Bones of Empire (32 page)

Demeni's
true
form was lithe and breathtakingly beautiful even if the emotions she projected were hard and cold. “Yes,” she replied, “you did. First you killed the Uman Emperor and took his place. That was both rash and likely to cause even more trouble for our kind. But how could I complain since your impersonation of the Emperor was for the purpose of finding me?

“But now, based on information received from my spy-masters, it looks as though the Umans followed you! Why else would the Vords allow a team of alien law-enforcement officers to land on Therat? They don't have empaths, and the Umans do.”

Verafti felt the first stirrings of fear. “Your spies are wrong.”

“The team's arrival was broadcast on all of the vid nets,” Demeni countered angrily. “There were four of them—led by a Centurion.”

Verafti felt a lump form in his throat. “Did they give his name?”

“I think it was Cato.”

Verafti swore, and Demeni's eyes narrowed. “You know him?”

“He's the one,” Verafti answered. “The only one who could follow me here.”

“Yet you never told me,” Demeni said accusingly.

“I didn't want to worry you,” Verafti replied lamely.

“You didn't want me to
reject
you,” Demeni shot back, “but it's too late for that now.”

“I'll take care of it,” Verafti said grimly. “Tell me where the empaths are, and I'll go there.”

“My assassins will take care of it,” she responded. “Then and only then will we know peace.”

And that was when Verafti realized something he should have known all along. The last thing he wanted was peace.

Thanks to the arrangements put in place by Umji, a woman in a crisp lab coat was waiting to greet Cato and Alamy when they arrived in the Municipal Building's marble-floored lobby. She immediately led them through a checkpoint, where they were required to show identification and palm a scanner before being allowed to proceed.

The woman led them down a flight of tightly turning stairs to a door labeled MORGUE. The hallway beyond was both chilly and brightly lit. “This way please,” the woman said, as she led her guests down the corridor to a room identified by the numeral “2.” “I'll be nearby if you need me,” the woman said as she pushed a button and the door slid out of the way.

The room had a white ceiling, the walls were covered with green tiles, and the floor consisted of polished duracrete. Glass-fronted cabinets were mounted over a long countertop, on which gleaming instruments had been left to dry.

Umji was waiting next to one of two operating tables, and the Vord wasn't alone. A male corpse had been laid out on one of the stainless-steel surfaces, and there was no mistaking the look of horror permanently etched into his face. And no wonder . . . Half of his neck was missing, as were substantial chunks of shoulder and chest.

Cato said hello to Umji and immediately bent over to inspect the body more closely, while Alamy battled to keep her lunch down. The same lunch Cato had purchased for her only an hour earlier. Fortunately, Cato wasn't paying any attention as Alamy swallowed and looked away. “So, who
is
this guy?” he wanted to know.

“His name is Parakar,” Umji answered. “Henro Parakar. He was found next to the road west of Lake Boro a few days ago but only came to our attention this morning.”

“And the wounds? What does the coroner have to say about them?”

“Unfortunately, the senior coroner was murdered,” Umji replied. “So we don't know what he would say. But the assistant coroner says the wounds are consistent with an attack by a wild animal.”

“An attack that took place
prior
to Parakar's death? Or after it?”

“Prior,” Umji said. “The coroner feels certain the bites and the subsequent blood loss were the cause of Parakar's death because he was in good physical health and no other wounds were found.”

“So that's why you called us in,” Cato said thoughtfully. “He fits the profile, I'll give you that. Are there large carnivores on Therat? The kind that could inflict such wounds?”

“Not in close proximity to Kybor,” Umji answered. “We looked into that, and all such life-forms have been hunted to the edge of extinction in and around the city.”

“So what was Parakar doing on the highway? Did they find his vehicle?”

“There wasn't any vehicle,” Umji answered. “Although it's worth mentioning that when a passing motorist discovered the body, Parakar's clothes were wet. As if he'd been swimming in the lake. And, if you look at his face and what remains of his chest, you'll see injuries that might have been sustained before the fatal attack. A possibility that seems even more likely given the presence of what look like intentional burns.

“As for what he was doing in the area, that's hard to say,” Umji continued. “Parakar was employed as one of our civilian consultants. As such, his duties required a certain amount of travel.”

“So, he was an informer.”

Umji frowned. “If you insist.”

“Who was he ratting on?”

“Ratting on?”

“Informing on. What group, or groups, was he assigned to watch?”

Umji fished a hand comp out of a pocket and examined the screen. “A group called the Rahaties. They worship a goddess with three heads.”

“Now that's interesting,” Cato said gravely. “If our Sagathi friends are involved with the Rahaties, and they thought Parakar was ratting them out, they might torture him. That would account for the burn marks. Then, having confirmed their suspicions, they might very well rip his throat out Sagathi style and dump the body.”

“That makes sense,” Umji agreed. “The next logical step is to view all of his reports. Maybe we'll find something there.”

“Can I ask a question?” Alamy put in as she spoke for the first time.

“Sure,” Cato replied as he turned to look at her.

Alamy had her lunch under control at that point but was careful to keep her eyes off the body. “This is pretty unlikely, I know that,” she said. “But the news nets have been running stories about the coroner's murder for days now. A reporter stands accused of killing him because his image was captured by security cams located here in the morgue. But the last I heard, no one has been able to come up with a motive. Maybe he doesn't have one.”

The police officers stared at Alamy for a moment as both sought to understand what she was telling them. Cato was the first to respond. “You're saying that someone who looked exactly like the reporter might have committed the murder.”

Alamy nodded.

“But
why
?” Umji wanted to know.

“That's a very good question,” Cato said. “And, if Alamy is correct, the answer could be right here somewhere.”

At that point, the police officers went in search of some help, and Alamy followed them out into the hall. Cato hadn't been surprised by the nature of her contribution, and that, insofar as Alamy was concerned, constituted a victory.

THE LAST VESTIGES OF A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET WERE STILL
visible on the western horizon, and the previously warm air had begun to cool, as Alamy and Keen made their way down the sidewalk. Street vendors were hauling their carts away, and shop owners were taking racks of goods inside for the night, but restaurants that had been closed since two in the afternoon were open for business again.

Meanwhile, somewhere off in the distance the persistent
pop
,
pop
,
pop
of gunfire could be heard as members of a resistance group skirmished with Vord troops. Such clashes could be heard around the clock lately, and even though the Vords could bomb Kybor into dust if they chose to, they lacked enough troops to pacify it. A fact the rebels were clearly aware of. Meanwhile, most citizens, Alamy included, were alert to the possibility of trouble but sought to live as normally as they could. And with an armed policeman for an escort, she was reasonably safe from street thugs.

“How 'bout this place?” Keen inquired, as they paused in front of a restaurant known for its spicy cuisine.

“No, I'd rather not,” Alamy replied honestly. “The one time I ate there, my stomach was upset all night. How about Bratci's? I know how much you like steak—and they have a menu any carnivore would love.”

The Xeno cop brightened. Partly because he
was
carnivorous, but mostly because he had a tendency to interpret any sign of thoughtfulness on Alamy's part as the beginning of a burgeoning romance even though he could “feel” her emotions and knew the interest wasn't reciprocal. “Okay,” Keen agreed, “a steak sounds good.”

So they continued down the street and around a corner to the point where a green awning extended out over some nicely set tables and the sidewalk. It was the same restaurant Cato had taken Alamy to the day before. Alamy felt guilty about going there with another man, especially one who was hopelessly in love with her, even though that was silly. Especially since Cato had yet to make a true commitment.

Keen clearly saw it as a personal victory when they were seated out front even though they were early enough to get a good table regardless. That was when Alamy noticed the beggar on the other side of the street. He was dressed in raggedy clothes but looked too clean for his profession. And, more alarmingly, he was staring straight at her!

“Val,” she said, “check the beggar on the other side of the street. Is he staring at us?”

Keen, who was engrossed in the menu, glanced up. “Nope . . . He's looking up the street right now.”

Alamy checked, saw that Keen was correct, and concluded that life in Kybor was making her paranoid. The waiter arrived shortly thereafter, took their orders, and promised to bring drinks. When they arrived, Keen raised his beer in a mock toast. “To Centurion Cato, Section Leader Shani, and the jungle they're spending the night in!”

Alamy laughed politely. Cato and Shani had departed under the cover of darkness that morning for Lake Boro, where, if everything went according to plan, they were going to corner Verafti and Demeni. A prospect that terrified Alamy since she'd been witness to what Verafti could do back on Dantha and feared for Cato's life. The fact that he was spending so much time with Shani didn't please her either—since it was pretty clear that the police officer still hoped to get her hooks into Cato.

The meal was good even if Alamy's thoughts were mostly elsewhere. As they left the restaurant, she allowed Keen to take her arm, which pleased him greatly. Then, having just turned a corner, Alamy spotted the same beggar she'd seen earlier. “Look over there,” she said as she gave Keen a nudge. “That's the man I saw earlier. I think he's watching us.”

“Of course he is,” Keen replied indulgently. “You're very pretty—so men look at you all the time.”

Alamy knew Keen was referring to himself, and the comment made her feel uncomfortable, so she let the matter drop. It was dark by then, but the occasional glow of a streetlight plus the added illumination provided by the orbital reflector, was enough to see by. There were still quite a few people on the street as Alamy and Keen entered the building and returned to their apartment.

Keen, who was quite diligent about such things, double-locked the front door and checked each room to make sure everything was as it should be, before sitting down in front of the vid screen to watch the news. It was something that Cato insisted the team continue to do as a way to monitor the overall situation. The fact that the Vords were in control of all media had to be taken into account, of course, but there were still things to be learned. Especially where crime was concerned—murders in particular.

With no meals to prepare, Alamy was free to take a tepid shower and go to bed in the room she normally shared with Shani. Once there, she discovered that it was too hot to sleep and lay staring up at the ceiling. Half an hour passed, then an hour, and Alamy was still awake when she heard glass shatter, followed by a soft
thump
.

Alamy was wearing nothing more than a T-shirt and panties, so she paused long enough to snatch her robe off the back of a chair before padding out into the living room. That was when she saw the broken window and Keen lying on the floor below it. A pool of blood was starting to form beneath him.

Alamy started to rush forward, thought better of it, and stopped long enough to kill the lights. Keen had clearly been shot by a sniper located on the other side of the street somewhere. There were at least a hundred windows over there, and the gunman could have been firing from any one of them. Had the street beggar been part of a plan to target the team? That seemed very likely. Alamy dropped to the floor and crawled to the other side of the room on hands and knees. She paused to pull her robe off. Maybe she could use it as a pressure bandage. “Val? Can you hear me? It's Alamy.”

The answer was a rattling cough. “It hurts, Alamy. . . . It hurts really bad.”

Alamy cradled Keen's head. She was kneeling in his blood. “I'll get my com . . . I'll call for help.”

Keen coughed, and more blood dribbled down his chin. “It's too late,” he insisted. “Take my gun . . . I can ‘feel' them closing in. Kill them, Alamy, kill
all
of them, or they will kill you.”

Keen's fingers found her arm, and it felt as if they were made of steel. The light in his eyes had already started to fade. “Alamy? Tell me . . . Was there a chance?”

“Yes, of course there was a chance,” Alamy said softly. “You're a very special man.”