Майкл Гир - Requiem for the Conqueror

Two smartly dressed STO officers met them at the hatch, slapped out salutes, and stood at attention. Sink noticed that their equipment appeared more sophisticated than Regan issue. Microelectronics studded the helmets and shoulders. The armor looked different, too; it had a scalloped effect. A muscular black man, also in STO gear, approached.

"Good to see you again, Ark," Mac greeted.

The muscular black man smiled grimly. "Looks like the Regans cleaned you up, First. If you'll follow me."

Sinklar asked from the side of his mouth, "Hes Seddi?"

"Companion. He's Ryman Ark, bead of the STO bunch," Mac returned. "And you should have seen his peope deploy on the ground."

Ark led them down a well-kept corridor to a transport tube and motioned them inside. Sinklar couldn't even feel the acceleration. When the tube opened, it was to another polished white corridor. Soft music played through the ship's speakers.

"Not quite as grim an environment as the Regan fleet," Sinklar observed.

Ark smiled, bending the scar on his cheek. "There are advantages to being a Companion. But it's not all flash and

show. We go into combat feeling fresher than other troops. Those resources we don't put into training are put into morale. When we go into action, we want to be sharp enough to split a neutrino."

Sink glanced at Mac. "I'll keep that in mind."

Ark stopped before what appeared to be a standard hatch. "Sinklar Fist is here Lord Commander."

The hatch slid open with a hushed whisper.

Sinklar took a deep breath and passed through a functioning double airlock and into an opulently furnished room. He and Mac gaped. An Etarian sand leopard glared down at them from the wall. The rugs were unlike anything they'd ever walked on. Weapons, artwork, sculpture, and other bejeweled objects adorned the walls. Mac couldn't help but gawk at the fireplace. "We really on a ship? That can't work!"

"But it does."

Sinklar turned, seeing Staffa kar Therma step out of one of the carved doors that flanked the fireplace. Behind him came a beautiful woman with pale blonde hair and eyes of the deepest blue. Staffa wore a gray combat suit and high black boots. A charcoal cape swirled behind him. The woman wore white armor and had her long braid wrapped around her left shoulder.

"Good to see you again, Mac." Staffa shook MacRuder's hand and indicated the woman. "Allow me to introduce Skyla Lyma, Wing Commander of the Companions."

Sink's gut began to squirm. The Star Butcher seemed jittery. This wasn't going to be another Mykroft circus, was it?

"This is Lord Sinklar Fist," Mac replied in turn.

Sink waited, arms crossed, meeting Staffa's piercing gray eyes. "I don't think you invited us over for a social occasion. Could we get down to business?"

The Lord Commander nodded, a frown lining his forehead. He took several paces and whirled, staring frankly at Sinkar. He seemed agitated, nervous. "Tell me about your parents — that is, what you've been told about them."

Sink shot Mac an uneasy glance, seeing his friend's complete mystification. "They were Seddi assassins. About twenty years ago, they tried to kill Tybalt the Imperial Seventh. I talked with the Judicial Magistrate who tried the case. After their execution, I was placed in an institution as a ward of the state. "On Targa?"

"On Rega." Sinklar balanced on the tip of his toes, anxiety in his chest. "Does this have a point? I took your word that we'd be guaranteed safety, but my personal history doesn't have any bearing on-"

"Your mother was auburn-haired." Staffa said in a strained voice. "Do you remember? She had amber eyes, just like your amber eye."

"She had black hair," Sinklar said coolly. "The same as I do-and her eyes were gray."

Staffa rubbed his hands together. "Who told you that?" "No one. I saw them."

"Saw them?"

In Rega. In the Criminal Anatomical Research Lab. Both my mother and father are there. They're kept as …… He turned away.

The Lord Commander looked perplexed. "You say you saw your father? What did he look like?"

"Brown hair. He was the one with yellow eyes. He looked… kind. And maybe a little sad. But then, that was before I learned about the Seddi-and the way they trained their assassins."

Skyla Lyma looked at Staffa, a frown tracing her smooth skin. Mac shifted uncomfortably, clearly wishing he was somewhere else.

A fist seemed to tighten around Sinklar's heart. This was insane! "Lord Commander, I don't know what the game is, but-"

"It can't be!" Staffa wheeled, smacking a hard fist into his palm. "There can't be eyes like that anywhere else! The age is right. Everything fits!"

"If you're trying to play on any latent sympathy I might have for my parents, it won't work," Sinklar declared, stepping forward. "Just what are you looking for?"

"My son!" Staffa told him, his jaw muscles knotted and jumping. "When I saw you-saw your eyes…. You see, my son had your eyes!"

Sinklar backed away a step, unconsciously moving closer to Mac, staring cautiously at the Lord Commander.

"Look," Staffa insisted, bringing a small holo cube out of his belt pouch.

Sinklar took the cube-Mac leaning over his shoulder to see-and thumbed the button. His breath caught.

"Rotted Gods," Mac whispered.

"Do you recognize her?" Staffa pleaded, panic in his eyes.

Sinklar nodded, a wooden feeling in his gut. "Arta Ferathe Seddi assassin who killed Gretta." He dropped the cube from numb fingers. "I think this charade is over, Lord Commander. I take it we're free to go?"

Staffa shook his head, a stricken look on his face. "Her name is Chrysla. She …… He swallowed. "Twenty-two years ago, she bore my son. The Praetor of Myklene abducted them both. I've spent all of my life looking, trying to find her… to find you. "

Sinklar could see the hurt in Skyla's eyes as she put a hand on Staffa's shoulder. "Maybe Sinklar isn't the one." "Maybe." Except Staffa didn't sound convinced.

For the briefest of moments, Sinklar's heart went out to the man. Yes, I know that feeling, the loss, the sensation of being adrift, without place. "I'm sorry I can't help you."

Staffa's lips quivered, as if halfway between a smile and tears.

The hatch slipped open again, and an old man with a bruised head hobbled in. He didn't see Sink where he stood to the side.

"Bruen," Mac growled.

Sinklar's teeth ground. Bruen? The twisted Seddi monster who'd started all of this? He stared at the old man and knew true hatred. To Staffa, Sinklai added hostilely, "Then again, considering the company you keep, maybe I'm not so sorry after all."

Bruen gasped at the sound of his voice and turned, eyes going wide. For a second he appeared stunned, then shot a frightened gaze at the Lord Commander. "You… you asked me to meet you here?"

Staffa seemed to pull himself together and pointed at Sinklar. "What did you do, Bruen? Sinklar says his parents are lying in the Criminal Anatomical Research Labs on Rega. Who are they? Sinklar Fist is my son, isn't he?"

Sink flinched at the fury brewing in the Lord Commander's words. He could feel Mac's tension, like a compressed spring.

Bruen closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm tired of lying, Staffa. The dance of the quanta cannot be denied. Everything the machine plotted and planned has come undone, and I'm no longer sure what's right anymore. It's all beyond me. Maybe if Hyde were still alive, he could-"

"Rot you, Bruen, answer my question!" Staffa knotted his fist in the old man's robe, hissing in a deadly voice, "Is Sinklar Fist my son?"

Bruen winced and nodded, sagging in defeat, his voice cracking dryly. "Yes. We got him from the Praetor." Sinklar shifted uneasily, slowly shaking his head. To Mac

he whispered, "They're all Rotted berserk!" "And Chrysla?" Staffa insisted.