Taken together, the three faces represented the various aspects of the Uman race, meaning male, female, and the sexless creature within. The latter was revered by the Rahaties as the “true” nature of the species, which should be held in check where fellow adherents were concerned but could legitimately be released in order to battle the unenlightened.
Now, as row after row of Rahaties knelt with their foreheads pressed against a patchwork quilt of expensive carpets, one of the sect’s priests led them in chanting the poem of life, a journey that began with death in the spirit world, followed by birth in the physical world, and death yet again. So that each death became a birth, as the soul cycled between worlds, eventually accumulating the wisdom necessary to join the goddess Rahati in paradise.
Once the chant came to an end, a priest made his way up onto the platform that fronted the crowd and launched into an extensive rant against the Vord occupiers. Demons, to his mind, who were not only determined to eliminate the Rahati religion but were the very embodiment of evil.
The crowd was encouraged to participate in the denunciation by chanting Ke-Ya (we believe) in unison while bringing their heads up long enough to clap their hands before bowing again.
Then, the priest having made his point, it was time for the communal feast. It began, as it always did, with the screams of a terrified Vord as he was half carried, half dragged down the center aisle and up onto the platform. Umans had been used for the purpose prior to the occupation, but ever since the Vords had begun to systematically hunt Rahaties down, they had come to replace all others on the sacrificial platform.
Servos whined as a bloodstained ceremonial table rose out of a recess in the floor, and the crowd began to clap rhythmically. The alien fought back, or tried to, as practiced hands bound his wrists and ankles to each corner of the table.
The soldier’s Ya was pulsating madly by that time as it attempted to free itself from the Vord’s nervous and circulatory systems, but the connections had been forged over a period of twenty years and were too strong to sever quickly. The priests had seen it all before and ignored the parasite as they cut the Vord’s uniform off.
By that time the crowd was chanting “RA-HA-TI, RA-HA-TI , RA-HA-TI,” over and over again as the god image came to sudden life. Though not of her invention, the role of goddess was one that Affa Demeni had learned to play to perfection, as three faces merged into one and the beast made its way forward. It was seven feet tall, very muscular, and possessed of prominent breasts and a large penis.
Having paused long enough for the audience to get a good look at her, Demeni held up her hands. The crowd roared its approval as long, thin fingers were miraculously transformed into razor-sharp claws. The goddess Rahati snarled menacingly as she bent over the helpless Vord, and he uttered a heartrending scream as her right index finger drew a line from a point just below his rib cage all the way down to his crotch. Though only half an inch deep, the incision was sufficient to slice through the alien’s peritoneum and release an explosion of purplish organs. The soldier’s scream was lost in the crowd noise as the chant “Ke-Ya” filled the chamber.
Then, knowing what her Uman followers expected of her, Demeni stuck her hand up under the alien’s ribs, felt for his heart, and expertly cut it free. Then, having removed the still-squirting organ from the Vord’s body, she held it up for the Rahati faithful to see. The response was a roar of approval, which grew even louder as Demeni took a big bite. The blood had a coppery taste, the flesh was soft and still quite warm. The morsel slid down her throat.
That was the cue for the priests to rush forward and butcher the dead body so that trays heaped with Vord tidbits could be passed through the chamber. Because to eat the flesh of an unbeliever was to consume demon energy to use against them. Meanwhile, having eaten her fill, the goddess Rahati was transformed back into stone, or so it appeared to those in the audience. The miracle was complete.
Aboard the Light of Yareel, in hyperspace
More than a week had passed since the Light of Yareel had broken orbit, pushed her way out past the battle stations that stood guard over Corin, and entered the nowhere land of hyperspace. Things had gone reasonably well at first, but it wasn’t long before the relatively small compartment began to feel like a prison, and nerves began to fray. And as Cato dealt himself another hand of Solo, he was painfully aware of the fact that he should be working. But as Shani pumped out seemingly endless push-ups, Alamy read the material he was supposed to read, and Keen eyed her longingly, Cato found that it was hard to focus.
Keen had been smart enough to check with Cato before hitting on Alamy. However, rather than tell Keen the complete truth, as he should have, Cato told the other officer that Alamy was free to enter relationships with whomever she chose, with predictable results. So that when Keen began to flirt with Alamy, and her owner did nothing to stop it, she knew his permission had been given. That made her feel hurt and angry.
Cato knew that, and wanted to talk to Alamy about it, but they were never alone. And having been abandoned by the man she had been ready to give her everything to, she was starting to laugh at Keen’s jokes and perform small services for him. Cato could order her not to, of course, but that would make him look jealous and undermine his authority as the team leader. So he was sitting there, dealing cards he was only barely aware of, when Umji entered the compartment.
The Vord exchanged perfunctory greetings with Shani, Keen, and Alamy before occupying the seat directly across from Cato. While the other police officer looked the same, none of the overt hostility that normally surrounded the Vord was present, which seemed to suggest that this visit was going to be different. “So,” Umji began awkwardly, “it’s my understanding that you have a special talent.”
“Officer Shani, Officer Keen, and I are biologically engineered variants,” Cato explained patiently. “And we can sense other people’s emotions if that’s what you mean. That’s why we were chosen to go after Verafti. We will be able to recognize him regardless of the way he looks.”
“Yes,” Umji said dismissively, “I know all that. But, if my information is correct, you can tell if someone is lying.”
“We can sense the emotions associated with lying,” Cato replied, “and therefore infer that they might be lying. But we can’t read minds. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing much,” Umji lied. “This is a confined space. . . . In spite of our obvious differences, there are ways in which Vords and Umans are similar. Conflicts can arise in close quarters, and the results can be tragic.”
Cato nodded knowingly and was conscious of the fact that the others were listening. “So you have a murder on your hands,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I didn’t say that,” Umji objected.
“You didn’t have to,” Cato countered. “You’re feeling stressed, worried, and fearful. Probably because it isn’t clear who did what to whom, and the captain wants you to solve the murder in time for dinner.”
“Yes, those in command are always impatient, aren’t they?” Umji inquired rhetorically. “In any case, I thought you might be somewhat bored at this point. If so, perhaps you would welcome a chance to hone your skills and stretch your legs.”
Cato knew that if he agreed to the proposal, Shani would want to come along, and by all rights should be allowed to come along, but that would mean leaving Alamy alone with Keen. Something he wasn’t about to do. “Sure, that would be fine,” Cato said casually. “Provided that the rest of my team can come as well. Otherwise, I’ll have to pass.”
Umji was silent for a moment, and Cato could “feel” the mishmash of emotions that swirled around him. Finally, it seemed as though Umji’s need to solve the murder quickly was stronger than the other concerns he had. “Okay,” the police officer said. “With the understanding that everyone will stay together, make no attempt to communicate with members of the crew unless given permission to do so, and won’t be allowed to take pictures or make notes.”
“We also promise
to brush our teeth, eat our vegetables, and get plenty of exercise,” Cato volunteered. “Now that we have that out of the way—who was murdered?”
“A Ya named Dancha,” Umji answered. “His life partner is a Vord crewman named Esrothy Sayeska Heyavu.”
“Which means Heyavu did it, or knows who did it,” Cato observed pragmatically.
“Heyavu stabbed Dancha, he admits that,” Umji replied soberly. “But he insists that it was in self-defense.”
“How’s that possible?” Shani wanted to know as she came over to join the conversation. “No offense, Officer Umji, but based on what I can see, if would be difficult if not impossible for a Ya to murder his host. They don’t have hands, tentacles, or pseudopods. . . . So they couldn’t hold a weapon.”
“Ya don’t require weapons to kill their companions,” Umji responded bleakly. “Take my advisor Quati, for example. . . . In the same way that he can generate chemicals that are beneficial to me—he can produce toxins as well.”
Cato frowned. “Excuse my ignorance of the Vord/Ya relationship, but if a Ya kills his host, isn’t he committing suicide?”
“No,” Umji answered simply. “Not initially anyway. A Ya can survive for weeks, even a month, entirely on his own. Vords die of natural causes all the time, as do Ya, so both must be able to function until a new partner can be found.”
“I see,” Cato replied, although the truth was that he didn’t. Not entirely, anyway. “So you want us to interview Heyavu and tell you if he’s telling the truth.”
“Yes,” Umji said eagerly. “That would be very helpful.”
“Okay,” Cato said as he eyed the faces around him. “Is everyone ready?”
Shani nodded, Keen smirked, and Alamy gave him the same blank-faced look he had come to dread over the last few days. “I guess we’re ready to go,” Cato said ruefully. “Please lead the way.”
As Alamy followed the rest of the group through the hatch and out into the dimly lit corridor beyond, she felt confused. Of course, that was nothing new since her relationship with Cato had been confusing from the start. He couldn’t interact with her the way he usually did, not with Shani and Keen present all the time, she understood that. But when Keen began to flirt with her, she expected some sort of reaction from Cato. When none was forthcoming, she felt angry, because if Cato was willing to give her up to another man, then it was safe to say that he didn’t care about her and was interested in Shani. And it didn’t require an empath to know what her desires were.
The only problem with that theory was that Cato’s interactions with the other officer had been strictly professional so far, and based on his nonverbal communications, it seemed as if Keen’s continual advances troubled him. So with no opportunity for one of the private moments she treasured so much, there was nothing Alamy could do but push the other empath off and wonder what was going on.
The corridors were four Vords wide to facilitate the movement of personnel during an emergency, and wherever room allowed, side panels had been used to provide both decoration and structural integrity. Though not allowed to stop and inspect them, Alamy got the impression that the scenes stamped into the sheet metal were historical in nature because she caught glimpses of stylized Vord-on-Vord battles, elaborate hunting motifs, and sturdy castles that sat on islands or were perched high on hilltops. As if to suggest a long period of clan warfare prior to the creation of a ruling council and the subsequent conquest of other planets.
But as might be expected on a warship, most of what Alamy saw were the locks that led to secondary gun emplacements, what were obviously lifeboat bays, quick glimpses into berthing areas, what might have been the hydroponics section, and a space that smelled like a medical facility.
Then, after many twists and turns, the journey was over. A pair of armed guards came to the Vord version of attention, and there was an exchange of guttural words as the hatch irised open. “This is the ship’s brig,” Umji explained as he motioned for the Umans to enter. “Heyavu is the only prisoner at the moment.”
The group entered a rectangular space that fronted a row of four cells. A forlorn-looking Vord sat head down in one of the barred compartments. Alamy noticed that the prisoner was hooked up to what looked like an intravenous drip. Was it providing him with at least some of the chemicals that a Ya normally would? Yes, that seemed logical.
“Bring him out,” Umji ordered gruffly, and the cell door made a gentle rattling noise as it slid out of the way.
Heyavu was dressed in the Vord equivalent of blue overalls and wore slippers on his feet. A guard pushed the IV stand along as the prisoner shuffled out to the point where a metal table was welded to the deck. “Sit down,” Umji ordered, and Heyavu obeyed. The mechanism that controlled the IV beeped every once in a while as if to prove it was still working.
Alamy looked at Cato and wondered what he was thinking as he took his place across from the accused murderer. Then, as she turned her head slightly, she saw that Keen was eyeballing her and knew what he was thinking. Maybe Madam Faustus was right. . . . Maybe all men were alike.
As Cato “looked” at Heyavu, he was immediately conscious of the fact that something was missing. It felt as if the Vord was a member of an entirely different race. Because while each individual member of a particular species was unique, there were often a lot of commonalities, which he thought of as “flavors.” And the Vords were no exception.
Yet the prisoner in front of him “felt” more like a human than a Vord. Why? The obvious explanation was the absence of his Ya. Now that he was face-to-face with a parasite-free Vord, Cato realized the extent to which each Vord and Ya harmonized to project a single emotional “voice.”
Still, with the second part of the emotional signature stripped away, Cato could “feel” the suspect’s emotions even more clearly. He was frightened yet hopeful somehow. As if he believed that his current circumstances could eventually lead to something good. And that struck Cato as strange. Assuming the allegation regarding Dancha was true, and the parasite had attempted to kill his host, where was the anger one might expect Heyavu to feel?
Cato’s thoughts were interrupted as Umji took the seat next to him. “Go ahead,” the Vord instructed artlessly as he placed a translator in the middle of the table. “Ask Heyavu if he’s guilty.”
Cato made a face. “I’ll tackle this my own way if you don’t mind.”
Then, turning to Heyavu, Cato introduced himself. “My name is Jak Cato. My companions and I are working with Officer Umji on a special assignment. And, because we happen to be aboard, we were asked to speak with you regarding Dancha’s death. Whatever you say could be used against you. Do you understand?”
Heyavu looked up. He had a high forehead, prominent brows, and wary eyes. As he spoke, his thin-lipped mouth opened and closed like a trap. “Yes.”
“As I understand it, you admit to killing Dancha with a knife. . . . Is that correct?”
Cato “felt” fear mixed with a sense of satisfaction as Heyavu answered. “Yes, I had no choice. He was going to kill me.”
“Why?” Cato wanted to know.
Heyavu looked at Umji. “Answer him,” the police officer ordered sternly.
At that point Heyavu felt something Cato wasn’t entirely sure of. Embarrassment? Mixed with stress? And a vague yearning? Maybe or maybe not. “Dancha wanted me to mate with a female named Ryryl,” he responded. “He said it would be good for the bloodline. But I didn’t want to. So he tried to kill me.”
Based on the suspect’s emotions Cato knew that to be a lie. But, just to make sure, he directed a look to Shani and saw her nod. “You’re lying,” Cato said flatly as he brought his eyes back into contact with Heyavu’s. “You killed Dancha—but for a reason other than the one you gave.”
Heyavu was visibly angry. He turned toward Umji. “Why are you allowing a sub-Vord animal to question me? Aren’t you supposed to conduct the investigation?”
“You will keep a civil tongue in your mouth,” the police of
ficer answered harshly, but Cato could “feel” how worried Umji was. Introducing Uman police officers into a Vord investigation was a risky thing to do.
“Put the prisoner back in his cage,” Umji ordered. “And don’t let him speak with anyone who hasn’t been cleared by me.”
Two minutes later, the entire group was out in the hall, where Umji convened an impromptu meeting. “So he lied,” the Vord ventured.
“Yes,” Cato agreed. “He did.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Shani put in. “We are.”
“But there’s no physical evidence,” Umji objected. “I have nothing more than your word. We’ll need more than that.”
“Yes, you will,” Cato said soberly. “Emotions are tricky things. . . . And trying to read them is a subjective process. Whenever we use empathy as an investigative tool, we are required to produce corroborating proof.”
“But how will we obtain it?” Umji demanded. “Heyavu will continue to lie.”
“Find out who his friends are,” Cato suggested. “Then we’ll ask them what, if anything, they know. And if it looks like one of them is lying, you can drill down on that individual. Our job will be to narrow the field.”
Umji was silent for a moment, as if to give the matter some thought, then he nodded. “It will be as you say.”
Rather than interrogate the suspect’s associates in front of him, Umji decided to take them to the compartment where the Umans were berthed. They arrived one at a time—and in no particular order insofar as Cato could tell. It was an unpleasant process because all of the interviewees were unfailingly hostile—and uniformly ignorant where the killing was concerned. Until a Vord named Nolex Dibir Tegat was shown into the compartment, that is, which was when everything changed.
The first thing Cato noticed about the lanky crewman was that he had dark eyes, broad cheekbones, and a pointy chin. He winced as he sat down, and the empath could “feel” the Vord’s distress, and said as much. “I sense you aren’t feeling well. . . . What’s wrong?”
Bones of Empire Page 18
