Bones of Empire (29 page)

So, with no one to speak to, Verafti had little choice but to make his way up toward the front of the room and sit down. Then, with legs crossed, he settled in to wait. A person was present nearby. Verafti could “feel” the Uman's emotions. They consisted of boredom tinged with curiosity. Regarding him? Yes, most certainly. Visitors were probably rare that time of day, especially people the observer didn't already know, which would account for the way he or she felt.

Then why not come out of hiding? Verafti wondered. Unless he was being subjected to a test. A period of waiting intended to separate serious seekers from the merely curious. So he sat, and sat some more, even though the emotional presence came and went occasionally.

Finally, after the better part of two hours had passed, Verafti heard a momentary swish of fabric as a woman appeared. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, which served to emphasize a high forehead. She was dressed in a silky red fabric that was wrapped around her body in an artful manner with a small amount of excess cloth thrown back over her left shoulder. “Can I help you?” The words sounded like a challenge rather than an offer of assistance.

“That depends,” Verafti answered evenly. “I have a message for Rahati. . . . Can you deliver it?”

Lamplight danced in the woman's almond-shaped eyes. “The goddess already knows that which lies within,” she replied gravely. “There is no need for a messenger.”

“My message is for the person rather than the goddess,” Verafti countered. “If she is the person I think she is, we were friends once. Extremely good friends.”

The woman was annoyed, and Verafti could “feel” it. “Rahati is there in front of you. Say what you will to her. Then I must ask you to leave.”

When the shape shifter morphed into his
true
form, the woman screamed and attempted to run. But Verafti was fast, and she hadn't traveled more than a few feet before he caught up with her. He had only one hand, but that was sufficient. His fingers were like steel. “Go to Rahati,” he commanded. “Communicate what you saw. And tell her that I would cross a thousand stars to be with her. She will know my name. Fail me, and I will kill you.”

“I w-w-won't fail you,” the woman said piteously. “Please don't hurt me.”

“Tell her to meet me in the botanical gardens,” Verafti said. “I will go there each night for the next two nights. Do you understand?”

“The b-b-botanical gardens,” the woman said, “each night for the next two nights. I will tell her.” She was telling the truth, he could “feel” it, and a feeling of joy bubbled up from deep within. Demeni was there! Somewhere nearby . . . Soon to be by his side.

“Good,” Verafti said as he released his grip. And then, as suddenly as the first change had taken place, he was Uman again. “So, tell me,” the shape shifter said pleasantly as he bent to retrieve his umbrella. “Is it still raining?”

 

 

Kybor's once-thriving warehouse district was located just south of the spaceport. But now, having been cut off from the Uman Empire for months, the only outbound cargoes were shipments of germanium bound for factories deep inside the Vord Hegemony.

The area had been hard hit during the Vord landings, and huge craters marked the spots where bombs had gone off or incoming missiles had struck. Many structures had been destroyed or were so damaged as to be useless.

There were survivors, however. Most of them were one-story metal-sheathed buildings that were locked up to keep vagrants out. Some were guarded by club-toting Urs—others had airborne drones for protection.

So the cabbie was understandably nervous as he turned onto Orby Road and began to watch for number 4311. “Are you sure this is where you want to go?” the driver inquired doubtfully. “I thought you were taking them home.”

The male suspect groaned at that point and was in the process of trying to sit up when Shani stunned him again. “Nope,” Cato answered. “This is the place all right. Rents are cheaper down here. There it is. . . . Number 4311.”

The taxi slowed, passed through an already opened security gate, and came to a halt. There were no signs of life. Just a stripped truck, a lot of litter, and the head-high graffiti that decorated the front of the shabby warehouse. But appearances can be deceiving. Security cameras were mounted here and there all around the building, and as Cato got out of the car, he saw one of them move. The device might be synched up to a motion detector, but Cato thought he could “feel” emotional activity nearby and was pretty sure he was under surveillance.

“Okay,” Cato said, as Shani got out to join him. “Let's pull them out of the cab. Assuming there are people inside, that should bring them out to speak with us.”

Shani eyed the cameras, “felt” a rising sense of consternation, and nodded. Five minutes later, both of the suspects were laid out on the duracrete. Cato dropped three Imperials into the driver's hand and looked him in the eye. “I took your license number off the card in the back. That means I can find you. This trip never took place.”

“What trip?” the cabbie responded as he made the Imperials disappear. Seconds later, he was behind the wheel, guiding the car out onto Orby Road. At that point, he gunned the engine and sped away.

“I don't mean to be critical,” Shani put in as she eyed the warehouse. “But how will we make it home?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” Cato answered, as a large sliding door rumbled open to reveal a pile of cargo modules. “But if things go well, the people in the warehouse will give us a lift.”

“And if things
don't
go well?” Shani inquired, removing her weapon from its holster.

“Then we'll be in deep shit,” Cato replied evenly, as a pair of heavily armed men walked out onto the loading platform and stood in front of the cargo modules.

“Who the hell are you?” the larger man demanded belligerently. He had a bulging forehead, piggy eyes, and an underthrust jaw.

“We're the people these idiots were sent to find,” Cato answered as he placed a foot on the male suspect's posterior.

Piggy Eyes was silent for a moment. “Are they dead?”

“No, just stunned. I suggest that you send someone to carry them inside.”

The man turned his head back toward the building's interior, spoke to a person Cato couldn't see, and turned back again. Then, as six men and women filed out onto the platform, Piggy Eyes jerked the submachine gun to the left. “Take your foot off my nephew's ass.”

Cato grinned and took a step backward. “Sorry . . . So are you going to invite us in for a chat? Or should I call the Vords and ask them to join us?”

Piggy Eyes opened his mouth to respond but was overridden as a young woman appeared in the doorway. “Thank you, Bif. . . . I'll take it from here. Officer Cato? Officer Shani? Please come in. We have some pretty thick cloud cover at the moment, but the Vords keep a close eye on the city from orbit.”

Cato returned his weapon to its holster, and Shani did the same as the semiconscious male suspect was carried into the building. The same young woman was waiting for them inside. Her blond hair was worn in a buzz cut, and outside of a pair of dangly earrings, she had a hard, almost masculine appearance. She was dressed in an olive drab shirt over baggy militia trousers and a pair of scuffed combat boots. A large pistol was strapped to her right thigh, and something about her stance suggested that she knew how to use it. “My name is Olivia Arrius,” she said. “Welcome to Therat.”

“Arrius?” Cato inquired. “As in
Governor
Arrius?”

“The same,” the young woman responded gravely. “Governor Arrius is my father.”

“We thought he was dead,” Cato replied. “That's what the Vords told us.”

“And they did their damnedest to kill me,” a male voice said. “But I'm a cantankerous old bastard, and they missed.”

Cato turned to discover that a man dressed in military fatigues had emerged from an office. He had a thick shock of white hair, the same sky blue eyes that Olivia had, and two days' worth of stubble on his cheeks. “Milo Demby was my personal assistant for more than twenty years. He took three bullets for me and lies buried in my grave.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Cato said respectfully. “So, are you leading the resistance? The people who stage demonstrations?”

“The people who commit suicide is more like it,” Arrius replied sadly. “They are very brave—but foolish. No, my daughter and I lead another group. Rather than complain about the Vords, we think it makes more sense to kill them.”

“No offense,” Shani put in as she spoke for the first time. “But if the two people you sent to look for us are typical of your troops, you aren't going to get very far.”

Arrius shrugged. “Most of our volunteers have little or no experience at this sort of thing. Once the Vords announced your arrival, we sent the best we had. How did you find us anyway?”

Cato fished a piece of cardboard out of his pocket and gave it over. “Your male operative was carrying this in his wallet.”

Arrius looked at the business card. One of many that had been found in the office he was using. It read: ROSSI & SONS, 4311 ORBY ROAD, KYBOR SOUTH.

The governor made a face. “You can see what I'm up against. Please follow me.”

So the police officers followed, with Olivia Arrius and Bif bringing up the rear. Cato could tell that both the governor and his daughter felt suspicious as Arrius led them into a makeshift living area. It was furnished with rows of sloppily made beds, racks of weapons, and two folding tables. “Welcome to our kitchen, dormitory, and conference room,” Arrius said airily as he paused next to a circle of mismatched chairs. “Have a seat.”

“Sorry, sire,” Cato said as he turned and slipped in behind the governor. “But it appears that there are issues of mutual trust that need to be resolved before we can have a chat. Please instruct your daughter, Bif, and the rest of your people to place their weapons on the floor and step back from them.”

Arrius sighed. “It seems we're outclassed. Olivia . . . Bif . . . the rest of you . . . Put your weapons down and step back.”

Olivia obeyed, and, with obvious reluctance, the others did as well. “That's better,” Cato said, as the freedom fighters glowered at him. “Now, let's get everything out into the open. The Vords ran a story about us, so you wonder if we're legit—or collaborators sent to help track you down.

“The answer is that the Vords told the truth. Or at least part of it. We're here at the behest of both governments, looking for a couple of criminals who represent a threat to sentients everywhere. That's all I can tell you for the moment since the exact nature of the threat is classified.”

“That makes for an interesting story,” Olivia Arrius said cynically, “but how do we know it's true?”

“Well, there is
this
,” Cato said as he flashed his badge, “plus the fact that Xeno cops aren't all that common, so it's unlikely that the Vords would be able to subvert any.”

Arrius looked interested. “So you can read our thoughts?”

“No, but we can sense your emotions,” Cato replied. “That's why I have a gun to your head.”

“Okay,” Arrius said, “I believe you.”

“His daughter doesn't,” Shani put in.

“I'm starting to,” Olivia allowed cautiously.

Cato “felt” Olivia's growing acceptance of the situation and holstered his weapon.

Shani did the same.

“So,” Arrius said, once he was seated. “You can't tell us the exact nature of your mission.”

“No,” Cato agreed. “But I can tell you this . . . Other than arrest two criminals if we can—my team won't be providing any assistance to the Vords. And there's reason to hope that the Empire will send a task force to free Therat soon.”

The resistance fighters listened with growing interest as Cato told them about Emperor Emor's unexpected death, how his son Brunus had taken the throne, and the increased likelihood of war. “Finally!” Governor Arrius said jubilantly, as the account came to an end. “Emor left us hanging out here, damn him to hell. I know Brunus, and he's just the kind of leader we need.

“And,” Arrius continued, “that brings me back to the present situation. Help us, and we'll help you. We know this planet the way only a native can. So if the people you're looking for are hiding in Kybor, we'll find them. Meanwhile, you can provide us with some much-needed military advice. Most of our militia were either captured or killed during the initial fighting.”

Cato was tempted. And for good reason. Because a force of locals could be extremely useful in locating Fiss Verafti and/or his lover. Of course, they could be a problem as well. Especially given how clumsy they were. The last thing Cato wanted to do was to tip the shifters off to the team's presence if they weren't already aware of it. “Okay,” Cato responded cautiously. “It's a deal, providing you and your people understand that there are certain aspects of our mission that we can't reveal and that the Vords will not only continue to watch us but will show up on our doorstep from time to time.”

“I'm glad you mentioned that,” Arrius said as he directed a meaningful glance to his daughter. “We wouldn't want to have any misunderstandings.”

And that was when the Vord air car landed out front. “We've got trouble!” one of the resistance fighters said as he looked up from a flat-panel monitor. “A carload of freaks just put down in the front yard.”

“How many?” Cato demanded.

“Four. Three of them are headed for the front door. The pilot is still at the controls.”