaking down into sobs. The hard glitter of desperation animated those tortured eyes, and then she settled wearily into the chair, desolation in the slump of her shoulders.

  Ily drew the straps tight with practiced ease. She stepped over to the tray, picking up the tube of Mytol, slipping it past Skyla’s tightly-pressed lips, and along her clamped teeth.

  “Drink,” Ily ordered. “If you don’t, I can always run the tube down your throat. I realize that you’re going to be a tough one to break, despite the drug. It may take a while, Skyla, but with Mytol and some other drugs, and cold, and time ... and perhaps a little pain, you will break.”

  Skyla sucked at the Mytol. Then Ily fastened the patches to Lyma’s,goose-bumped flesh.

  “Now then,” Ily began triumphantly. “We’ll begin with your name. Then bit by bit, as your resistance erodes, you will tell me everything about Itreata, about their security, and about how I can lure Staffa kar Therma into my hands.”

  This time, Skyla couldn’t stop the tears that crept down her cheeks.

  “How are we doing?” Mac asked, as he glanced over his shoulder at the comm. The time showed 04:30. He bent over Axel’s shoulder, where she studied the plots moving on the scaled-down situation board they’d projected onto the table.

  Dion arched her back, twisting as she grimaced. “Looks like we’re in pretty good shape. Most of the disengagement is proceeding smoothly. I’m just surprised we haven’t been challenged by now.”

  Mac yawned, blinking out of fatigue. “Who’s going to challenge? You’ve been running exercises for so long troop movements in the middle of the night should be routine.”

  She cocked her head, a wry look in her brown eyes. “Really? You mean to tell me if you were camped out there, and the Division next door started pulling out, you wouldn’t be on the horn to Sinklar to find out why?”

  “Of course I would. How else would I get the jump on the situation.”

  Dion steepled her fingers thoughtfully. “And that’s just why Mykroft can’t be left in command. Ily should have chosen better.”

  “What about the other Divisions? Any feeling as to how many will go with us?”

  Dion shook her head, expression gloomy. “Can’t call it yet, Mac. Maybe a third. I wouldn’t count on any more than that.”

  “Then it’s Targa all over again.”

  Axel kicked her legs out under the table, crossing her ankles. “I’m starting to wish I’d never heard that word.”

  “Yeah, well, some of us have been living it for so long we can’t think any other way.” He glanced at the

  clock again. “I’m going to head out of here, get to my LC, and join up with my Division.” He stuck out a hand. “If we never see each other again, it’s been real short, but a definite pleasure. I’m glad you’re on our side. “

  She took his hand, a warm smile on her lips. “See you on the other side.

  “The other side?”

  She laughed. “I keep forgetting. You Targans never learned the clich’s of command. That means we part as friends-no matter how it works out.”

  “The dance of the quanta.”

  “You’ve been listening to the Seddi?”

  “Beats getting shot at. Good luck, Dion.” He ducked out of the command control and started back between the empty benches. Chrysla stood at the ramp, one hand on the molding, as she stared out into the Regan night. In the distance, LCs shrilled as they lifted, redeploying troops into the center of the city.

  “All set?” she asked as Mac stopped beside her. In the muted city lights, her glossy hair shimmered. Now, of all times, he wanted to reach out and draw her close, to feel her pressed against him in these last moments.

  “Guess so. Want to walk over to your LCT’ He started down the ramp, feeling the chill settle into his bones as his breath clouded.

  She paced beside him, the hitch in her limp barely noticeable. “My LCT’

  He glanced up at the high clouds that lay between him and the fleet. “I’m shipping you up to Rysta. You’ll be safer aboard Qyton.”

  She stopped short, reaching out a hand to halt him. “Mac, don’t do this.”

  He spread his arms, the lights gleaming on his armor. “Chrysla, we’re about to launch a civil war here. If things go wrong, we’re facing a bloodbath. I don’t want you anywhere around. I can’t afford to worry about you. Trust me, ship up to Gyton. If things really go sour, maybe Rysta can slip away, find sanctuary with the Companions.” He took her hands.

  “Don’t you see? It’s your trip home. There’s nothing for you here. Only war and death. More suffering.”

  “My son is here. Mac, listen to me. Please! All of my life, I’ve been dependent on someone else’s protection-until yesterday when I acted on my own to protect others. Don’t you see? I’ve been a delicate toy. A sexy pawn-and I’m tired of it. Taking chances, fighting for what you believe, is all right for you and Rysta and my son-but not for me?”

  He shook his head. “You can’t forget who you are.” “No, I can’t,” she answered sharply. “And maybe that makes it more important that I accept some responsibility in this fight. Staffa’s wife, fighting at your side, is worth something, symbolically and personally.”

  He hung his head. How do I tell her? “Chrysla, will you do this for me? You once said you were indebted to me. That you owed me. I’m calling in that debt. Take the LC up to Gyton. You can serve me best by being safe.”

  She stepped close, her scent filling his nostrils. With cold fingers, she lifted his chin, staring into his shadowed eyes. He fought the urge to tremble at her touch.

  “Mac, I can’t. You’re very noble, and I think your infatuation with me has clouded your reason. I am indebted to you, but would ypu ask my soul of me? Would you ask me to betray myself? And in doing so, all those ideals which kept me alive through the long years?”

  He hugged her close, his heart pounding. She squirmed in his grip and, filled with shame, he let his arms drop, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

  She placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. We’re all nervous, strained to breaking. Sometimes, when things seem the most desperate, we all need to cling to someone. It’s a human characteristic, that desire to be held, to touch. You just crushed the breath out of me. Come on. We’re almost out of time, Mac. Let’s go. We’ve got a war to win.”

  “I can’t talk you out of this?”

  “No. And ask yourself, Mac. In your heart, would you really want to?”

  The columns of figures on the monitor mocked them all, but somewhere, there had to be a key. Myles tapped his jewel encrusted fingers as he stared at the monitor in his office. Beyond, through the tactite window, the gilded spires of the Capitol mocked him and everything he was trying so desperately to accomplish.

  “Perhaps confiscating two percent of the production from Malbourne?” Hyros asked, a frown eating at his normally composed expression.

  “Too dangerous. Malbourne is already overextended. We took three percent for the Myklenian invasion. They teetered on the verge of revolt then, and vere only pacified when told that the drain on their income was temporary.”

  “Right,” Jakre agreed. “And we don’t have the manpower to enforce a confiscation. They’d have to contribute voluntarily. “

  “And by doing so, the farmers on Malbourne would suffer famine-a double bind that would create more problems than it would solve. “

  The three of them retreated to the endless game of staring at the monitor.

  In the name of the quanta, Myles told himself yet again, there are only so many ways to divide the remaining resources. You can’t pour a gallon and a half of milk from a one
gallon bucket.

  “We can’t do it. Someone is going to die-just with what we have left. And that fat fool wants to launch a military strike? We have to tell him something, Myles. If we don’t, we’re arrested, and someone else will take this over ... someone who doesn’t have your magic for conjuring something from nothing.” Jakre stood then, walking over to stare at the palace through weary eyes. “I’m sorry I doubted you in the past, Myles. You warned us. Staffa warned us. It was sheer arrogance. “

  “That is behind us,” Myles replied. Think! When you have one too many mouths to feed, what do you do? He immersed himself in the rows and rows of figures: production and consumption-with a slight correction for transportation in the middle of the equation.he answered angrily. “That We need another pie,” he said would solve everything. We could ship all of our stock and feed everyone ... if we just had another storehouse to draw from until Imperial Sassa recovers from the fallout. “

  “The problem with that, Legate, is that the only other pie belongs to the Regans,” Hyros reminded. Myles stiffened. “Yes, it does.” He turned to the

  comm, ordering, “Initiate secondary distribution program 1-7732. “

  Comm responded. “Do you wish to authorize initiation?”

  “I do. “

  “What are you doing?” Jakre asked.

  Myles looked up, relief and desperation intertwining like ill-begotten lovers in his soul. “I can’t tell you the details, Iban. But I may be able to produce another pie.” He glanced at Hyros. “And now that I’ve committed myself to magic, I’m going home and goi-Ig to sleep. “

  “And what do I tell His Holiness?” Than asked. “Nothing ... until I’m rested. Make something up, if you must, but perhaps another miracle will occur in the meantime.” Myles stood, so tired he could barely keep from weaving. “Hyros? Do you have anything planned?”

  Hyros stared skeptically at the monitor where numbers were shuffling as the program orders changed the statistics. “No, Myles. You’ve left me completely baffled.”

  He took his aide’s hand, heading for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Iban, if anything comes up, call me immediately.”

  “Have a good rest, Myles. You, too, Hyros.” Than still stood, staring anxiously at the palace.

  How long he slept, Myles never knew. He came blearily awake, the buzz of the comm driving away the last hope of sleep. Myles reached over and killed the buzzer, Hyros stirring at his movement. He blinked, rolled to a sitting position, and called, “Yes?”

  The bedside comm flashed to life, Than Jakre’s stiff face filling the monitor. Jakre appeared both relieved and concerned. “Myles, your miracle occurred.

  We’ve got two Companion warships that just dropped out of null singularity. I’ve just been in contact with them.” Jakre’s eyebrows lifted. “Our ‘orders’ are that we are to take no retaliatory action against Rega. And further, they are here to ‘protect’ us from any further Regan military strikes. “

  Myles smiled, feeling the tension drain out of him. “Wonderful. Now, Iban, you can go back to your home and get some sleep yourself.”

  Jakre’s long face looked dour. “Myles, you didn’t.... I mean, you weren’t planning on this, were you?”

  “How could you think that? Get some sleep, Iban. We’ll discuss it when we’re both rested-and if His Holiness complains, tell him to take it to Staffa. “

  Myles killed -the connection and flopped back with his arms spread wide in a soaring feeling of freedom. “You’ve been up to your neck in this, haven’t you?”

  Hyros asked, as he propped himself on his elbows. Myles glanced at his lover and shrugged it off. “You’ve been listening to those Seddi broadcasts, haven’t you? The ones about taking responsibility? About building a new epistemology?”

  Hyros nodded. “Is that why you’ve been so different?”

  “Among other reasons. Now why don’t we get some sleep. If the Companions are overhead, a great many things are about to happen-and it will probably be a long time before we get to sleep again.”

  Hyros gave him a wry smile. “Maybe I’ll get up, get dressed, and ask for a transfer to some department that isn’t as demanding on my schedule. And you can find another lover-one who has time to sleep.”

  Myles experienced a stitch of resentment. “If you wish. But you’re a very bright young man. I wish you’d stay.”

  Hyros laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “That was a joke, Myles.”

  They curled together, Myles drifting off to sleep to the lull of Hyros’ heartbeat. In the half-aware state of slumber, the growing roar didn’t register as it built. The crescendo came when the first wrenching shock hit the building. Myles had no more than jerked upright when the sleeping platform wrenched out from the wall, spilling them into a pile on the floor.

  Then the tactite shattered, as the building cracked and swayed.

  “What the…Hyros cried.”

  “Earthquake!” Myles bellowed as he tried to untangle himself. Then one of the roof supports fell.

  “The rules which determine victory and defeat are really very simple. Nevertheless, military analysts spend a great deal of time and serious study trying to uncover exactly why a given side won a conflict, and in all honesty, lessons can be learned from such dissections of any campaignespecially with the benefit of hindsight.

  “What you asked me to respond to, however, are the rules of victory. There is only one: Superiority. No matter what sort of interpretation you give to the history of a campaign, you will always find that the superior side won-for whatever reason. The reason might be personnel, equipment, strategy, tactics, position, deployment, logistics, production, mobility, or any of the other complex factors which are integral to the art of war.

  “Many people like to talk about luck, and the role it plays in winning or losing. I would submit to you, however, that despite the quanta, luck, especially bad luck, results because someone didn’t think matters through. We are all human, and we make assumptions about the nature of reality. Some things, we simply do not question. A failure of communications, for instance, wouldn’t occur to the average commander in the field.

  “The key to victory is to find that baseline assumption, and exploit it to gain superiority.

  “Defeat occurs when someone takes something for granted—like communications or fuel or even human endurance.”

  Staffa kar Therma in a communication to Kaylla Dawn

  CHAPTER 32

  The roar of the capital never ceased as the giant arcologies and heavy industries added their din to the endless pumping of materials, services, air, machinery, and people through the vast metropolis. That many billion human beings simply didn’t live in peace and quiet. Delivery vehicles ruled the night, filling the maw that emptied every day. The wastes were carried away, organics removed, packaging recycled. The monster that was Rega roared constantly, but at this time, it had muted from full-bore to a rumble.

  Mac propped his elbows on the top hatch ring and took a deep breath, savoring the stink of the place as he looked out over the towering buildings. He tried to engrave the moment in his memory, listening to the last moments of a Rega which would cease to be in another-he checked his chronometer-thirty-two minutes. At 05:58, the capital still slumbered, unaware that overnight, armies had’realigned themselves and within moments, for better or worse, an upheaval would be launched that would change his empire and people forever.

  “Mac?” his battle comm called. “Here. “

  “Hey, this is Sergeant First Lambert. We’re in position, but guess what? We just caught a hint of a signal. I sent a detachment to check it out and they found Buchman. He’s alive-barely-and he has some info he’s supposed to deliver to Sinklar.”

  “ ‘Firmative. Tell him, we’ll make that possible in about a half hour.”

  “Roger, if he lives that long. I’ve had him bundled off to medical. Looks like he was shot in the shoulder.”

  “Tell the troops they can take that out of Ily
’s hide. “

  “Affirmative. We’re set to go.”

  One by one, Mac checked in with his Sectio s where they’d drawn tight around the Internal SecuriLy Ministry. “All right, people, you know the plan. At

  06:30, Shik hits the roof of Ily’s building. After that we’ve each got an objective. If you get cut off because of the walls, you know the plan. Stick to it.”

  “Affirmative. “

  Mac switched channels. “Dion? You there?” “Here. We’re in position. Everyone is rehearsed and raring to go. If the Blessed Gods are with us, you’ll have Ily before Mykroft sobers up from his party. My sources say they had the entire Ministry of Defense drunk last night-threw a fancy ball.”

  “He never learns.”

  Dion chuckled. “Not only that, one of my sources reports that Minister Takka had him on call all nightand no one checked the comm until he was already passed out and in bed. His aides didn’t want to bother him. “

  “May he rest in peace. Dion, we’ve got five minutes until the start of operations. Sun’s starting to come up. Good luck.”

  “Same to you, Mac, I’ll look forward to dinner tonight on-“

  Mac’s comm spit static.

  “Dion? Do you copy? Axel, respond!” The static grew in volume. “What the hell?”

  He climbed down, pulling the hatch closed overhead as he dropped into the command center. “Mhitshul, what the pus did you do to my-“

  Mhitshul angrily raised a hand to cut him off, as he listened to his set. Then he punched buttons on the comm, calling into his mike as he tried different bands. Finally, in futility, he turned, a grim look on his face. “We’re jammed, Mac. Every pus-Rotted band on the battle comm is plugged up solid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we’re jammed. The whole thrice-cursed planet is jammed-totally.”

  “Ily, you Terguzzi bitch!”

  Mhitshul swiveled in the chair, shaking his head. “Mac, I can’t swear to it-mind you, Shik would know best-but I’d give you Myklenian brandy to a rigged tapa game that she’s just as deaf as we are.”