Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  The lobby was large and spacious, and the air was verging on cold as Inobo made his way over to a gleaming reception desk. Surprisingly, given the austere setting, an actual Uman being was there to greet him. The Civil Servant Corps uniform looked a bit tight on the woman, as if she had gained weight since it had been issued to her, but there was nothing wrong with her smile. “Good morning, sir,” she said cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

  Inobo gave his name, plus a conference number, and was instructed to follow an airborne usher. The shiny metal ball floated four feet off the ground and was the source of a gentle whirring noise as it led the Primus Pilus onto one of four lifts. The platform rose with more speed than Inobo thought was necessary, before coming to an abrupt stop on the second floor, where the globe-shaped robot led him off.

  A few moments later, Inobo entered a wedge-shaped room to discover that both Usurlus and Cato were there waiting for him. That in spite of his effort to come early, thereby allowing the Legate to arrive last yet still on time. All he could do was apologize. “Sorry I’m late, sir.”

  “But you aren’t late,” Usurlus objected as he rose to greet the officer. “I was damnably early—which is a rare event, I assure you!”

  After a brief forearm-to-forearm grip, Usurlus waved a hand in Cato’s direction. “You know Centurion Cato, of course. . . . May I take this opportunity to tell you what a fine police officer he is?”

  “Yes, of course,” Inobo replied noncommittally. He was aware that Cato was on Corin at the Legate’s request but was surprised to hear Usurlus speak of him so warmly, and suspicious as well. Was Cato blackmailing Usurlus? Forcing him to say positive things? Yes, Inobo decided. Nothing else could explain it.

  “Well, then,” Usurlus said, as the three of them took seats around a conference table that was shaped like the room. “Let’s get this meeting under way. Proctor Theno? Are you ready?”

  The proctor was an AI who, through various iterations of himself, was presently presiding over more than two dozen such meetings, all of which had one thing in common—a need for a government-sanctioned witness that couldn’t lie, couldn’t forget what had been said, and couldn’t be bought off. That made Inobo even more nervous since he knew that whatever was said to him, and the way in which he responded, would be on record for however long the Empire lasted. Proctor Theno’s melodic voice seemed to originate from nowhere and everywhere at once. “I am ready. . . . The session has begun. Please proceed.”

  “Thank you,” Usurlus said as he looked Inobo in the eye. “Before Cato and I can begin, some history is in order. You may or may not have read the report I wrote on the subject, but I suspect a refresher would be useful, and it makes sense to capture the information in the official record as well.”

  Inobo knew that a report written by Usurlus was included in Cato’s P-1 file but had never taken the time to read it, so he was careful to limit his response to a nod that was immediately captured by more than a dozen vid cams that were built into the walls.

  Cato had clearly come prepared because his account of what had taken place on Dantha, including his pursuit of a shape shifter named Verafti, was succinct and professionally neutral. The account concluded with the discovery of Verafti’s hand and what looked like sure evidence of the murderous Sagathi’s death. And, based on what Inobo could pick up from Cato’s emotions, he was telling the truth.

  Usurlus nodded in agreement as the narrative came to an end. “So that was the end of it, or so we assumed, until yesterday. Cato, please tell Primus Pilus Inobo what you observed.”

  Inobo listened intently as his subordinate described the processional, the errant breeze, and his brief glimpse of Emor. Then, as Cato made his incredible announcement regarding the Emperor’s true identity, it was all Inobo could do to keep from laughing. A reaction that, while appropriate given the far-fetched nature of Cato’s allegation, would be politically inadvisable, given his subordinate’s relationship with Usurlus. With that in mind, Inobo chose his words with care. “That’s a very serious accusation if true. What would you have me do?”

  “I want you to launch an official investigation,” Usurlus replied soberly. “Perhaps Cato was mistaken. I hope he was. If so, it should be easy to establish. All that is required is for you and let’s say two subordinates to take a quick look at the Emperor. If he’s Uman, you’ll know right away. If he isn’t, that will be apparent as well. Then, depending on your findings, the appropriate actions can be taken.”

  It wasn’t that simple, of course. There was no way to carry out such an inspection without the Emperor’s agreement. And by approaching the Emperor’s staff with such an outlandish request, Inobo would not only draw attention to himself but invite Emor’s wrath. Along with possibly dire consequences.

  But he couldn’t ignore an official request from a Legate even if he believed that Cato was either mistaken or running a con of some sort. So he would have to pursue the matter. But carefully—very carefully. “Yes, sir,” Inobo said, with what he hoped was the right note of sincerity. “I’ll do my best.”

  FIVE

  The city of Imperialus, on the planet Corin

  THE SUN WAS OUT BUT HIDDEN ABOVE A GREASY layer of smog, which the light breeze from the west seemed powerless to drive away. The result was an unrelieved simmering heat and a lot of short tempers, especially down on the city streets, where police officers were required to work. District Seven, which was generally referred to as the X Quarter, was no exception.

  The teeming neighborhood, which was home to more than 150,000 non-Uman sentients, was located in the southwest section of Imperialus, sandwiched between District Six to the east and District Eight to the northwest. Its main claim to fame other than the diversity of the sentients who lived there was a crime rate second only to that of Port City, where the Usurlus motorcade had been ambushed. And, as was the case in all of the Empire’s ghettos, the denizens of D-7 made it a practice to prey on each other.

  That was why Cato and Officer Yar Shani were walking the crowded streets, looking for the Ur con man who had sold lethal Dream Dust to the quarter’s pushers, and through them to dozens of unsuspecting addicts, six of whom had been killed over the last two weeks. “I don’t know why we bother,” Shani said disgustedly, as they stepped out of an Estengi whorehouse. “Why not let this Sesu guy do all of the work for us? Most of D-7’s addicts are thieves, prostitutes, or worse. We’re better off without them.”

  “I hear you,” Cato replied as he paused to let his eyes adjust to the light. “The problem stems from the word ‘most.’ The rest are innocent of anything other than a physical addiction. They deserve our protection.”

  Shani wasn’t so sure of that, but having been rescued by the Centurion and given a second chance, she was in no position to argue. So she blanked her emotions, and said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Save the ‘sir’ stuff for when other people are around,” Cato replied. “We’re working as partners at the moment—and you know this city a lot better than I do. So the last thing I need is for you to ‘yes, sir’ me as I make some damned fool mistake.”

  Shani, who had already taken a liking to Cato, felt her respect for the Centurion increase even more. Most officers, especially those right out of the academy, thought they knew everything. “Yes, sir. . . . I mean sure,” she replied. “So what’s next?”

  Cato was about to reply when a voice spoke through the plug in his right ear. “This is nine-four. I have shots fired and two officers plus an unknown number of civilian casualties at the scene of a code 64. I need backup, plus medical units, and I need them now. Over.”

  Cato knew that a code 64 referred to a shooting, but there was no way to know what the circumstances were as he touched a button on the right side of the sculpted half helmet typically worn during warm weather. What looked like a transparent visor appeared in front of his face. It was light green in color and shimmered with reflected light. Section Leader nine-four’s location had already mapped itself onto the Centurio
n’s heads-up display (HUD), along with a glowing cursor that pointed the way. “This is eight-one with eight-five,” Cato said. “We will respond. Over.”

  All sorts of emergency radio traffic began to pour in through Cato’s earplug as the staccato sound of gunfire was heard, and both he and Shani began to run. Because they were empaths, both officers could “feel” the emotional slipstream that flowed past them as they followed glowing cursors across a street and through a busy shopping arcade. The police officers were running, so some of the onlookers were simply curious, but others reacted to the uniforms with resentment verging on hate.

  But Cato had no time in which to analyze the emotional environment as he accidentally sent a stall owner sprawling, jumped a Cloque baby basket, and ran pell-mell toward the sound of gunfire even as battle-related transmissions continued to pour in. Radio discipline had deteriorated by that time as nine-four and his street cops fought what sounded like a one-sided battle. Cato heard the sound of an explosion followed by swearing. “God damn it to hell! The bastards have grenades. Put some fire on that upstairs window. . . . No, the one to the right. Got him! Nice work.”

  Then a second voice chimed in, and the situation took a turn for the worse. “Kevo is down. . . . There are only three of us now. We’re trapped on the second floor and running short of ammo.”

  Suddenly, Cato was on the scene, as both he and Shani exploded out of a pedestrian pass-through, to find themselves in what looked like a war zone. Half a dozen airborne drones were on-scene, feeding live video to the news nets, as people all over Imperialus tuned in to watch.

  Three police cars were parked in the middle of the street. One of them was on fire, and the others had been riddled with bullets, although the vehicles’ armored skins had been sufficient to stop most of the projectiles. That was why Section Leader (SL) nine-four was crouched behind one of the cars, directing the battle from there. Sirens could be heard in the distance, but traffic was thick, and Cato knew that five or ten minutes could pass before additional units arrived.

  A fully automatic assault weapon began to fire short three-round bursts from the tenement on the opposite side of the street, and bullets pinged off the cop car as Cato and Shani took cover behind it. A single touch was sufficient to dismiss the HUD. The SL turned to look at them, and Cato saw relief in the other man’s eyes and “felt” a sudden surge of hope as the noncom spoke. “It’s good to see you, sir. . . . Some Trelid merchants were running a hawala in the building across from us, an Ur gang decided to rob it, and ran into armed resistance. By the time we arrived on the scene, a full-scale battle was under way!

  “Corporal Isser took a team in to put a stop to it, but some Ur reinforcements came out of the woodwork, and my people were trapped. I have seven effectives here on the street, and I could send a second team inside, but there are a whole lot of civilians in there, and it’s damned hard to tell the good guys from the bad. So if we go in, there’s bound to be a lot of collateral damage. I sent two drones in, but both are MIA.”

  Cato nodded. He knew that a hawala was an underground bank set up to evade Imperial taxes, fund criminal enterprises, and make the sort of high-interest loans that many residents of the quarter had no choice but to accept. “Understood. Use your people to seal off the area, keep the suppressive fire going, and give me your sidearm.”

  Nine-four looked surprised. “My sidearm? What for?”

  “Because Officer Shani and I are going in there,” Cato replied matter-of-factly, “and we’re going to need some additional firepower.”

  Shani grinned wolfishly as she pulled the car’s door open in order to access a riot gun—and having accepted the additional pistol, Cato stuck it down into the small of his back. Two extra clips went into his belt pouch as his partner checked her newly acquired weapon to make sure it was fully loaded.

  When Cato’s eyes met Shani’s, it was like looking into a mirror. He smiled. “Ready?”

  Shani answered by pumping a shell into the chamber of her shotgun. Cato grinned. “Okay. . . . Follow me!”

  The police officers ran a zigzag pattern across the body-littered street as bullets flattened themselves against the grimy pavement and kicked up bits of duracrete all around. Then they were momentarily safe inside the doorway of the building, where a dead Ur marked the path Corporal Isser and his team had taken into the building.

  Like all of his kind, the Ur had a low forehead, squinty eyes that could deal with lots of harsh sunlight, and the upward-curving tusks that marked him as a male. His head was resting in a pool of blood. “I can ‘feel’ some friendlies just inside the door,” Shani commented. “No hostiles.”

  Cato nodded in agreement, pushed the blood-smeared door open with his right foot, and went in with his pistol at the ready. But there were no enemies to deal with, just a group of terrified Trelids. They came in various sizes depending on age, but all had sleek heads and fur-covered bodies. Most members of the group had been partially shaved, both as a way to keep cool and to emphasize their individuality via the elaborate patterns carved into their fur.

  One of the residents explained that they were trapped between the warring criminals on the floors above and the cops outside. Cato motioned for the group to stay where it was, brought the HUD down, and eyed the diagram that would lead him to Isser. Then, having oriented himself, Cato drew the second pistol. With a weapon in each hand, he preceded Shani up a set of filthy stairs.

  A dead Trelid lay six risers up, her eyes staring sightlessly at the distant ceiling, as occasional bursts of gunfire were heard from the level above. “We coming down!” a male voice shouted in heavily accented standard. “We live here. . . . No shoot!”

  “Careful,” Cato cautioned as he gained a landing and turned to aim both pistols at the group of Trelids who were descending the next flight of stairs. He knew that one or more of the refugees could be a perp and “scanned” the ethers for emotions that might telegraph a threat. There weren’t any, but Cato was well aware that some “norms,” as empaths thought of them, had a natural ability to shield their emotions. So it was important to be careful.

  Meanwhile, having allowed the shotgun to dangle from its sling, Shani was following the clearly terrified residents with her pistol. And, as they passed within two feet of her gun barrel, she shot one of the females in the head.

  Cato looked on in horror as a mixture of blood and brains sprayed the individuals around the dead Trelid. Some of the survivors screamed as they thundered down the stairs. “Are you crazy?” Cato demanded as he lowered his weapons. “You shot a civilian in cold blood!”

  Shani looked at him. He could “sense” that she was hurt rather than angry as she hooked a boot under the body and rolled it over to expose an ugly-looking disrupter. Though worthless beyond ten feet, such weapons were devastating close in and perfect for intimidating a small group of civilians. Cato made a face. “Sorry, Shani. . . . How did you pick her out? I didn’t.”

  “I got lucky,” the officer replied simply. “I caught a glimpse of the rupter. Apology accepted.”

  “Okay,” Cato said as he eyed the next set of stairs. “Let’s clear the second floor and do it fast.”

  Shani grinned approvingly as the pistol slid back into its holster. “Now you’re talking!”

  Cato was halfway up the last flight of stairs when two Urs appeared. The empath could “feel” their hostility and fired both pistols. Empty casings arced through the air and bounced away. They made a rattling sound as they hit the floor. Both aliens staggered under the force of the onslaught, and one of them managed to fire a burst of bullets into the ceiling as he fell over backward and landed with a thud.

  Meanwhile, the volume of fire from the street below had increased, and bullets were punching their way in through the front wall, turning the upstairs hallway into a meat grinder. “This is eight-one,” Cato said over the command frequency. “We’re just short of the second floor and about to clear it. The units on the street will hold their fire. Over.”


  The incoming fire slackened, then stopped, as a new voice was heard. Cato recognized it as belonging to Inobo. “Cato? What the hell are you doing in there?”

  “Enforcing the law,” Cato answered laconically. “Stand by.” And with that, he and Shani mounted the last few steps to the hallway, followed their cursors to the right, and began to close on Isser’s position. Cato “felt” hate off to his right, made use of a pistol to gesture toward a closed door, and was rewarded with a loud boom as Shani fired the shotgun. A ragged hole appeared, the feeling of hatred ceased to exist, and the police officers were free to advance.

  The graffiti-covered walls were riddled with bullet holes, empty casings lay everywhere, and Cato had to step over a dead policeman before he could go any farther. “Corporal Isser? This is eight-one. We’re closing on your position.”

  The response was immediate. “Watch out, sir! The Urs know you’re on the second floor. They—”

  But Cato never got to hear what the Urs planned to do as a grenade rolled out into the hallway twenty feet ahead of him, went off with a loud bang, and produced clouds of billowing gray smoke. It appeared as if the would-be bank robbers had taken the device off a dead cop and hoped to escape under cover of the artificial fog.

  Both Cato and Shani were blinded, but they knew what their opponents were going to do, and could “feel” the combined emotions of hatred and fear as the Ur invaders surged into the hall. The police officers sidestepped into an open apartment on the right side of the hall, thereby avoiding the massed fire that lashed out of the smoke as the stocky aliens lumbered toward them.

  Shani fired first, blowing big holes in the wall, as she targeted adversaries she couldn’t actually see. Then Cato joined in, firing his weapons in alternating sequence, as the Ur invaders came level with the open door. Bodies jerked and fell, thereby blocking the aliens immediately behind them. The slaughter was over twenty seconds later as the last Ur fell, Cato called reinforcements into the building, and medics rushed to give aid to Isser and the sole surviving member of his team.