Requiem for the Conqueror

Chapter 32

The room where Tybalt the Imperial Seventh worked radiated the ornate splendor worthy of an Emperor: Gilded gold; fine Myklenian fabrics; holos of waterfalls; glittering star fields; and the planets under Regan rule filled individual niches in the walls. The high ceiling panels gave the impression of endless height diminishing into an eternal blue while the lush fiber-optic carpet created the illusion of a sea of molten gold that swirled and surged.

Tybalt's gold-inlaid desk wrapped around his gravchair in a semicircle. Holo monitors glowed with multicolored images and numerous displays that reflected the health and progress of the Empire. The polished sandwood top gleamed, the grain running deep into the wood, almost translucent.

"I will see Minister Takka now," Tybalt the Imperial Seventh told his secretary through the private comm. He watched in the monitor as the security officer smiled professionally and gestured Ily and the woman with her toward the door.

"So you're back, Ily," Tybalt whispered to himself. "And from that glint in your eyes, you think you've got everything under control. This will be very interesting."

Ily passed through the security fields before the double doors to Tybalt's office, and after she received security clearance, the doors swung open. The Imperial Seventh noted that Ily still carried her little pistol and security kit. She wore a formfitting black jumpsuit and a sable cloak of Myklenian silk that swirled about her. The woman following her, however, only wore a slave collar under a tan-colored gauzy gown.

Tybalt glanced up as Ily entered and casually removed his headset, thus canceling the holo monitors before him.

He settled back, gravchair automatically conforming to support his bulk. His black skin contrasted with the gleaming white robe he wore. A slow smile curled his lips and extended to his eyes. Yes, indeed, no matter what his anger and suspicions might be concerning his Minister of Internal Security, life had been boring with Ily gone.

"Ah, my sweetest Ily! How good to see you again!" Tybalt shifted his glance to the tight-faced woman who followed behind. His breath stopped in his lungs and his heart skipped as he caught sight of her fiery amber eyes and gleaming piles of auburn hair. Her beauty dominated him, leaving even the opulence

of his office drab in comparison.

"What have you here, Ily?"

"Greetings, Tybalt." Ily smiled, and he missed the gleam of excitement in her dark eyes. "Considering your trials and tribulations, Lord Emperor, I decided I had best see to my interests and come with offerings. I bring you a gift. She's yours. If it turns out you don't want her, I'll dispose of her with the slavers."

Arta Fera tensed, body radiating animal tension, eyes riveted on the Emperor. Hatred sparked feral-yellow in her animal glare.

Tybalt stood and took a step forward as he struggled to keep his breathing even. "My God, where did you find her, Ily?" His loins tightened under the fine Myklenian fabric of his clothes.

"Beware, Lord Emperor!" Ily held up a slim hand, eyes narrowing in warning. "This, Tybalt, is a Seddi assassin. Her name is Arta Fera. As an assassin, she is most skilled. Do not, I repeat, do not, underestimate her powers, Lord. Do you understand?"

Tybalt nodded, unable to teaT his eyes off those majestic breasts, now straining at the buff-colored fabric as the captive woman's breathing deepened.

"She's in the collar," he whispered, half-aware of Ily's warning.

"She's also psychologically triggered," Ily added. "Don't touch her. "

Tybalt nodded again, eyes caressing Fera's firm body. He marveled at the swell of her hips, the firmness of her long thighs. Then his gaze traced up the flat belly, past those

superb breasts, and stopped at last on her perfect face. "Oh, those amber eyes are magnificent. Look at the hatred and cunning in them, Ily!"

The Minister of Internal Security tapped a button on his desk. Two of Tybalt's guards entered. Ily handed them the collar control. "Remove her. Watch her. She's a trained assassin and extremely dangerous." Ily's eyes slitted as one of the guards took the control. "And don't lay a single finger on her either-she'll kill you."

"Wait," Tybalt lifted his hand, walking around the Seddi woman one last time. His blood raced. "I've never seen a woman like this."

"Lord Emperor," Ily reminded,*voice tight. "There are significant matters of state we need to discuss."

"Yes, yes, of course." Tybalt sighed, pulling himself up straight as the guards led Arta Fera out. His longing gaze lingered on her tight buttocks as she left. In his fevered imagination, he pictured his hands running over her smooth flesh.

"Most marvelous," he managed after the door shut. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to still the hunger of his hot body. Such magnetism! What it would be like to possess….

"I'm not sure I did myself any favor," Ily said tartly. But, Lord Emperor, watch her. She's trained to kill-and she hates Regans. Do you understand the danger?"

"Yes. Yes, I understand."

She pointed at his personal comm. "Please register that. If she kills you, I want it on record that you were fully warned about her capabilities and the threat she poses."

"What triggers her?" His glance drifted to the now closed door as he noted Ily's caveat and entered it. Damn the stirring of his manhood anyway!

"Sex, Lord Emperor." Ily smiled at him wickedly. "The Etarians trained her in the arts of love… to be a Priestess. The Seddi psychologically conditioned her-to kill the man who couples with her. Her motivation is hatred. She killed Sinklar Fist's girlfriend simply because she was Regan. She negated First Mykroft's security and coordinated the destruction of the Second Targan Assault Division in Kaspa. She worked with the assassin who killed Atkin and Kapitol. She killed scores of Regan soldiers on Targa."

Tybalt started. "You don't say! A woman with that incredible magnetism? What

an inconceivable… waste!"

"Perhaps," Ily agreed, steepling her long fingers. "You are warned. Now let's get down to business. You got my message that Sinklar has Staffa trapped on Targa?"

"Yes." He tore his gaze away from the door and tried to think through the rush of hormones deluging his brain. "I followed your recommendation on that matter. Fist has one day to clear his people and any equipment he wishes to save. Rysta will level Makarta from orbit."

"And my request for Sinklar's Lordship?" Ily strolled forward, hips swaying enticingly. She bent over the monitors, allowing her full breasts to rub over the duraplast; and the last of Tybalt's thoughts fragmented.

He looked up into her passionate black eyes, unsettled, hungry to fulfill his stirred passions. "That will be a little more difficult. The political situation here is very delicatewhat with the Sassan invasion planned and preparations underway. To simply make a new Lord would be-"

"Completely within your power." She leaned forward and kissed him. Tybalt reveled in the feel of her lips. Her tongue slid across his teeth before meeting his.

Breaking loose, he took a deep breath and leaned back, staring at her, realizing how he'd been manipulated. "Oh, I've missed your audacity." He chuckled. "Indeed. No one has the sheer unabashed gall that you do, Ily. You've been nothing but trouble. The military is literally foaming at the mouth over this Sinklar Fist. Half the Council is crying for your blood! What the hell have you been doing out there? Whatever it's been, it had better be good, because if you don't have answers, it won't be pleasant for either of us. "

She smiled saucily at him and stepped around the desk before running hands over his chest. "I had a terribly trying time out there, Tybalt. I'm horny as hell. Maybe I shouldn't have brought the Seddi thing in here so soon. I thought maybe it would, shall we say, warm you to the occasion." "Always the cunning one, my hot pet?"

She leaned her head down to spill waves of silky black — acyoss his chair. He traced fingers across her muscular thigh as the desire ignited by Fera's sensuality grew.

"Always. Would you have me any other way?"

"No. I suppose not. You keep my respect that way. Now do you want to tell me what the hell is happening on Targa?"

"We need Sinklar Fist," she told him flatly. "He took the entire planet-and pacified it. He made Rysta's heroes look like blathering idiots and killed half of them. I might add that he's about to break Staffa. Such talent is worthy of a Lordship, don't you-think?"

Tybalt studied her coldly. "We did some checking. He's the brat child of Seddi assassins-like your delightful Arta Fera. He was raised as a ward of the state. Where did his parents come from? Originally Targa, we think. Beyond that, we know nothing. The Judicial Magistrate who convicted his parents placed Fist, as an infant, in a state institution for unparented children. After that his record contains one example of precocity after another until last year. Would you make a guess on how your Sinklar Fist placed in the national educational placement exams?"

Ily pursed her lips. "Top ten percent?"

"Number three." Tybalt enjoyed her startled expression. "That score is his 'official' placement. I turned some of your people loose on the investigation. Fist actually scored first. The other two, uh, scholars, seem to have gotten their scores for political reasons. You know, the usual, currying favor for some patron with a bright child-the normal graft of running a government like ours."

She began chewing her thumb. "I don't understand. He should have automatically been accepted at the university. How did he ever-"

"Exactly." Tybalt whirled in his chair, grabbing a stylus from his desk. "Someone-and we have no data on who paid a substantial fee to a personnel officer in the military conscription office. Your Sinklar was drafted as a private and went off to war. Made the first Targan drop. You know what that means?"

"Should have been instant blaster fodder." She nodded. You have no clue as to who his mysterious benefactors or enemies are?"

"None." Tybalt enjoyed the expression of concern on her face. Damn, why couldn't the rest of his Ministers be as J)right and motivated? "You see the problem here?"

Preoccupied, she nodded. "Yes. And it leaves me in a

cold rage. Someone had him spotted. Who? How come we never knew about Sinklar

Fist? How many more geniuses like him are being weeded out of our service? Who's behind it… and why?" Her eyes had narrowed to slits. "I don't like unknown factions stepping on my turf, Tybalt. I will get to the bottom of this. "

"I'm glad you're back Tybalt smiled, watching her lithe body. "For more than one reason."

"You will make Fist a Lord?"

"We can hush up the fact that his parents were Seddi assassins. Incidentally, he went to see them. The Judicial Magistrate who handled the case has since been… retired for his indiscretions. Fist actually went to view the bodies. Does that suggest anything to you? Are you sure where his heart is in this fight against the Seddi?"

Ily's hard squint left no doubt. "His hatred for the Seddi is well founded-and I have no doubt that it's authentic. I knew about his parents, of course. I checked on that first thing. That failed attempt on your life might have been the greatest blessing that ever happened to you. It kept Fist out of Seddi hands."

"Are you sure? Maybe his escape on Targa wasn't as miraculous as you think?"

"Trust me, I've seen his eyes, watched his expression. I've seen the spot where he blew the Seddi army into plasma. Were he Seddi, we wouldn't own Targa now. Does he get his Lordship?"

"He's without background! How long has it been since a Tybalt elevated a… a nameless, classless…. My God, Ily! He's an assassin whore's refuse. If that should come out in the end? The scandal would-"

"Garbage!" She laughed, trilling tones leaving him off balance.

"What did you say?"

"Garbage! Besides, who would dare insult a man who will have just ripped Sassa to shreds and who controls an army that worships him?"

"That's another potential sore spot. 11y, I just have my-" "We need to have Sinklar Fist placed in charge of the Regan military forces. You realize that, don't you? With him, Sassa will be a simple nut to crack."

"And the Companions?"

Ily's eyes blazed with satisfaction. "Sinklar will work his magic again, Lord Emperor. Without Staffa, they won't be ready for Fist's brilliance. I've seen him. He's incredible! He'll have the Itreatic Asteroids before Skyla Lyma can twist her hair into a braid."

"And if I say yes to all this?"

"Oh, I don't think there's an if in the equation. You know we need him. just like I do. I sent you the tapes, you watched him maul Rysta's Divisions."

Tybalt flushed with excitement. "I really have missed you, Ily. No one else provides the stimulation you do." He stood as her sensual eyes searched his, a hidden smile on her lips that hinted of… triumph? Tybalt pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily.

"Any other pressing business Lord Emperor?" she asked as she ran her fingers over the fabric covering his rising penis.

"Let's see," he offered huskily, bending down to unfasten her cloak. Even as he stripped her and lowered her to the thickly carpeted floor, the memory of the Seddi woman burned in the back of his mind.

"Greetings, Staffa kar Therma," Sinklar Fist's voice sounded haggard over the comm wire.

Staffa's heart beat faster. Did he dare admit that Fist had identified him? A cold chill ran down his back. Rega would throw all of its might against the Seddi now. Ily would see to that — anything to cover her tracks. And even if he could get word to Tybalt, what would the Imperial Seventh think? The Lord Commander fighting alongside the Seddi?

Staffa steeled himself, thoroughly aware he might have just condemned the Seddi. He glanced quickly around the rock warren of the improvised ops room.

"Congratulations," Staffa answered, keeping his voice even and pleasant.

"I would have taken great pleasure in destroying you, Star Butcher. I regret, however, that the job has been taken out of my hands. You have only a few hours left. I've been ordered to withdraw. Orbital bombardment will complete

the destruction of Makarta." A pause. Then: "I'm sorry. Those are Tybalt's orders. You can still surrender yourselves."

Staffa stared woodenly. Defeat had filled Fist's voice. / wish I could see you, Fist. I wish I could stare into your eyes — the window of your soul — and see what manner of man you are.

"And your six hundred men and women bottled up on Level ive? You will doom

them, too?"

Fist sounded as if a part of his soul had sickened. "The Emperor so orders. I… cannot save them. I tried."

"Human life, Sinklar, is a cheap thing at best. You'll learn. I've stood in your shoes many many times. I sorrow for the people I destroyed." He paused. "I even sorrow for a golden locket that will be buried in these caverns with us. It should be out in the worlds of men, a thing of beauty to be admired. What sorts are we that we destroy creations— knowledge?"

"Maybe we're truly damned as the Etarians believe. The Rotted Gods are loose — and their breath pervades the universe. Existence is suffering, Star Butcher. Pain, misery, and injustice are our legacy. Power is the only reality."

"A unilaterally enforced myth," Staffa returned, a bitter note in his voice. "A flawed epistemology. An illusion like the rest of—"

"But one strong enough to prevail in this instance."

"That is always the tragedy of it," Staffa agreed.

"If you abhor it so, why did you fight? Why did you plunge Targa into a meaningless revolt? How can you talk about justice when you incited your own people to butchery? I can't believe you! You talk about flawed epistemology? I hope your soul chokes eternally on its own hypocrisy."

Staffa caught himself nodding at the dark monitor. "I didn't start the conflagration on Targa. And even if I told you why it happened, you'd never believe it. The Seddi believe the quanta are God's joke on the universe. The ultimate irony. Perhaps it's true. I haven't found my atonement yet, Sinklar. Nevertheless, fight for the Seddi — not so much for their lives as for what they can offer humanity."

"Indeed? So much sacrifice for gifts of assassination, intrigue, murder, and revolt? Spare me your misguided-"

"Hope," Staffa corrected. "Possibly a way out of the trap of the Forbidden Borders. Perhaps a way back to Earth and-"

"Another myth."

"No, not a myth. A dream," Staffa countered. "A goal for all humanity. That's what we don't have now. Where are we going, Sinklar? When you leave here, I will be dead and buried. You in turn will fall upon the Sassans and, to be honest-you'll win. You might even perform a miracle and take the Companions. But what then? Where does it end? You will destroy humanity in your conquests. The dreams will be no more than radioactive dust. Cracked shiny slag on broken worlds enclosed in poisoned atmospheres. A bright and beckoning future, don't you think?"

11 This conversation is pointless, Star Butcher." He sounded weary. "Your last hope is to walk out of there, lay down your arms. Isn't that a source of hope?"

Staffa laughed. "In Ily's hands? Are you serious? Tell me, how much do you know about her? Rotted Gods, you don't trust her, do you?"

"And I should trust a Seddi conspirator? Don't talk to me about trust. Your Seddi led my parents to their deaths. Left me an orphan of the state. I've seen too much Seddi evil. I just didn't know it would cost me so much to kill you all off.

I'll let you save Mac and your people. Let us walk out. Give us a head start and you can drop in and pull MacRuder out. "

Staffa laughed. "No, Sinklar, no matter what you think, the victory is mine. I had no more than two hundred and fifty men and women-some trained, most simple scholars. I took six hundred of your finest along with the others we've blown up, crushed, burned, and shot."

"He who controls is the final victor. Power, as I said, is the ultimate reality. I would have liked to tackle you and your Companions, Star Butcher. It would have been a true test. Here, we were unevenly matched."

"Yes. We were."

"Farewell, Staffa kar Therma. I only wish I could have looked into your eyes."

The comm went dead. Staffa stepped back and seated himself on one of the wooden chairs by the heavy table with its litter of maps. He stared sightlessly

at the forbidding stone walls, lost in his own head.

"Did you mean all that?" Bruen asked. Staffa turned. "I didn't hear you come in.

Bruen stood in the doorway, one thin arm braced on the molding. The bruise on his forehead looked ghastly. He wore a spotless white robe. The tired old man settled himself on a rough-hewn bench and exhaled thinly in the cool air. "I don't make much noise these days. I am glad you feel that way-about the ideas, I mean."

Staffa raised his hands and lifted a shoulder. "Reality is an artificially created norm. We're insensitive to the quanta at our level of consciousness. We perceive only the trends. It took Kaylla to point the direction… and much thought to fully comprehend the chimera of reality."

"The quanta, and God, are the only reality," Bruen assented with a faint nod of his purple-bruised head.

For long moments they sat, lost in thought. Most of the comm monitors had gone dead-permanently now. The others fuzzed with snow, waiting for the circuits to close.

"I sealed off the Mag Comm," Staffa stated. "It is better buried than in the hands of the Regans. Now it appears nothing more than a foolish action. If Fist is correct-not bluffing-we're to be bombed into pulp by Rysta's fleet. Ily's behind that, no doubt."

"What about the tunnel? The one you've been boring out from the lower levels. Is there any hope?" Bruen's eyes flickered for a moment. "Perhaps a few could make it out? Make their way to. "

Staffa smiled wistfully. "We can't hide from the eyes in space, but, yes, we'll try." He laughed sourly. "Perhaps the quanta will pick that moment to change wave functions? Cause a glitch in the perception of normality? Blind our enemy?"

"It is a chance. We don't have many straws to grasp. and observation does change reality."

MacRuder shifted his back where the uneven stone ate through his unhardened armor. He and the rest sat in pitch blackness, robbed of sight. There was a faint grating sound from above as the rock in the roof shifted — and Mac could sense everyone tensing. How long since the last Mast had rumbled through the black cavern? Rock had dropped. Two of his people had been badly hurt by the roof fall. He glanced at the atmosphere monitor on his wrist. Oxygen was going fast. Not much time left. Already his lungs were pulling with a noticeable deepness. A sensation of lightheadedness lessened the dryness in his mouth. He flicked on his IR for a brief instant to see the empty faces filled with despair before shutting the visor off, saving the batteries and his tortured conscience — plunging himself into blackness again.

Sink? Where are you? What's happening out there?

How long since the fighting had stopped? How long since the last tremor had shaken their unstable warren? What the hell did it mean? Had the Seddi been destroyed? Was Sink even now trying to find them? Blinking dully in the blackness, he eaned his head back and shivered from the chill creeping out of the rock and eating through his armor, sucking at his life.

"Mac?" a hoarse voice called. "The comm line is active. The Seddi want you."

MacRuder plugged into the line he'd had run to his perch in the rock. "Yes."

"This is the Lord Commander, Staffa kar Therma, MacRuder."

Damn that calm voice! So that's who we've been ghting? "So?"

"So I just talked to your Sinklar Fist. It seems Ily Takka identified me. They believe my death is more important than your salvation. Fist has been ordered to pull back and Rysta's fleet is going to pound us from orbit in a few hours."

Mac shuddered at the certainty in Staffa's voice. His face contorting with despair, MacRuder managed numbly, "A few hours?" The hotness behind his eyes welled into tears. "Oh, Sinklar," he whispered, heedlessly, "don't let us die in here! Not in the darkness."

"I'm sorry," the firm voice continued. "I would… I

would save you if I could. We have a tunnel running within five meters of your cavern. We might be able to blow it."

"Then what?"

"That's up to you. Would you come out unarmed?"

Mac bit his lip to forestall tears of frustration. The total blackness around

him closed in, deepening the bone-grip ping despair.

"How do we know it's not a fake? That you're not trying to pull a fast one?"

The calm voice asked, "I give you my word — just like I understand from the Seddi that Sinklar gave his word to Butla Ret."

Mac's guts turned runny. To comm he mumbled miserably. "We. Yes. Yes."

"You'll hear our tapping. That's where the charge will be placed. Clear your people away from the area."

Sinklar paced with the relentless persistence of a condemned man as he stalked the vacant engineering office. The holo in the center of the room mocked him with its colorful display of Makarta. Around the walls, the computer monitors stared at him like blind eyes.

As if addicted, he glanced continually at his chronometer. The agonizing crawl of minutes acted on his soul like some sadistic torture. Angrily he shook his head and cursed. Desperation tugged at the corners of his control. Mac's going to die. and I can't do a damned thing to stop it!

"Section First Mayz, report!" he gritted to the comm, aware his voice was cracking from the strain. Inexorably, minutes ticked by on the chronometer.

"We've stepped up assaults First," Mayz's voice barked tensely over the sounds of combat. "We've punched through with a mining machine. They were waiting for us. We can't force it. The casualties are—"

Damn (Sinklar thundered, something snapping in his mind. "We're out of time! They'll die in there!"

"Sink!" Mayz cried desperately, "We're already dying in here! We can't take that corridor without exposing ourselves to explosives and Seddi fire! Morale is dropping! I can't order my—"

His veins stood out rom the side of his neck. "You will order your people in there! You will get Mac out of that trap! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"And I said we can't Mayz cried. "We love Mac, too, you know! Damn it Sink, we're just as desperate as you— but how much of our blood would Mac and the others want?

Sinklar's throat choked on silent sobs. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. His fists knotted as his muscles strained impo tently. In a hoarse voice, he ordered, "Pull out, Mayz. Get our people out of there."

He cut the connection. Through the shimmer of tears, he could see Mhitshul looking at the floor, face ashen as he turned to leave.

The comm flickered to life, filling with Rysta's craggy dark features. "Fist?"

"What do you want?" Jaw thrust forward he glared, fits clenched at his sides.

Rysta didn't hesitate. "You have one hour to evacuate your troops before I follow the Emperor's orders." The screen went dead.

He pulled his blaster from his belt and blew the comm apart. Desperation and impotence lent him fury and spurred him to wreck the portable office.

Dazed, he grew aware of the charred wreckage around him. Physically exhausted, he pulled himself up, drained, devoid of emotion, and staggered out into the blazing midday sun. On legs gone leaden he forced himsef to cross the rocky soil to the LC ramp. There he leaned against one of the hydraulic tubes and gazed emptily at Makarta Mountain.

"Mac? I… I have to go."

Head hanging, he turned and made his way into the LC. He ducked through nto the cockpit and stared down at his thin-boned hands. Mhitshul and the pilot sat in the command chairs, heads bowed, silent, nervous.

His voice cracked. "Mhitshul? I. "

He tried to swallow, to overcome the knot in his throat. "Order. Order a general evacuation. Get our peope out and get us into orbit." Strength gone, he leaned against the bulkhead, body sagging under its own weight.

The hidden warrens of Makarta trembled. Taut threads of violet ripped and crackled as sections of rock disintegrated behind Staffa. Pulse fire prickled within inches of his scalp. He felt the raw tingle of a UV burn where a close miss had passed his cheek.

The air was heavy, charged by the energy rippling through it. Death crouched in the dark corners, leering over the bleeding corpses strewn through the

dimly lit tunnels.

Huddled low in a reading carrel, Staffa settled his blaster, waiting. The Regan shifted position in the narrow rocky nook to take another shot. Staffa's bolt hit home with a solid pulpy sound, catching the corner of the man's shoulder where it protruded. Staffa's follow-up shot blew the man in two as he fell screaming. Across the tunnel, Wilm's blaster fired as he saw a target.

A concussion echoed hollowly in the darkness from somewhere behind the Regan position as another remote fragmentation bomb exploded. Someone screamed horribly. The racket of combat was deafening in the close confines of the tunnels.

The dead lay awkwardly sprawled, sightless eyes staring among exploded body parts and bits of sodden red meat. They called to Staffa like the ghouls in his dreams, promising the horror to come.

He blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the image.

Two more Regan assault troops sprinted into Staffa's sights, tumbling into the knot of bodies as seeking threads of violet blew them apart. A woman kicked gruesomely— head missing above the neck — and went still.

Veils of smoke choked the corridor, vying with the smell of bued human meat. Blood pooled slickly across the polished stone floor.

"Pull back!" someone bellowed from the pungent darkness. "All Groups, pull back! Evacuate! Now! Double time."

Firing began to break into isolated rips and detonations. Staffa caught a glimpse of a Regan dashing madly for the rear. Sporadic shots and pulse hums died to be replaced by the patter of running armored feet as they left the tunnels to the silent and the dead.

"Now what?" Wilm wondered from his position across the hall.

Staffa grunted, pulling himself up. He peered hesitantly around the corner, finding nothing but the fragmented corpses. From somewhere in the pile of bodies, a casualty moaned faintly.

"Fist is cutting it awfully close," Staffa decided, glancing down at his chronometer. "Blow the renegade tunnel to the surface. Maybe Rysta isn't as punctual as I remember her to be. Let's see if we can't get a couple of people out of here. Go! Hurry!"

Wilm's broad-boned dark face reflected his hopelessness. "Hope you were right about MacRuder's Regans." He left at a run.

"They ought to be docile," Staffa decided, taking a flying leap to safety behind a pockmarked pillar of stone. He turned, sprinting down the passage until he found a functioning comm unit. Punching in, he waited.

Kaylla's face formed, soot-streaked, haggard. "The fighting stopped. Why?"

"They're ready to use the heavy stuff from space." Staffa raised an eyebrow. "And MacRuder's people?"

Hard tan eyes met his. "They're coming out, one at a time. So far, no cheats. They seem willing to take their chances on getting out of here."

"Wilm is blowing the renegade tunnel. Maybe some of us can get clear in time. Even so, the grav-effect will be severe-probably lethal, no matter what."

She nodded. "What about Bruen?"

"Wilm is seeing to him. He'll be taken out after the scouting party determines how safe the escape tunnel is. I'm on my way."

"Staffa," she asked tensely, "there isn't much chance, is there?"

"There's always a …… Seeing the glint in her eye, he sighed. "No, there is very little chance. You've seen orbital capabilities firsthand. Rysta will be thorough."

MacRuder hurried along the line of waiting men and women, surprised that the Seddi ignored them for the most part. Grim faces met his glance everywhere. What a blessing it was to squint in the bright lights, to breathe air that put

zip back in the lungs-even if it carried the pungent sting of death and blaster ozone. His head began to ache wretchedly.

Moving along the ranks, Mac winked at a grim face, patted a sagging back, cheered a forlorn expression as he worked forward. Then the tan-eyed woman in brown robes caught his eye. A blaster poked his way, slung level at the

hip by a shoulder strap. She noted his shoulder insignia, eyes narrowing.

"You're MacRuder?" she asked in a knowing contralto, eyes coldly hostile.

"I am." He straightened, studying her. In any other place and time, she'd have made any man look twice.

"Kaylla Dawn." Her voice was clipped. "We've sent a party to blow the escape tunnel. Might I have a word with you?"

MacRuder nodded and followed her to one side.

She appraised him, searching his face as if to read his soul. "I'll be honest, MacRuder. The chances are not good. Fist's Divisions have withdrawn. We don't know how long we have left, but from Staffa's estimation, not long enough."

"I see."

"I hope you do," she said. "For one thing, we've got one narrow tunnel out of here. The Regans, blasted the others during their retreat. For another, we can't take the time to guard all of your people and carry out a fast evacuation. If fighting breaks out…. Well, consider it. Are you willing to cooperate… or should we all die?"

"We'll cooperate." Hell, I didn't even have to think about that, lady!

"Good," she stated flatly. "Please inform your comanders. "

M "Just a minute." Mac raised a hand, stopping her. "How bad are our chances?"

She lifted one of her broad shoulders expressively, face tight. "Ask Sinklar Fist. From what Staffa says, there is no real hope. The orbital bombardment will no doubt encompass this entire area. How far and how fast can all these people go on foot in mountainous terrain?"

Mac filled his lungs and nodded. "We won't have to die in the dark. That's something, at least."

A shuffling began at the front of the line, men and women moving forward, eyes flickering this way and that, aware escape lay just ahead.

What a fragile thought. Who am I kidding? I know what those ships up there can do.

A ripple moved through the crowd as a big man dressed in stained gray combat armor — now charred and hardened — pushed through. Mac recognized the brownish stains. Spattered blood. The big man had been in the thick of it.

The man's long black hair had been gathered over his left shoulder in a ponytail. He had a curiously handsome face, brow high, nose long and straight over tight bloodless lips. Piercing gray eyes pinned Mac's as the big man approached. But when the gray warrior looked at Kaylla, regret welled, dulling the sharpness.

Then those gray eyes were pricking at Mac's soul again. The voice carried a tenor of command. "You're MacRuder? Do you have a portable battle comm?"

"We do. Or did. We left it back in the hole," Mac heard himself responding automatically. This guy might have even more charisma than Sinklar, Mac admitted to himself. Then the voice clicked in his memory: Staffa!

"Get it. If we open a line to Fist, we may be able to stall, gain time so some of us can make it away."

"It'll take two people. The thing's heavy."

Staffa turned. "Kaylla, see to getting everyone out. Don't leave anyone behind. If nothing else, the gravitational pulse will be merciful. and quick."

The Lord Commander pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully back toward the caverns. Mac followed, issuing orders to his sergeants along the way.

He cringed at the thought of going back into that stygian blackness. In the darkness overhead, stone shifted and grit trickled to patter on the rock flooring.

"Sink," he prayed under his breath. "Don't cut loose yet. Just a little longer, Sink. Kill us outside! Please? Just a little longer!"

Rysta looked up from the targeting comm. as Sinklar Fist walked onto the bridge. Indeed, what a different man he

was. His incredible magnetism drew every eye on the bridge. From the perspective of years, Rysta studied him, noting the haggard tightness of those odd gray and yellow eyes, the set of exhaustion in his face. A glittering desperation possessed him now. He was a man driven and hounded — a dangerous man.

Every time she saw him, he became someone different. Rysta shivered, feeling

a chill play along her spine. A barely throttled pain gleamed in his eyes. His glance fell on her, bringing a tightness to her chest — the feeling of a stiletto poised over her heart.

"We are clear Commander." There was a note of finality in his curious voice.

"I want you to know, First, that I dislike hitting our people as much as you do. The orders came straight from Tybalt."

The corners of his mouth quivered as his back arched slightly. Tension rippled across the busy bridge, tangible, menacing.

He replied in a barely audible whisper that reminded her of a threat. "I know."

Rysta didn't remember putting her hand on the worn service blaster at her belt. She did it instinctively, and the smooth butt of the weapo comforted her. Once before, in the eyes of an Etarian sand leopard, she'd seen that same look.

His awkward, high-pitched voice startled her as he added, "You have your orders. Go ahead. Condemn my people. Kill them." He swallowed, mouth twitching, before he turned and walked stify from the bridge.

Someone muttered behind her.

Rysta took a deep breath and blew it out. "Power up. Targeting is locked on. Let's melt that rock and be on our way."

The Weapons First called, "Main bombardment batteries are powering up."

"Commander?" The Comm First called, "We've got people on the surface down there. They blew out a section of ountain."

"Weapons First, you may fire when ready," Rysta ordered.

"And if I get comm from the surface?" The Comm First

asked.

Rysta hesitated, looked back at the hatch Fist had just

left through, and said, "Ignore it. Damn it, we've got our:t

orders. Just kill them all."

"Powered up!" Weapons First noted. "Batteries locked."j

Rysta's breath hissed through her worn teeth. "Farewell,(

Lord Commander."