Майкл Гир - Requiem for the Conqueror

Staffa nodded and helped them out, then he slapped the hatch shut, sighed, and rubbed his brow.

Skyla turned, concerned by the weary lines in his face, the slight slump to his posture. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I found more than I was looking for." "Your son?"

"On Rega. Bruen and I will sort that out later." "And the other, the…. 11

"What it is to be human? Yes." He lifted a gemmed goblet from the restraint barrier and slowly rotated it. "I'm not the man I was when I left-or ever thought I was for that matter."

"I expected that. It's rough out there."

He nodded, replacing the goblet, the action that of a man who didn't know what to do with himself. "I know. I learned that on Etaria. Thanks for covering for my stupidity. "

He seemed as confused as she.

He looked at her, eyes going soft. "Skyla. I had a lot of time to think. About the Companions, about… us. She steeled herself while blood rushed in her veins. "Kaylla said you talked about me in the desert."

He swallowed hard, facing her, searching her face. "This is difficult. I know I can't expect you to-"

"Staffa, I don't run off across war-torn space for just any man." She smiled

at him, seeing relief in his hard expression.

"I regret all those years I wasted grieving over Chrysla. I'll probably always love her, but she'd become a myth to me." He shook his head, fingers tightening on air as he made a fist. "All those years… and all that time you were there." He reached for her and she buried herself in his arms.

"Chief?" The comm came to life. Tap Amurka's face formed. His eyes widened and a red flush started to creep up his throat. "Sorry, Lord Commander. But we've got a subspace message coming in. We got a fix-it's from Rega. The thing's in code, but we're working on it. Might take some time to crack. You might want to, uh, come up to the bridge. "

Staffa nodded, turning Skyla loose. "We're both on the way.

Stepping onto Chrysla's bridge felt strange to Staffa, as if somehow nothing had changed. Heads bent to the comms, everyone busy. Helmut reclined with the worry-cap on her head. Amurka monitored his systems in the revolving chair. The overhead panels gleamed brightly and the monitors showed all systems at maximum. Skyla relieved the duty officer at the tactical weapons comm and slid into the control chair, placing the headset on her pale hair.

Staffa slipped into the command chair, instrument pods folding down around him like the metallic petals of a grotesque flower. "Open a line to Gyton."

The Regan Comm First's pale face formed. "Yes, Lord Commander?" She sounded distraught.

"You have just received a transmission from Rega. You will not power up to answer. Is that understood?"

She nodded, clearly distressed. "Understood, sir. We are offering no resistance."

"Get me your commanding officer." Staffa settled back in the chair.

"In a moment, sir. He's on his way. " The Comm First looked even more unsettled.

"He? Where's Rysta?"

"Informing the new commanding officer of our condition."

Staffa waited, watching the reaction of the Comm First. She looked like her whole world had fallen apart.

Staffa switched channels and called into his fleet commu nications comm. "On deck everyone. Something's happen ing to the Regans. Let's go to Alert 2."

Lights flashed in combat readiness. Systems checks auto matically initiated while klaxons wailed throughout the Companion fleet.

"Outside of the message," Tap called, "a single shuttle crossed from one of the transports. Looked like it was traveling light."

At that moment a commotion occurred on Gytons bridge beyond the scope of the comm. The Comm First looked up, puzzled, eyes going wide. She nodded grimly and slid out of her seat. A young man, black-skinned and raw-boned, slid into the seat.

He studied the comm and opened a channel, looking up at Staffa. "Lord Commander? I'm Division First Shiksta. One moment, please, for Lord Sinklar Fist."

Lord? What the hell was happening?

"So we finally get to meet Fit face-to-face."

"Who?" Skyla asked.

"My opponent on Targa. A brilliant man — a deadly man. We'll have to watch him in the future. he's got talent."

He flipped the audio on again as the image flickered, leaving him staring right at Fist. Staffa straightened in he command chair. The two-toned stare transfixed him— gleaming, challenging. The mop of dark hair looked mussed. The line of the nose, the fullness of the jaw— everything about Fist spoke to him.

Staffa's mind reeled as he stared. It couldn't be! He leaned forward, seaching that face, examining the trait. Yes, that was how he'd ook — the mixture of features a patchwork of inheritane. Fist wore oversized battle armor and he perched uncomfortably in the command chair as if unsure of how to sit in it.

It can't be! Bruen would have told me. I's been so log since I saw him. Relax, Staffa. It could be your mind again — another of those chemical flushes that affect your

judgment. But the eyes How often did that happen! The odds. and in those colors!

"Greetings, Staffa kar Therma," the familiar high voice filled Chrysla' bridge.

"You. " Staffas voice failed him. "You're. Sinklar Fist?"

Fist nodded, odd eyes glittering. "I am. And it appears our situations are reversed. What will you do now, Staffa? Will you destroy MacRuder? Will you kill all those people you pleaded to save?"

"No," Staffa replied absently, entranced by Sinklar Fist's face. "No. I won't destroy you. You're. You're my. How old are you? Twenty-two?"

"More or less," Fist replied warily. "However, were I you, I wouldn't make the mistake of judging my abilities based upon age. Others have and regretted it."

Staffa twitched and said. "I don't think you understand. I have to meet with you — face-toface."

"Minister Takka tells me you're in the employ of Sassa." Sinklar shook his head. "Is that why you want to see me? Possibly buy me off? I won't do it. There must never be another Targa."

Staffa's heart jumped. "No, this has nothing to do with politics or war. I have to talk to you. about your parents. And it must be done in person."

"What do you think this is all about?" Mac asked, casting a nervous glance at Sinklar.

"I don't know, but I'm skeptical already." Sinklar shook his head. "If the Seddi are involved, it's got to be a trick or trap of some sort."

They sat in the empty shuttle, the only two passengers, as the craft slowed and matched with Chrysla. Sink craned his neck to peer over the lines of empty seats at the monitor that filled the space over the flight deck hatch. He studied the Companion ship's lines, trying to comprehend the differences in hull design and the weapons systems. Chrysla had been built like a huge three-sided wedge. Her black hull gave off little reflection, making her practically invisible against the stars.

The hatch clanged and the shuttle jerked as the grapple puled it close.

Sink rubbed his hot eyes and smiled nervously at Mac. "I wouldn't have done this if you hadn't vouched for him,"

"I was down there in the darkness with the guy. Sink, he didn't have to bring us out of that hole. And, to be honest, if it would have been me on top of him, I think I'd have left him to die."

The hatch beeped to indicate pressurization. Then gravity returned as the g plates powered up. "Well, let's see what the Star Butcher wants, but, Mac, I've got an eerie feeling that trouble's going to result from this."

Mac gave him a weary look. "Trouble? We're going back to Rega to deal with Ily Takka — and you're worried about trouble?"

Sink followed Mac into the lock, stepping out ito a very different ship than he expected. The inside of Chrysla gleamed — white and airy with space — unlike the claustro phobic mortician-gray Regan military vessels.