Майкл Гир - Requiem for the Conqueror

"Very well done," Ily praised. "Couldn't have done it better myself."

Arta Fera tossed her head, flipping her full-bodied hair over her shoulder as she walked to the console and poured sherry into a glass. She rinsed her mouth and spit, wiping her lips clean on the expensive fabric hanging from the walls.

She checked herself in a reflecting glass and turned. "Now what?"

Ily leaned against the door, alert, pistol ready. "I hate to do it, but you'll have to be tried. The psych experts will confirm your deep trigger. The collar will be found to be faulty. Mareeah Rath's family will be so disgusted they'll want to cover up the whole thing."

Arta's amber eyes took her measure. "It won't be that easy, Ily. Is there a shower here?"

"In the corner. Press the golden knob. But leave the door open. I don't like surprises."

Arta walked over to press the knob and stepped in. Finding soap she began washing, heedless of the water splashing onto the fine fabrics.

"And why won't it?" Ily gave herself plenty of room as she crossed to the console, pouring herself a glass of sherry, never allowing the pistol to waver.

"Because the deep trigger is broken. That's why I kissed the bastard. I owe him for that. The rest I paid back in kind. "

Ily sipped the sherry. "Then I should probably kill you now. "

Arta nodded, scrubbing thoroughly. "That would eliminate any threat from me. On the other hand, a lot of things were broken along with the psych trigger."

"Such as?" Ily cocked her head, turning the glass in her fingers.

"Such as my loathing for Rega." Arta turned off the water, studying the surroundings. "How do you dry off in this thing?"

"Silver handle on the right," Ily offered, amused at the way the woman jumped

as the energy fields ran down her body. Water trickled away in streams. "So?"

Arta stepped out, walking in a wide detour around Tybalt to get her gossamer dress. She picked it up, looking at it with disgust. "Anything else to wear in here?"

"To fit a body like yours? I'm not sure. Touch the wall there by the holo."

Arta did and shuffled through the garments standing in the antigrav field. She chose a long wraparound and tightened it about her.

"You once mentioned that you might have a place for a woman of my training and ability." Arta crossed her arms over the too-tight fabric at her chest.

"I have a dead Emperor here." Ily tilted her head toward Tybalt's body.

Arta's eyes never left hers. "And, as Empress, you'll need a good assassin. You know I'm the best."

"You're a quick study, Arta Fera. Perhaps a dangerous one. "

"We share similar opinions of one another. Before I came along, you had your plans laid. Where does Fist fit into all this?"

"He destroys Sassa and the Companions. He becomes my Emperor and enforcer."

"A little young, isn't he?"

"All the better. I can train him the way I want. What's your price?"

"Freedom." Arta closed her eyes. "I want your protection, an open expense account, and a small fast ship with a female crew. Nothing more. I don't have any aspirations for your position. I was born and bred for assassination and excitement. "

Ily made a decision and stepped to the rear of the room where she ran quick fingers over a gold design. The wall opened. "I guess you're going to escape instead of being

tried for assassination. Up there. Follow the steps. You'll come out in my quarters."

"And the guards outside the door?" Arta asked as she entered the narrow way.

"Don't worry. You killed them during your escape. Stay in my room. Your picture will be all over Rega within an hour. I'll get you up to my ship later." Closing the portal behind the woman, Ily smiled and laughed. Then she pulled the jessant-de-lis from her pouch.

She walked over to look into Tybalt's wide dead eyes. "And you thought you could kill me with this? Oh, you stupid fool. I disconnected the detonator the day you insisted on brandishing that silly switch around. Now we'll see who can handle Ily Takka."

She stepped to the wall comm. Her second in command's face formed on the viewer. "Gysell, the Emperor has been murdered! You will place an arrest warrant out for the Seddi assassin, Arta Fera. Institute immediate social control, the military is to be placed on alert. I want crowd control and a news blackout. The Rath family is to be cordoned off — for their protection, you see. I am declaring a State of Emergency."

Gysell's eyes widened. "My God! Do we have the authority?"

She held up the jessant-de-lis, the jaguar's head gleaming in the light.

"I understand," Gysell gulped.

"You will immediately have our agents round up the Councillors. I am placing them all under arrest. All official correspondence will be routed through my office from here on out."

"That's…" Gysell's face went ashen.

"Come, Gysell, you were handpicked for the job of Imperial Secretary. I could find another." She arched an eyebrow.

He studied her for a moment, color coming back into his face. "That won't be necessary, Ily. I'll see to crushing any rebellion. What are the charges against the Councillors?"

"Corruption." She cut the monitor and poured another glass of sherry. Facing Tybalt's body, she raised the glass. "To the future Lord Emperor!"

The chatter of voices blared in an unholy din coupled with the clatter of armor and clunking of weapons. A feeling of relief filled the assault transport's large gymnasium as men and women stripped off armor, laughing and greeting

old companions. Sinklar watched — heart breaking — from the A7 companionway. He steeled himself, stepping into the crowd.

Someone saw him, elbowing a friend. The hush spread, as all eyes turned in his direction. What can I tell them? How can I make them know what I felt down there?

Sinklar heard a sudden comotion and turned as someone forced through the press of bodies. MacRuder's blond hair and familiar features shot a curiously anguished relief through Sink. Mac's face beamed as he walked close, stopping an arm's length from Sinklar before rushing to hug him and pound his back.

Sinklar pushed him back and held him at arm's length. "Mac? I tried. everything. "

In the sudden silence, the Division First's voice carried. "The Lord Commander told us how hard you tried to break us out. We know you had to leave or be blown up." He turned, arm out in a grand gesture. "Look, we all came back!"

A loud cheer boomed to shake the very deck plating under his feet.

Sinklar raised his hands, a quivering smile on his lips until he waved them to silence. "We've all been harrowed and tried. Your comrades and I did all we could, paid with our blood and souls in an attempt to win your freedom. Now, through luck and curious fortune, we're united once more. And, as the Blessed Gods are our witness, we'll never be divided again!"

Another cheer drowned the room, leaving his heart thudding against his chest. Once more he waved them down, climbing to a rec table so he could be seen. The air carried the rich odor of hot bodies. He looked out at their faces, some beaming, others concerned.

"We were desperate, fighting a cunning adversary. We were winning." His voice dropped. "Then the order came. I could not countermand the Emperor's orders. Not with Gyton's guns over our heads. I want each and every one of you to remember that order — remember the guns over our heads. because events are unfolding — and we'll never find ourselves in that wretched state of affairs again!"

Their enthusiasm roared from hundreds of voices, to buffet him with a rhythmic shout of, "SINKLAR! SINKLAR! SINKLAR!"

Skyla passed through the bridge hatch and stepped into the transport tube. She accessed Staffa's quarters and crossed her arms. What would she do? Had that spark in his eyes in Etarus been for her? Now doubt assailed her. "He was probably just glad to be free of the collar — to see a friendly face."