Piro reached out a hand, caught her chin, lifted her head. She looked him right in the eye, and he watched her so very closely. "A corrupt system ruins good men," he said.
He stepped away, eyes locked on the Empress, and crossed his arms over his chest. "This is a predicament," he said, loudly, for everyone to hear. He pointed at Colton. "You, clearly, are a liar. But your lie is muddy, and ill-kept." He pointed to the Empress. "Which suggests you, lady, are either a victim, or an accomplice. And I cannot decide which."
He looked up at the roof of the cave, where a Kgegans strapped into vine-harnesses worked to repair the tile ceiling. From age or weather or something else entirely. He sighed.
"You work for the Empire, that much is certain," he said. "But in what capacity, and to what end, is unclear."
"Now hold on—" said Colton, but got a warning snarl Ugero.
"Until we gain some clarity, you will stay here, as our guests. On your honeymoon, or whatever lie you choose to tell next." His ears went back, eyes narrowed as he said: "But if you are on the wrong side of this, my friends, be warned: we have no patience for traitors."
25
A twenty-minute walk away, they found themselves at the base of an apartment building carved out of a rock pillar — a sight that Colton didn't think he'd ever get used to. Laundry hung from the windows; smoke billowed out the chimneys that spotted the roof; a baby howled, pots and pans clanged, someone sang a song that sounded like coyotes covering Carrie Underwood.
Ugero gave Colton a final shove toward the doorway, snorting loudly to make clear his disgust at interacting with humans. He eyed the Empress carefully, from a distance, as she caught up with Colton.
"You stay here," said Ugero.
"What if we want to get out a little?" Colton ventured. "Any sights to see around here?"
"Yes," said Ugero, pointing to the nearby rooftops. "Sniper. Sniper. Sniper." He grinned. "And trust me, they see you."
Colton didn't see the snipers, but that was usually the case. He waved at them anyway, wherever they were.
"Sorry, sorry," said a wheezing voice from the doorway, and a round little Kgegan came stumbling out into the open, gasping for breath. "I lost track of time, and there are so many stairs. So many." He stopped, bent over, trying to keep from fainting.
Ugero nodded in the fat fox's direction. "This is Botobo, your keeper," he said. "What he says, you do. Understand?"
Colton observed Botobo: unless the guy had a secret talent as a marksman, he wasn't going to be an effective jailor. He looked like the kind of person who fainted at the thought of sit-ups. Hell, he'd been standing still for a solid minute, and he was still trying to catch his breath after coming down stairs.
"Humans! Answer!" snapped Ugero. "Do you understand?"
Colton nodded. "Yeah. Got it. He's the boss."
It seemed like a cruel trick that Botoba lived on the top floor of the seven-story building. The stairs themselves were made of weaved vines, in a kind of spiral design that hung down a central shaft. It swayed as they walked, and each step gave a little under their weight, which clearly made it even harder for Botobo to manage. He had to stop by the second-floor landing for five solid minutes, wheezing and humming to himself as the stairwell weaved left and right, left and right, left and right...
"You are quite muscular," Botoba said, observing Colton's physique. "I bet you are very strong."
"I'm not carrying you," Colton said.
"No, no, of course not," Botoba whimpered, and stared up the five remaining floors. "I'll be fine. I'll be... fine."
When they finally made it to the seventh floor, Botoba collapsed in a heap on the rock landing tongue hanging out, mouth pulled back as he panted like a dog sprinting through Death Valley. Colton and the Empress stepped around him, gingerly, waiting for instruction. There were three doors off the landing, and no indication which one was meant for them.
Before Botoba could say anything, the right-most of the doors opened, and a fox-woman peeked out. She was a little taller that Botoba, but slim to his round, and cautious, and reserved. She saw him lying there, and sighed.
"I could have gone, Bo," she said.
"No no," said Botoba. "I need the exercise."
"Yes you do," she said. "But not just once a month." She smiled to Colton and the Empress. "I am Yara, his wife. I apologize for the display... he does not learn. Are you hungry?"
Colton hadn't even thought of eating, but the Empress felt differently; she almost laughed with desperation. "Yes, please," she said.
Yara dipped her head, led them into the apartment.
It was a simple space, but lovingly-maintained. It was based around a central fire pit that vented into a chimney up above. Around it, a seating area was carved into the rock, and covered in furs and cushions — most threadbare, and none matching. They had a decent-sized window to the outside world, and it was beautiful: like living in a mash-up of Houston and the Grand Canyon. There was no glass over the opening, but Colton couldn't tell if that was because it had broken away, or if it had just never been there to begin with.
The walls, being solid rock, weren't decorated in the traditional sense; instead, someone had painted them with images of Botoba and Yara in their younger days: running through purple fields, watching the suns set, cradling a baby while—
"Mama?" came a small voice, and Colton saw a young fox-boy in a blue tunic, standing at the door to what must have been a bedroom. He was staring at the visitors with wide eyes. His ears were flat against his head, terrified.
"Ah, Derra," said Yara, skipping over to the child, crouching down beside him. "These are our guests. They will be staying with us for a while." She looked to Colton and the Empress, and by her expression, was just realizing she had no idea what their names were.
"Colton," he said, hand to his chest. He kept his voice gentle, because rebels or not, kids were kids.
The Empress knelt down, touched her forehead first, then her chest. "Ilina," she said. "Kita naratcho uu saza."
Derra touched his forehead, then his chest. "Uu saza metta," he said, and smiled.
Yara observed the Empress with fresh interest. "You speak Kgego-za," she said.
"My father taught me," she replied. "He called it the most beautiful tongue in the galaxy."
This clearly made Yara happy. She opened her mouth to speak, until a heavy thump from the doorway interrupted her; Botobo had finally made it inside, and was taking a little rest by the doorstep.
"Who wants tea?" he wheezed. "Let's have tea. After a nap."
They settled around the fire pit, small dishes filled with tea in their hands, and watched the flames in awkward silence. Botoba seemed too interested in his drink, so Yara took the lead in conversation:
"Did your father stay here long?" she asked the Empress.
The answer was, clearly, complicated. "As long as he could," she said. "He always spoke so fondly of it."
"Ah," smiled Yara. "So that's why you chose it for your honeymoon?"
Colton watched their guests carefully. They were friendly, sure, and not what you'd expect from prison guards, but that might be exactly why they were chosen: create a false sense of security, lull the Imperial spies into confiding in them, and then spring the trap.
He wished he could caution the Empress, but there was just no way. He had to hope she was as cynical as he was.
"Well," said the Empress, "Colton's family flies cargo in the system, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity."
"How did you two meet?" asked Yara, between sips of tea.
"Through a friend," said the Empress, at the same time that Colton said: "Cargo run." They both froze, realizing what they'd done, but Yara laughed.
"Oh, there's a good story there!" she said.
Colton scratched his chin, tried to spin a tale that would fit: "So I was helping my uncle
on a shipment. Loading, unloading, that sort of thing. We'd been at it for too many hours straight, and getting a little bleary-eyed, so after this one stop, I'm parking the truck—"
"Ship," corrected the Empress.
"Right, ship, and I guess I came in a little hot and—"
She saved him from whatever he was going to say next with: "He crushed a pallet of wine."
Yara gasped, covered her mouth, but was clearly entertained. Botoba gave Colton a look that said: "You poor stupid bastard," which fictional Colton fully deserved.
"Whose wine?" Yara asked.
"Mine," said the Empress. "Or, I should say, my family's. I was bringing it to market on Pp'tak — my first solo outing! — and he destroyed all my merchandise."
Colton shrugged. "Honest mistake."
"Stupid mistake," said the Empress.
"All my mistakes are stupid mistakes," he said. "That's why you love me."
She grinned at him. "Indeed."
Yara continued, undeterred: "Was your family angry? Did they demand punishment? Was he arrested?"
"No," said the Empress, without missing a beat, "it never came to that. Because Colton—"
"—I had no money, see, at the time. I was having a rough patch, helping out my grandpa for food and shelter, but there was no way I was going to be able to pay her back for all that wine."
The Empress patted his hand. "None at all."
"So I did the only thing I could do. I brought her out to dinner."
Botoba looked up from his tea. "That worked?"
Colton shook his head. "Not at first, no. See, I don't know if it shows, but she's a lot classier than me. Certain expectations and such. Caviar, not fried chicken."
Yara was confused: "What are those words?"
"Long story. Point is: I made a mess of things. Again. And about fifteen minutes into dinner, I knew she wanted out."
Colton stared down at his hands, trying to capture the image of that moment in time, back in that bar in Houston when that gorgeous girl with the wavy locks set down her cocktail and said:
"Well, it's getting late."
And Colton, young and raw and unable to conceive of defeat in any form, caught her hand across the table, gave her a wink. "How 'bout a dance?" he asked.
She looked at the dance floor, empty and tired at 8 o'clock, a bad song on the jukebox, and she shook her head no. "I've got an early morning," she said.
"Just one dance," he said, standing, backing his way towards the floor. "That's all I'm asking."
She sighed, rolled her eyes so he could see, and let him lead her out. And somehow, magically, the moment he put his hand at her back, the music changed to a lush, haunting slow song — like the universe was rigged in his favour.
He gave her a grin, and she stepped a little closer, and they danced together in silence. And just near the end, when she was thinking to herself: "I don't want this to end..." his hand touched her skin in just the right way, and she looked up into his eyes, and they—
"And you knew," said Yara, snapping him out of his daydream.
The Empress stared at him, knowing something, but not knowing what. She swallowed, nodded. "We knew."
Colton felt for the cigarettes in his pocket. Still there. He took solace in that, but didn't say much for the rest of the evening.
26
Yara paused by the door. "If you need anything, we're just out here," she said. "Goodnight."
And with that, they were alone. There was only one bedroom, so Botoba and his family had to sleep outside, by the fire. Colton and the Empress were granted a cramped and stuffy space, filled with even more furs in lieu of a bed. The window was small, but had a brilliant view of the Kgegan moon on its ascent.
Colton undid his vest, set it and his holster in a pile in the corner, along with his hat and shades and pack.
"You were quiet," said the Empress, watching him. "At dinner, you were quiet."
He snapped out of his daze, started unlacing his boots. "Thinking," he said.
He didn't even notice her approach, but when she spoke next, she was next to him, and her voice was low. "Think about what?" she asked.
He didn't want to talk about it. Not the actual it. So instead, he cut his volume in half and said: "A way out of here."
She crouched down next to him, so they wouldn't be overheard. "Is there a way out of here?"
It's not that he hadn't given it any thought, but the assessment was definitely not pretty.
"Did you notice what they had in the cave? Far side, opposite of where we were?"
She shook her head. "I was focused on other matters."
"Landing strips. Markings to help ships land. Which means they have ships. Which means—"
"But even if we find one, neither of us can fly it."
"We're not going to fly," he said. "We're calling for help. Give the Empire our location, and wait for them to send in the cavalry."
She didn't seem convinced. "But to get there, we'll have to go straight into the hub of Piro's operations. That's suicide."
"I know," he said. "That's where I'm stumped. Odds are, any distraction we create will read like a distraction, and they'll double their guard. But it's going to be damn near impossible to sneak in, while we've got attentive babysitters like this."
She wrinkled her nose in thought, and suggested: "Perhaps if I ask to speak to Piro, it will get us close enough to—"
"No," he said, teeth grinding with frustration. "The less we see Piro, the better. I don't want to run the risk he'll see through your little vineyard lie, and—"
"It's not a lie," she said, and he gave her a confused look. "I mean, it's not entirely a lie. My family did run a vineyard on Reesius, and my ancestor did save the regional governor from a runaway cart."
Colton was getting more confused, not less. "So how did a family winemakers end up on the Imperial throne?"
It was a story she had heard often — he could see it in the way she spoke — but it was one she'd never said herself. "The governor was transferred to a lawless outland planet, told to broker a peace. But within a year, he found himself under siege, trapped in his palace and running out of food."
She stared at her hands, twisting her fingers. "My ancestor, Syampi, he had no military training. No skills beyond growing grapes and making wine. But the moment he heard of his patron's situation, he raised an army on Reesius, bankrolled a fleet, and rode to the rescue..."
"Brave man," said Colton.
"Foolish, more like," she said. "He saved his former governor, against the wishes of his current one. They razed his farm as punishment, killed his whole family, burned the homes of his friends and neighbors." She smiled to herself. "And I suppose that was when he decided what kind of Emperor he wanted to be."
"Huh?" asked Colton.
She ignored his confusion. "He returned to Reesius with the army he'd built, and overthrew the ruling class there. And then he made his way across the galaxy, planet by planet, judging the sins of each governor and acting according to his principles."
She squeezed her hands together, tightly. "By the time he reached Iffrysilia, he old Emperor was as good as defeated. His advisors had abandoned him. He suffered daily assassination attempts." That one, in particular, stung to say. "He had nothing left to do but hand over his crown and beg for mercy."
"Was it given?" asked Colton.
She shook her head, slightly. "Syampi lived in absolutes, and to him, the old Emperor was the ruler of such a corrupt system. An absolute evil."
Colton could tell she didn't agree with that worldview. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. "In my experience," he said, "people are either good or evil. It's just a question of how good at it they are."
She nodded, blankly, and took a bracing breath. "Which is why we need to get out of here as soon as possible. Before w
e discover how good Piro is at being evil. In the morning, I'll ask to speak to him and—"
"No, absolutely not. What if he spends the night looking up your story, and realizes it matches the official biography of the Empress of—"
"Then what would you suggest?" she asked. "Because you said yourself there's no way we can sneak into that cave undetected."
Colton's face twitched in thought. "Not together, no."
She blanched. "You don't mean...?"
"I have to go alone," he said. "If I go alone, I'll stand the best chance of—"
"You're not leaving me here," she hissed. "It's your job to protect me!"
"And I am," he said, trying to keep his voice low, to keep her from outright yelling. "And as long as you're a winemaker's daughter, you're safer here than anywhere else. But the longer we stay, the more likely Piro will discover the truth, and the more dangerous it becomes."
She was not impressed. "If you leave me here, I will—"
"It's only temporary, your Maj—"
She covered his mouth with her hand, shook her head. "Not here," she whispered. "Not that word. Don't risk it."
He nodded, and she took her hand away. "Ilina," he said and, oddly, felt weird doing so. "If there were any other way, I wouldn't even consider it."
She stared down at her hands, pulling at the long sleeves to her dress. It was still impeccable, but it had taken quite a beating since he first saw it, in the Royal Suite, so many hours ago. Back then, they'd been as close to enemies as his job would allow — held together by a sense of duty and nothing else. But now...
"Wait a day," she said. "We only just got here. We should look around more. See if there are better options."
He really wasn't keen. Really wasn't keen. But she wasn't wrong. His adrenaline was still pumping after so much drama, it might do him good to take a breath.
"OK," he said. "We'll do recon tomorrow, and if nothing better comes along, I'll go tomorrow night."
"Thank you," she said, softly. "I do trust you, despite how it may look." She got a faint smile on her face. "And I also... I realize I never thanked you properly," she said. "For saving my life."
The Galactic Empress' Bodyguard Page 10
