Bones of Empire (14 page)

Like all Cloques, Emsay had a round head, fan-shaped ears, and saucerlike eyes. Perhaps most noticeable, however, were the four tentacles that encircled his mouth and were used for eating. They were also employed during conversations with other Cloques, who relied on a combination of verbal speech and sign language to interact with each other. Now, however, Emsay chose to communicate via accented standard. “Greetings, Senator Nalomy. . . . This is an honor. Please forgive me for not getting up. My knees have been giving me trouble lately.”

“Of course,” Nalomy said politely. “I understand.”

“Please have a seat,” Zether said, and gestured to an ornate armchair that was positioned in front of Emsay's throne. Though covered with gold gilt, and upholstered with synsilk, the guest chair was located at least half a foot lower than Emsay's seat, leaving no doubt as to who was in control of the situation.

Nalomy sat down, and said, “No thank you,” to refreshments, as Emsay plucked a tidbit of food off one of the trays to his right. Tentacles writhed as the pastry was stuffed into the orifice behind them. Emsay had a tendency to speak with his mouth full, so his words were slightly muffled. “So, it's my understanding that you have a problem and want it killed.”

“Yes,” Nalomy replied. He was conscious of how his words would sound on the evening news if the crime lord were to pass a recording along; but everyone knew that such things could be faked, and his body double was currently in a city hundreds of miles away, where it had given a speech the previous day. Not an ironclad alibi perhaps—but good enough to muddy the waters if there was an investigation. “I want to eliminate a Xeno Corps officer named Jak Cato.”

Emsay nodded sagely. “Said officer is a known associate of Legate Usurlus, I believe. That makes such a task all the more perilous because Usurlus could and probably would seek revenge.”

“You are very well informed,” Nalomy commented, as his respect for Emsay went up a notch. “It's true that Usurlus could be a problem but only if he's alive.”

The Cloque's tentacles began to writhe as he laughed. “Well said, my friend, well said. So you want me to kill
that
problem as well? I could certainly do so . . . In spite of the fact that the last attempt to eliminate him was a failure.”

“Take care of Cato,” Nalomy replied darkly. “Then, assuming everything goes as planned, we can discuss Usurlus.”

“Agreed,” Emsay said. “But such an assignment will be expensive because the police take care of their own and will try to avenge Cato's death.”

“How expensive?” Nalomy wanted to know. “There's some truth in what you say, but Cato is a mere Centurion, and that should be taken into account.”

 

 

Emsay was never happier than when he was negotiating a business deal and nibbling on Chor grubs. He popped one of them into his mouth, bit through the tough outer skin, and began to chew. “Money is but one form of compensation,” Emsay observed, as little bits of food tumbled down onto his stomach. “We live in complicated times. Take the tax bill that is currently under consideration in the Senate, for example. The Emperor put it forward as a way to pay for additional police protection, which many of my fellow business associates and I feel is already sufficient. By putting more police on the streets, the government could disturb the delicate equilibrium that exists between self-righteous citizens and entrepreneurs such as myself. So, if you were to dedicate yourself to protecting my interests in that regard, I would consider that to be payment in full.”

 

 

Nalomy listened with interest because if he could achieve his ends without spending thousands of Imperials, then so much the better. There were potential pitfalls, however—and it would be necessary to avoid them. “I can see your point,” Nalomy responded carefully. “And I believe I can help or at least try to. But it's important to understand that the extent of my influence is limited—and that the measure may pass even if I and some of my colleagues oppose it. If that were to be the case, I fear you would be disappointed.”

Emsay couldn't smile, not the way Umans do, but raised a reassuring hand. “Please rest assured that if your opposition to the increase is both ardent, and public, your part of the bargain will have been kept. And who knows? Perhaps I will find others to enlist in my cause!”

For one brief moment Nalomy felt a certain queasiness brought on by the possibility that the entire Senate could be bought off. But then he remembered his daughter, the manner in which her head had been delivered to him, and felt his doubts melt away. “I think we have a deal,” Nalomy said as he came to his feet. “How soon will Officer Cato die?”

“Soon,” Emsay assured him confidently. “Very, very, soon.”

“And the method?” Nalomy wanted to know.

“Cato won't die in a hail of bullets,” Emsay predicted with a wave of his hand. “I have other methods at my disposal. But why ruin the surprise? Watch the news. . . . Some of it will be good.”

 

 

Finally, after six long hours of guard duty, Verafti was about to receive his reward, which was the freedom to leave the Imperial Tower and do whatever he pleased. The situation was his own fault, of course, stemming as it did from the spur-of-the-moment decision to kill and eat one of Emor's Praetorian Guards a couple of weeks earlier, thereby obliging himself to fill in for the man lest he be missed.

Even though the kill had been the result of an impulse rather than a carefully crafted plan, he was none the worse for it other than being tired. Thanks to the second identity, he could leave the Tower and take care of various chores. Such as murdering Jak Cato and eating the bastard for lunch! Partly for the sake of revenge but to protect himself as well, now that the Uman knew he was alive.

So Verafti was two levels belowground, standing in a rank of twelve Praetorian Guards, as a long-winded Section Leader named Ponthus droned on about the need to look sharp while off duty and take all of the precautions necessary to avoid venereal disease.

Once the lecture was over, the guards were free to enter the locker room, where they could don civilian clothes and leave. Verafti hurried to do so, kept the interactions with his fellow legionnaires to a minimum, and was soon out on the street, where he could lose himself in the early-morning crowd. Thanks to the fact that he had full access to
all
governmental records, including those of the Xeno Corps, Verafti knew that Cato was in charge of the local bunko squad.

What he didn't know was where the Xeno cop was going to be on that particular day because the data banks didn't include daily tasking orders. But, given the well-publicized shoot-out that Cato had been part of, it seemed likely he was at home recovering from the leg wound he had suffered. So Verafti planned to go there, kill the worthless sonofabitch, and eat some of him. Then, after a day or so, he would have the pleasure of shitting Cato and flushing him down a toilet! It was, the Sagathi decided, going to be a very productive day.

Having cleaned the apartment, Alamy was about to go shopping with her landlady, but it was first necessary to take care of the genetically engineered pet Legate Usurlus had sent over. According to the note that came with the babble bird, it was for “. . . the purpose of keeping Alamy company,” but she had her doubts. Usurlus could be thoughtful, there was no doubt about that, but Alamy had a sneaking hunch that the winged pet had been given to him, then regifted in order to get the noisy creature out of his elegant home.

It was about a foot and a half tall while sitting on its perch, had feathers that replicated every color of the rainbow, and was just smart enough to be annoying. It squawked in protest as she opened its cage and pointed the way. “Get in your cage, Rollo. . . . I have to leave.”

Rollo cocked his head, regarded Alamy with a glassy eye, and made his case. “No cage. . . . I be good.”

“No you won't,” Alamy countered firmly. “There were Rollo droppings on the kitchen counter this morning. Now get in there.”

Rollo hung his head in shame, made his way to the other end of his T-shaped perch, and entered the cage. Then, as he turned to look at her over one shoulder, he said, “Rollo sorry.”

It was a great act, and even though Alamy knew it was an act, she might have relented had it not been for the doorbell. She went to the entryway, fully expecting to see Madam Faustus, opened the door, and was confronted by a man instead. The visitor was tall and, in keeping with the light drizzle, wore a long raincoat. A cap of tight curly hair covered his head, his eyes were brown, and when he smiled, some very white teeth appeared. “Hello,” the man said pleasantly, “my name is Par Thonis. I'm looking for Jak Cato. Is he home?”

“This is his apartment,” Alamy confirmed, “but he's at work now.”

The man looked disappointed. “Yeah, that makes sense I guess, but I was hoping to surprise him. We served in the same outfit a few years back—and I saw him on the news. Is he okay? A reporter said he was wounded.”

“Yes, he's fine,” Alamy responded. “Or that's what
he
says anyway. I wanted him to stay home for a day or so, but he went right back to work. Would you like to come in?”

Thonis smiled agreeably. “That sounds like Jak. . . . Sure, I'll come in, but only for a moment. If you have a scrap of paper, I'll leave my number. Maybe the two of us can get together sometime soon.”

“I'm sure Jak would enjoy that,” Alamy said politely, and stepped out of the way. “Please come in. Can I take your coat?”

 

 

Verafti's ankle-length coat served to keep the rain off
and
conceal the two semiautomatic pistols that he wore in matching shoulder holsters. Because the Sagathi knew that Cato would not only be armed but was an excellent shot, as the criminals in the
X
Quarter had learned the hard way. So the last thing he wanted to do was remove his coat. Verafti smiled and shook his head. “No, but thanks for asking.”

“I'll get something to write with,” Alamy promised, and hurried away. Verafti had recognized her by then. Not by name, but by appearance, since she'd been a member of Governor Nalomy's staff on Dantha. More than that, she was an appetizing morsel that would more than fill the emptiness in his stomach.

Suddenly, as the multicolored bird in the cage began to squawk, an idea occurred to him. Why not kill the female, enjoy a leisurely lunch, and take her place? Then, when Cato came home, Verafti would be at the door waiting for the empath. The policeman would “recognize” him, that was true, but there would be a moment of hesitation. A second or two in which to shoot Cato in the face!

It was a good plan, an excellent plan, and Verafti was prepared to act on it when the babble bird spread its wings and made a commotion inside his cage. “Bad thing! Run! Hide!”

Alamy had a sheet of paper by then and turned to confront the angen. “Be quiet, Rollo! What's wrong with you anyway? Mind your manners.”

“You mind
your
manners,” Rollo replied contentiously, as his wings fluttered and the cage rattled.

It was obvious that the pet could see through his disguise somehow, but it was equally obvious that the young woman wasn't going to take the creature seriously, so Verafti was just about to morph into his true form when a knock was heard, and the front door swung open to admit a middle-aged woman. “CeCe?” she inquired. “Are you ready? Be sure to bring an umbrella.”

Verafti hesitated as Alamy made the necessary introductions. “Madam Faustus . . . This is Par Thonis. He's a friend of Jak's. I'll be ready in a moment.”

It would have been easy to kill
both
Umans, of course, but the situation was becoming more complicated with each passing moment, and Verafti had no way to know if other people were about. So he accepted the piece of paper and scribbled a random com number on it. “So where is Jak working today?” he inquired casually. “Not the
X
Quarter, I hope.”

“That's exactly where he was headed,” Alamy replied darkly. “A group of pickpockets have been working the Galaxus Hotel, and he's supposed to stop them.”

“If anyone can do it, Jak will,” Verafti predicted, and he gave her the note. “I won't delay you any longer. Please give Jak my best—and tell him that he has a beautiful wife.”

Alamy blushed. “I'm not his wife—but thank you.”

Thonis crossed the room, Rollo squawked and stuck his head under a wing, and Faustus was there to close the door behind the visitor as he left. “Somebody admires you!” she said cheerfully. “Jak had better keep a sharp eye out.”

“Bad thing gone,” Rollo observed as he eyed the room and blinked. “We lucky.”