Bones of Empire (40 page)

Ideally, Cato and Shani would have been accompanied by a squad of empaths like themselves, all capable of “seeing” the shifters for what they were. But, since that kind of support wasn't available, the Xeno cops were faced with a difficult decision: They could enter the temple with a squad of volunteers or go in by themselves.

The first option was tempting, but, knowing how easy it was for the shifters to confuse and manipulate nonempaths, Cato chose the second possibility. Even though that meant Shani and he would be on their own. And there was no way to know how many adversaries they might face. It was a sobering thought.

 

 

It was about two in the morning and raining. Water was running off the corners of the mobile command post's extendable awning as Cato stood under a spotlight and made final adjustments to his body armor. It was equipped with two built-in shoulder holsters, pockets for extra magazines, and a slot for a radio.

Governor Arrius had chosen to take personal command of the operation and stood a couple of feet away. “Are you sure about this, son?” he inquired. “Maybe we should wait.”

Cato made a face. “I wish we could, sire. . . . Believe me, I do. But the Vords were right about one thing. If Verafti and Demeni get off planet, there will be hell to pay. Right now they think they can seize control of Therat by getting rid of Shani and me. So this could be our only chance for a head-on confrontation. Assuming they're inside the temple.”

“I'm starting to wonder about that,” Arrius put in doubtfully. “If the shape shifters are present, they must be aware of our preparations. Yet there hasn't been a response. Maybe they're somewhere else.”

“That's a distinct possibility,” Cato conceded. “But if they're inside, they want Shani and me to enter, and they have some sort of escape plan.

“Now remember, sire,” Cato added as he settled a bandolier of shotgun shells across his right shoulder. “If you hear fighting, and you can't raise either one of us on the radio, be sure to keep the entire block sealed off until you can bring a team of Xeno cops in from Corin. And whatever you do, don't send any nonempaths in. If you do, Verafti and Demeni will literally eat them for lunch. Promise?”

Arrius gave a reluctant nod. “I promise.”

“Good,” Cato said as he checked the eight-round shotgun to make sure that the tubular magazine was full. “And there's one more thing. Something personal.”

Arrius's eyebrows rose. “Yes?”

“You'll recall that the Rahaties took my slave. A young woman named Alamy. Verafti met her on Corin, so he knows I care about her. She's probably dead by now. But if it turns out that she's alive, and I fail to make it back, it's my wish that she be freed. And whatever there is of my estate should go to her.” Cato forced a grin. “I'd file all the proper forms, but I'm a little short of time.”

Arrius nodded. “I pray that both of you will be reunited—but if the worst happens, I will take care of it.”

“Thank you, sire,” Cato said as he fastened the half helmet's chinstrap. “And one last thing . . . Don't let officer Shani or me out through the fence unless we provide the correct password.”

“Which is?”

“Olivia.”

The governor swallowed. “I won't forget.”

“Good,” Cato replied as he turned away. “Shani? Are you ready?”

Shani was about ten feet away. Like her superior officer, she was wearing body armor and carrying plenty of extra ammo for both her pistols and a shotgun. She produced a cheerful thumbs-up. “I was born ready!”

Cato knew she was frightened, just as he was, and was impressed by her courage. In all his years as both a legionnaire and a cop, he had never been paired with a better partner. He grinned. “Were you born? Or issued? Come on. . . . Let's drop in on the goddess Rahati and say hello.”

Governor Arrius and the Centurion in charge of the police cordon were there to escort the pair as they walked up the street, through the pool of light at the intersection, and over to the heavily guarded gate. Cato could “feel” what the nearest cops felt—which was happy that they weren't going in. He looked from face to face. “Any signs of activity?”

“No, sir,” a burly cop answered. “It's quiet as a tomb.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Shani deadpanned, as Cato turned to the Centurion.

“Order everyone to come out with their hands on top of their heads. It's ridiculous, I realize that, but we're going by the book.”

So the Centurion raised his megaphone, gave the necessary orders, and told whoever might be listening that they had three minutes to come out with their hands on their heads. Time seemed to slow as all 180 came off the clock. Finally, having timed the interval with his wrist chron, the Centurion nodded. “Time's up. . . . You can go in.”

“Lucky us,” Shani said, as the gate squealed open. “This should be fun.”

As they crossed the open area beyond, Cato half expected a group of murderous Rahaties to burst through the door, guns blazing. But, with the exception of the distant
pop
,
pop
,
pop
of gunfire from gang warfare, everything was quiet.

Once they had taken up positions to either side of the door, Shani pumped a shell into the chamber of her shotgun. “Shall I knock on the door?”

“Hold that thought,” Cato replied as he reached out to try the lever-style handle. The door opened easily.

“Damn,” Shani said. “Either we came to the wrong place—or the shifters can't wait to see us.”

“Yeah,” Cato answered laconically as he pushed the door open. “Cover me.”

The blob of white light thrown by Cato's helmet preceded him as he slipped through the door into a dimly lit lobby. His visor was down and the only sources of heat visible on his HUD were two oil lamps, one located to the left and one to the right, each marking a doorway.

Cato's headlamp played across a colorful painting that covered the wall between the doors. From what he could see, the well-executed mural was meant to show how wonderful life on Therat would be if the goddess Rahati were in charge. Her throne was sitting on top of a flat-topped pyramid. Each of her three faces was looking in a different direction as the sun rose directly behind her and thousands of adoring worshippers looked on.

“Left?” Shani inquired pragmatically. “Or right?”

“Left,” Cato answered as he angled across the lobby to the open door. So far nothing was the way he had imagined it. No forced entry, no gun battle with a group of fanatical Rahaties, and no confrontation with the shifters. Maybe his central assumption was wrong. Perhaps the Sagathies wanted to hide rather than fight.

That theory seemed all the more likely as Cato entered the large room beyond. It had a high ceiling supported by thick pillars. Widely spaced lamps threw arcs of light onto the splotchy green walls. The floor was covered with dozens of overlapping area rugs. But judging from the absence of heat signatures, none of the Rahaties were present. “Damn it,” Cato said as he lowered his shotgun. “It looks like—”

That was when a whirring noise was heard, and a silvery sphere drifted out from behind one of the columns. Light from Cato's headlamp reflected off the drone's metal skin as it hovered over their heads. “Officer Cato?” a masculine voice said, as Shani tracked the ball with her shotgun. “Is that
you
?”

“Yes,” Cato responded gravely. “It's me.”

“Good,” the voice replied. “Even though you aren't especially intelligent, you are persistent. Or should I say ‘were'? Since Demeni and I plan to eat you for breakfast.”

Cato was about to respond when a single spot came on. The previously dark altar was flooded with light. “Look!” Shani said. “There's an opening in the floor.”

Cato brought the shotgun up. “There's a saying where I come from,” he said. “Be careful what you ask for.” And with that, he pulled the trigger. There was a loud
boom
as the drone exploded and showered the room with metal confetti.

At that point Cato pressed the transmit button on his radio. “This is Cato. Do you read me? Over.”

“We read you,” Governor Arrius replied. “And we heard a muffled
thump
. Over.”

“We have contact,” Cato replied as he approached the altar. “There's an opening in the floor. We're going down. I suggest that you put some people to work sealing off the surrounding sewers and storm drains. Over.”

“Understood,” Arrius replied. “But that will take hours if not an entire day. Over.”

“Roger that, but do the best you can,” Cato said. “It's my guess that the shifters plan to use an underground escape route. That's why they let us surround the temple without a fight. Over.”

“Be careful,” came the reply. “We'll seal everything off as quickly as we can.”

Cato clicked the transmit button twice by way of a reply. Then, knowing who and what he was up against, the Xeno cop brought the shotgun around so that it was pointed at the lifelike replica of the goddess Rahati. She was seated just beyond the black rectangle. A single blast was enough to blow her head off. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, given that he couldn't “feel” any emotions emanating from the statue, but it felt good nevertheless.

Then, secure in the knowledge that the graven image wasn't going to come to life, Cato removed a ball-bearing-sized flash-bang from a pocket in his vest, squeezed it twice, and dropped the device into the black hole. There was a flash of light followed by a loud
bang
. Hopefully, if someone was lurking down below, they would be momentarily blinded and disoriented as well.

Cato went down the stairs first, fully expecting some sort of attack. It was pitch-black down below, or would have been without his night-vision capability and the beam from his helmet light. The air was not only stale but smelled bad. The foul odor reminded Cato of Emperor Emor's apartment after Verafti had been in residence.

Shani joined him, and the beams from their headlamps crisscrossed as they followed the narrow corridor toward what Cato's HUD claimed was west. Three inches of water covered the floor, and Cato's boots made splashing noises as he pushed on. The ceiling was oppressively low, and the walls were made of brick, suggesting that the structure might date back to the colonial period. The toe of Cato's right boot made contact with something and sent the object skittering ahead. A blob of light splashed the floor as he tilted his head down. That was when he realized that the object in question was a bone. It was too long and too thick to be Uman. Vord then? Quite possibly—although there was no way to be sure.

A wall appeared ahead, leaving Cato with no choice but to turn left and hope for the best. Something slithered through the water, entered a hole between two bricks, and disappeared. Cato had the momentary impression of a dim intelligence eternally driven by hunger.

Then it was time to peek around another corner to make sure there wasn't an ambush waiting for him, before making the necessary turn. This corridor was wider, and as Cato's headlamp threw a wash of light across the wall to the right, he saw an unexpected sign. The white letters were faded but still legible. FADO'S BAR & GRILL.

Had there been stairs down from street level in the distant past? That appeared to be the case as a double-wide doorway appeared. “Careful,” Shani cautioned. “I can't get a clear reading yet . . . but I'm pretty sure we have company.”

Cato could feel it, too. A seething cocktail of volatile emotions. He slipped two shells into the shotgun's magazine to replace those fired earlier. His heart skipped a beat as Verafti spoke. The hoarse-sounding voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. “Demeni said you wouldn't come. She said nobody, not even a Uman, could be that stupid. I told her she was wrong, that you
are
that stupid, and I was right!” he said triumphantly.

Shani pulled a flare and held it up for Cato to see. He shook his head. Tempting though the idea was, a flare would illuminate everything, including
them
. With that in mind, he reached up to kill the headlamp, and Shani did likewise. The night-vision technology built in their helmets would have to do.

Water sloshed away from Cato's boots as he stepped into the blackness beyond. He looked left, then right, as lights at the far end of the rectangular room came on. Cato brought the shotgun up, saw three people standing on what had once been a stage, and froze. All three of them looked like Alamy! Naked Alamys, wrists tied to hooks in the ceiling, all of whom were clearly terrified. Cato's heart soared as he realized that one of them was the real thing. Alamy was alive! But which one? It was impossible to tell the beings apart given the way their emotions overlapped each other's.

The Sagathies wanted him to come closer. Then they would strike. In the meantime he couldn't fire for fear of hitting the woman he loved. That was when the Alamy on the right spoke.
“Jak? Is that you? Kill all of us! It's the only way.”

There was a splash as the shotgun fell, followed by a soft whisper as Cato drew a pistol. Alamy was the only one of the three who would say something like that, so he knew it was safe to fire at the woman to her right. But the shot was hurried, and the bullet hit Demeni in the shoulder rather than the chest. In spite of appearances to the contrary, her wrists
weren't
tied. That became apparent as she staggered and fell over backward. Verafti produced a roar of bestial outrage and threw himself forward.

Cato fired, but missed, and felt the pistol fly from his hand as an exact likeness of Alamy crashed into him. Except that this was a
stronger
Alamy, one who had razor-sharp teeth and three-inch claws. The impact sent Cato reeling.