Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  “Yes, of course,” Armo acknowledged as she returned to the other side of the desk. “Please . . . Sit down. I will give you the earliest appointment that I possibly can. Unfortunately, the Emperor has been very busy of late owing to the Vord landing on Therat, a nasty uprising on Partha, and the upcoming Emperor’s Day celebration. Festivities begin tomorrow. Will you watch the processional?”

  Usurlus knew that Armo was referring to the traditional parade in which a litter would carry the Emperor through the streets of Imperialus followed by angen-drawn wagons loaded with costumed revelers whose job it was to bombard the crowds with coins, trinkets, and toys for the children. The event was part politics and part hedonistic carnival. The latter was fine with Usurlus although he had no intention of celebrating the occasion with the plebes. “Yes, of course,” he lied as he sat down.

  “Good,” Armo said as she touched a screen, and the Emperor’s calendar appeared in front of her. It was almost entirely blank, and had been that way for the last month or so, but she couldn’t share that with Usurlus, or anyone else for that matter. Even the slightest hint that the Empire was largely running itself would not only start a widespread panic, but almost certainly trigger a coup attempt and an all-out attack by the Vords. All of which were things that she and other high-ranking officials were hoping to avoid. Unfortunately, as each precious day passed, and the situation grew worse, it was hard to see how they were going to put things right without telling the truth. But for the moment, the charade would have to continue. “You’re in luck,” Armo said brightly. “There’s a one-hour opening on the tenth of Tremen.”

  “But that’s more than two months away!” Usurlus objected. “I’ll be honest with you, Arla. . . . I came here hoping to see Emperor Emor today. Can’t you slip me in somewhere? I would be happy to wait if that helps.”

  “That’s very considerate of you,” Armo allowed, as she pretended to inspect the calendar in front of her. “But there wouldn’t be any point in waiting. The Emperor’s schedule is not only full—he’s double-booked in some cases. But here’s what I’ll do. . . . If someone cancels during the next week or so, I’ll slip you in. It could be on rather short notice, however, so be ready to respond quickly.” That wasn’t going to happen, of course—but it would keep Usurlus on the sidelines for a while.

  Usurlus sighed. “Okay, Arla. . . . Thank you. I’ll be ready if you call.”

  After a couple of minutes of small talk, Usurlus left. Armo’s chair sighed as she rose and turned to look out the window. Traffic continued to swirl, a long line of slivery security drones snaked by, and one wall of the high-rise across from her morphed into a new set of video mosaics. Each “tile” played a commercial intended for the high-net-worth eyeballs in the Imperial Tower. But the secretary saw none of it. The Empire was coasting, and eventually it would come to a stop. What then?

  Alamy was still asleep when Cato tickled the bottom of her feet. She pulled her legs up into the fetal position and made a pitiful noise, in hopes that he would stop, but it didn’t work. “Come on,” Cato said as he bent to kiss her cheek. “It’s time to go out and meet people.”

  Alamy groaned, yawned, and made use of a hand to shield her eyes. “Go out and meet who?” she wanted to know.

  “Why the Emperor, of course,” Cato answered genially. “This is Emperor’s Day—which means that he will be carried through the streets of Imperialus. So this is a chance to see all of the silliness, marvel at how crazy our fellow citizens are, and find a good meal somewhere. Imagine that! You won’t have to cook.”

  Alamy wasn’t a citizen, not since she’d been sold into slavery, but it would have been mean to say that, so she didn’t. Besides, the outing was clearly a response to her requests to see more of the city, which was very nice of him. “You’re right,” Alamy said as she swung her feet over onto the floor. “The Emperor would be very upset if we weren’t there to greet him.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Cato said as he brought her a piping-hot cup of tea. “Here . . . You can take this into the shower.”

  The tea, as well as the act of serving it to her, constituted still another gesture. Alamy rewarded Cato with a kiss before making her way into the bathroom. It was, she decided, going to be a very nice day.

  Cato watched her go, marveled at how beautiful Alamy’s naked body was, and remembered making love to her the night before. It had been a wonderfully urgent session, satisfying to both of them insofar as he knew, and a reminder of the important task he had been putting off. He knew he should free Alamy—and felt guilty about his failure to do so. And guilt was new to him.

  Back before Dantha, and before Alamy, Cato never felt guilty. And why should he? If he spent all of his money in a succession of bars, got drunk, and woke up next to a woman he didn’t know, there was no punishment other than a terrible headache, a bad taste in his mouth, and a period of enforced poverty.

  But ever since Alamy had become part of his life, there was someone else to not only take care of but answer to. Even if she was a slave—and theoretically subject to his slightest whim. Was that why he’d been slow to free her? Because to do so would force him to confront yet another level of commitment? Yes, possibly, although Cato wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  Cato smiled in reaction to his own confusion, heard the water in the bathroom stop, and went downstairs to pour himself a cup of caf. The questions could wait. A new day lay before him, and he was determined to enjoy it.

  Much to Cato’s surprise, it took the better part of two hours for the two of them to board a crowded subway train, ride it into the center of the city, and force their way through a mob of people to the point where they could claim a three-foot-long section of curbing. The mood, which Cato could “feel” in a way that Alamy couldn’t, was ebullient bordering on giddy. People were laughing, dancing to the tunes played by street musicians, and sipping alcoholic drinks they carried with them.

  Having positioned themselves to see the Emperor, it was necessary for Cato and Alamy to wait as hucksters, con artists, and pickpockets worked the crowd. Cato was off duty, and wanted to remain that way, so rather than scan the area for criminals, he chose to focus on Alamy instead. Even so, the police officer had to flash his badge at the more-intrusive hucksters in order to drive them away.

  Finally, after waiting for more than twenty minutes, a peal of trumpets was heard as the first elements of the annual processional appeared. They were members of the elite Praetorian Guard, a military unit created to protect the Emperor, and whose members were drawn from the many legions.

  The guards wore gold helmets with red crests, glossy black clamshell-style body armor, plaid kilts, and calf-high boots. They carried energy rifles crosswise over gleaming saddles so as to have them available at a moment’s notice. The genetically engineered animals (angens) they rode were huge, uniformly black, and draped with bulletproof fabric. Their hoofs made a distinctive clop, clop, clop sound as the detachment passed, and children fortunate enough to stand in the front row stared at the enormous beasts in slack-jawed amazement.

  The Praetorians were followed by a succession of angen-drawn wagons. They were loaded with costumed individuals, who were busy throwing coins and trinkets to the crowd. Cato caught a flying decim and gave it to Alamy just as a cheap necklace hit him in the shoulder and fell to the ground.

  Alamy bent to retrieve the item, but wasn’t fast enough, as greedy hands snatched it away. She laughed as a roar of approval went up from the surrounding crowd. “Here he comes,” Cato predicted. “Emperor Emor.”

  Alamy stood on tiptoes, trying to see over the heads to her right, as a phalanx of armed security drones swept in over the crowd. Cato knew their sensors were set on maximum sensitivity and that the machines would kill without hesitation, even if that meant slaughtering innocent citizens who had the misfortune to be standing next to a would-be assassin. The machines made an ominous humming sound as their shadows rippled over the spectators below—few of whom had any idea of how
much danger they were in.

  But there weren’t any assassins waiting to kill Emor. So no mistakes were made as the drones continued on their way. Meanwhile, as the Emperor’s richly decorated palanquin hove into sight, it was subjected to a barrage of Imperial red flowers purchased for that purpose. Other flowers had already been thrown, of course, thousands of them, some of which were piled on top of the litter’s flat roof. It was supported by four beautifully carved posts, each resting on the flat bed below, where the most powerful man in the Empire was partially visible behind gauzy curtains.

  Four heavy-duty androids held the horizontal poles that kept the conveyance aloft, and when they took a deliberate step forward, it was always in perfect unison. The whole thing was meant to be impressive, and was, as the palanquin arrived directly in front of Cato and Alamy.

  Then something unexpected took place as a cool breeze found its way between the surrounding skyscrapers and slid past the Imperial litter on its way to Lake Umanus. That was when the curtains flew, Cato caught a momentary glimpse of the Emperor, and was shocked by what he saw. “Alamy,” he shouted. “Look! It’s Fiss Verafti!”

  As the curtain fell back into place, Alamy looked and caught a glimpse of a rather ordinary-looking man, whose features were known throughout the Empire. But she knew that a Sagathi shape shifter could morph into a likeness of any living thing having roughly the same mass that he or she did, and that like all of his kind, Cato could “sense” such creatures regardless of physical form. So if he said the being on the palanquin was Verafti, then she believed it, even if the Sagathi was supposed to be dead.

  Alamy heard Cato swear, turned to see him lunge out onto the street, and was barely able to grab his belt as a drone swooped in to confront the potential assassin. A cluster of gun barrels could be seen protruding from the machine’s bulbous nose, and Alamy feared that one or more of them were about to fire, as she was forced to yell in order to be heard over the crowd noise. “Show your badge! Let the drone see it!”

  Cato had already thought better of his plan to rush the Imperial palanquin and arrest Fiss Verafti. And as the drone appeared in front of him, he knew he was in trouble. So he raised his left hand, “willed” the badge to appear, and was grateful when it did.

  The people who had been standing around the couple had withdrawn by then, leaving them to confront the drone alone, as the hulking robots carried their burden up the street. The drone hovered for a moment, as if deciding what to do, before finally sailing away.

  Cato released a breath and was surprised to learn that he’d been holding it. “Damn! That was close.”

  “Yes,” Alamy agreed, as the crowd swirled around them. “It sure was. Are you sure about Verafti?”

  “Very sure,” Cato answered darkly. “Even though we found a Sagathi hand back on Dantha, there was no body to go with it, and now we know why! The bastard cut the damned thing off and left it for me to find. Then, with no one looking for him, it must have been easy to reach Corin.”

  Alamy’s eyes grew larger as the persistent roar of the crowd grew more distant, and they were left standing in an ocean of trash. “Oh, my God!” she said, as the full weight of Cato’s words hit her. “Verafti murdered the Emperor!”

  “That’s the way it looks,” Cato agreed grimly. “But nobody’s going to believe me—and Verafti has the Emperor’s entire security apparatus to protect him.”

  Alamy frowned. “What about the other Xeno cops on Corin? Why didn’t they notice Verafti?”

  “That’s a good question,” Cato replied thoughtfully. “And one that I can’t answer. Not yet anyway. Come on. . . . We need to find Legate Usurlus and tell him. He’s the one person who might believe us. That’s why he brought me here after all . . . So it’s worth a try.”

  Far above the crowded streets, in high-rise condominiums and apartments throughout Imperialus, the city’s movers and shakers were in the process of celebrating Emperor’s Day in their own ways, and Usurlus was hosting one such gathering in his luxurious home. His guest list included what appeared to be a random gathering of politicians, government officials, and corporate executives. But each person had been invited because of what he or she knew, or who they knew, which was often more important. So each individual was an ingredient in a social mix that might or might not produce the result Usurlus was hoping for, some sort of explanation for the political malaise that could be felt all around him.

  So that’s where Usurlus was, a half-empty glass in hand, when Livius appeared at his side and waited for the Legate to finish a conversation with a powerful business executive. The man was boring, so Usurlus was glad when the interaction was over and he could turn to Livius. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

  “Cato is here, sire,” the bodyguard replied gravely. “With Alamy. He wants to see you and insists that the matter is urgent.”

  Usurlus frowned. He knew that Cato hated parties and everything associated with them, which meant that the issue was urgent indeed. “Tell them to wait in my study,” Usurlus instructed. “I’ll join them when I can.”

  Because Usurlus had to pause and visit with various guests as he crossed the crowded living room, it took the better part of ten minutes to slip into a hallway and follow it back to the study, where Cato and Alamy were waiting. They looked out of place in a room that managed to be both simple and elegant at the same time. The walls were covered with a tightly woven textile manufactured on Thoa, floating shelves supported carefully chosen art objects, and the dark hardwood floors seemed to glow as if lit from within.

  A glass desk occupied one end of the rectangular space, and the visitors were seated on the skeletal chrome chairs that were arranged in front of it. Both of the visitors rose as Usurlus entered—and he waved them back into their seats. “This is a pleasant surprise,” Usurlus said as he rounded the desk. “Livius said the matter is urgent. . . . And it must be since Officer Cato has a well-known aversion to parties.”

  “It is urgent,” Cato replied earnestly. “Alamy and I were on Privia Street, watching the processional, when a breeze blew some curtains out of the way, and I got a good look at the Emperor. Only it wasn’t Emor! It was Fiss Verafti. The bastard is alive!”

  Usurlus felt something cold trickle into his bloodstream. If Verafti was alive, and posing as the Emperor, that would explain a great deal. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it? He eyed Cato skeptically. “You’re absolutely sure?”

  “Yes,” Cato replied unhesitatingly. “I would stake my life on it.”

  “That could be the case,” Usurlus mused thoughtfully. “Because if we were to level such an accusation and be proven wrong, neither of us would survive for very long. I like Emor, and respect him, but he’s absolutely ruthless. And if it appeared that we were trying to remove him from the throne, he would have us killed.”

  “He was ruthless,” Cato replied flatly. “Until Verafti made a meal out of him and took control of the Empire.”

  “Point taken,” Usurlus said, as the fingers of his right hand drummed on the glass desktop. “It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law—but there is some anecdotal support for what you say. Of the thirty-seven people who came to my party, more than half had reason to meet with Emor on a regular basis. But, as far as I can tell, not one of them has done so within the last month and a half.”

  “Verafti is afraid that he’ll give himself away,” Alamy observed. “But he couldn’t avoid the Emperor’s Day processional. He had to show himself or cause people to wonder why he didn’t.” Then, fearful that she had been too forward, she blushed. Neither man seemed to take notice.

  “That’s correct,” Cato agreed. “And if he’s been in hiding, that would explain why none of the local Xeno cops spotted the change. They haven’t seen him and weren’t supposed to.”

  “That makes sense,” Usurlus agreed. “Who’s in charge of your detachment anyway?”

  Cato winced at the thought of taking the problem to his superior officer. “Primus Pilus Inobo, sire.”

/>   “All right then,” Usurlus said as he came to his feet. “I’m of the opinion that the best way to handle this matter is through official channels lest we be accused of plotting a coup. Make an appointment with Inobo. I’ll explain the situation, and we’ll let him take it from there.”

  The prospect of sharing anything of consequence with Inobo filled Cato with dread, but he had a tremendous amount of respect for Usurlus’s political acumen and gave the answer that was expected of him. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  As Tuso Inobo’s official ground car pulled up in front of the Temple of Truth, he felt nervous, and with good reason, since it was no small thing to meet with a Legate. Especially one as influential as Isulu Usurlus was said to be.

  But, even though such a face-to-face meeting could be interpreted as a measure of his importance, it could be risky as well. Especially since Inobo’s steady climb to the rank of Primus Pilus had been accomplished by keeping his head down, avoiding the types of decisions where things could go seriously wrong, and looking for ways to curry favor with his superiors. So the last thing Inobo wanted to do was allow himself to be drawn into the sort of political machinations Usurlus was known for—where he might be forced to take sides in a contest he didn’t understand.

  And making an already difficult situation worse was the fact that Cato was involved and would be present at the meeting, too. For Cato was frequently in the wrong place at the wrong time—and something less than reliable where difficult situations were concerned.

  Inobo got out of the car and made his way across the street to the black-granite building located at the center of a large traffic circle. Unlike the high-rise structures that surrounded it, the temple was only three stories tall. And, as if to emphasize the sanctity of what went on inside it, the building had no windows. That, combined with its polished surface, gave the structure a somewhat ominous appearance. Inobo felt a chasm form at the pit of his stomach as a pair of curved doors opened to admit him.