At Empire's Edge (32 page)

The Crushers as they referred to themselves, were big, hulking brutes who were best known for running citywide protection rackets, but weren’t above strong-arm robberies when the opportunity presented itself. So, having received word that a group of “norms” were headed their way, three heavies emerged from the shadows and were waiting when the marks rounded a corner and came straight toward them.

The X-Quarter wasn’t well lit, but the Crushers had chosen to stand in the pool of light shed by one of the few streetlights, so their victims could appreciate how big they were and see the cudgels they carried. The sight brought most norms to their knees.

And consistent with the group’s expectations the marks
did
slow, then came to a stop. That was when three additional Crushers appeared
behind
the norms, thereby locking them in place. A heavy named Thok led the group by virtue of both his size and intelligence. He smiled evilly, and when he spoke, the words sounded as if they had been produced by a rock crusher. “You can pay,” Thok said menacingly, “or you can play! Which will it be?”

 

 

Cato swore under his breath. The caravan that would carry Lood away was scheduled to depart at daybreak, so time was of the essence. He brought his hand up and held it palm out. The badge glowed brightly. “I am an Imperial police officer. Let us pass.”

“And I am Thok,” the biggest brute answered evenly. “Empty your pockets.”

Cato sighed wearily. “Okay, Citizen Thok,” he replied. “Have it your way.” Then, having turned to Lucia, he said, “Shoot the bastard.”

The stun gun was already in Lucia’s hand. She brought it up, pressed the firing stud, and saw Thok jerk as the invisible bolt hit him. But, rather than collapse the way he was supposed to, the Crusher shook the pain off, and took a step forward!

Cato swore, pulled the pistol out of a voluminous sleeve, and brought it up. There were three loud reports, and three grunts of pain, as each heavy took a bullet in a knee! The Crushers fell like trees, all wrapping their arms around what hurt, their plans to commit robbery momentarily forgotten.

Had that constituted the entire gang, Cato and his companions would have been free to advance. But that wasn’t the case as Lucia shouted a warning. “Cato! Behind us!”

Cato turned, gun at the ready, only to have it knocked out of his hand by a blow from a well-swung cudgel. The pistol went skittering away as a 275-pound heavy hit him with a massive shoulder and bowled him over. The air had been knocked out of Cato’s lungs, and he was lying on his back fighting to breathe, when the Crusher appeared above him. He had close-set eyes, a pug nose, and thick rubbery lips. They were pulled back into a snarl as he spoke. “Say good-bye, Xeno cop. Because
this
life is over.”

The cudgel had already been raised, and was just about to fall, when Lucia drew the baton she always carried and pressed a button. There was an audible
click
as three feet of tempered steel shot out of the handle and locked into place. That was followed by a whirring sound as she brought the weapon around and struck the heavy across his kidneys. He uttered a scream of pain, and was trying to turn toward his attacker, when the baton hit him behind the left knee.

Cato barely managed to roll out of the way in time as the brute smacked face-first into the pavement. Then, having scrambled to his feet, Cato took up the fallen cudgel. It was too heavy for him, but the only weapon available. Two Crushers had Phelonious by the arms at that time, and were clearly intending to pull them off, as Belok wrapped his arms around a leg and sank his teeth into a meaty calf. That forced one of the would-be robbers to release Phelonious in order to hop around while trying to dislodge the Kelf.

Cato was in position by then, and the cudgel produced a satisfying
thump
as it made contact with the heavy’s head and knocked him unconscious. Belok, his sharp teeth still firmly locked in place, rode the giant down.

Phelonious was lying on the street by that time and being stomped by the sole surviving Crusher as Cato spotted his pistol and hurried to scoop it up. Then, with the weapon in hand, he shouted, “Hold it right there!” But the heavy wasn’t listening. There was a horrible screeching sound as a gigantic boot crushed the android’s alloy skull. Sparks shot out of the robot’s eye sockets, and his heels drummed against the ground, as all of his systems shut down.

Cato fired as the monster turned his way, fired
again
, and was forced to empty the magazine into the Crusher’s enormous chest as the variant staggered forward. Finally, unable to proceed any farther, the giant collapsed.

With acrid odors of gun smoke and ozone floating in the air, Belok ran to his best friend’s side and cradled what remained of the robot’s badly mangled head in his little arms. “Phelonious!” the Kelf said miserably. “Say something! Talk to me!” But there was no response.

Cato’s hands were shaking as he ejected the spent magazine and inserted a fresh one into the pistol’s grip. “Cato,” Lucia said urgently, “look left!”

Cato turned, and saw that two of the kneecapped variants were dragging themselves forward, in an apparent attempt to rejoin the battle. Cato raised the pistol, but realized that there was no need to shoot them, not so long as he and his companions left. So he backed away.

Belok was kneeling next to Phelonious, moaning softly, when Lucia went to pick him up. He struggled, but she was too strong for him, so it was to no avail. “I’ll give you a ride,” she said gently, and boosted Belok up onto her shoulders. Still sobbing as he looked back over his shoulder, Belok was borne away. Meanwhile, the first blush of dawn had appeared in the east, and a new day had begun.

THE SUN WASN’T VISIBLE YET, BUT A LONG PINK SLASH
marked the horizon, and hinted at a warm day ahead. The sprawling maze of holding pens, watering tanks, and shacks that constituted the caravan park were located at the foot of the steep slopes that marked the point where the Sawtooth Mountains began. That meant the mountain peaks were
close
. About ten to fifteen thousand feet straight up. But to reach them, Etir Lood would have to fly, which he was no longer capable of doing. The Uman bullet had torn through the muscle controlling his right wing, thereby rendering it useless. That meant Lood would have to endure a long, tiresome trip south and west, before he would arrive in the area that he and his clan considered to be their territory. The vast stretch of land included the foothills below High Hold Meor, the area around Donk’s Well, and a large portion of the Plain of Pain. Upon arrival on the other side of the mountains, Lood would signal one of the flock’s high-flying scouts, and his fellow warriors would come to take him home, even if it meant strapping him to an angen.

In the meantime, Lood felt very nervous as he sat on a crudely constructed bench in front of a smoldering fire and waited for the mostly Uman caravan to depart. The complex business involved loading three dozen angens with packs they didn’t want to carry, pushing and shoving the recalcitrant animals into a single column, and breaking up frequent fights as the more aggressive angens nipped their peers.

It was an ugly and undignified business, which was not only beneath Lood but made even more disgusting by the presence of half a dozen flightless Umans, two Kelfs, and a snooty cyborg.

Still, thanks to Nassali’s decision to commit suicide, Lood was free! And that, Golor be praised, was something to be thankful for even if he was a captive of both the ground and the Godless creatures who were eternally confined to it. Such were the bandit’s thoughts when he heard the crunch of gravel behind him and began to turn. But it was too late as something hard pressed against the back of his skull. The voice was Uman. “Well, well,” Cato said sarcastically. “Look what we have here! A weary traveler on his way home.”

Lood felt something heavy fall into the pit of his stomach as the pressure was removed, and Cato came around to stand between him and the fire. The Caravan Master stepped in to join him. He was a tall man, who wore a long scarf wrapped around his head and favored the sort of loose robe that many desert travelers wore. His eyes were hard and regarded Lood without the least sign of pity. “So, this is the one you were looking for?” he inquired.

“Yes,” a female Uman said, as she joined the two men. “Thank you.”

Lood saw a leather purse change hands and knew he’d been sold out. A clawlike hand went to the place where the ceramic dagger should have been but wasn’t. Every Imperial that the bandit possessed had been spent to purchase a place in the caravan, with not so much as a decim left over for a weapon. “It is I who should thank
you
,” the Caravan Master replied gravely, as the leather pouch disappeared. “Who knows what this one had in mind? The last thing I need is a run-in with Lir bandits.”

 

 

“We’ll take it from here,” Cato said grimly. “You might hear some strange sounds. If so, don’t let it bother you.”

The Caravan Master smiled grimly. His teeth were very white. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” he assured them and bowed as if to seal the transaction. Moments later, he was gone, having been absorbed into the dusty chaos as angens bawled, orders were shouted, and the lead animals began the long journey from which some of them would never return.

Mindful of Nassali’s suicide, Cato ordered Belok to tie Lood’s hands behind him. But, judging from the emotions that swirled around the Lir, he was anything but suicidal. Lood was frightened,
very
frightened, and Cato planned to take full advantage of that. Even if it meant bending a few laws in order to do so. “Good,” Cato said, once Lood’s hands were properly secured. “Now, let’s haul him over to that fence, where we can fasten his wings to a crosspiece. I wish I had some nails—but a couple of belts should do the job.”

The mention of his wings, which meant everything to the Lir warrior, filled Lood with a sense of dread. As the Umans hauled him over to the fence, Lood broke his silence. “No hurt! Me obey,” he said pitifully. The wound had broken open by that time and began to ooze blood as the Umans pulled his wings back.

“I don’t believe you,” Cato said coldly as he pushed the bandit up against a crosspiece. “Buckle his left wing to the fence, Lucia. I’ll take care of the right. Once we cut them off, Citizen Lood will be grounded for life.” The flick knife produced a loud
click
as a four-inch-long blade appeared.

“What want?” Lood inquired desperately. “Don’t cut! Don’t cut! Me tell.”

“Really?” Cato inquired skeptically, as if pausing to reconsider. “Because if you say you’re going to answer my questions, then you don’t, I’ll become very angry.”

“I tell! I tell!” Lood said eagerly. “You ask.”

“Okay,” Cato said reasonably, as he removed a camcorder from one of his pockets. “Let’s see if you’re going to keep those wings—or spend the rest of your miserable life as a pedestrian.”

By the time the caravan was gone, and the sun was a quarter of the way up into the sky, Cato had conducted an interrogation unlike any he’d ever been part of before. The questions were the ones he’d been asking himself for weeks by that time. Who hired the Lir bandits? Who planned the raid on Station 3? And who took part?

Lood’s answers came in short, inarticulate bursts. The story the bandit told started with a visit to the Imperial Palace, a meeting with Procurator Nalomy herself, and a payment so large that the Lir warriors had been forced to bury half of the coins and come back for them later.

Then, on the agreed-upon night, Chieftain Hybor Iddyn and a large contingent of his warriors had taken the law officers by surprise. Some of the Imperials were killed instantly; others fought back but were quickly overwhelmed. “They brave,” Lood admitted reluctantly, “like
real
warriors. We respect.”

Cato felt a large lump rise to block the back of his throat. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, remembering what he’d found in and around Station 3. “They
were
brave. What happened then?”

Lucia, who had been silent throughout, listened with a rising sense of excitement as Lood told Cato about the Imperial transport, the troops led by Centurion Pasayo, and the manner in which the strange shape-shifting prisoner had been spirited away. There, right in front of her, was the sort of proof that Usurlus had been hoping to get his hands on! It was evidence Usurlus could use to not only justify his actions but bring formal charges against Nalomy and have her tried on Corin!

Then something extremely important occurred to Lucia, and she felt something akin to ice water trickle into her veins. “Cato!” she said urgently. “Nalomy plans to use the shape shifter to assassinate Legate Usurlus!”

Cato frowned. “Why would Nalomy want to do that?”

“Usurlus plans to remove her from power,” Lucia answered. “There’s a good chance that she either knows or suspects that. If so, it would make sense to kill him
before
he delivers the bad news. I know all of this because my husband was working for Usurlus prior to his death—and I’ve been working for the Legate since!”

It took Cato a moment to process Lucia’s words, but once he had, the whole thing made a horrible kind of sense. Usurlus was the missing piece! The reason behind everything that had occurred thus far. And, based on what Cato knew about Nalomy, the only hope for the citizens of Dantha.
If
he could warn Usurlus in time. “We have what we came for,” Cato said soberly. “After we stash Citizen Lood in a safe place, I’ll return to the palace. Usurlus has a sizeable number of bodyguards. They can help me find Verafti and put him under lock and key. Or maybe, if I’m lucky, it will be necessary to shoot the bastard! Nothing would please me more.”

Lucia agreed and, knowing how important Lood would be as a witness, knew it was time to call on the resistance for support. Belok was dispatched to find some transportation, and having been unable to locate anything better, returned with an angen-drawn cart. But while slow, the back of the cart was enclosed, which meant no one could see the strange menagerie of passengers hidden inside.