Bones of Empire

by William C. Dietz

  Having cleared the vertical tube and followed Three-Ball a few yards north, she took the opportunity to look around as the rest of the team took their places behind her. The pipe was about four feet across. Large enough for a Kelf to walk through but not the Umans, who would be forced to duck-walk or crawl. “Okay, Dybo,” Shani said. “We’re here. . . . What should we look for?”

  Dybo, who was equipped with a jury-rigged headset, was anything but happy. Something all of the empaths could pick up on. “It’s hard to see,” he complained. “And I’ve only been down here once before. Maybe we should get more lights and come back later.”

  A squeal was heard, followed by a sudden rush of words, as Dybo sought to forestall more of whatever Siby had done to him. “Go straight ahead,” the Kelf instructed. “And watch for the luminescent arrows. They will lead you to Taget’s hideout.”

  And that appeared to be the case because, as the team crawled along, a succession of glowing green arrows helped them navigate their way through a series of Y-shaped branchings. Yellow light washed the walls, their kneepads made squishing sounds, and on occasion a muffled rumble was heard as a subway train passed through a tunnel parallel to theirs.

  Finally, Three-Ball sent the dimly lit video Shani had been waiting to see, along with a characteristically formal voice-over. “I see an empty catch basin directly ahead. It is fed by six pipes—including the one we are presently traveling through. Approximately three feet below the outlets a six-foot-wide ledge can be seen. It surrounds the reservoir, and judging from the number of sleeping platforms on it, I estimate that at least four individuals have been living inside the chamber. None of them is visible at the present time. Over.”

  Shani eyed the video and swore softly. So much for her hopes that she could waltz in, arrest Taget, and put him in the slammer before breakfast. But it felt good to scrape past the point where a metal grate had been removed—and stand off to one side as the rest of the team followed her out. The inside of the chamber was quite spacious, and, by moving her head, Shani was able to sweep her helmet light back and forth across the domed ceiling.

  That was when she saw three objects fall out of the vertical tubes that fed the catch basin from above and recognized them for what they were. “Grenades!”

  The explosive devices were timed to explode in midair. Everyone hit the deck, but as three overlapping explosions shook the underground chamber, hundreds of pieces of razor-sharp shrapnel ricocheted back and forth off the duracrete walls. Siby and Nutone were killed instantly, a fact that quickly became apparent as their vital signs vanished from Shani’s HUD, and Dybo began to yell while simultaneously jerking at his chain. “Taget! It’s me! Don’t shoot!”

  Now it was clear that the informer had been in cahoots with Taget from the beginning, hadn’t anticipated the possibility that the team would take him along, and was hoping that Taget would spare him. So Shani drew a pistol and shot Dybo in the head. The Kelf fell on top of Siby.

  Conscious of the fact that each second was precious, Shani yelled, “Follow me!”

  Vium, the only survivor other than Three-Ball, did as he was told. He could “see” Shani’s heat signature thanks to his HUD—and “feel” the Section Leader’s emotions as she dove into the closest pipe and scrambled to make room. He dove in behind her and scooted forward, as more grenades exploded and shrapnel rattled all around.

  Shani was moving as quickly as she could by then, hoping to put some distance between what remained of her team and the chamber, before climbing up to the street above. Then she ran into the grate. It had thick durasteel bars that would clearly be impervious to anything less than a plasma torch.

  Shani said, “Damn, damn, damn,” as she turned back toward the chamber and ordered Vium to do likewise. That was when she realized that Three-Ball’s icon had disappeared from her HUD.

  A wash of light appeared in the chamber, somebody fired a gun, and Shani aimed for the muzzle flash. There was an almost deafening boom inside the pipe, followed by a cry of pain, which suggested a hit. But whatever satisfaction Shani might have felt was dulled by the knowledge that they were trapped. “Any unit, any unit, this is eight-five. I have two men down, and we’re trapped. Do you read?”

  But Shani was deep underground, and there was a lot of duracrete between her and the surface, so the chances of being heard were slim. The only reply was a moment of silence, followed by a maniacal giggle from the chamber, and the steady drip, drip, drip of water. They were alone.

  Usurlus was ensconced in what had been Rolari’s office. A chair had been brought in so that he could sit down, an open area had been created by clearing piles of printouts from the previously cluttered desk, and he was hard at work drafting a speech. Not for himself, but for Brunus Emor, who would have to seize the reins of power quickly lest some individual or group try to steal the throne out from under him.

  Hardly anyone wrote by hand anymore, but Usurlus was one of the few, especially where first drafts were concerned. He enjoyed the feel of putting ink to paper, not to mention the freedom to scrawl text in the margins, with arrows to show where the additions should go. Now, having written the introduction, it was time to consider the main thrust of the speech.

  The news of Emperor Emor’s death had gone off like a bomb inside the Senate and was still sending political shock waves out across the Empire, just as Usurlus, Armo, and others had known that it would. Suddenly, everything had changed. Those who owed their livelihoods to Emor were without a sponsor—and those who believed themselves to be on good terms with Brunus were elated.

  Others who had long been out of favor suddenly had reason to hope since a new Emperor meant new opportunities. And so it went from the top of the political food chain to the people stationed at the bottom. His job was to pen something lofty, something that would position Brunus as being above the fray, with his eyes firmly fixed on all of the important issues that had been so sadly neglected during Verafti’s tenure.

  Would Brunus accept the speech? And actually give it? If so, Usurlus would be able to count himself among those who would find a place in the new scheme of things. If not, it might be time to rejuvenate his military career or retire to some university, where he could lecture students about how things should have been.

  Such were the Legate’s thoughts when he heard a rap on the door, and Cato appeared. He looked rumpled and was badly in need of a shave. “Sorry to disturb you, sire. . . . But I believe I know where Verafti is headed—and why.”

  Usurlus hoped Cato was correct because Brunus would want revenge, and it would be best to give him that satisfaction immediately lest he focus his energies on finding his father’s killer rather than the much-neglected affairs of state. So Usurlus put his stylus down and gestured toward the new guest chair. “Okay, I’ll bite. . . . Where is Verafti headed? And why?”

  Cato sat down, but on the edge of the chair, as if ready to get up and go. His expression was serious. “Well, sire, the simplest way to put it is that the bastard is in love. My research suggests that he had a relationship with a female named Affa Demeni on their home world of Sagatha. As you know, the entire planet is in permanent quarantine. But Demeni escaped by taking the place of a Uman corpse that was being shipped off-world for burial. The local CO was courtmartialed for allowing that to happen.

  “Three standard months later, Verafti followed her by killing a Sagathi who was being taken off planet for medical treatment and taking that individual’s place. En route, he murdered the medical team and most of the ship’s crew, before a handful of officers managed to fortify the control room and land on Oro.

  “My team was there waiting for him. We took him into custody and were hauling his ass back to Sagatha, when we were forced to land on Dantha. You know what happened after that.”

  Usurlus shook his head in amazement. “So the whole point of killing Emor, and replacing him, was to find Demeni?”

  “Yes, sire,” Cato replied earnestly. “And, judging from an analysis of his c
omputer usage, it worked. After running into hundreds of dead ends, he locked on to a trail of killings that led to the planet Therat.”

  Usurlus sat up straight. “The planet the Vords took over? That Therat?”

  Cato nodded. “Yes, sire. . . . And that’s why he murdered Ambassador Nusk. So he could work his way into the Vord hierarchy and travel to Therat.”

  “Damn him!” Usurlus said angrily as he brought his fist down on the desktop.

  It was an unusual display of emotion on the Legate’s part, and Cato could “feel” the extent of the other man’s frustration. “Yes, sire,” he agreed. “But it gets worse. . . . What if he finds Demeni? Imagine what two shape shifters, working in tandem, could accomplish.”

  “We’ve got to warn the Vords,” Usurlus said grimly. “More than that, we’ve got to convince the ugly bastards to let us send a team of empaths to Therat and hunt both of those killers down.”

  “I agree,” Cato put in soberly. “But with no previous experience of their own, would they believe that such a thing is even possible?”

  “Oh, they’ll believe us,” Usurlus grated. “I’m going to call Inobo—and order him to—”

  But Cato didn’t get to hear what Usurlus was going to order Inobo to do because that was the moment when one of the Praetorian Guard’s Centurions appeared in the doorway. A battered police bot was hovering next to him. “Excuse me,” the officer said, “but could I speak to Centurion Cato? It’s a police emergency.”

  The words were enough to bring Cato up out of the chair. Seconds later, courtesy of Three-Ball, he was watching a holo of the underground ambush. He winced as two members of his squad were cut down. “Did you call it in?” Cato wanted to know, once the robot’s report came to an end.

  “Yes, sir,” Three-Ball responded unemotionally. “But hundreds of thousands of people are pouring into the streets in response to Emperor Emor’s death. Off-duty officers have been notified and are coming in to work—but dispatch told me that it could be hours before the department can assemble a response team and send them down.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Cato replied grimly. “We’re going in there even if it is just you and me.”

  “We aren’t cops, but we know how to fight,” the Praetorian put in. “And we owe you one for solving the Emperor’s murder. Could you use some volunteers?”

  “You bet your ass I could,” Cato responded gratefully. “Let’s go.”

  Usurlus had been forgotten but didn’t mind. He had work to do, lots of it, beginning with a call to Inobo. The sun had risen by then and sent shafts of sunlight slanting into the office to clothe Usurlus in liquid gold. He was too busy to notice.

  NINE

  The city of Imperialus, on the planet Corin

  TAGET AND HIS GANG COULDN’T FIRE DIRECTLY INTO the pipe without standing directly opposite the opening—which they quickly learned not to do. What they could do was fire into the tube from an angle on the chance that their bullets would bounce off the sides and hit the Xeno cops hiding inside. Fortunately for Shani and Vium, they were far enough back from the opening that the ricochet strategy had been ineffective so far—although there had been two close calls. Still, it made sense to keep their helmet lights turned off to conserve power and make themselves harder to see. So, viewed from inside the pipe, what little bit of illumination there was came from what looked like a decim-sized hole and the work lights beyond.

  Now, hours after the ambush, Shani had begun to give up hope. Because once her team failed to report within a reasonable amount of time, the support team was supposed to notify the shift boss, whose job it was to dispatch a quick-reaction force to the scene. But in spite of what should be happening, the two of them were still waiting.

  Meanwhile, having peeked out of the darkened pipe from time to time, Shani knew that Taget was systematically removing both his belongings and loot from the pump room located just off the main chamber. An understandably lengthy process given the need for his full-sized henchmen to carry everything out via a maze of pipes.

  So it was a standoff of sorts, or had been, until a trickle of water began to flow through the grate and along the bottom of the pipe. “What’s going on?” Vium wondered out loud. “Is it raining topside?”

  Shani tried to remember what the weather forecast had been but couldn’t. “Beats me,” she confessed. “But I hope it doesn’t get any deeper. I forgot my towel.”

  Vium chuckled appreciatively. “Yeah,” he said, “me too.”

  Taget couldn’t hear them, of course, but clearly knew about the water because he called to them from somewhere in the chamber. His voice was high and squeaky. “Can you swim?” he demanded. “Because there’s a ten-thousand-gallon holding tank up-system from your location, and one of my associates opened the main valve a minute ago. It won’t be long before a whole lot of water is going to shoot through that pipe and blow you out into the catch basin! That’s when we’re going to shoot you. . . . Assuming you don’t drown, that is.”

  The words were followed by a gale of maniacal laughter as the flow grew stronger and Vium’s fear became almost palpable. “I don’t know how to swim, SL. . . . I’m going to drown.”

  “Don’t worry,” Shani replied dismissively. “Taget is full of shit.”

  But she was worried, and being an empath, Vium could “feel” it.

  “Okay,” Shani said, as the water continued to rise. “Maybe this is for real. . . . Let’s throw a couple of flash-bangs into the chamber and come out shooting. Given a little bit of luck, we’ll take a couple of those assholes with us. Check your weapons.”

  Then, before either one of them could take action, they heard a sudden rattle of gunfire, followed by the equally lethal zing of ricocheting bullets, as something round blocked the opening to the pipe. Then Three-Ball was inside and pushing his way upstream as the steadily increasing flow of water threatened to eject him. Shani recognized the voice that issued from the external speaker as Cato’s. “Stay where you are. . . . We’re coming in.”

  Shani felt her heart leap even as a solid column of water blew all three of them out into the chamber, where the Umans splashed into the pool of stagnant water below. Shani heard the muted sound of gunfire as she went under but was forced to let go of her pistols in order to grab Vium and try to keep the nonswimmer afloat. The pair surfaced long enough for Shani to catch a momentary glimpse of a snarling Kelf, a bald Uman, and a plug-ugly Ur, all of whom were firing down at her as the water from the pipe roiled the surface. Then, in spite of Shani’s best efforts to keep both of them from sinking, cold water closed over her helmet.

  The problem was that the weight of her gear, plus Vium’s stuff, was pulling both of them down as bullets plunged into the pool around them. They were deadly as they entered the water but soon lost their force, as Vium produced a string of bubbles that followed each other toward the shimmery light above. That was when Three-Ball stunned the Ur, took two rounds through his housing, and burped black smoke before splashing into the catch basin. The entire team was down.

  Emperor Emor was dead, the end of an era had arrived, and the streets were swarming with thousands of people. Most of the crowds were peaceful, but there had been opportunistic rioting in Port City, the neighboring Tank Farm, and the X Quarter. That, coupled with the fact that the streets were virtually impassable, meant the command structure had been more than happy to let Cato and the Praetorians handle what they saw as a comparatively simple problem.

  So, as a century of uniformed soldiers struggled to keep the surging crowd back from the rope lines that had been used to cordon off the area where four streets converged, Cato and four members of the Praetorian Guard were about to drop straight down through the four vertical pipes that were equally spaced around the intersection. They were the same drains through which grenades had been dropped during the ambush hours earlier.

  The circular lids had been removed, and makeshift tripods had been set up over each opening, where they stood ready to support Cato and
his companions as they lowered themselves into the system below. The Xeno cop was arguably the least-prepared person on the team since, unlike members of the bunko squad, the Praetorians practiced such maneuvers on a regular basis.

  Still, Cato knew how to rappel, and that was the main skill that would be required. That, and shooting straight while dangling from the end of a rope. Every second was precious, so having received ready signs from the rest of the team, Cato gave the necessary order. “Now!”

  The interior of the tube was little more than a dark blur as Cato dropped through it. There was a sudden explosion of light as he entered the chamber, followed by a jerk as he came to a halt ten feet above the catch basin.

  As Cato made a grab for the weapon hanging across his chest, he saw that a horizontal column of water was shooting out of a pipe and arcing into the roiling catch basin below. Meanwhile, having been surprised by the unexpected attack, a group of armed suspects fired up at the targets dangling above them.

  That was a mistake. Two of the Praetorians got off sustained bursts before Cato even squeezed the trigger. The perps fell like wheat to a scythe—and the battle was over in a matter of seconds. But where were Shani and Vium? There was no sign of them until two heads broke the surface of the water.

  Having shed her body armor, Shani managed to help Vium to the surface, where she fully expected to be killed. But as their heads emerged into a maelstrom of roiling water, and they hurried to suck air into their aching lungs, both variants were thrilled to discover that the shooting was over.

  Three-Ball was floating half-submerged in the pool, having taken two rounds through his CPU, but he gave Vium something to hang on to as the rescue party lowered themselves onto the ledge below. Fifteen minutes later, Shani and Vium were out of the water and up on the street, where an air ambulance was waiting to whisk them away. “I’m sorry,” Shani said miserably as she looked up into Cato’s face.