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  “Perhaps, but fortunately for us, he’s always been on our side. “

  Myles frowned at Jakre. “Ours ... and the Regans. I don’t like it. I’ve met Ily. She’s no one’s fool. Yet she executed her entire Defense command. It makes no sense, Iban. She has to know that she’s leaving herself wide open. And suddenly Staffa arrives overhead demanding an audience? Consider this: He was on Targa. Our intelligence reports that Ily tried to kill him, that Tybalt himself ordered Staffa’s death. Rysta Braktov reportedly was ready to sacrifice over six hundred Regan troops in the process.”

  “And that information bothers you, Roma? It should make you sing. They drove Staffa into our laps.”

  Myles glanced up at the sky, seeing the first shuttle diving out of the clouds like a black sliver. “Anything having to do with Staffa kar Therma bothers me. Iban, think. What if it’s misinformation? What if Ily and Staffa have an alliance? What if it’s all to put us off our guard, trap us somehow? What if Tybalt really isn’t dead? Do you believe the stories? Tybalt killed by a woman, an amber-eyed Seddi assassin? Where was his security? Would Tybalt let an assassin get close to him? I smell a stink like a Sylenian sewer in this. “

  “You’re becoming paranoid,” Jakre warned. Myles squinted hostilely. “The Praetor of Myklene might have replied the same way ... once.”

  Admiral Jakre grunted his irritation, but Myles noticed that the man swallowed with difficulty and his eyes had narrowed as more of the dark wedges dropped and settled on the landing field to rest on their struts like predatory insects.

  Within minutes, the pneumatic doors of the gate slipped back and armored troops filed into the room by ranks. These were the famed Special Tactics units, the elite of the Companions. They moved with oiledmachine precision, swiftly covering the room. Despite having seen it before, Myles couldn’t help but be impressed. They stood, encased in armor, electronics studding their helmets, each person’s attention centered on a different portion of the room, each responsible, weapon at the ready. Their pride and professionalism radiated like an aura.

  A Special Tactics Officer-a black man with a scar on his right cheek stepped out, scanned the room, and took a report through his comm. He nodded, as if to himself, and spoke into his helmet,mike before stopping in front of Myles and the admiral. Myles knew STO Ryman Ark from former occasions. The man, like the rest of his kind, was nothing more than a two-legged jackal, but he was a damned competent one.

  “Good to see you again, Ark,” Jakre greeted. “My pleasure, Admiral. The Lord Commander will be here in just a moment.” Ark had a commanding voice. The hard eyes pinned Myles like a needle through a boil. “You’re looking more fit than I’ve ever seen you, Legate. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. “

  “Why ... er, thank you, Ryman.” Damned fool, didn’t Ark know an ample body was a sign of status and power? Or had Myles just been made the butt of some insipid joke the Companions shared? The Legate kept his official smile in place while his stomach made a growling sound; he placed his other hand protectively over his navel.

  A shuffling came from the gate and all eyes turned. A stillness fell on the room. Two people emerged and Myles’ heart stuttered.

  The man approached, tall and muscular, dressed in fornifitting steel-gray combat armor. A charcoal cloak draped like a thing alive from his shoulders. Glistening black hair had been pulled severely over the left ear, held in place by a jeweled clip that shot prismatic light in scintillating rays. Polished black boots rose to the man’s knees, and his fingers, too, were gloved in the protective cloth. A wide belt held a worn pistol, equipment pouches, communications devices, and an energy pack to power the golden choker at his neck that served as the field generator for a vacuum helmet.

  Myles locked his knees to keep them from wobbling as he met the Lord Commander’s stare. Staffa had a hard-jawed face, a high forehead, and a long straight nose. The thin-lipped mouth mirrored the Lord Commander’s power and arrogance.

  To kill the impulse to lick his suddenly dry lips, Myles clenched his teeth. Staffa kar Therma, the Star Butcher, had ruthlessly ordered the execution of billions. This man had blasted planets and sintered entire civilizations into slag-and he’d done so remorselessly, with all the emotion of Sylenian ice.

  Myles tore his gaze away and focused on the woman who strode beside Staffa. Yes, Skyla Lyma, the Wing Commander of the Companions, had indeed accompanied her master. She wore dazzling white combat armor that molded to every curve of her perfectly toned body. A gymnast would envy Lyma’s muscular poise, while even the most lethargic of men would spin fantasies of that gorgeous flesh. Taut breasts balanced the broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow, flat-bellied waist. Myles trembled at the promise of those perfectly rounded hips and muscular buttocks. And, ah, those long legs!

  Skyla Lyma had become his personal succubus. Her hair seemed spun from blonde ice that gleamed in the lights. She wore it in a long braid that looped about her left shoulder and was held in place by her uniform epaulet. Her face was that of a classic beauty, her alabaster skin smooth and marred only by a faint line of scar tissue along her left cheek. Her alert blue eyes might have been cut from azure crystals to accent her frosty beauty. They missed nothing as she cataloged the room and its security. She came to a stop before Myles and he caught the faintest hint of disgust before she masked all emotion.

  “Lord Commander,” Jakre had begun, “we welcome you to His Holiness’ Empire and Imperial Sassa, the capital. His Divinity, Holy Sassa the Second, awaits your presence with pleasure and anticipation. As always, you do us the greatest of honor by your arrival. We look forward to fulfilling your every wish and demand. You need but ask, and a grateful Sassa will more than gladly show its gratitude for the services the Lord Commander and his Companions have rendered in the past. We offer our complete, if meager, hospitality and consider it only a hint of the-“

  Staffa raised a gloved hand to cut Jakre off. “Enough, Iban. I think we’ve borne enough trials together to dispense with the formality. We appreciate your warm welcome and hope our relations with Divine Sassa and his staff will continue to proceed with such warmth. “

  Myles clenched up as those deadly gray eyes turned in his direction. “Legate Prima Excellence, it’s good to see you again. “

  “M-My pleasure, Lord Commander. I hope your journey was a pleasant one.”

  Staffa grinned-and a flutter like butterfly wings began in Myles’ belly.

  “Yes, Myles, the trip was pleasant, for once. The Wing Commander and I devoted our time to clarifying what we had to say to His Holiness.” Staffa’s feral gaze narrowed. “I must say, Myles, you’re looking better than you have in a long time., A little pale, perhaps, but you’ve lost weight. Not ill, I hope?”

  Myles gulped and stammered, “No ... no ... I.... Working hard, that’s all, Lord Commander.” Damn it, he’s smiling! What’s he after? What’s the game here?

  “Well, then,” Staffa stated mildly. “I take it that Divine Sassa is waiting?

  Gentlemen, we have business to discuss. Shall we be about it? My people should have our transportation unloaded by now.”

  Myles collected his wits. “Of course. The admiral and I have been giving considerable thought to the Regan situation. We’re glad to find you in our camp, Lord Commander. I’ll leave the details to His Holiness, but your presence here gladdens all of our hearts. “

  Skyla gave him a cool smile. “I sincerely hope so, Legate. The coming session will be ... interesting. I hope we can all come to an understanding of just how serious the current situation is.”

  Myles realized his official smile had become strained. “I’m sure we will.” But what exactly do you mean? We’re all going to war against Rega, aren’t we? A cool premonition crept through him.

  The Lord Commander leaned close, a concerned look on his normally inscrutable face. “You feeling all right, Myles? A bit of indigestion, perhaps?”

  “Huh?” Myles followed the Lord Commander’s gaze and realized h
e’d knotted his fingers into the fat of his belly. Myles felt the blood rush to his face and looked about hastily to see how many people had noticed. “It’s ... nothing, Lord Commander.”

  Staffa’s grin actually warmed. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? That’s it. You’ve been on a diet. No wonder you’re looking better. Good for you. I admire men with self-discipline. Stick with it and don’t give in.”’

  To Myles’ further consternation, Staffa gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder as he stepped past. “Diet?” Jakre asked from the side of his mouth. “Really?”

  Myles cursed and waddled back to his antigrav while his thoughts whirled in addled confusion. What in the Rotted Gods’ hell was the scheming Lord Commander after, anyway? And what did those cryptic words of Skyla’s mean?

  The butterfly feeling in Roma’s gut turned queasy.’

  Staffa had learned many bitter lessons in his life. One of the more painful involved security and transportation. More than twenty years ago, he’d accepted transportation from a host government-and it had cost him his wife and child. For years he and his Companions had searched. Rewards had been offered, and all to no avail. Finally he’d come face to face with the Myklenian Praetor, the one man he’d loved more than he could have a father. After twenty years, he’d learned the fate of the woman he’d loved for so long, Dead at my hands. May the Rotted Gods chew your corpse forever, Praetor. I may have killed her, but you, butcher, you placed her in jeopardy ... would have used my love as a weapon against me. His son, too, had been found. Raised by the Seddi, the boy had been alienated by design and chance until a way to bridge their differences might never be found. Lost? Is he really? Have I nothing left of that life but shattered memories?

  More recently, Staffa had traveled on his own, and the cost of that debacle still hadn’t been fully absorbed. Now he waited patiently while his aircars lined up in formation in the avenue between the tall buffwalled buildings. The air smelled metallic and slightlY acrid from industrial pollutants. The cloudy sky overhead looked hazy through the field created by the security generators.

  Even here, in the heart of the Sassan military spaceport, he felt confined, vulnerable.

  It’s just your nerves. You’re too close to Ily Takka’s treachery. This isn’t Rega. But then, after he said his piece to His Holiness, the Sassan God-Emperor, Sassa might not be so friendly a place either.

  Skyla had adopted a casual stance slightly behind him while Ryman Ark stood on the third point of what might appear to be a haphazard triangle. Despite the nonchalant postures adopted by Staffa’s people, they remained as wary as Ashtan gazelles.

  Staffa’s vehicle pulled up before him and the canopy lifted. One of Ark’s

  Special Tactics personnel climbed out and handed a check sheet to Ryman, who quickly climbed into the driver’s seat of the oblong aircar. Staffa lowered himself into the rear seat and took Skyla’s hand as the armored bubble closed over their heads.

  Skyla gave him a studied look from the corner of her eye and raised a pale eyebrow. “The Legate looked nervous enough to squirm out of his skin. You didn’t make him feel any better.”

  Staffa gave her a grim nod. “I’ve always appreciated Roma. I can read him like a book-just like most of the Sassan high command. Myles isn’t a bad sort. He’s just ... well. . .just a pus-licking wimp.”

  Staffa chuckled. “You don’t share my high opinion of the Legate?”

  She tightened her grip on his as the aircar rose to follow the Sassan formation. Their journey would take them through the center of the city to the Imperial Palace. Every step would be monitored by the Special Tactics units and by Chrysla, hanging in orbit above. “You didn’t have to listen to him describe in detail what he’d do with me if he ever got me into his bed. If he ever lays a finger on me, I’ll break his fat little neck, crush his sternum, and kick him so hard his balls will loop around his ears.”

  “And when did you overhear all this?”

  Her full lips curled into a weary smile. “While you were off galloping around the Regan Empire and getting yourself sold into slavery on Etaria. Myles showed up to dicker a new contract immediately after you slipped away. Ily Takka arrived within hours of Roma, but she was the sharper of the two. She caught something in the wind, some clue that the situation had changed, and she used it to track you down.”

  “It doesn’t pay to underestimate Ily.” He paused. “She wanted me to be her emperor, you know. She offered me all of Free Space-at her side.”

  A fiery gleam filled Skyla’s cerulean eyes, “And for once, my love, I’m glad you showed a little sense and turned her down.”

  “I was never that dull-witted.”

  “But is Sinklar Fist?” Skyla wondered absently as she gazed out at the buildings they were passing. Staffa rubbed his chin and frowned as they passed

  through a hole dilated in the security field and accelerated into the city proper. The Sassan capital gleamed before them. Tall spires of office buildings rose in phalanxes that stretched into the distance, their sil. vered sides resplendent with windows and abstract art. At the bases, warehouses created a blocky effect of irregular roofs, each with a shipping and receiving pad marked off by landing circles and elevator ports.

  “I hope to the Quantum Gods that he knows just how viperous she is. He’s hanging by a thread anyway.” Staffa ground his teeth and knotted his free fist. “Damn it! Why didn’t he believe me? Why didn’t he let me prove-“

  “We’ve been through this a hundred times,” Skyla reminded firmly. “Intellectually, you know exactly why he did what he did. Bruen had played him like a cat. Every tragedy in that boy’s life could be laid at the doorstep of the Seddi. Arta Fera killed the woman he loved. He firmly believes his parents were psychologically programmed Seddi assassins. He watched the Seddi butcher his troops and derail every honest attempt he made at finding a peaceful solution to the Targan revolt.” Her expression pinched. “And I have a sneaking hunch that if we knew half of what Bruen and Hyde did to that boy.... Well, it’s amazing that he’s sane.”

  Staffa tapped his fingers on the cabin molding as they shot down the main traffic access, their escort fanned out around them. Myles had been efficient. No bother vehicles could be seen on the wide lane.

  “I have to convince him,” Staffa replied gently. Skyla squeezed his hand. “In time. For now you’d better channel your wits into how to handle His Holiness. Divine Sassa isn’t going to like what you’re going to tell him. He and his military are primed for war. The only thing that’s slowed them so far is their stumbling economy.”

  “He’s going to have to like it. “ Staffa took a deep breath and straightened. “If he doesn’t, I’ll have to stuff it down his throat.” Assuming the struggling engineers back at Itreata could manage to make Countermeasures work. That ship would be the key.They could still go to war. Depending on what their spies tell them, they might consider this the best opportunity they’ve ever had. Rioting in Rega . .. the execution of the Regan High Command ... no heir to fill Tybalt’s throne. . . . “

  Images flashed through Staffa’s mind. Corpses lay stacked in empty streets. Gray skies roiled above as endless flakes of grimy gray snow fell into gaping eye sockets. Frozen fingers clawed desperately at the- icy wind of nuclear winter. Despite the cold, he could smell the stench of death as the bodies buried beneath the mass bloated in the heat of their own decomposi-tion. Slimy brown fluids pooled at the edge of the dead to freeze into humped puddles.

  “If they do,” Staffa whispered, “they’ll drown in “their own blood.”

  13:45 Aboard Regan warship, Gyton:

  “Loyalty turns into a slipper fish when you really get to thinking about it. I’m not asking you to turn your backs on the Empire, or the oath you all swore to protect it. But I want you to think about some things, When you dropped on Targa, it was to kill Regan troops. The Emperor asked you to kill fellow citizem who were doing their duty to the Imperium. I was one of those people who was supposed to be killed
by you, so I’ve got a stake in this at the gut level.

  “Now, I’ve heard a lot of you cursing Sinklar Fist, and cursing me, too, because I was the guy who took Henck prisoner at his headquarters in Kaspa. But think about it. A lot of your people were killed in the Targan drop, but so were a lot of ours. People, put a little skull sweat into analyzing why it happened in the first place. Why were we ordered to kill each other? Because the system’s gone rotten and it’s time for a change. Maybe it’s time we get back to thinking about Rega, and that oath we took to protect the Empire, because, people, we’re the only hope the Empire has left.

  “Loyalty. That’s the problem you have to deal with, decide for yourselves.

  “As I look out at you, I see Regan combat veterans. Some of you were Twenty-seventh Maikan, some Third Ashtan. Now the Empire’s teetering on the brink. Today, we’re all Regan. So you think about loyaltY, and what it means. Sure, you can owe it to a man, or a planet, or even an empire. But first, you have to owe it to yourself, to what you know way down in your guts is right and honorable.

  “Myself, I’m loyal to Sinklar Fist-because he’s loyal to the people.”

  Recorded speech by First Ben MacRuder to the reconstituted Fourth Targan Assault Division

  CHAPTER 4

  Ily Takka stood up from her desk and rubbed the back of her neck. A terrible fatigue ate into her muscles with needle teeth. Her brain felt hot and fevered, the burning effect like that of too much caffeine. Events had begun to take their toll on her reserves. She glanced dully around her opulent office before stepping over to the armored window to stare out at the lights of Rega. The sun would be coming up soon, but for now the capital spread before her, a pattern of lights and blocky darkened buildings. Tonight Rega slept amidst uneasy dreams. Everyone awaited the new dawn with trepidation.

  And so do I.

  Since the execution of the military command, several Division Firsts had taken matters into their own hands-as Ily had hoped they would. Those commanders who contacted her, offering themselves as replacements for Mathaiison, she arrested. Better to castrate their ambition now. The ones who called requesting approval for some action, Ily tagged for Sinklar’s future inspection. ‘Me third-and most frequentsort of Division First did nothing at all but sat like rocks awaiting instructions from someone, anyone. Those, Sinklar would replace with his own trusted commanders.