Requiem for the Conqueror

Chapter 10

Tybalt the Imperial Seventh reclined in his plush gravity chair, surrounded by his opulent sandwood desk. The airconditioning stirred the jasmine-scented air above his head and the Regan sun shimmered down through the crystal skylight. Gentle strains of an obscure Maikan symphony soothed him. He absently began to chew his thumb as he watched the message fax. The holo of Ily Takka paused after her ritual greeting. Tybalt smiled.

How I've missed you, my hot fox. Haven't had a decent romp since you left. Enjoying the taste of power, my precious? Beware, it's poisonous. He laughed. Also true to her prediction, he had grown tired of having no one to talk to. The others simply agreed or refused to express their true feelings on matters out of fear of his power.

How lonely, this business of being Emperor.

Her next words brought him upright. "My Lord Emperor, it seems we have miscalculated. We thought Staffa might bargain beyond our means. We accepted that we might have to eliminate him from the service of the Sassans. To my surprise and astonishment he has turned down both the Sassan offer of contract — and ours. Lord Emperor, he wasn't even present. We had to deal face-to-face with his Wing Commander — and in the presence of the Sassan Legate to boot. The exact transcript of my actions and offers is enclosed with this report. Suffice it to say, the Companions don't care to listen to offers at this time, nor will the Lord Commander fight for either side. Enclosed is the packet his people prepared. I trust you will find it to be most interesting."

Impossible! Staffa turned down the largest contract ever offered? He wouldn't even listen to an offer from Rega? Or Sassa? A sudden shiver ran down Tybalt's spine. What did

it mean? What was Staffa's angle? Was he preparing to go rogue? Perhaps turn to piracy? Or worse, could it be some deep conspiracy he and the Sassans had concocted during Staffa's last contract?

Tybalt picked up the brief from the ceramic table before him. He frowned at the broken seal and looked back at the screen as Ily continued, "Not the least of the revelations to come out of the Itreatic Asteroids is that Staffa himself is on leave. He has disappeared." Her lips curled with triumph. "But, Lord Emperor, he is vacationing within Rega and I believe I have the ability to find him. I will keep you informed concerning the results of my search."

Tybalt realized dumbly that his mouth gaped open. The Lord Commander had gone totally daft! The single most important man in the politics of Free Space — disappeared! Vacationing, by the Bloody Gods!

Ily bent her head in deep thought. "Which brings us to the Companions. I couldn't interest them in any of the offers I tried to make. One possible exception might be the Targan affair. Wing Commander Lyma hinted that Staffa might contract to fight for the Empire in that 'domestic' matter. As a result, I propose we allow that stew to boil for a whie longer."

She took a step and raised a hand to her chin, indicating deep thought; and Tybalt nodded his agreement during the pause.

Her eyes flashed up. "I suggest, Lord Emperor, that we allow the Rebels to gain some ground. Perhaps a shipment of arms might fall to them? And afterward, suppose a green commander took a punitive force into the field? Let's assume that details of his orders and command were somehow to fall into Targan hands. And if there were a foul-up in the chain of command at the critical moment, would it not be possible that our situation might appear desperate enough to appeal to the Companions and their sense of vanity in arms?" She raised an eyebrow.

It might indeed work. Oh, how precious my Ily is. Had I a complete Council of her caliber — Staffa and his butchers be damned — I'd have the whole of Free Space in my very palm! Indeed, there has to be a likely candidate to promote. Staff Second Kapitol? No, too much family clout there. Perhaps someone from the lower ranks, an insignificant man.

It began to come together.

"And the First Targan Assault Division — already decimated once — could be launched again into the fray," Tybalt noted. After all, it had only recently been filled with the rankest of the inexperienced drawn from twenty different reserve cadres. "Nothing there to lose."

"In the meantime, Lord Emperor, I will await your verdict on my report." Ily bowed her head submissively, a mockery only Tybalt could understand as he stared at the falling veils of her glossy black hair.

He turned to his own equipment. "My Lord Minister of Internal Security. Your report and recommendations are accepted and approved. I only have one other order: Find Staffar

Private Sohnar came aware slowly, his mind piecing itself together, drawing strings of thought into a continuous whole.

Pain filtered through the black recesses of unconsciousness. Pain made it difficult to align thoughts into a coherent string.

"Sohnar?"

The voice sifted through the pain and confusion, giving him something with which to identify. Sohnar, thats me. Thats me, repeated in his hazy mind, a simple fact he could cling to.

"Sohnar? Wake up now. You should be able to hear us."

The voice came louder, and through the pain, he managed to feel his body, tingling in places, but still there. The effort to move his tongue came automatically. He recoiled from the dry, desiccated feel of his mouth.

"Water," he heard himself croak, awed by the quality of his voice.

Soothing wetness filled his mouth, causing him to almost choke as the gag reflex triggered. His reeling mind recovered, swallowed, and sought more of the wondrous liquid.

"Sohnar, we must talk," the voice came again, distinct this time.

He sought the familiar neural pathways and blinked his

eyes open. Images and colors blurred his vision. He heard:

"Give him a couple more ccs of stimulant."

The prick of the injection barely penetrated the mantle of pain. Warmth rushed through him, allowing his thoughts to coalesce.

"Sohnar?" The voice asked, mild, compassionate.

"Yes." He sounded better now as he sucked on a small plastic tube of liquid.

"What happened last night?" The gentle voice soothed him, making him feel safe.

Last night? What did that mean?

"Last night, Sohnar. I can see confusion on your face. What happened?" A pause while he tried to sort it out and then the voice reminded him. "You were on guard duty."

An image formed in Sohnar's stumbling mind. "Yes. Walking the compound."

"That's right."

He searched his memory, struggling to recall. "Boring. Terribly boring."

"Did you see anything unusual?"

He felt himself try to nod, pain lancing at the back of his neck.

"What?" the voice prodded through the pain, bringing him back to the wavering image.

"Officers. Two officers. Man and a woman." Yes, he could remember. Both coming down the white wooden stairs from the First Assault Division Headquarters. Sohnar explained slowly, having trouble with the words.

"What did you do?"

Sohnar thought, closing his eyes so the blurred images outside didn't confuse the ones in his mind.

"Saluted."

"Good for you. and then?"

What? Sohnar thought, trying to pull the pieces from his wobbling, shifting thoughts. "Not right," he whispered to himself, remembering.

"What was not right, Sohnar?"

"The woman," he added, remembering her face. Drawn, white, nervous. "And. And. "

"Go on. And what?" the soothing voice prodded. "It is vitally important that we know, Sohnar. Please. please, we need you to remember."

Important. Must know. Sohnar struggled, his mind starting to shy away from the thoughts. A feeling of something terrible stirred in his subconscious. It came to him.

"Her armor," Sohnar remembered. "Bloody. Thought she might have been on a raid. Scared. She was scared."

More began to fill in the blind spots. "The man, big man, dark-skinned, saluted. Good soldier doesn't question an officer. I returned to my patrol."

"Yes, Sohnar, go on," the gentle voice caressed him.

"Walked around the perimeter fence," Sohnar added, seeing his route through the lighted section behind the First Division Headquarters. "Saw them again. At the electrical panel behind the headquarters."

The horror trembled beneath his memory. Fear began to mix with the pain he lived.

"Good work, Sohnar, don't let us down now, son. We need you. Need your report."

"They. they did something to chips in the box. I walked. walked quietly. Could hear them talking. The man spoke. Said, hat's good. Red-green to white-blue. That reconnects the alarm.' "

Sohnar hesitated.

"And then?"

"Then. Then. " Sohnar swallowed, his mouth gone dry again. "The woman closed the box and she leaned against the wall. Sick. Sick. She threw up on the ground. The man put his arm around her shoulder. Comforting, you know?"

"You're doing fine, Sohnar. Tell us all of it. You are so important."

A shaking tried to climb out of Sohnar's mind. Fear tangled his speech center, making him utter strange noises.

'"Give him a half cc to calm him. This is the critical part."

Another slight prick and Sohnar felt his fear recede— unfortunately, so did some of his carefully maintained coherency.

"Continue, Sohnar," the gentle voice prompted.

"Walked forward… to see… if I could. help her. Saw. her look… up. Amber eyes." Fear, despite the repression, surged again. Stubbornly, Sohnar fought with all his Ashtan bull-headedness. "She made. strange noise.

I… only. help her. To help her. Didn't have. time to react."

His voice locked.

In his mind, Sohnar relived that moment, watched in horror as the woman tensed, the man stepping to one side, pulling a pistol from his belt.

Sohnar, understanding too late, crouched, bringing his blaster up, turning to meet the man. The barest flicker of movement caught at the edge of his vision.

The woman — he'd forgotten the woman! An iron grip caught his throat, stifling the scream of warning. He'd tried to turn, looking into her face. So pretty. The image barely flashed across his mind as he tried to pull back, scared. Her knee caught him low in an explosion of pain only partially absorbed by the combat armor.

He'd tried to back-heel her, throw her off, but something warm and wrong flickered in his belly. Terror had blinded him as his body went oddly weak and he sagged in her grip while his lungs burned for want of air.

And as it all went dizzy, he slumped in her arms, eyes locked with hers. falling.

Funny thing, she had followed him to the ground and all the way he'd looked into those frightened eyes. In the compound lights, he'd seen her hair falling around him as he lay on the ground. Reddish with a hint of brown, it had cast rainbows in the floodlights

As his world grayed, he'd wanted to tell her not to be afraid, that things would be all right. But they had gone, the man dragging her away while blood bubbled up in Sohnar's mouth, filling his lungs and trachea.

Alone, the world going dim, he realized he'd smeared more blood on her armor as he dragged her down.

Sohnar could barely hear the gentle voice calling to him. A faint sting came from his face. Grayness drew close around him. sinking…

Division First Mykroft sighed and crossed his arms as the psych interrogator ceased to slap the boy and looked up.

"Condition?" Mykroft demanded.

"Dead, sir. This time, I think he's too far gone. We might have dumped too many stimulants into his system as it was." The interrogator checked one of the instruments hooked to Sohnar's claylike flesh.

Mykroft chewed his lip and nodded. "Very well, we got all we could out of him, I guess. Woman and a man, hmm? Must have used a vibraknife to get through his armor that way."

The interrogation officer looked up. "At least we know they did something to that alarm system."

Mykroft ground his teeth and frowned. "Indeed. At the same time, they murdered most of the First Division commanders. Thank the Blessed Gods they didn't come after the Second." He paused, as if talking to himself. "That would have been me."

The interrogation officer calmly shut down the systems pumping blood through Sohnar's body and stood. "In the meantime, what will happen to First Division?"

"That's up to the Minister of Defense. Of course, we won't let any hay grow under our feet in the meantime. We can turn the situation here to our advantage by…" Mykroft caught himself. Irritated, he gave the interrogation officer a blistering look. "Just like an interrogation man Third. You're full of too many damned questions. You've got me answering them now."

The Interrogation Third fought a smile. "Yes, sir."

"And put out an arrest order for a big dark-skinned man and a woman with the description he gave us. Damn you, Sohnar, you died too quickly." Mykroft shook his head at the corpse and left, boots clicking hollowly on the hospital floor.

"Hauws! Break five men to the left through that gully! Move, Gods Rot it! NOW!" Sinklar bellowed into his comm. That slight sensation of unreality gave him a split second warning to throw himself face first into the rocky earth as concussion and gravity flux raised havoc with his ears and balance. The ground heaved under him.

Dirt and rocks pelted his body in a clattering rain, bouncing off his armor.

Sinklar shook his head and wiggled his jaw to clear his ears as he struggled up on all fours. Teeth gritted, he refused to trust his feet after the effects of the disrupter detonation. He glared angrily up at the raw sky.

The battered ridge that the Second Section of the First Division called home had been turned into a blasted no man's land of trenches, foxholes, and bunkers that he and his Groups had gouged out of the resisting Targan soil. They lived among cratered and pulverized rocks. Smoke, intermixed with dust, drifted across it while laser and blaster fire shot lines of color through the haze.

"Hauws? Did you get that?" Sinklar demanded, a cackle of blaster bolts sounding like burning air over his head.

"Affirmative." Hauws' voice came back. A hollow thump from a mortar reverberated through the system. "They just got started. Uh. hold it. I hear firing from their direction. Good call, Sink."

"Sink?" Shiksta's voice came through, interrupting. "I think we've spotted something headed toward Kap's flank. Might be ten Rebels. Request permission to lay down a dispersing fire under signal seven conditions as per the manual, sir."

"Shik! Damn you, I don't care what the manual says. Fry them bastards if you can! Shoot! And from now on, I don't want to hear what the holy gawddamn book says. You're up here to kill Targans and keep the pass closed to resupply efforts! Now, shut up and SHOOT!"

"Yes, sir." Shik sounded contrite.

Sinklar shook his head, face contorting. "Hauws, be ready to back those boys up if things get too hot in that gully. That's one of your weak points."

Sinklar got slowly to his feet and managed to take a few tentative steps. Through the smoke and dust of his battleground, he began to look over the situation. Two Targans fled Hauws' gully. One tumbled as his shoulder erupted in a puff of pink. Good shot, that.

"Mac? How you doing?"

"Five casualties Sink. The good news is that from where we're dug in here, we can see about forty of their dead. They keep sending advances out into that hollow down there. Why are they doing that?" Mac sounded genuinely confused. "Every time they trot out, we tear hell out of them!"

Sinklar's cracked lips curled up in a wicked smile. "Answer's easy, Mac. If a column advances in the open,

what's the holy gawddamn book say an appropriate defensive response is?"

"Uh, let's see. Advance and flank, right?"

Fire lanced from Shik's heavy ordnance into a splintered cliff side to the right of Kap's position. A vortex of blaster bolts mixed with frag bombs and sonic shells left the mountain erupting dust, shattered rock, and, with a little hope, blasted Targan bodies. Maybe Shik was learning after all.

"That's right," Sinklar agreed. "Makes you think they got a book, too, doesn't it? The rest of you guys hear that?"

He felt the tingle, pitched face first into the dirt, and waited while a second disrupter blast shook their position. Sink pulled his face out of the ground, spit mud from his mouth, and grimaced at the grit and sand that crunched in his teeth.

"Shik? You get a trajectory on that last shot?" Sinklar demanded, wiping clinging grime from his face.

"Affirmative. We're computing for return fire now."

"Atta boy, Shik. You stuff a soic shell down that thing and we'll all buy the beer."

Someone laughed on the comm.

Sinklar studied the layout of his people. His eyes traced each of the fortified positions.

"Ayms? You got anybody covering that slope on your right flank?"

Ayms cleared his throat. " 'Firmative, Sink. Three men. Dug them in just like you said. So far they've sniped off two or three Targ-ets who tried to sneak up there with some sort of back packs. Probably some sonic explosive or other. If they could send a big enough seismic shock through this ground, they might stun us enough to overrun the position."

Sinklar nodded to himself. "Now, that's thinking, Ayms. You read that in the holy gawddamn book?"

Laughter spattered through the comm like static. "Nope, Sink. Thought that up on my own."

"You'll make sergeant yet, Ayms. Stick with it."

Sinklar yawned and blinked at the fatigue in his eyes before crawling up to a rocky point where he could look down over Mac's position.

Shik's heavy stuff erupted in a barrage that speared the sky with streaks of light as rockets and mortar fire laced over a distant ridge. Centering

his spotting goggles on the

ridge, he could see rock slides break loose and trees shake— and that was on this side.

"Think I got that big gun of theirs," Shik muttered selfconsciously.

They waited, occasional shots lacing the slanting light of evening. No more gravity shells fell.

Sinklar heard gravel crunch and turned to look, seeing Gretta climbing up the slope to drop down next to him.

"How's the war?" Sinklar asked around a wry smile.

Her blue eyes twinkled in a dirt-streaked face. Her teeth gleamed white behind her sensual lips. Strands of mahogany-brown hair had slipped out from under the helmet.

"You heard Third Section is pinned down? Calling for orbital bombardment? fifth Section is running, shooting, and running some more. LCs are supposed to go in and pull them out after dark. That leaves us surrounded."

Sink nodded. "Yeah, and we've been under constant fire with only casualty LCs coming in. Heard Fifth wanted reinforcing last night and no answer came from Division. Their supplies didn't even arrive. Sort of like sacrificial goats, don't you think?"

"Neither did ours," she reminded. "What in hell is happening in headquarters?"

"Playing cards, drinking Myklenian booze?" Sinklar lifted a shoulder, anger rushing hot inside.

Gretta chuckled sourly. "Makes you wonder what we're fighting for, huh? We've got wounded to evacuate. If an LC doesn't come in tonight, we'll lose a couple."

Sinklar looked out at the setting sun and listened to sudden growing silence. "Guess it does make you wonder, doesn't it?"

She nodded, looking away at the distant purple mountains. "Pretty up here." And then, "Sink, most of us are still alive. You've seen the numbers we've been up against."

"Yeah," he nodded, remembering the masses of men and women who'd come running — jumping from rock to rock— weapons of all sorts in their hands. The battle for their rocky pass had been brutal and endless. "Where'd they all come from?"

"Their mamas." Gretta poked him in the ribs, not too effectively since his armor had been battered hard. Impact broke the interwoven microscopic tubes that held the

chemical agent which intermixed and hardened within nanoseconds.

She studied him, a curious longing in her eyes. "Come on, let's go down to your place and get something to eat."

He took one last look at the quiet battlefield. Three days now of continuous assaults, endless sniping, and constant pressure. Maybe they — and the Targans — had simply worn out.

He ached as he skipped and slid down the slope to his bunker. Gretta pulled an opaque graphstic sheet back and ducked in. Sink followed and stood in the cramped space a couple of privates had excavated with vibrashovels.

Gretta switched on a field light and slapped a ration pack onto the wobbly table made of crate top. Three rickety chairs — from Gods alone knew where — were propped against the wall. His narrow bunk lay along the other side where it collected the dirt that fell out of the wall every time a shell landed nearby.

They didn't speak while they ate, wolfing down bite after bite. Sinklar couldn't help but gaze at her. His eyes traced the line of her jaw, his imagination wondering about the feel of her lips against his.

"I've seen desire, Sink, But you're starting to drool," she said through a mouthful of energy stick.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to. You're just. "

She erupted in a giggle. Then, in a low voice, she added, "Thank you, Sinklar. I've wanted to see that look in your eyes."

Awkwardly, he wiped his mouth and leaned back, aware the chair creaked and groaned. He tried to change the subject. "I never suspected war would be so busy."

She blinked owlishly and shook her head. "Never thought after they blew the post office that we'd live this long. Or this well!" Gretta laughed, lifted the last scraps of ration in grimy fingers, and dropped them on her tongue. "I remember watching a rat run by in Kaspa. Wanted to blast it on the spot."

"Tough times back there." He didn't remember reaching for her hand.

She stared at him through clear, unwavering eyes. "I… I've missed you Sink."

He tilted his head, realizing his toe rested on hers, mov-

ing back and forth through the heavy armor. "I was only in the hospital for two weeks. Those machines work marvels."

She grinned at him. "You know, I thought you were a real nonentity when I first met you in training camp on Rega. All locked away in your head."

He tried to shrug, but the stiffened armor wouldn't allow it. "Maybe I still am. Trying to keep us alive."

"Alive," she mused, tightening her grip. "That's important to you. Why? Why do you care so much? Other officers, they just want to hang around in the rear and drink and talk war."

Sinklar squirmed uneasily and stood, walking to the bedroll laid on the small bunk. With heavy fingers he unlatched the streaked, smoke-stained armor and slid out of the chest piece.

Why does this make me so nervous? I'm coming to love this woman. Can't I share myself with her? Why is it so hard to let loose? I… I can't tell her everything. I can't. Too painful.

He started awkwardly. "Goes back. back to being a kid, I suppose. I… I'm. Well, look at me. Always the runt. The skinny kid who reads all the time. Got two different colored eyes. I'm short, Gretta. Always been short. Not only that, I was raised by the State. In the old days, they called me an orphan. And there are other things. Things I didn't know until recently." He looked around, raising a hand helplessly as he leaned against the roughhewn rock and sighed.

Why do you look at me like that? You just watch, and wait, really listening to what I say. No one has ever just listened to me — let alone a woman as beautiful as you. Why have I always been so lonely?

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "I… I guess I look around now, and see all of us. The whole Division isn't anything but a bunch of… nonentities. Wasn't that the word you used?"

She blushed. "Sink, I—"

"Hush. It's all right. I mean, that's why I care. We're non-people. Blaster fodder. You've heard that term? Well, that's us. Orders are," he mocked an official voice, " 'Second Section, hold that pass and allow no one to cross it!' " He pursed his lips and looked up, letting himself

drown in those eyes. "And that's what we do. We died by the hundreds in the Kaspa Post Office. Did anyone investigate to find out why?"

She shook her head, eyes on his, expressing a sudden pain at his harsh words.

"No one cared why First Division was almost wiped out. We don't count, Gretta." His lips worked. "But me, I can make a difference now. Out there," he waved toward Kaspa, "something happened. I… I came into myself. All the stuff I'd studied for all these years suddenly slipped into place. Now, Sinkiar Fist, the freak, can change things. In a small way, I can keep these men and women alive." He felt the fire in his eyes, watched her lips part as she nodded agreement.

"Come sit here," he whispered. "Let me look at you, hold you."

She stood up and paused while her fingers released her armor. "You're all I wanted you to be Sink."

"I… I want you, Gretta." He felt himself tighten. "From the time we came down in the LC, I couldn't keep my mind off you."

She shook out her hair, slipping the armor off her legs so she stood before him in her padded undersuit.

His eyes devoured her as she ran her finger along the quick release; her underwear fell away exposing her full young breasts, the curve of her tight belly leaving her navel and the tantalizing black V of her pubic hair in shadow.

Sinkiar had trouble swallowing as she reached down, breasts swaying, to pull his remaining armor off. He stifled a joyous cry as she undid his undersuit. One warm palm burned on his chest as she pushed him flat. He winced as she fingered the angry scars on his side.

"Oh, Blessed Gods," he whispered as her warm flesh slid over his on the narrow cot.

Magister Bruen looked up from the report on the monitor. He rubbed a fragile hand across his wrinkled chin as he stared at the irregular rock overhead. The single light fixture threw an eerie glow over the chamber and cast shadows behind the spare furniture.

He raised his voice, calling, "Magister Hyde?"

Bruen's eyes searched the carved stone above his head as if the answer might be there, engraved into the very basalt. How could it have gone so wrong?

"Yes?" There came a shuffling of feet and coth.

"Staffa has turned down both the Sassans and Rega. They refused contract to both parties — for a year at least."

A long silence followed before Hyde sputtered, "What? Impossible! It doesn't make any military sense. What motivates that man beyond death and mayhem?"

Bruen stroked his chin. "We — and the machine — competely missed this possibility."

Magister Hyde moved over and pulled out a chair, grunting as he settled into it. "You're sure? Perhaps he's playing for time — driving the price up? Perhaps the Myklenians hurt him worse than our intelligence indicated?"

"Perhaps, honorable Magister," Bruen mumbled absently as his mind played with this new dimension of Staffa kar Therma's personality. How did it fit? He needed some key to slip this new piece into the puzzle. How could he make a picture when the pieces insisted on changing colors and shapes in the midde? Quanta at work.

"Didn't predict he'd kill the Praetor, either," Hyde reminded, lost in his own thoughts. "That's when our predictions began to go awry.".

Bruen slapped a withered hand on the monitor before him. "Indeed. Until then we had stayed within three degrees of freedom. But Staffa withdrawing from the table? Totally outside of any of our predictions." His wrinkled face creased in annoyance. "No, we didn't predict he would kill the Praetor. Accidentally, yes. But in person? Never."

Hyde bent over the desk, pulling his robes up his skinny white arms so he could lean on his elbows without slipping. "So we have the key. The Praetor did something to him— said something."

"If we accept that assumption, it could change everything. You know what sort of man the Praetor was — brilliant and diabolical."

Hyde stared absently at the floor. "Yes, brilliant. A man to admire and hate. Working with him always left me feeling like I had been privileged and fouled at the same time."

Bruen continued to frown at nothingness, lost in his

thoughts. "The Praetor could have done anything, said anything. You don't suppose he bragged about Chrysla, do you? Have we underestimated that facet of his personality? We ensured that Chrysla died during the battle — I think. Our agent never got free of the Praetor's flagship to report. I would assume thrakis got her before the blasters did." Bruen made a useless gesture with his hand. "Rotted shame. She was such a beautiful woman. and the world is so short of beautiful women these days."

"And the girl? Arta? Is there some way we can still use her to salvage this situation?" Hyde worked his toothless gums and rubbed his deep-set eyes.

Bruen blinked and leaned back. "You read the report. They succeeded in eliminating Atkin and his staff — in bed no less. With that vacancy, we can expect the Minister of Defense to appoint Kapitol to the First Division. He's earned it, you know. Kissed Tybalt's rosy red rectum enough times. With him in command of the First Division, he'll do everything in his power to hamstring Mykroft in the Second. There's been an incredible hatred between them. Should effectively reduce the Regan capabilities on Targa by the third." His eyes lit. "We might even get lucky and have them shooting at each other."

"I read that report. The girl got more than a dose full of assassination," Hyde reflected. "Not only that, but I worry. I perceive a sexual interest."

Bruen grunted. "Butla knows. We talked."

"You had counted on her remaining a virgin." Hyde looked at him dully. "Breached, will she react the way you hope she will?"

"With Staffa going wild? I don't count on anything. The quanta are acting. Either that or we've missed a variable."

"Or could it be the machine?" Hyde wondered.

Bruen fought a shiver. Don't think it. Not now. Change the subject. Otherwise it will gnaw at Hyde. Drive him into the grave.

Bruen tapped his lips with translucent-skinned fingers. "Do you suppose Staffa's turning rogue? Perhaps he's becoming a pirate? This way, he can keep the balance of power and play one against the other so neither can become strong enough to threaten him and his precious industry."

"We investigated that years ago, Magister," Hyde re-

minded, with a pointed finger. He leaned against the rough stone of the cavern wall and shook his head. "The decision we made then — and I think it still holds — is that he would help the Sassans win. When the dust settled, he would

declare himself Emperor with his Companions to back him up. Would you ignore two empires that could one day destroy you? No, you're like Staffa, Bruen. You'd take it all." Hyde waved his hands furiously, "Oh, sure, he's refused to dicker. I insist it's a ploy for time."

"Then why has he disappeared?" Bruen wondered, enjoying the look of absolute astonishment in Hyde's fractured expression.

"Assassination? Or. " Hyde gasped, "Oh, no! Perhaps he… suspects?" Hyde ended up coughing and hacking.

"I don't think so." Bruen indicated the monitor screen and accessed a program. "This is Staffa's speech to his command rank officers. Listen to him. Notice the expressions he uses."

Bruen watched Hyde pensively as the tape played through to the end.

"I still don't believe it!" Hyde slapped the table between gasping breaths. "What chances are there that this is some false trail ooked up to send us down the—"

"Statistically and practically impossible. Subsequent to this being released by time delay — oh, Staffa was clever— the Wing Commander turned down both empires. Didn't even listen to their offers. And within ten hours Skyla took her private vessel and left the Itreatic Asteroids in search— we presume — of Staffa."

Hyde had his eyes closed again, lost in thought. Moments passed before he asked, "And what does that tell us about Skyla? Does she know where Staffa is? What is her concern? Surely the Companions are in no trouble."

Bruen lifted a shoulder. "They aren't lovers, so I doubt it's an affair of the heart. No, I would rather think it has something to do with Staffa's activities."

"I have the latest figures. Our forces have enjoyed another ten percent enlistment. People are fleeing the cities to join the Rebellion in the back country. The Regan outposts have been harassed constantly and we've routed two entire Sections and inflicted heavy losses. Their ranks are

wearing down — all but one, that is." Hyde clicked his long fingernails on the counter. "Care to guess whose?"

"Sergeant Sinklar again?"

"He is exceeding his projected curve much too early." Hyde leaned back and chewed on his finger.

Bruen smiled wearily. "Yes, I know. Our people paid a lot to keep him out of their university. Now we may need him after all, depending on what Staffa does — and what happens with Arta."

Hyde turned his head to stare. "I wonder how he kept from being killed. The quanta at work?"

"Congenital ability," Bruen grunted. "Keep the pressure up on the invasion forces. Morale is dropping in the Divisions. Too many Regans are dying and not enough Targans. It's sapping them on the inside."

"We captured an entire weapons dump full of rifles, heavy blasters, ten patrol craft, and a half dozen heavy assault vehicles," Hyde announced. He beamed a smile. "They set down in the wrong valley, it seems. We're not the only ones with bad luck. Our military capability took a quantum leap with that infusion of material. We can defeat an entire Division — if they're stupid enough to put one in the field."

"So things look moderately good with the exception of Staffa."

"If we just knew what he's up to!" Hyde cried. "The Lord Commander is the most important person in Free Space. The fate of all humanity rests on that man's shoulders. And we can't find him!"

Bruen smiled wearily. "Easy, my friend. Calm yourself and consider this. Ily Takka, our single most dangerous adversary, left the Itreatic Asteroids after the Companions' refusal to deal."

"So?"

"So she never returned to Rega. Does that suggest anything to you?" Bruen nodded soberly as Hyde stiffened. "Exactly. Ily, too, is looking for Staffa — and Pates help us if she finds him first."