Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  “Okay,” Livius allowed reluctantly, “but there’s something you should . . .”

  But it was too late by then since both variants were already crossing the veranda, closely followed by two heavily armed street cops.

  Cato’s entire body hurt, and occasional muscle spasms threatened to bring him down, but he was determined to not only protect Usurlus but nail Verafti if the bastard was present. And, with only a dozen people to check, Cato figured the process wouldn’t take long. But he was wrong because the thump, thump, thump of music could be heard before he entered the residence, which was packed with beautiful people.

  Some of the revelers were partially dressed, but many were naked except for the garish body paint they had applied to each other hours earlier—paint that was beginning to wear off. Cato estimated that at least thirty people were present. Some were dancing, some were having sex, and some were unconscious on the floor. Those who could gave him blank-eyed looks and, judging from the emotions they projected, were completely unaffected by the presence of four strangers.

  Livius had caught up by then and smiled bleakly. He had to yell in order to be heard over the pounding music. “It started about 9:00 PM yesterday—and I suspect it will last until two or three in the morning. They usually do.”

  Cato shook his head in amazement. “Have all of the guests been here since the party started?”

  Livius shook his head. “Hell no. . . . They come and go. In fact, five of them came in the door about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Cato nodded soberly. “That means Verafti could have infiltrated the place since the attack on me. Shani, check these people out. And be careful. I’ll talk to the Legate.”

  Livius looked doubtful. “Are you sure that’s necessary?”

  “Yes,” Cato answered grimly. “I am. You lead the way. And don’t forget to pick me up if I fall down.”

  In order to reach Usurlus’s private quarters, it was necessary to wind their way across the dance floor, step over a couple who were fornicating in the entryway, and follow a parallel hall past the study where Cato, Alamy, and Usurlus had met. A trail of discarded clothing led to an open door. Livius, who had no desire to enter his employer’s bedroom uninvited, was careful to let Cato go first.

  As the empath entered the room with weapon in hand, he was greeted by the sight of three people on a huge bed. The group included Usurlus, a younger though equally good-looking male, and a very athletic female who seemed determined to pleasure both of her companions simultaneously. The emotions present in the room were what Cato expected them to be given the nature of the situation, and it took less than two seconds to determine that all the members of the ménage à trois were Uman.

  “Excuse me, sire,” Cato said, as a thigh muscle began to spasm. “I’m sorry to bother you and your guests—but I’m here on police business.”

  Usurlus was far from pleased as Cato gave a brief account of the battle with Verafti and his decision to check the residence. But he knew that the Xeno cop was genuinely concerned for his safety, and that kept him from lashing out. “I appreciate your dedication to duty, Cato, if not your sense of timing,” he said dryly. “We were just about to share a rather memorable moment when you barged in! So Verafti is no longer playing the same part that he was before?”

  Cato took note of the way in which Usurlus avoided any mention of Emperor Emor, and he was careful to do the same. “No, sire. . . . I didn’t say that. Given Verafti’s capabilities, he can come and go at will. With that in mind, I think it’s safe to say he will continue to take advantage of the identity you referred to.”

  “Okay,” Usurlus conceded wearily, “it sounds as if we’re right back where we were. Would you agree?”

  Cato nodded. “Yes, sire.”

  “Then perhaps you should go home and get some rest,” Usurlus suggested. “How do you like your new pet by the way?”

  “Alamy is quite taken with it,” Cato lied. “Thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure,” Usurlus replied, which was true since he’d been thrilled to rid himself of the feathered beast.

  Cato, who realized that he was still holding his gun down along his right thigh, returned the weapon to its holster and turned to go. The girl giggled, and the party continued as Cato staggered down the hall. Finally, after a long day on the job, he was headed home.

  It was nearly dark by the time Alamy and Madam Faustus climbed the last few stairs and entered the walkway that led to Arbor House. The lights were on in the apartment above, so as Alamy removed the backpack that contained her landlord’s groceries, she knew Cato was home. The prospect of seeing him made her feel warm inside as Faustus placed a gold Imperial in her hand. “That’s for you, dear. . . . Girls need things from time to time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Alamy took the bag of groceries that belonged to her and made her way up the stairs to the apartment above. She threw the door open ready to receive a kiss and was stunned to see Cato and Shani sitting side by side on the couch. Both had cuts and bruises. “There you are,” Cato said equably,” I was starting to worry.”

  Rollo trilled cheerfully. “It’s dinnertime!”

  “I went shopping with Madam Faustus,” Alamy explained as she carried the bag into the kitchen. “Who beat you up? Or did you attack each other?”

  “That’s interesting,” Shani observed archly. “The cat has claws.”

  “Verafti came after me,” Cato replied, seemingly unaware of the friction between the two women. “And he would have killed me, too—except Shani threw herself at him!”

  Alamy glanced from Cato to Shani and saw the look of triumph in the police officer’s eyes. “Did you kill him?” she inquired coldly.

  The look faded. “No, he got away.”

  Alamy frowned. “How did he know where to find you?”

  “That’s a good question,” Cato mused. “We were wondering the same thing. He morphed into a likeness of you while making his escape.”

  Suddenly, Alamy felt dizzy and slightly sick to her stomach. “Do you have a friend named Par Thonis?”

  Cato shook his head. “Thonis? No, I don’t. Why?”

  “Bad thing!” Rollo exclaimed loudly, and hid his head under a wing.

  “Oh, my God,” Shani said disbelievingly. “Did a man come here? Claiming to be a friend? And you told him where to find us?”

  Tears were streaming down Alamy’s cheeks by that time, and she nodded mutely.

  “Why you stupid little bitch!” Shani exclaimed angrily as she came to her feet. “The entire team could have been killed!”

  Alamy sobbed, ran for the front door, and made her escape. Shani was correct. She was stupid. The door slammed, and darkness took her in.

  Because all Vords were color-blind, the clear blue sky and the way the golden sunlight glittered on Lake Umanus were completely lost on Ambassador Enig Serey Nusk as a Uman shuttle ferried him down to the surface of Corin.

  But even if Nusk couldn’t appreciate the city’s physical beauty as he eyed the view screen in front of him, he could appreciate the city’s grandeur. The domed building at the center of the lake, and the towering buildings that surrounded it, all testified to the power of the Empire the seven clans were going to crush. It would be an epic battle, one that would probably require a hundred standard years to win and cost millions of lives. And that would make the eventual victory all the more worthwhile because there is no glory without the giving of blood, and the taking of it as well.

  The key is to take more blood than you give, the voice in Nusk’s head put in tartly, as the pilot fired the shuttle’s repellers, and the vessel slowed.

  Nusk knew the “voice” well because the sluglike parasite that was half-wrapped around his neck had been paired with him almost immediately after birth so that the two of them could grow up together. The symbiotic relationship between the Vords and the parasitic Ya was at least twenty thousand years old and of benefit to both races. Thanks to the manner in which Heon could inject naturally pr
oduced chemical compounds into his host’s circulatory system, Nusk could think more clearly, react faster, and recover from wounds that might have killed him otherwise.

  But the bargain was far from one-sided. By aligning themselves with the Vords, the Ya had what they considered to be “mounts,” meaning lesser beings to provide them a means of locomotion and nourishment. Although none of them spoke of it. They didn’t have to since they were self-replicating and were therefore born with an understanding of why such a relationship was of value to them.

  There was a solid thump as the shuttle put down, and the disembarkation process began. Nusk and his party of two advisors were something of a problem for the Uman officials in charge of the visit. Because the Vords were diplomats, after all, and, therefore, entitled to certain honors, but enemies as well since they had taken Therat by force.

  So rather than being transported to the Imperial Tower via motorcade, the Vords were escorted off the shuttle and onto a private air barge. It was equipped with power chairs that could accommodate their gangly bodies and provided appropriate refreshments as well. The latter having been prepared with advice from the advance party, which had arrived more than a month earlier—and been forced to wait until Emperor Emor agreed to a specific date on which the talks would take place.

  Nusk knew the discussions would fail since the seven clans had already voted in favor of war, but the interchange would be useful nevertheless. Because the talks would allow the members of his party to gauge Uman resolve—and gather whatever intelligence was available. Which was why one of his companions was a spy rather than a true diplomat.

  Nusk and Heon were escorted up a ramp and into the official barge, where they were greeted by a Uman official who identified himself as the Imperial Chief of Staff Rujan Rolari. The words, which issued forth from the translator the official wore, were understandably formal. “Welcome, Ambassador Nusk—and advisor Heon. Please make yourselves comfortable for the short trip to the Imperial Tower. Emperor Emor is aware of your arrival and eager to meet with you.”

  I’m sure he is, Heon put in cynically, as Nusk bowed. The fact that he agreed to meet with us signals how frightened the Umans are.

  Nusk wasn’t so sure. In fact, he suspected that his Uman counterparts were pursuing a strategy not unlike his own and for similar reasons. Don’t underestimate our enemies, he responded. The Empire they built did not come about by accident.

  Meanwhile, Nusk’s reply to Rolari was equally formal. “Thank you. . . . Your capital city is very beautiful—and we look forward to our audience with the Emperor.”

  And to glassing the entire planet, Heon added, so as to kill the very roots of your barbaric civilization.

  Verafti looked at Emperor Emor in the mirror and was satisfied with what he saw. Having made the decision to meet with Ambassador Nusk and his parasitic companion, Verafti had gone to considerable lengths to play the part he had assigned to himself, even going so far as to meet with Rolari and key members of the Imperial staff to ensure that all the niceties of protocol would be observed.

  Having checked his appearance, he made his way over to the door that opened into the formal reception hall adjoining the residence. Garbage skittered away from his highly polished shoes as the shape shifter marched across the trash-strewn floor to the point where all six of the Emperor’s body doubles stood at attention. The robots had been activated by Verafti the day before and were programmed to obey the directives Emor gave them regardless of how strange such orders might seem. The shape shifter paused to reiterate the instructions given earlier. “Remember, you are to wait here and come when I call.”

  The identical robots replied in unison. “Yes, sire.”

  Satisfied that the machines would respond when summoned, Verafti opened the door and was quick to close it behind him. The reception hall had a high ceiling and paneled walls, which were hung with stern-looking portraits of Emperors past. A wooden conference table rested on a burgundy rug and served to split the space in two.

  Imperial Chief of Staff Rujan Rolari and half a dozen Uman diplomats were seated on the south side of the table, while three long-faced Vords and their advisors were positioned directly across from them. All of the participants came to their feet as the imposter entered.

  Once all of the introductions had been made, and refreshments had been served, Rolari read the agenda, to which everyone had agreed in advance. And that was when Verafti spoke up. “If Ambassador Nusk would be so kind as to indulge me, I would like to add a private meeting to the agenda, in the hope that if the two of us . . . Excuse me, the three of us, were to spend some time alone, we might be able to make even more progress. What do you say?”

  Tell him “no,” Heon put in before Nusk could respond. The clans have spoken. Such a meeting would be pointless.

  Nusk knew that the Ya was probably correct, but he was curious as well. What did the Uman Emperor have in mind? Some sort of accommodation, perhaps? If so, that would be worth hearing. With that in mind, he made his response. “Of course. . . . It would be an honor.”

  You’ll be sorry, Heon predicted darkly, but Nusk chose to ignore the comment as the formal discussions got under way. It was something of a farce since the Vords were referring to Therat as “a protectorate,” as if to suggest that they were protecting the population in some way, while Rolari and his diplomats were calling the loss “a serious provocation.” Such language sought to position the “incident,” as they referred to it, as a minor annoyance rather than a violation of Imperial sovereignty.

  Such positions were ridiculous, but they gave both parties some cover and served to make the talks possible. Verafti did the best he could to look interested but found it difficult to pay attention since the outcome made no difference to him. But finally, after what seemed like hours but was only forty-five minutes, the formal agenda came to an end as both sides agreed to schedule another meeting.

  That was when nervous looks were exchanged, and everyone other than the two principals stood and trooped out of the room via the main entrance. Once the two of them were alone, Verafti was quick to seize the initiative. “So,” he began, “that was a waste of time, wasn’t it?”

  Be careful, Heon cautioned. He’s trying to circumvent formal negotiations.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Nusk responded cautiously.

  “I could be wrong,” Verafti replied, “but it’s my guess that you plan to attack the Umans no matter what they do.”

  Why is he talking as if he’s a member of another race? Heon wanted to know.

  Nusk had no idea. “No,” he lied, “we are negotiating in good faith.”

  Verafti laughed. “Okay, if you say so. Tell me, Ambassador Nusk. . . . What does a Vord taste like?”

  There was a moment of silence as Verafti activated a remote—and Nusk wondered if the translator was working properly. He was still working on a response when the door to the Imperial residence opened and six identical Emperor Emors entered the room. Heon said, Run! But it was too late as the robots grabbed hold of Nusk’s arms and half carried, half dragged him away. The diplomat screamed for help, but there was no response.

  “They can’t hear you,” Verafti explained matter-of-factly as he followed along behind. “The walls are very thick.”

  Then Nusk was inside the Imperial apartments, where the robots began systematically to strip away his clothes. They were quite efficient, so it was only a matter of minutes before Nusk and Heon were nude, and completely vulnerable. “I’ll tell you what,” Verafti said as he began to morph into his true form. “Why don’t you hide—and let’s see if I can find you.”

  Look for a door! Heon ordered. Find a way out!

  Nusk took off at a jog. He opened each door he saw only to discover a succession of bedrooms, bathrooms, and closets. The diplomat’s heart was beating wildly, his breath came in short gasps, and he had soiled himself by the time Verafti cornered him in the vast kitchen. A rack of knives was handy, so the shape shifter took one and
held it away from his body. The long, narrow blade was used for boning, and was razor-sharp.

  “I’m disappointed,” Verafti said as he began to close in on the cowering Vord. “Very disappointed. It has been a long time since I enjoyed a good chase. I can sense your fear, you know, and I wish I had time to savor it, but the others are waiting.”

  Nusk uttered one last scream as light flashed off polished metal and cold steel sliced through Heon’s soft flesh and into his own. The last thing he saw was blood spraying the area around him as he fell. As his body hit the floor, he saw the lights roll out of focus and wondered how such a thing could happen to him. Then he was gone.

  Verafti uttered a growl of satisfaction, pounced on the body, and tore big chunks of bloody flesh off it. He was hungry, very hungry, and pleased to learn that Vords tasted good.

  Rolari was anxious and for good reason. Having been disengaged of late, Emperor Emor had chosen to participate in direct negotiations with the Vords. So, which man was meeting with Ambassador Nusk? The erratic Emor, who might be mentally unstable, or what Rolari thought of as the real Emor? A man with a reputation as a savvy negotiator. There was no way to be sure—and the fate of the Empire could be hanging in the balance.

  So Rolari felt a keen sense of apprehension as the long wait ended, the double doors swung open, and the two principals emerged together. “It was a hard-fought battle,” Emor’s body double said cheerfully, as both Umans and Vords stood. “But I believe significant progress was made. Would you agree, Ambassador Nusk?”

  After a quick meal, and a hot shower, Verafti felt refreshed. Now, as he took a few steps forward, he faced a critical test. Nusk had been at least six and a half feet tall, and there was the parasite to re-create as well, so it had been difficult to muster enough mass to impersonate both at once.