Bones of Empire (37 page)

Cato bent over to help the Vord police officer up onto his feet as Shani eyed both the landing and the stairs. They were clear, so she closed the door and locked it while Cato helped Umji across the room. “What's wrong?” the Xeno cop inquired. “Are you wounded?”

“Yes,” Umji replied as he slumped into a chair. “Though not in the way you mean. Now listen, and listen carefully, because the fate of the people living on this planet depends on you. And I mean
all
of the people. Vord and Umans alike.”

Cato frowned as an explosion rattled the windows. “I don't see how that's possible—but I'm listening.”

Umji doubled over, as if in pain, then straightened again. His words came in short bursts. “There was an attack. . . . On the government complex. It was led by a Sagathi. It got away. The commissioners are frightened. What if the shape shifters get off planet? No one would be safe. Not even our leaders. What happened to Emperor Emor could happen to them.”

At that point, Umji jerked convulsively, as if an electric shock had been sent through his body, and the next words came through gritted teeth. “Sorry . . . Quati believes I'm a traitor. He's killing me. I don't have long to live.”

Cato was kneeling next to the Vord's chair. He looked at Shani and back again. Because Umji spoke for both of them, he hadn't spent much time thinking about the fact that the sluglike Ya was a sentient being in its own right. And that, he realized now, had been a mistake. Judging from the rapid manner in which the parasite was contracting and expanding, it was pumping something into Umji's bloodstream. Toxins? Yes, that made sense.

Shani produced a knife, flicked it open, and pressed the point against the Ya's glistening skin. “No!” Umji said. “It's too late. Now listen . . . A convoy is going to take the commissioners to the spaceport at about four in the morning.

“Once the group boards the shuttle and lifts off the planet, they will be taken aboard the battle cruiser
Annihilator
. That's when the bombardment will begin. The plan is to glass Therat and everyone on the surface. Vords included.”

“So that's why you came to us,” Cato concluded. “Because the commissioners are willing to massacre their own people in order to kill the shifters.”

“Yesss,” Umji replied as his eyelids fluttered and another convulsion racked his body. “Quati and I were to lift with them . . . but I couldn't bring myself to do it. We're police officers. Our job is to protect people, not kill them.”

“We'll get medical help,” Cato said. “We'll . . .”

“No!”
Umji said emphatically as his pain-filled eyes bored into Cato's. “Go . . . stop them. Find a way to save my people. And yours.”

At that point, Umji's feet beat a brief tattoo on the floor before a final convulsion took his life. But the Ya was still alive, and Cato could “feel” the hatred that emanated from it until Shani pushed her knife in deep, and the emotional emanations came to an abrupt end. Green goo spurted out onto Umji's chest as the blade was withdrawn.

Cato looked up, and was about to chew Shani out, when he realized that it wouldn't do any good. Shani was Shani. Not to mention the fact that Quati was a murderer. “All right,” Cato said as he lurched to his feet. “If we had a need to contact Governor Arrius earlier—we need him even more now. We've got to intercept the commissioners and prevent the
Annihilator
from dropping those bombs.”

“But what about Alamy?” Shani inquired. “Shouldn't we go looking for her?”

“I want to,” Cato answered. “Believe me, I do. But that will have to wait.”

Shani nodded obediently, and replied, “Yes, sir. . . . That makes sense.”

 

 

It was a little past three in the morning, and the city was in a state of chaos. The Vords were trying to keep the lid on, but there weren't enough of them to keep the city under control, and there was fighting in the streets. Not just between Umans and Vords, but among criminal gangs, and competing resistance groups. Because even though the presence of the occupying Vords should have been enough to unite them, some of the Umans wanted complete independence and saw the current situation as an opportunity to break free of the Empire.

So as Governor Arrius and his fighters drove through the city, their vehicles came under occasional fire. But given the importance of the mission they were on, they didn't fire back.

It had taken hours to contact Arrius, gather all of the necessary supplies, and put everything in motion. So, as precious minutes continued to come off the clock, Cato battled the desire to start yelling at people. Because that would not only be pointless but counterproductive in a situation where he was trying to build unit cohesion, not destroy it. Still, meaningless as it was, Cato found himself turning to Arrius and asking the same question all over again. “How much longer?”

“About ten minutes,” Arrius assured him, as the five-vehicle convoy turned a corner and something heavy hit the roof. “Don't worry, Centurion Cato, we'll get there in time.”

Cato believed the politician but knew that reaching the ambush site in time, and destroying the Vord convoy, were two different things. However, there was no point in saying that, so he didn't.

True to the governor's word, the vehicles came to a halt one block away from the ambush site with forty-five seconds to spare. “Keep a sharp lookout,” Cato said over the jury-rigged radio system as he opened the door to get out of the car. “And be ready to leave on a moment's notice. Section Leader Shani will be in command while I'm gone.” Cato heard a series of
click
s and “Okays” by way of replies.

Even though some of them had been shot out, most of the city's streetlights were still on, as was the orbital reflector. Though a layer of clouds was blocking some of the illumination the big mirror would otherwise provide. So as Cato, Governor Arrius, and the man called Bif got out of the Vord-manufactured vehicle, there was enough light to see by.

They were in among the strip of five- to ten-story buildings that lined the south side of Commerce Avenue, the road that led from the governmental complex to the spaceport. Most of the structures belonged to businesses—and were therefore dark given the early hour. So there was no foot traffic to contend with as the three men jogged around the corner, ran half a block, and arrived on Commerce. An orange maintenance truck was parked in the middle of the street. Its hazard lights were flashing, luminescent barriers had been set up, and it looked as though the crew was working down below street level.

“There they are!” Arrius said happily, “just like I told you. Lots of the city's workers belong to the resistance movement.”

“You told me they'd be done by now and clear of the area,” Cato said critically as he glanced at his watch. “We have no way to know if the commissioners will leave early.”

“I'll talk to them,” Arrius said soothingly. “Take cover by that building, and I'll be back in a minute or two.”

It was a full ten minutes before Arrius came back from the middle of the street. “The wiring is taking longer than expected,” he said. “But another five minutes will do. That's when the crew will pack up and pull out. Here's the remote.”

“Excuse me, sire,” Cato responded, “but that's bullshit! Because if the convoy appears, I'm going to press this button! You tell them to finish up and run like hell.”

Arrius wasn't used to taking orders from junior officers, felt a surge of anger, and was about say something when Cato smiled. The expression took on a ghastly appearance thanks to the glow of the green-blue streetlights. “Sorry, sire. . . .
Please
tell them to run like hell.”

Arrius laughed, took off at a jog, and was back in the middle of the street when a thrumming noise was heard. A Vord air car flashed overhead, clearly headed for the spaceport. “It's a scout!” Cato shouted. “The convoy will be right behind it. Tell everyone to get out of there!”

Arrius could be seen bending over the open manhole. Then half a dozen people came boiling up out of the ground and took off in a variety of directions. “Good work,” Cato said, as Arrius arrived back on the street corner.

“Here they come,” Arrius said, as the two men peered around the corner of the building where they had taken shelter. “May they rot in hell.”

There was nothing wrong with that sentiment insofar as Cato was concerned. But his attention was focused on the headlights that grew brighter with each passing second. The objective was to trigger the explosives at exactly the right moment and destroy the vehicles before the occupants could broadcast a distress signal.

So as the lights grew brighter, and the first vehicle changed lanes in order to avoid the utility truck, Cato already had his thumb on the button. He was about to detonate the charges when he realized that the oncoming headlights belonged to a delivery van! A bread truck which, based on appearances, was making the usual rounds in spite of the fighting. At some point the driver had pulled out in front of the Vord convoy and unknowingly taken the lead.

Cato was careful to lift his thumb as the bread truck rolled by, then he eyed the following vehicles and counted four sets of headlights. As the second combat car, the one Cato figured the commissioners were in, approached the manhole, Cato pushed the button. Nothing happened. A second passed. Then two. He swore. “God damn it. . . . You—”

The rest of what Cato was going to say was lost as a series of powerful explosions pursued the Vords. The detonations started farther back, where the convoy had been, and blew a series of huge holes in Commerce Avenue. One of them consumed the maintenance truck as steel manhole covers soared into the air, underground pipes were severed, and a geyser of water shot straight up.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The sound reverberated and echoed between the buildings as the sequence of explosions caught up with the speeding vehicles, and an abyss opened up directly under them. One moment they were there, speeding along, and the next they were gone, as if snatched into some other dimension.

There was a loud
clang
as a manhole cover landed twenty feet away, followed by a muffled
thump
as one of the vehicles caught fire below street level and the far-off chatter of machine-gun fire as the battle for the city continued. Then came a couple of seconds of complete silence before Cato gave a low whistle. “Damn . . . That was incredible. Who set those charges anyway?”

“Her name is Lola,” Arrius replied. “And she's a mining engineer. I told you everything was under control.”

“And you were right,” Cato conceded. “I'd like to buy Lola a beer. But first we need to get our convoy onto Commerce before that air car circles back to see what's going on. There were four cars in the
real
convoy. We have three cars and two trucks. We'll leave one truck here. Let's hope the Vords don't notice the difference.”

With Bif bringing up the rear, the two men ran back to the fake convoy, where they hurried to jump aboard the first vehicle. The engine was already running. “Hit it!” Cato ordered, and the driver obeyed. Tires screeched as the car pulled out. With the exception of the second truck, which Arrius ordered to hang back, the rest of the vehicles followed.

“All right,” Cato said over the radio, as the driver made a left, then a right onto Commerce. “Stage one was a success. But stage two will be even harder. Lock and load. The Vords won't let us aboard that ship without a fight.

“I understand we have a naval officer with us,” Cato continued. “Please identify yourself.”

“My name is Tracius,” a male voice said. “I was a naval officer, a Captain to be exact, but I came here to retire. Good choice, huh?”

Cato chuckled. “I don't know about that, sir, but we're lucky to have you. Assuming all goes well, you and your crew people will board the shuttle and the ship last. Once we take control of the
Annihilator
, I'm counting on you to make sure that the Vords don't drop any bombs.”

“Roger that,” Tracius answered. “But there are only six of us . . . So we'll need some help.”

“You heard the Captain,” Cato said over the radio. “Once we have control,
he
will assume command, and the rest of us will report to him.”

There was a flurry of acknowledgments followed by radio silence as the convoy sped toward the airport. As Cato peered up through the windshield, he saw the lights on the front of the Vord air car coming straight at him and knew the pilot had seen and/or heard the explosions. Would he accept the fake convoy as real? Or would he notice the fact that one of the cars had been replaced by a truck? If he did, the convoy would be under attack soon.

There was a moment of suspense as the air car flashed overhead—followed by a feeling of relief as it circled around and took the lead. The Vords were buying it!

The spaceport's lights became visible three minutes later, and thanks to the fact that the guards were expecting the commissioners, the gates were open wide.

The air car banked away as the convoy sped up the access road and out onto the tarmac beyond. Three shuttles were lined up side by side, but only one of them was lit up with the boarding hatch opened. “Remember,” Cato said, as the car began to slow. “Surprise is critical. If we allow the shuttle crew to warn the
Annihilator
, we're screwed. So move quickly and use your knives.”

There wasn't enough time for a response as the car stopped within feet of the shuttle. By the time Cato rounded the front end of the vehicle and arrived at the hatch, two Vords already lay dead on the ground. Olivia Arrius had just wiped a bloody blade on one the bodies as she came to her feet. “Shani and Bif are already aboard,” Olivia said woodenly. “So the pilots are either cooperating or dead.”