Crown of Empire

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “And what about us?” asked Chaney, although he was beginning to see the sense of her plan.

  “I know the Palace very well, and I know where we can hide out if we have to.” She did not add that she hoped that one or two of her staff had survived and might be hiding in the Palace, as well.

  “What do you mean?” Chaney was wary now.

  “There are secret passages in the walls. They’re for the Kona Tatsu. My father showed me where they are and how to reach them.”

  He could not help but agree with her. “All right. It makes sense.”

  “I thought we’d set down outside the walls. There’s bound to be people from the city who’ve come out to watch the fighting, and to do what they can to use it to advantage. We could—”

  “You mean you expect looters? So soon?” Chaney was amazed at how calmly she suggested it.

  “I’d be a fool not to,” she said. “And it could mean we’d have a better chance to arrive unnoticed. If we try to set down inside the walls, even in a Navy aircar, someone might pay attention.”

  “But outside, there would be other arrears, and—”

  “And every kind of vehicle you can imagine. If we arrive in this, no one will think anything of it. It will be just one more aircar. And if we leave it where there are many others, then when the Navy follows the tracer, they’ll have to sort through the confusion.” She glanced at him. “Not too bad, do you think?”

  “It could work,” Chaney allowed.

  “And it wouldn’t be risky. Under the circumstances, Lieutenant, I think it’s the best we can come up with.”

  “All right, then. I’ll check our supplies here.” He rose and went back to find the weapons lockers.

  “Plenty of weapons,” he called to her, pulling out two railguns with shoulder straps. On further reflection, he pulled out two more. Two people, two shoulders each. He opened another locker: half a dozen bandoliers of railgun ammunition. Very nice.

  The next locker held ration kits and Chaney suddenly realized how hungry he was. He brought his finds forward.

  “Hungry?” He held a ration bar in front of Tira’s mouth.

  “Ick,” she said, shying away. “What’s that?”

  “Food,” he answered. Somehow, he’d almost forgotten that she wasn’t a soldier. “Rations. Portable feast.”

  “Good Lord,” she said. “That’s what we feed our soldiers?”

  “Yup.” He sat down and took a bite of his own ration bar.

  “No wonder the Navy’s mutinied.” She wrinkled her nose and Chaney’s heart gave a little jump.

  Tira finally bit into the ration bar. “Guess it’s better than starving,” she conceded.

  Chaney laughed, an amazing feeling of pure delight coming over him.

  “We’ll be fine,” he said. “Somehow, one way or another, we’ll be fine.”

  They rode on toward the Palace.

  * * *

  They landed the aircar on the far side of the Senatorial building from the Palace. There were dozens of aircars parked there and they hoped the crowd would slow down any pursuers.

  They made their way around the Senatorial building and across the open plaza to the Palace. There were crowds in the plaza: civilians of all classes, fighting, screaming, walking in stunned silence; and soldiers: Secretarial Guard, Navy—Logistics and Protectorate both—and a few plain black Kona Tatsu uniforms. Chaney and Tira shoved through the crowds, clutching their weapons and watching for trouble.

  Finally they entered the Palace itself. Here the bustle was greater, not less. Clerks moved through the halls at a frantic pace, carrying papers, boxes, and even furniture. Tira couldn’t tell if they were looting or doing their jobs.

  They reached a dropshaft without incident, which Tira admitted made her suspicious. “There’s only one place to go with this, the crossover. No other stops.”

  “Let’s try it,” said Chaney.

  Tira stepped into the dropshaft and activated it, relieved when it actually worked.

  They reached the crossover in seconds, and found the whole of the long connecting tunnel a mass of scattered debris and abandoned dead. Most of the bodies were aliens—Daphneans and Peomers—but there were clerks and Treasury uniforms among them.

  “It must have been quite a fight,” said Chaney.

  “Look at that on the wall. Rainbow Dawn. What does that mean?” Tira pointed to the huge scrawled letters.

  “Don’t ask me,” said Chaney, and started cautiously down the crossover toward the southeast tower.

  They had reached the tower when three clerks rushed out on them, holding chair legs for clubs and blocking their way.

  “You can’t come in. No one can come in.” The clerk nearest them took a frightened, brave step forward. “Leave. Now.”

  “We’re both armed. We have guns,” said Chaney patiently, not wanting to hurt the terrified clerks.

  Tira did not step back either. “But I live here,” she said simply.

  The clerk stared at her. “Thousands of people live here,” he blustered. “That means nothing.”

  “It does to me,” said Tira. “And it must to you, or you would have left with the others.”

  The nearest clerk looked perplexed. “Well, someone has to keep order. We can’t all run away or it would all be . . . lost.”

  “Yes,” said Tira, taking a step nearer the clerk. “I’ve been trying to get back here since the first attack yesterday. Do you think you could let me and my guard through, if we give you our words that we won’t do any damage?”

  As she came closer, the clerk suddenly recognized her. He turned to the others. “What do you think?”

  They were too scared to speak, but one of them nodded.

  “All right. Go through.” The clerk kept his chair leg at the ready. “If anything happens, it will be on your head.”

  “Fine,” said Chaney, and followed Tira down the hall.

  “That was taking quite a chance,” he said to her as they moved out of earshot.

  “Those clerks are the ones taking the chance. We could have killed them.” She was very serious. “They have a lot of courage, staying here, defending the Palace. They could be looting, but they’re not. They’re the kind of people my father wanted the Pact for.”

  They found a relatively isolated lift tube and stepped in, Tira in the lead.

  “Do you know where we are?” asked Chaney.

  “Yes. In fact, if I recall properly, we’re headed someplace safe. I hope.”

  The lift tube led to the nursery.

  “I haven’t been up here for years. I’ll bet Wiley hasn’t either,” said Tira. “Jessine hasn’t given my father any heirs, thank heavens; it’s probably been forgotten.”

  The genescan monitor was still working. It politely informed them that it required authorization before the doors could be opened. Tira put her hand on the scanner and winced when the machine said, “Missy Tira-Lira. How good to see you again.”

  “Missy Tira-Lira?” Chaney asked as they went through the door.

  “I was a kid,” she answered defensively.

  All the furniture was moved against the walls and shrouded in dustsheets. No toys lay on the floor, none of the teaching displays were on. After the ravishment of the rest of the Palace, these neglected apartments seemed pleasantly serene.

  “Forgotten?” remarked Chaney, pointing down.

  There were footprints in the dust.

  He swung up one of his railguns. “Wait,” he said quietly, and followed the footprints. Tira shouldered one of her own guns and backed him up.

  The footprints led through a doorway and behind a giant stuffed gorilla. Chaney stopped several feet from the toy.

  “Come out with your hands up,” he said.

  There was a single shriek, and then a gowned figure appeared from behind the gorilla, hands raised, calling tearfully, “Please, don’t shoot.”

  Tira gave a joyful yelp and let her weapon hang from its strap. “Cousin Helga!”
She passed Chaney to go to her cousin.

  “Tira!” exclaimed the old lady, and opened her arms to embrace Tira. “Oh, my dear,” she said, weeping unashamedly. “Oh. Oh, gracious. It really is you.”

  Chaney stared, baffled.

  “She’s my cousin, Chaney,” explained Tira. “I thought you were dead, Helga. What are you doing here?”

  The old woman looked flustered, then sighed heavily. “I know I should have stayed in your quarters. But I couldn’t . . . bear to clean it up. Half the outer wall was gone, and there were bodies everywhere. There was blood on the ceiling. I . . . I couldn’t bear it, Tira. So I came up here. Just until things settled down.”

  “That was very sensible of you,” said Tira.

  Cousin Helga shook her head. “No. No, I’m afraid I’ve been very foolish. If I hadn’t given the Treasury men access to your chambers, none of this would ever have happened.”

  “You gave the Treasury access—” Tira demanded, too amazed to be outraged

  “They said you were in danger, you see. They said the Haiken Maru was going to kidnap you. Or worse. Kitchley informed me of the trouble, and we agreed that the Treasury officers were the ones to protect you. But . . . but it turned out so very badly.” She started to cry again.

  Tira put her arm around Cousin Helga’s shoulder. “Don’t cry, dear. You mustn’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

  Chaney came closer to them, looking down at Cousin Helga. “I’m afraid Kitchley was wrong,” he said as kindly as he could. “It wasn’t the Haiken Maru who did this.” His eyes turned somber. “It was Admiral Sclerida who killed the High Secretary.”

  Cousin Helga stared at Chaney in shock. “Admiral Sclerida?”

  Chaney’s voice hardened. “The High Secretary was killed on his order. I’m certain of it.”

  “Chaney,” said Tira, but she wasn’t as shocked as she thought she should be.

  Cousin Helga began to cry in earnest.

  Chapter 11

  Thick underbrush offered Jessine cover almost as soon as she’d slammed the fire door behind her. She moved away through the brush, taking care to leave as little trail as possible. In spite of the battle, she feared she might still be pursued, for if Governor Merikur should arrive with troops, the tables might easily be turned on the attackers.

  She found a creek and decided to follow it. Very soon, she came to a boundary fence. It was essentially invisible, consisting of squat pillars of metal and stone spaced about every hundred meters. The pillars contained transmitters that sent signals to the pain centers of Horizon Park's animal inhabitants. The transmitters allowed for a buffer of about a hundred meters between strips, a sort of no-beasts-land where pain implants ruled.

  Jessine followed the stream through the buffer and into the next strip. She was now in the Hillimot sector, a thickly wooded place with a variety of evergreen-type trees and flowers the size of platters. There were flying creatures here, as brightly colored as tropical parrots but more closely resembling large bats. After the chaos of the Palace and then Kitchley’s house, the sector seemed peaceful, and Jessine let herself be entranced by its beauty and calm.

  A wail, sharp and high, broke that calm.

  Jessine went very still. There were bauins in this sector, she remembered—long, leggy predators of stealthy habits and relentless appetites. They hunted in packs, surrounding their prey and making escape impossible.

  She stepped into the stream. The water would help keep the bauins from smelling her. She hoped the bauins hunted by smell.

  The sound of the bauin was echoed by another. Stream or no stream, they seemed to be coming closer. She clutched at her rifle, then picked up a rock instead. Maybe she could divert it.

  She threw the rock. It crashed into the underbrush and the wails stopped for a moment. She picked up another rock.

  She stood still for several moments, but could not hear any more bauin calls. She slogged forward in the creek. Somewhere up ahead there had to be a monorail station, and when she found it, she would be safe. Might be safe, anyhow.

  A hundred yards farther on, the creek became a small river. In places the bank was too steep for her to walk and she had to swim, and hope her weapons survived. After the first dunk, she ditched the poncho. It wasn’t heavy, but it dragged at her and hindered her strokes.

  A pillar on either side and the river rolled into the next sector: Dellos.

  At once the environment changed, the vegetation became sparse and pulpier. There were few trees, and those stood near the river. Standing along the banks was a small herd of loose-limbed sylees, high-shouldered and narrow-haunched. They were formidable leapers, a necessary survival trait for the favorite prey of sand wolves, the rail-thin coursing carnivores called ninikik on Dellos.

  Jessine swam slowly, rolling over now and then to check for signs of sand wolves.

  The sylees kept their heads moving between drinks, and ambled restlessly from one spot to another, always prepared to run.

  The river was growing louder. Jessine knew there was a canyon ahead, and rapids. She wanted to leave the water now, before it got any faster and the walls of the canyon trapped her.

  Jessine could see the first drop-off of rapids a short distance ahead in the river, and she fought her way toward the shore. But the river was strong and fast now, and she smashed into a shoal of hidden rocks, bruising her legs. Her arms scraped on a boulder as she strove to grab hold of it, but she refused to let the pain loosen her grip, and this time she did not get pulled from safety.

  Slowly, aching from the battering in the river, she dragged herself onto the rock, and sat there a short while to inspect her bruises. Sighing at the colors she knew would come later, she rose and started up the slope for the plateau over the canyon.

  It was a long canyon, growing deeper for fifteen miles, and then slowly giving way to the rocky slopes at the back of Horizon Park, more than thirty miles away. Jessine had often seen it from the air but had never been this close to it. The canyon divided the Dellos Sector from the Daphnean sector. At its far end there was a fairly good-sized settlement where the families of the Horizon Park maintenance staff lived, but that was too far and they might well be Rainbow Dawn adherents.

  The monorail was still her best bet, but she still had not caught sight of it, and she fumed at the planners of the Park, who had been at such pains to be sure the monorail was not intrusive.

  Coming to high ground, she paused. As she turned in a circle, a bright flicker caught the corner of her eye. She focused on it. Back toward Kitchley’s house, something was burning. She wondered how fast the fire would spread.

  Behind her, suddenly, she heard the eerie chuckle of sand wolves who’ve found their prey.

  She whirled, lifting her rifle to firing position, but the wolves had found something else to eat. Jessine bolted, heading for the sector line. If she could reach the buffer before the wolves killed their meal, she might be able to rest safely.

  Safely. If you could call it safe to be caught between sets of wild beasts. No more dangerous, in a way, she thought, than being caught between two—or more—sets of wild political factions. At least the beasts would simply eat her and be done with it.

  She spotted the transmitter pillars and pushed herself harder. Meters before the boundary, she stopped short. A Cernian spabot, massive, mauve and scaly, stood beside a pillar, honking in surprise.

  Jessine stared at the beast, and realized that the power had failed, for the spabot was on Deltas sector ground.

  The power station! thought Jessine. Someone must have hit it!

  She moved as quickly as she could to get out of the path of the tremendous animal, watching its nervous progress as she went.

  The chuckles of the sand wolves stopped.

  The spabot made its ponderous way forward, armored head lowered defensively, long, rough-scaled tail flicking.

  Then the sand wolves appeared over a ridge and ran directly at the spabot. Two of them leapt to sink teeth into the meaty s
houlder.

  The huge tail slapped the first wolf away, and the second could not sink his teeth into the thick, loose hide.

  As the spabot lashed his tail again, the end slapped Jessine across the shoulders, sending her staggering, black spots forming before her eyes.

  The sand wolves began to circle the spabot, one or two of them eyeing Jessine speculatively. She raised her rifle and put her bruised back against the pillar.

  A new cry brought her head around. A hunting pack of Cernian blue lions had come from the trees to find their planned spabot dinner under attack. They were displeased.

  The spabot made a short lunge at the sand wolves, and this time one of the Deillos wolves took hold, sinking his curved fangs deep into the huge upper lip of the spabot.

  With a rumbling squeal the spabot swung its tail in frenzy and attempted to pull the sand wolf off.

  Jessine swung the rifle from threat to threat.

  Overhead there was the sound of an aircar. It dropped down to hover above the fighting beasts. The hatch opened and someone opened fire. A path opened between Jessine and the aircar, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to trade her wild beasts for wild politicians.

  “Jessine! Stop daydreaming and get in here!”

  It was Damien Ver. Her mind hesitated, but her heart didn’t. She rushed to the ladder he held for her, and dragged herself up it and into his arms.

  Chapter 12

  The tank slammed into the pavement. Its nose was buried in the ground and it teetered for a moment. Inside, Wiley took the shock against an expanding gel cocoon. Before he had quite registered what had happened, the pavement lost its grip and the tank slammed down to horizontal. The treads squeaked as they caught at the surface and then the power died.

  Catching his breath, Wiley pushed out of the gel cocoon and through the still-open hatch.

  He ducked back in as gunfire snapped around him. More cautiously, he peeked over the edge. There were human guards in gas masks standing in the doorway of the warehouse. Senator Lomax was there, waving his arms and shouting. Wiley dropped back into the tank and tried to think.