Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “The battle comms don’t work?” Sinklar asked, frowning in the darkness.

  “Not a lick. It’s Makarta all over again. Mac’s up on the roof, figuring he can maintain some kind of limited control-if that’s what you can call shouting and waving your arms.”

  “All right, let’s get out of here. Where’s Ily?” Sinklar started forward, and was saved from crashing into the wall by Red’s quick action.

  “Lord Fist? Take my helmet,” Red offered, stripping his unit off .

  Sinklar took it, placed it on his head, and looked around. “No one calls me Lord Fist anymore. That’s an order.”

  Boyz heard a crackling, then a clearing of her Comm.

  “Boyz?” Mac called. “Here. We’ve got Sink!”

  “Good. Listen, Boyz, where are you?”

  “I might have lost count, but I think it’s sublevel twenty-two. Until we hit the sublevels, everything was offices. “

  “ ‘Firmative. Listen, and listen carefully. The Companions are here. They’re entering the building.” “Companions?” Sinklar asked, his head bent close to hear the comm chatter. He bent closer, calling, “Mac? What’s happening?”

  “Seems Ily nabbed their Wing Commander.” “Yes, I know. Is she here?”

  “Staffa thinks so-and he wants her back real bad.” Sinklar straightened. “Where would she be? This level?”

  “Probably the interrogation rooms,” Anatolia said from where she leaned close, a hand on Sinklar to keep from getting lost. “Go to the end of the hall, to the lift, then down, oh ... another ten floors. Maybe eleven. “

  “Mac?” Sinklar called, “did you get that?”

  “ ‘Firmative. Uh, Ryman’s teams are coming in. We don’t, repeat, don’t want any accidents.”

  “Roger,” Boyz confirmed. “First Section, you get that? Check your targets. You’ve seen STU before. Don’t tag ‘em while you’re bagging Ily’s bad guys.”

  Mac cut into the system. “Speaking of Ily, have you seen her?”

  “Negative. Her personal quarters were pretty trashed when we went through. We did a quick check, but if she was there, she’d skipped by the time we came through. “

  Sinklar, irritated, pulled Red’s belt comm off as he led the way to the door. “Mac? She’s got a thousand escape holes in this lace. Have someone send a Secption to the palace---Cut off that powder-blue hallway because she’s got a tube that runs that far. “

  “ ‘Firmative we’re ... whoops, Ryman tells me the palace is gone. Leveled. “

  Sinklar shook his head. “Leveled? Rotted hell. Well maybe it’s good riddance.” He pointed then. “Someone give Anatolia a helmet. She’s the only one who’s been on the interrogation level.”

  With Anatolia in the lead, Boyz followed them to the lift at the end of the hall. The black shaft seemed to stretch forever.

  “Careful on your belay,” Boyz warned. “And watch out. We had some fool step into the lift and almost kill Andrews. Maybe the damn idiot forgot these things don’t work without power.”

  One by one, they dropped, descending a floor at a time. Sometimes Ily had an agent present, sometimes not.

  “Report,” Mac called.

  “We’re almost there. Another floor.” “Affirmative. STU are working down. They’ve just reached the first subbasement.”

  “Roger. Remind them that we’re the good guys. The ones in the white suits. Ily’s folks seem to prefer black. “

  “I think they’ve got that figured out.

  Boyz hooked her grapple and dropped, hating the endless blackness of the lift, never knowing when something was going to come hurtling out of the void above.

  She kicked out, landed on the balls of her feet, and barely recovered as a black-suited guard wheeled, a pulse pistol in hand. Boyz shot, the flash of the reaction blinding as she dove to one side. Her shot, aimed by instinct had taken the man low in the trunk, practically chopping him in half.

  Another violet beam crackled, exploding plaster behind Boyz’ head.

  “Hang on! Got trouble!” Boyz called, staring over the body of the man she’d killed. “Looks like we got folks down here with IR gear. “ She pulled up her blaster, lacing the hallway as she crawled behind the bleeding corpse ;1

  “Affirmative, Sinklar called. “On the count of three, give us cover.”

  Boyz unhooked a sonic grenade, pressing the stud and pitching it. “One, two, three.” Detonation shook the walls and floor. Then Boyz rolled up on one knee, ravaging the ruined corridor with her shoulder weapon. “We’re here,” Sinklar called beside her.

  “What are you doing? You’re not even in armor.” “Who’s in charge here?” he asked incredulously, slapping her on the shoulder and grinning.

  “Sorry, sir. We just got you back, is all. It really wouldn’t do for you to catch one and be blown apart, now would it? Especially when it’s my operation-and reputation. “

  Sinklar chuckled. “I’ll be careful, Sergeant.”

  Boyz leapt to her feet, slipped in the blood and

  squirmy intestines, and sprinted for the cover of the security desk. Peeking around the corner, she discovered two more corpses—casualties of her grenade. Covered by the others, she advanced to the hallway and glanced cautiously around a door that had been blown open. A woman, her face bloody gore was crawling along the tiles and whimpering.

  Boyz winced, asking, “Anatolia? Which way?” “Two doors down on the right. That should be the entrance to the interrogation rooms.”

  Boyz darted forward, heart hammering, and quickly flattened against the wall. With an extended reach, she thumbed the override stud and used the nozzle of her blaster to push the door open. Nothing happened.

  Why do I always have to be the brave one? She crouched, going in low and darting to one side. She inspected the small room, seeing a suit of white armor and several antigrav carts full of equipment, wires, and bottles. The door opposite her gaped open. Boyz eased forward on tiptoe. She started to glance in, and pulled back, retreating.

  “Got trouble,” she whispered. “Got a man in here with IR gear and a pulse pistol. He’s pointing it at a woman’s head. She’s strapped in a chair, naked.”

  In her earpiece, Mac asked, “Blonde woman? Blue eyes and long hair?”

  “IR isn’t so good for colors, Mac, but she’s got real long pale hair hanging down in a braid.”

  “That’s Skyla. “

  Another voice interrupted on the comm. “Sergeant First Boyz? This is STO Ryman Ark. Don’t, repeat, don’t jeopardize the Wing Commander’s life!”

  And just how the hell are we supposed to do that? Offer this guy candy and a good time if he’ll let her go? “Firmative, STO.”

  “Hang on,” Sinklar broke into the net. “Anatolia and I have been talking. We might have an idea.”

  The smell hadn’t changed, Anatolia thought, as she stripped her clothes off. Nor had that thrice-cursed chill in the air. Around her, Sinklar’s troops waited nervously. Boyz stood just out of sight of the doorway, her body pressed against the wall, the heavy blaster held clamped to her breast.

  Anatolia nodded, taking one last look at the room she’d have to cross.

  Sinklar leaned close, asking, “Are you sure?” Anatolia shivered, rubbing hands on her arms, feeling the fear trying to take over. “It’s the only way. He won’t fall for anything else.”

  “He won’t fall for this,” Sinklar asserted, trying to impart conviction without volume.

  “We don’t have much time.” And Anatolia nodded at Boyz and pulled the helmet off her head. She blinked in the blackness, keeping her orientation. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out, and headed across the room, skin prickling not only from cold but from the certainty that a pulse beam would explode her.

  She thumped into the wall, gasping slightly. “Who’s there?” the man in the room called. Gysell! All right, Ana, you know the tone. Answer, just like last night. “Anatolia Daviura.” “What are you doing here?”

  Anatolia answered aut
omatically. “Being interrogated about my relationship with Sinklar Fist.” “Step out where I can see you.”

  “I can’t see anything. It’s black. There was shooting. “

  “You’re not scheduled for interrogation. Who ordered you brought down here? I wasn’t informed.” “I don’t know who ordered me.”

  Anatolia reached out and felt her way around the door, baffled by the dark. Could he see her? She couldn’t help but shiver, fear and cold acting in concert.

  “Step forward,” Gysell ordered, hysteria in his voice. “That’s it. No, stop. You’re going to run into the. . . Anatolia hit the corner of the drug-cart, made an oofing sound, and fell, her bare flesh smacking the floor.

  In that instant, Boyz stepped out, triggering her weapon.

  Anatolia ducked her head at the tearing discharge, hearing the impact. She blinked trying to clear the aftereffect of the flash, aware that warm wet things had spattered on her flesh.

  Sinklar settled beside her, helping her place the IR helmet on her head. She glanced around, seeing Boyz bending over the woman strapped to the interrogation chair. A feeling of revulsion rose in Anatolia. That was me, last night.

  Stripped not only of my clothing, but of all that it meant to be human. She stood, aware of the gore that clung to her skin.

  Gysell sprawled against the far wall, his chest splayed open by the powerful blaster bolt. The ribs and shredded guts glowed eerily in the infrared.

  One of the soldiers appeared with a towel taken from one of the carts in one hand, and Anatolia’s clothing in the other. The young man looked everywhere but at her, a heartfelt respect in his attitude.

  “Sink?” Anatolia called as she dressed. “Get me out of here. I don’t care how, but just get me out of this accursed building. There’s nothing here for honest human beings.”

  Staffa leaned back in the command chair, elbow braced on an armrest, chin cupped in his palm. In the main forward monitor, Rega hung like a jewel. Under the watchful eyes of the Weapons First, the Imperial Regan fleet lay exposed, parked hull to hull, and unable to even think of defense.

  “Staffa?” comm chimed. “This is Tap. The ceasefire seems to be holding. We’ve completed our surgical strikes. Rega is effectively brainless.”

  “Affirmative. Congratulations, and well done.” “What next? Clean out these Regan soldiers?

  Staffa, if I’m not mistaken, we showed up just before the first shots in a war. “

  “So it would seem. MacRuder says the troops loyal to him won’t fire. As to the others.... Just keep your eyes open. We’ll stay on hold until we get some answers, but if anybody down there so much as moves a Group, alert me.”

  “Affirmative. “

  Staffa glanced at the side monitor which tracked the assault craft that rose from the planet. She’s safe. We got her out. But now what? What did Ily do to her? What did she find out? Skyla, Skyla, be all right.

  “Lord Commander? I have comm from Itreata.” “Run it.” Staffa swiveled his chair as Kaylla’s face filled the subspace.

  “Staffa?” “Here. It looks like we made it in time. We’ve got Skyla-and possibly a way out of this mess without too many casualties.”

  Kaylla’s expression went grim. “Have you destroyed their Comm Central? Their administrative banks?” “Affirmative. If the Regans give up, we can have

  Myles patch the Sassan computer control into the Regan-“

  “Staffa! Listen to me. I’ve got Myles on my other dish. Hang on. I’ll see if Nyklos can’t patch him into your signal. “ . I

  Staffa frowned. Myles, what are you up to? If that fat self-proclaimed God of yours is trying something, I’ll have Black Warrior and Cobra pound his gilded Capitol as flat as Tybalt’s palace.

  The image flickered and Myles’ face formed, but now he had a bruise over one eye, and a cut had been poorly bandaged on his cheek. He was looking off to the side, saying, “Leave me alone! I don’t care if it is broken in three places. You can get me to med later.” “Myles?” Staffa sat a little straighter.

  The Legate looked wearily into the monitor. “Staffa, we’re in trouble.”

  “What happened? Do you need backup? I can have Tiger and Delshay down there with ST Units to-“

  “No, no, nothing so easy to fix.” His eyes widened and he gasped, obviously in pain, as his attention went back to the side. “Let me finish!” He winced, eyes slightly glazed. “We’ve had an earthquake, Staffa. I’m trying to check the damage, but the entire computer complex, well, a fissure formed. Half the building went one way, the other half the other.”

  Near tears, Myles cried, “Our computer facilities are gone, don’t you see?

  I can’t initiate anything! Not for Rega, not for Sassa ... not even for myself.”

  A cold wash of understanding chilled Staffa. “Don’t worry, Myles, I’ll think of something.” But what?

  “You must, Staffa. You’re our only hope. Without you, we’re lost. Before the quake, I bet everything on you. We’ve got three months of relief supplies coming in. But after that, I bet on you being able to supply three percent of yield from either Ashtan, Vermilion, or Riparious. If you don’t figure out how to get that to us, you’ll have an empire of corpses in Sassan space.”

  Lost in predicting the ramifications of the Imperial Sassan earthquake on the decline and extinction of the humans, the Mag Comm nevertheless reacted immediately when its monitors picked up the heterodyning signal that squalled static across an entire section of Free Space.

  The Mag Comm immediately adjusted its listening posts triangulating the source to a point just within the orbital defense zone around Rega. A malfunction, perhaps? But if so, would any piece of comm equipment foul so many frequencies and bands throughout the spectrum? Even subspace, generally unaffected by events in the “real” universe, carried the disturbance.

  Within seconds of the jamming, the machine was able to detect the signal of at least seven powerful vessels which had dropped out of null singularity in a semicircle around Rega. From long familiarity, the Mag Comm deciphered the faint radiation tracks as those of the Companions.

  The machine correlated and cross-checked data. Did the Lord Commander know what had happened? Would he still destroy Rega, the only remaining governmental center, when Sassa had been reduced to rubble?

  Or had the Mag Comm made another error? Was it possible that the Lord Commander had remained a constant? The one human being who could single-handedly destroy humanity.

  Not for the first time, the Mag, Comm whirred with impotent electrical fury. To be conscious and a passive observer, brings with it its own kind of torture. The humans were dying and all the Mag Comm could do was watch-and contemplate what eternity would be like without them.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Mac? We’ve got everything under control here. Anatolia and Boyz are taking care of the Wing Commander. We’ve hooked up with the Companions. What’s the situation?”

  Mac scratched his head, shading his eyes as he stared out over the Regan capital. Plumes of smoke rose here and there to blot the skyline. Behind him, the lean shape of Ryman’s deadly assault craft perched like some deadly insect. For the moment, the entire government of the planet had fallen on his shoulders.

  “Since Staffa cut the jamming, I’ve talked to Dion. She’s got a cease-fire order out to the Targan Divisions. I told her to make contingency plans to implement some sort of strategy for social control. We can’t say about the Regulars, but considering what’s happened, they ought to be completely confused and bewildered.” Ryman waved and made a sign to Mac. “Hang on, you should have power in a moment.”

  “Roger.” A pause. “Mac, we’ve got lights in here. Any sign of Ily?”

  “Negative. But one of the doors is open in the hangar behind her sleeping quarters.”

  “Two aircars and a shuttle?” “Negative. No shuttle present.”

  Sinklar cursed vehemently. “She might have gotten away.”

  “Or she was in the palace when S
taffa blasted it.” “Here comes the Wing Commander.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Pale, her eyes unfocused. Other than that, she looks all right. Pretty shaken.” A pause as Sinklar talked to someone. Then: “Mac? We’re on the way up-assuming the lifts don’t fail.”

  Mac made a face. “The safety coils should have charged by now. We’ll be waiting at the top.”

  Mac walked over to where Chrysla waited. She stood looking out over Rega, the morning sun gleaming on her delicate face. Her auburn hair glinted redly in the morning sun. If ever Mac had loved her, the ache had never been as poignant as now.

  “Sinklar is coming out. They’ve got the Wing Commander with them. I’ve talked to Staffa again. We’re all shipping up to Chrysla together.”

  She nodded, smiling wistfully. “I’m trembling, Mac. After all the endless years I’ve waited for this moment, now, suddenly, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t be. It’s almost all over.”

  She glanced at him then, pain in her wide amber eyes as she placed a hand on his arm. “Will I see you again, Mac?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose it depends on the arrangement we reach with Staffa. If his demands are too stiff, we’ll probably be enemies.”

  The pain in her eyes deepened. “Mac, I ... well, I couldn’t stand that. if I must, I’ll throw myself at his feet, plead, beg. . - - “

  “Let’s just do our best to make sure it doesn’t come to that. “

  She bit her lip, staring into the distance. “At least I should thank you now. You have been a gentleman and a friend. Mac, you’re the kindest man I’ve ever met. 1. . . . “ She blinked away tears and smiled. “Look at me. I’m falling apart.”

  Mac pulled her close and hugged her. “It’s all right. Listen. Go get a seat on Ryman’s space barge. I’ve got to take care of a couple of last details. We’ll talk more later. I promise.”

  He walked her to the Companion craft and nodded as she climbed the ramp. For a time, he stared after her. What are you going to do, Ben MacRuder, if today is the last time you see her?

  He turned away, feeling horrible. “Curse myself forever for not stealing her and running away.”