Bones of Empire (24 page)

“Terrific,” Cato replied sarcastically. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Umji replied without the slightest trace of irony. “Have a nice trip.”

What had begun as a medium-sized cave hundreds of years before had been gradually enlarged until the domed room could accommodate more than five hundred true believers. Such a crowd was rare, of course, since most of the Rahati cult's thirty thousand members were busy working, but this was the “Day of the Feast,” so the cavern was packed with worshippers.

What light there was emanated from the flickering oil lamps mounted on the rocky side walls, ropes of multicolored lights that crisscrossed the area over the supplicants' heads, and the green glow-rods that the heavily armed ushers wore thrust through their broad leather belts.

The result was a warm glow that glazed the surface of the massive altar that dominated the front of the space, while the corners of the room fell into darkness. Complex stonework served to frame the graven image of the goddess Rahati, complete with all three of her faces. The beast, its fangs bared, stared out at those who worshipped it. To either side of the central image, the idealized profiles of a man and a woman could be seen, looking in opposite directions.

Taken together, the three faces represented the various aspects of the Uman race, meaning male, female, and the sexless creature within. The latter was revered by the Rahaties as the “true” nature of the species, which should be held in check where fellow adherents were concerned but could legitimately be released in order to battle the unenlightened.

Now, as row after row of Rahaties knelt with their foreheads pressed against a patchwork quilt of expensive carpets, one of the sect's priests led them in chanting the poem of life, a journey that began with death in the spirit world, followed by birth in the physical world, and death yet again. So that each death became a birth, as the soul cycled between worlds, eventually accumulating the wisdom necessary to join the goddess Rahati in paradise.

Once the chant came to an end, a priest made his way up onto the platform that fronted the crowd and launched into an extensive rant against the Vord occupiers. Demons, to his mind, who were not only determined to eliminate the Rahati religion but were the very embodiment of evil.

The crowd was encouraged to participate in the denunciation by chanting
Ke-Ya
(we believe) in unison while bringing their heads up long enough to clap their hands before bowing again.

Then, the priest having made his point, it was time for the communal feast. It began, as it always did, with the screams of a terrified Vord as he was half carried, half dragged down the center aisle and up onto the platform. Umans had been used for the purpose prior to the occupation, but ever since the Vords had begun to systematically hunt Rahaties down, they had come to replace all others on the sacrificial platform.

Servos whined as a bloodstained ceremonial table rose out of a recess in the floor, and the crowd began to clap rhythmically. The alien fought back, or tried to, as practiced hands bound his wrists and ankles to each corner of the table.

The soldier's Ya was pulsating madly by that time as it attempted to free itself from the Vord's nervous and circulatory systems, but the connections had been forged over a period of twenty years and were too strong to sever quickly. The priests had seen it all before and ignored the parasite as they cut the Vord's uniform off.

By that time the crowd was chanting “
RA-HA-TI
,
RA-HA-TI
,
RA-HA-TI
,” over and over again as the god image came to sudden life. Though not of her invention, the role of goddess was one that Affa Demeni had learned to play to perfection, as three faces merged into one and the beast made its way forward. It was seven feet tall, very muscular, and possessed of prominent breasts and a large penis.

Having paused long enough for the audience to get a good look at her, Demeni held up her hands. The crowd roared its approval as long, thin fingers were miraculously transformed into razor-sharp claws. The goddess Rahati snarled menacingly as she bent over the helpless Vord, and he uttered a heartrending scream as her right index finger drew a line from a point just below his rib cage all the way down to his crotch. Though only half an inch deep, the incision was sufficient to slice through the alien's peritoneum and release an explosion of purplish organs. The soldier's scream was lost in the crowd noise as the chant “
Ke-Ya
” filled the chamber.

Then, knowing what her Uman followers expected of her, Demeni stuck her hand up under the alien's ribs, felt for his heart, and expertly cut it free. Then, having removed the still-squirting organ from the Vord's body, she held it up for the Rahati faithful to see. The response was a roar of approval, which grew even louder as Demeni took a big bite. The blood had a coppery taste, the flesh was soft and still quite warm. The morsel slid down her throat.

That was the cue for the priests to rush forward and butcher the dead body so that trays heaped with Vord tidbits could be passed through the chamber. Because to eat the flesh of an unbeliever was to consume demon energy to use against them. Meanwhile, having eaten her fill, the goddess Rahati was transformed back into stone, or so it appeared to those in the audience. The miracle was complete.

More than a week had passed since the
Light of Yareel
had broken orbit, pushed her way out past the battle stations that stood guard over Corin, and entered the nowhere land of hyperspace. Things had gone reasonably well at first, but it wasn't long before the relatively small compartment began to feel like a prison, and nerves began to fray. And as Cato dealt himself another hand of Solo, he was painfully aware of the fact that he should be working. But as Shani pumped out seemingly endless push-ups, Alamy read the material
he
was supposed to read, and Keen eyed her longingly, Cato found that it was hard to focus.

Keen had been smart enough to check with Cato before hitting on Alamy. However, rather than tell Keen the complete truth, as he should have, Cato told the other officer that Alamy was free to enter relationships with whomever she chose, with predictable results. So that when Keen began to flirt with Alamy, and her owner did nothing to stop it, she knew his permission had been given. That made her feel hurt and angry.

Cato knew that, and wanted to talk to Alamy about it, but they were never alone. And having been abandoned by the man she had been ready to give her everything to, she was starting to laugh at Keen's jokes and perform small services for him. Cato could order her not to, of course, but that would make him look jealous and undermine his authority as the team leader. So he was sitting there, dealing cards he was only barely aware of, when Umji entered the compartment.

The Vord exchanged perfunctory greetings with Shani, Keen, and Alamy before occupying the seat directly across from Cato. While the other police officer
looked
the same, none of the overt hostility that normally surrounded the Vord was present, which seemed to suggest that this visit was going to be different. “So,” Umji began awkwardly, “it's my understanding that you have a special talent.”

“Officer Shani, Officer Keen, and I are biologically engineered variants,” Cato explained patiently. “And we can sense other people's emotions if that's what you mean. That's why we were chosen to go after Verafti. We will be able to recognize him regardless of the way he looks.”

“Yes,” Umji said dismissively, “I know all that. But, if my information is correct, you can tell if someone is lying.”

“We can sense the emotions associated with lying,” Cato replied, “and therefore infer that they might be lying. But we can't read minds. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing much,” Umji lied. “This is a confined space. . . . In spite of our obvious differences, there are ways in which Vords and Umans are similar. Conflicts can arise in close quarters, and the results can be tragic.”

Cato nodded knowingly and was conscious of the fact that the others were listening. “So you have a murder on your hands,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I didn't say that,” Umji objected.

“You didn't have to,” Cato countered. “You're feeling stressed, worried, and fearful. Probably because it isn't clear who did what to whom, and the captain wants you to solve the murder in time for dinner.”

“Yes, those in command are always impatient, aren't they?” Umji inquired rhetorically. “In any case, I thought you might be somewhat bored at this point. If so, perhaps you would welcome a chance to hone your skills and stretch your legs.”

Cato knew that if he agreed to the proposal, Shani would want to come along, and by all rights should be allowed to come along, but that would mean leaving Alamy alone with Keen. Something he wasn't about to do. “Sure, that would be fine,” Cato said casually. “Provided that the rest of my team can come as well. Otherwise, I'll have to pass.”

Umji was silent for a moment, and Cato could “feel” the mishmash of emotions that swirled around him. Finally, it seemed as though Umji's need to solve the murder quickly was stronger than the other concerns he had. “Okay,” the police officer said. “With the understanding that everyone will stay together, make no attempt to communicate with members of the crew unless given permission to do so, and won't be allowed to take pictures or make notes.”

“We also promise to brush our teeth, eat our vegetables, and get plenty of exercise,” Cato volunteered. “Now that we have that out of the way—who was murdered?”

“A Ya named Dancha,” Umji answered. “His life partner is a Vord crewman named Esrothy Sayeska Heyavu.”

“Which means Heyavu did it, or knows who did it,” Cato observed pragmatically.

“Heyavu stabbed Dancha, he admits that,” Umji replied soberly. “But he insists that it was in self-defense.”

“How's that possible?” Shani wanted to know as she came over to join the conversation. “No offense, Officer Umji, but based on what I can see, if would be difficult if not impossible for a Ya to murder his host. They don't have hands, tentacles, or pseudopods. . . . So they couldn't hold a weapon.”

“Ya don't require weapons to kill their companions,” Umji responded bleakly. “Take my advisor Quati, for example. . . . In the same way that he can generate chemicals that are beneficial to me—he can produce toxins as well.”

Cato frowned. “Excuse my ignorance of the Vord/Ya relationship, but if a Ya kills his host, isn't he committing suicide?”

“No,” Umji answered simply. “Not initially anyway. A Ya can survive for weeks, even a month, entirely on his own. Vords die of natural causes all the time, as do Ya, so both must be able to function until a new partner can be found.”

“I see,” Cato replied, although the truth was that he didn't. Not entirely, anyway. “So you want us to interview Heyavu and tell you if he's telling the truth.”

“Yes,” Umji said eagerly. “That would be very helpful.”

“Okay,” Cato said as he eyed the faces around him. “Is everyone ready?”

Shani nodded, Keen smirked, and Alamy gave him the same blank-faced look he had come to dread over the last few days. “I guess we're ready to go,” Cato said ruefully. “Please lead the way.”

 

 

As Alamy followed the rest of the group through the hatch and out into the dimly lit corridor beyond, she felt confused. Of course, that was nothing new since her relationship with Cato had been confusing from the start. He couldn't interact with her the way he usually did, not with Shani and Keen present all the time, she understood that. But when Keen began to flirt with her, she expected some sort of reaction from Cato. When none was forthcoming, she felt angry, because if Cato was willing to give her up to another man, then it was safe to say that he didn't care about her and was interested in Shani. And it didn't require an empath to know what
her
desires were.

The only problem with that theory was that Cato's interactions with the other officer had been strictly professional so far, and based on his nonverbal communications, it seemed as if Keen's continual advances troubled him. So with no opportunity for one of the private moments she treasured so much, there was nothing Alamy could do but push the other empath off and wonder what was going on.

The corridors were four Vords wide to facilitate the movement of personnel during an emergency, and wherever room allowed, side panels had been used to provide both decoration and structural integrity. Though not allowed to stop and inspect them, Alamy got the impression that the scenes stamped into the sheet metal were historical in nature because she caught glimpses of stylized Vord-on-Vord battles, elaborate hunting motifs, and sturdy castles that sat on islands or were perched high on hilltops. As if to suggest a long period of clan warfare prior to the creation of a ruling council and the subsequent conquest of other planets.

But as might be expected on a warship, most of what Alamy saw were the locks that led to secondary gun emplacements, what were obviously lifeboat bays, quick glimpses into berthing areas, what might have been the hydroponics section, and a space that smelled like a medical facility.

Then, after many twists and turns, the journey was over. A pair of armed guards came to the Vord version of attention, and there was an exchange of guttural words as the hatch irised open. “This is the ship's brig,” Umji explained as he motioned for the Umans to enter. “Heyavu is the only prisoner at the moment.”

The group entered a rectangular space that fronted a row of four cells. A forlorn-looking Vord sat head down in one of the barred compartments. Alamy noticed that the prisoner was hooked up to what looked like an intravenous drip. Was it providing him with at least some of the chemicals that a Ya normally would? Yes, that seemed logical.