Bones of Empire (18 page)

“Who are you?” Cato demanded.

“My name is Korm, and I'm a beast master,” the heavy replied proudly.

“Well, beast master Korm,” Cato said matter-of-factly, “you are under arrest. The charge is attempted murder.”

“It isn't right!” Korm objected. “All my children wanted was something to eat.”

“The bastard is crazy,” one of the street cops observed.

“Yes,” Cato agreed thoughtfully. “He sure as hell is. . . . But someone sent Korm and his so-called children here. The question is
who
?”

 

 

Tank three, as it was generally referred to, consisted of a tiled room that was large enough to accommodate a six-man lineup, and was equipped with vid cams, bright lights, and a rather ominous floor drain that would make it easy to hose blood off the floor. At the moment, a huge Cloque named Emsay was seated on what appeared to be a dangerously small bench as a police interrogator continued to grind away at him.

The observation room was separated from the tank by a pane of one-way glass so that people like Primus Pilus Inobo could watch whatever interrogation was taking place, and the policeman was pissed. And for what he considered to be good reason. Because ever since Jak Cato had fallen out of the sky and been assigned to his command, the errant Xeno cop had been an unending source of trouble.

First there was the Emperor's Day episode, followed by a wild-eyed assertion that Emor had been replaced by a shape shifter, who was currently running the government. Then came the hawala shoot-out in the X Quarter—closely followed by an effort to assassinate Cato on the job. And now, after a
second
attempt on his life, Inobo was starting to wonder if his subordinate was immortal.

The good news, to the extent that there was some, was that beast master Korm had been willing to finger Emsay. Who, with assistance from a small army of police and a robotic cargo lifter, had been arrested and transported to tank three, where he was being interrogated. And now with Inobo, Usurlus, and Cato looking on, it appeared as though Emsay was about to spill his guts. No small task where the massively overweight Cloque was concerned.

The thought brought a smile to Inobo's face as the Xeno Corps interrogator took advantage of Emsay's emotional output to help break him. She had gray hair, a motherly demeanor, and was dressed in nonthreatening civilian clothes. “So you feel that you were used,” she said sympathetically, as Emsay continued to bake under the hot lights.

“And now, based on testimony provided by beast master Korm, you are going to spend at least ten years on an Imperial prison planet. There won't be much to eat, I'm afraid. I understand meals consist of just enough calories to keep each prisoner alive. Meanwhile,” she continued conversationally, “the person who hired you to assassinate Officer Cato will continue to live a life of luxury. It doesn't seem fair, does it?”

 

 

Emsay's saucerlike eyes blinked in an attempt to cope with the bright lights. He was hot, tired, and above all hungry. The mere thought of food caused his mouth tentacles to writhe uncontrollably. But it was important to remember who he was,
what
he was, and to hang tough. Because if he was going to sacrifice a client, especially one as powerful as Senator Nalomy, then there had to be some sort of quid pro quo. So he answered the question accordingly.

“No, it certainly doesn't,” he croaked. “Let's say the accusations are true. . . . Let's say there
is
a client. . . . And let's say I was to provide you with a name. What would be in it for me?”

The interrogator had “felt” it coming and was ready with an answer. “First, there would be the satisfaction of knowing that you had done the right thing, thereby taking the first step on the road to rehabilitation. Then, were you to provide us with your client's name and testify against him or her as well, it's quite possible that you could serve your time on the Cloque home world rather than a prison planet. And, based on what I've heard, friends and relatives would be allowed to bring you extra food.”

Emsay felt saliva flood his mouth. “Could my legal representative get that in writing? Especially the last part?”

“Of course,” the interrogator replied smoothly. “So are you ready to talk?”

“Yes,” Emsay replied reluctantly. “But I'm going to need something to eat first.”

A GROUP OF FIFTEEN PEOPLE HAD ASSEMBLED OUTSIDE
the Imperial residence, four of whom were members of the Praetorian Guard, all equipped with the tools required to break in. But they couldn't do so without a final order from Chief of Staff Rolari, and he was waffling.

More than a day had passed since the Emperor had met with the Vord diplomats, and all attempts to communicate with him had been met with silence. So Rolari was faced with a terrible conundrum. It was his job to respect the Emperor's wishes, no matter how eccentric they might seem, and that included Emor's recent insistence on personal privacy. Because even if he was crazy, he was the Emperor.

If Rolari and the other top officials were wrong, and they forced their way into the residence only to discover that Emor was perfectly fine, then some very bad things were likely to happen. Especially to
him
. So Rolari felt a large empty place at the pit of his stomach as he made eye contact with the burly Centurion and gave the two-word order. “Break in.”

The heavily embossed doors looked decorative but were made of solid durasteel and designed to hold off a concerted attack by a hypothetical force of armed insurgents long enough for the Emperor and his family to escape by air. So it was necessary for the soldiers to light cutting torches and go to work on the barrier's locking mechanisms before they could access the area beyond.

The first few minutes were the worst. Because as the yellow-orange lines sliced through vertical-locking rods and began to isolate the locks that controlled the horizontal bolts, Rolari feared that he would hear Emor's enraged voice over the intercom at any moment. But as the work continued without producing a response from within, the official became increasingly convinced that the Emperor was incapacitated in some way. Ill, perhaps? Or, God forbid, dead? There was always the possibility that he'd been struck down by an undiagnosed disease, or taken his own life, which would be consistent with the theory that Emor was mentally ill.

So Rolari experienced all sorts of emotions as the first rod was severed and the previously tight doors gave slightly. There was a momentary hiss, as if pressures were being equalized, followed by the outgassing of a very foul odor. One of the officials said, “My God, what's that?” and held his nose.

Rolari thought he knew the answer. But as the Praetorians pushed the doors open, and the Chief of Staff peered inside, he saw the debris-strewn floor and realized that something very unusual had taken place. Something very, very dark.

And that suspicion was soon confirmed as the group pushed its way farther into the residence—where a wealth of gruesome evidence was found. “There are bones scattered around the floor!” one of the soldiers announced.

“There's blood in the kitchen!” another voice said. “And what could be a body. . . . Oh, my God, I found a head! It's Ambassador Nusk!”

The claim was too outlandish to ignore, so Rolari went to see for himself, and was revolted to find that the official was correct. The head that had been left in one corner of the blood-smeared prep area
was
that of Ambassador Nusk! Who, judging from the expression frozen on his blackened face, had suffered a horrible death.

Rolari felt his lunch rise in his throat, stumbled out into the informal eating area where Emor traditionally had breakfast, and threw up in a vase worth five thousand Imperials. Others had similar reactions, and the crime scene would have been horribly compromised, had it not been for the businesslike Centurion who shooed everyone out of the residence. Then, under strict instructions not to touch anything, two of his men were assigned to search for Emperor Emor.

Fifteen minutes later, having completed their task, the battle-hardened Praetorians left through the front doors. Rolari and the others were outside waiting. “We looked everywhere, sir,” the lead soldier reported as he removed wads of cloth from his nostrils. “There are bones here and there, some of which appear to have been there for quite a while, but no sign of the Emperor or his body.”

Rolari took the news hard. Nearly all color left his face, his hands shook as if palsied, and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “Are you sure?
Completely
sure?”

The legionnaire nodded. “Yes, sir. Unless some of the loose body parts were those of the Emperor. I can't rule that out. But, if that was the case, who spread them around?”

Rolari's head began to swim, he felt weak in the knees, and he was about to collapse when two officials rushed to hold him up. “Inobo was correct,” Rolari moaned pitifully. “I thought the story he told me was too fantastic to be true, but it
was
true, and I have only myself to blame!

“Call Primus Pilus Inobo, tell him to get over here, and to bring his best investigators with him. . . . Call Legate Usurlus as well. He tried to warn me, and I wouldn't listen.”

“Yes, sire,” an unctuous assistant promised. “Will there be anything else?”

“Yes,” Rolari answered hoarsely, as his eyes darted from face to face. “There must be total secrecy until the investigation has been completed, the Emperor's son has been notified, and the succession is assured. Usurlus can help with that. Now, close the doors, post guards, and take me to my office. I need to lie down.”

 

 

A swarm of silvery news cams swooped in to capture shots of Legate Usurlus as he stepped out onto the open veranda. And for good reason. It wasn't every day that a Senator was arrested and charged with agreeing to kill legislation in return for the death of a police officer and possibly a Legate as well, the same man credited with removing Nalomy's daughter from office on Dantha, thereby ending the corruption there.

But while the situation was breaking Usurlus's way, he was conscious of the fact that Senator Nalomy had lots of powerful friends and would soon be free on his personal recognizance. Not to mention the fact that the only evidence against him was the word of a Cloque crime lord. So even though Usurlus couldn't help but feel somewhat jubilant, he kept the emotion hidden and chose his words with care. “I was shocked and saddened to hear of Senator Nalomy's arrest,” he told the hovering cameras. “The charges that have been brought against him are quite serious and, if true, would warrant severe punishment.

“However,” Usurlus added sternly as he glanced from lens to lens, “each citizen is presumed to be innocent unless proven guilty in a court of law. It will be up to a tribunal and a jury to determine Senator Nalomy's guilt or innocence. I, of course, will be satisfied with whatever decision they reach.”

There were lots of shouted questions from reporters who were watching the feeds from their various offices, but Usurlus waved them off and went back inside. That left the cameras to hover just off the veranda in hopes of getting more pictures of the Legate or, if they were lucky, a sound bite from a member of the Usurlus household. Meanwhile, Livius was waiting for Usurlus in the living room. “You have a visitor, sire. . . . Imperial Secretary Arla Armo is waiting in your study.”

Usurlus was surprised and let it show. “Really? It usually works the other way around. What's the purpose of her visit? Did she say?”

Livius shook his head. “No, sire.”

“It probably has something to do with Senator Nalomy's arrest,” Usurlus mused. “Please ask Satha to bring some refreshments.”

As Livius departed on his errand, Usurlus made his way down the hall and entered his office. Though not required to do so, Armo rose to greet him. A scarf covered her partially shaved skull, and she wore plain clothes, as if to avoid notice. And that was when Usurlus realized that rather than arrive by air car, as an official of her rank would normally do, Armo had chosen ground travel instead. Why?

“Please forgive me for dropping in this way,” Armo said as they embraced. “But there is an urgent matter that I must discuss with you—and one that is very confidential as well. That's why I came by ground car, and judging from all of the news cams hanging around your home, it's a good thing I did.”

“No apologies are required,” Usurlus assured her, as Satha arrived with a tray and placed it on the desk. “Please,” Usurlus said as his slave poured cups of hot caf, “have a seat. What is the matter you spoke of? And what can I do to help?”

Armo waited for Satha to leave before attempting to speak. And when she did, the tears began to well up. Usurlus offered a box of tissues, and she took two of them. “I'm sorry,” Armo said, as she dabbed at her eyes. “But this is very difficult. As you probably know, given your connections, Emperor Emor has been somewhat reclusive of late. Frankly, many of us, myself included, feared that he had become mentally unstable.

“But late yesterday we discovered that a shape shifter not only managed to infiltrate the Imperial residence, kill Emperor Emor, and take his place. Worse yet,” Armo said as she broke into tears, “it appears that the Sagathi ate him!”

Even though Usurlus not only was aware of the possibility but had attempted to warn authorities about it, he was still shocked and saddened. In spite of the fact that Emor had been tough, even ruthless at times, most of his initiatives had been selfless. Which was all a reasonable citizen could hope for. So his death was a real loss.