Bones of Empire (28 page)

“Of course,” the man said politely. “Please get in.”

So Parakar looked back over his shoulder and got in. That was when the driver morphed into a lizard, and Demeni laughed. It was the last thing Parakar heard.

DUST MOTES HUNG SUSPENDED IN THE SHAFTS OF
sunlight that found their way down through cracks to probe the hundreds of booths crowded together under a common roof. Exotic birds trilled inside intricately woven cages, a huge mound of savory ola nuts threatened to cascade down off a table onto the duracrete floor, and racks of brightly colored children's clothing vied with each other to capture Alamy's attention.

Even though she wasn't an empath or a police officer, Alamy had been able to make a contribution to the team and felt proud of herself. Thanks to her efforts, and those of a local real-estate broker, the group had been able to move into a suite of rooms on the top floor of a slightly seedy apartment building. The whole idea was to disappear into the local population to whatever extent possible. Especially in the wake of the potentially disastrous news story announcing the team's arrival.

With that taken care of, Alamy had volunteered to handle the shopping. A chore that the rest of them were perfectly happy to rid themselves of. And that was okay with her because it felt good to support the team and get out on her own.

The first step was to identify vendors who sold high-quality meat, vegetables, and fruit at reasonable prices. Once that task was accomplished, she knew future shopping trips would go more quickly. So Alamy paused occasionally to examine piles of produce and sample the occasional piece of fruit. Had it been otherwise, she might have noticed the man and woman who were following her earlier.

It wasn't until Alamy emerged from the market with a full shopping bag dangling from each hand that she paused to look around. “Always check to see if you're being followed,” Cato had admonished her. “And if you are followed, the last thing you should do is lead that person home. Stay in a public place, call me, and I'll come get you.”

So when Alamy spotted the couple, and realized that she'd seen them earlier, she knew enough to be concerned. But not exceedingly so because the pair looked innocent enough and might have followed her outside by chance. Still, Alamy knew it was important to be careful.

With that in mind, she made her way over one block and began a systematic examination of shop windows, some of which were clean enough to reflect the area behind her. And the couple was still there!

Alamy felt the first stirrings of concern, put her bags down, and brought out one of four identical pocket coms that Cato had purchased for the team. Cato answered on the third ring. “Yeah?”

“It's me,” Alamy said. “I'm on my way home from the market, and I think I have a tail.
Two
of them to be exact.”

“Describe them.”

Alamy studied the reflection in front of her. “One of them is a male in his early thirties. He's about six feet tall with an average build. He's wearing a red pillbox hat, a vest, and baggy pantaloons. The other person is female. She's wearing a white scarf, a wrap-style green dress, and carrying a drawstring purse.”

“Location?”

“I'm on Imperial Way just north of the point where it intersects with Commerce.”

“Okay,” Cato said. “Continue your stroll. . . . We'll be there shortly.”

 

 

Keen was out shopping for a van that wasn't loaded with Vord tracking devices, but both Cato and Shani were home, sitting in front of newly acquired computer consoles. The idea was to search public databases looking for the sort of patterns that might reveal the presence of a Sagathi shape shifter. Much as Verafti had done while posing as the Emperor.

So the need to venture out on what was probably a false alarm was something of an annoyance, and Shani said as much. But Cato, who was in the process of pulling a jacket on over his shoulder holster, was careful to counter the criticism. “We gave Alamy a hard time when she inadvertently told Verafti where to find us back on Corin. So give her some credit . . . She's learning.”

That was fine except that Shani didn't
want
to give Alamy credit for anything more than the quality of her cooking. So she made a face but kept her mouth shut as Cato locked the door behind them and led the way down three flights of badly worn stairs to a grubby lobby and the busy street beyond. A wave of heat and a cacophony of noise reached out to greet the couple as they stepped onto the hot sidewalk.

The streets were busy as people of every possible description made their way to work, returned home, or kept appointments. There weren't any Vords in sight, but that wasn't unusual because the aliens had only about three thousand troops on the ground. Not that many, really, given the number of Umans on Therat, but enough thanks to the warships in orbit.

Ten minutes later, Cato and Shani were on heavily traveled Imperial Way and closing on what had been Alamy's position. There were so many people on the street it was difficult to sort them out, but thanks to Alamy's mention of a red hat, Cato was able to spot the couple. “Got 'em,” Cato said from the corner of his mouth. “They're at two o'clock immediately behind the holy man with the frizzy hair. And I think I see Alamy about fifty feet in front of them.”

Shani followed Cato's directions, located the couple in question, and was forced to give Alamy some grudging credit. At least the tails were real. “Let's close the gap,” Cato suggested. “It's a long shot, but if that's Verafti and his girl-friend, then this could get interesting.”

It
was
a long shot, but Shani found herself reaching in under her jacket to touch her handgun, in much the same way that a Reconstructionist priest might take comfort from his ankh. But as the variants began to close with the suspects, it quickly became clear that they were exactly what they appeared to be, which was Uman.

So why tail Alamy then? Were they thieves? Who were planning to rob her? If so, they were going to a lot of trouble for two bags of groceries. Cato made an effort to close the gap on the chance that he could pick up on some telltale emotions. But with so many people around, it was impossible to tell who was feeling what. So that left only one choice. “We'll have to take them off the street,” Cato said. “Because if they're anything other than thieves, I want to know about it.”

“That's just terrific,” Shani replied sarcastically, “except how the hell are we going to accomplish that?”

“We'll stun 'em,” Cato said pragmatically, “and hail a cab!”

Shani was about to raise the first of at least three objections when Cato drew a stubby stunner from a belt holster and began to walk more quickly. Then, while Shani hurried to catch up, Cato shot both suspects in the back. They jerked spasmodically, lost all motor control, and collapsed onto the filthy sidewalk.

“I'm a doctor!” Cato shouted loudly as he knelt next to the glassy-eyed victims. “Give them some air. . . .
You!
” Cato said authoritatively as he pointed at Shani. “Hail a cab! I'll take them to the hospital.”

Shani, who was still reeling from the speed and ruthlessness with which her superior officer had immobilized two private citizens, managed to get a cab by the simple expedient of stepping out in front of one. Tires screeched as the vehicle came to a halt. The driver was swearing a blue streak when Shani held up her hand and willed her badge to appear. “Shut the hell up and help my partner load those people in the back,” she ordered. “Or, if you prefer, I'll call down to city hall and have them jerk your ticket. You choose.”

“But I have passengers!” the cabbie objected.

“No you don't,” Shani said as she pulled the rear door open and stuck her head into the passenger compartment. Two brightly clad matrons were seated there, both wearing expressions of surprised disapproval. “This is a police emergency,” Shani said gruffly. “Get out and find another ride.”

The women, radiating anger, hurried to obey as Cato arrived with the female suspect cradled in his arms. “Good work,” the Xeno cop said as he dumped his burden inside. “Search her. . . . And don't forget that purse. It felt heavy.”

Shani discovered that the female suspect was carrying both a two-shot pistol and a flick blade as well. Both served to reinforce the notion that the couple had been up to something as they followed Alamy.

Cato and the taxi driver arrived moments later, with the male suspect slung between them. He went into the back with the two women. Then, as the driver slid behind the wheel, Cato got in beside him and began to rifle through the male suspect's wallet. “Take us to 4311 Orby Road,” Cato instructed. “I want to make sure that these people arrive home safely.”

“I thought we were going to the hospital,” the cabbie objected.

“I changed my mind,” Cato said unapologetically. “Now get going.”

The cabbie saw lots of strange things on a daily basis and decided that the best thing to do was to say, “Yes, sir,” and do as he was told.

 

 

Alamy was still wandering down Imperial Way. It was hot, but the first few drops of what promised to be a heavy shower were falling, and she was increasingly worried because it had been nearly half an hour since she had spoken with Cato. Then her pocket com rang, and she flipped it open. “Hello?”

“It's me,” Cato said. “You were correct. Shani and I have the situation under control, and you can go home.”

“Good,” Alamy said as she stopped to look around. “All of my produce is starting to wilt.”

“Heaven forbid,” Cato said lightly. “And one more thing . . .”

“Yes?”

“Good job. Don't let up.” The words were followed by a
click
.

The air was humid, and Alamy was getting wet, but she didn't care. She was happy, and for the moment, that was enough.

 

 

It was nearly noon, a warm rain had started to fall, and the streets were packed with umbrella-toting citizens. They jostled each other in an attempt to stay in under the slanting roofs that fronted many of the shops, and Verafti was there among them, the very picture of a store clerk on his way to work. His umbrella was black, the suit he wore was white, and his shoes were nicely polished.

Even before the Vords had occupied it, the city of Kybor had been aswirl with rumors, dangerous politics, and class warfare. Now, with armed aliens on the streets and members of a growing resistance movement trying to stir things up, the situation was even more volatile as Verafti continued his search.

Having concluded that Demeni wasn't responsible for killing the city's prostitutes, Verafti had turned his attention to other theories, the latest of which had to do with the Rahati religious cult. A group that worshipped a goddess who was said to have three faces.

Of course, the Umans had a seemingly endless capacity to invent religions. But if the rumors on the street were true, what made this cult different was the fact that the goddess Rahati was more than a graven image. She was a real flesh-and-blood being, one who could change shapes at will and had a taste for raw meat.

That suggested a need to investigate. . . . But how? The first step, or so it seemed to Verafti, was to visit a Rahati temple and see what, if anything, could be learned there. That was going to be difficult, however, since most of the Rahaties had been driven underground by the Vords. From what Verafti had been able to discover from online news archives, most of the Rahati temples had been raided, and dozens of the cult's adherents had been arrested. All in an attempt to shut down what the Vords called, “a vile and disgusting cult.”

But the Rahaties were far from powerless. Or so it seemed. Because if Vord claims were true, more than twenty of their soldiers had been ambushed and murdered as part of what the occupiers called “unspeakable rites.” Would Verafti be able to speak with one of the Rahaties? There was only one way to find out. The shape shifter paused on a corner, eyed the structure on the other side of the street, and waited for a pedicab to roll past.

One of the things that made Rahati temples different from the structures put up by other religions was the complete absence of external adornment. There were no spires, no statues, not even a window to break the building's box-like simplicity. Just a rectangular doorway, symbolizing the beginning of a new life, and the belief that everything a person needed to know lay within.

Having arrived in front of the temple, Verafti paused to shake the raindrops off his umbrella before lowering the canopy and tucking the damp implement under his arm. A gentle push was sufficient to open the door. After passing through a lobby with a colorful mural on the central wall, Verafti entered the large room beyond. If the outside of the building was austere, the interior was just the opposite. Ropes of multicolored lights crisscrossed the high ceiling, oil lamps flickered as an air current flowed around them, and the wall paint produced a luminescent glow. There were no benches on which to sit, just carpets of every possible color that overlapped each other.

Because of the relatively early hour, and the Vords' efforts to put the cult out of business, Verafti found himself alone with the goddess. Rahati, or an image of her, rested on a raised platform at the front of the room. And consistent with what he'd heard, the supernatural being had three faces. The one that faced the long, rectangular room was that of a beast with its fangs bared. Uman profiles could be seen to either side of it. The one on the left was unmistakably male—and the one on the right was female. All of which was emblematic of some nonsense or other. Verafti didn't care.