The heater was just one of the many things that didn’t work on the vehicle, so Cato was sitting in the backseat cocooned inside a newly purchased sleeping bag as the air car banked to the left and entered Heartbreak Pass. He fell asleep eventually, and remained that way for more than an hour, as the air car continued to bore through the darkness.
Finally, having cleared the east end of the pass, Phelonious was able to turn north. City lights appeared fifteen minutes later, and Cato awoke as the engine sputtered and caught again. Belok, who had a thick layer of fur to protect him from the cold, was seated next to the police officer. It was necessary to yell in order to be heard over the combined roar of the engine and the slipstream. “Where are we going to land? Assuming we don’t crash?”
“On the palace,” Cato responded. “I’m going straight to the top! Once Procurator Nalomy learns about the murders at Station 3, and the fact that a homicidal shape shifter is on the loose, she’ll have to respond.”
“I think you’re crazy!” the Kelf countered. His high-pitched voice was barely audible over all of the noise. “If your theory is correct, and government officials were somehow involved in the attack on Station 3, then Nalomy could be in on it. What then?”
“Then she’s going down,” Cato answered darkly. And because of the way the Uman said it, as well as the expression on his face, Belok was inclined to believe him. The engine roared, the lights grew brighter, and the decision was made.
The dining room had never looked better. Two dozen candles produced most of the ambient light. They flickered whenever a servant passed by before becoming steady again. The linen-covered table was set with Nalomy’s personal china, delicate glassware, and gleaming silver that bore her family’s crest. The Procurator’s hair was piled high on her head, she was wearing a small fortune in jewelry, and her toga was cut to reveal a shapely breast. The rest of the guests were well dressed, too, though less interesting to look at, and working hard to impress both their hostess and the guest of honor with how witty they were.
The meal had been under way for an hour by then, and Fiss Verafti was seated only two people away from Legate Usurlus, the man he would eventually be called upon to kill. So even though the conversation was boring, the knowledge of what was to come made the situation more interesting, as did the opportunity to sift through the emotions that swirled around him. Being fully aware that Usurlus was determined to remove her from power, Nalomy hated him. And, knowing that Nalomy was aware of his plans, Usurlus hated
her
! Plus, thanks to the emotional content provided by various other guests, there was plenty of anger, envy, and jealously to provide additional flavor to the feast.
As Verafti had discovered in the past, many of the most unadulterated emotions originated from the servers, who were constantly at risk. The female named Alamy was an excellent example of that. Verafti watched the Uman female through half-slitted eyes as the man to his right babbled nonsense into his ear and sought to impress the person he believed the shape shifter to be.
Alamy was frightened, as prey should be, but she was hopeful, too. Even if there wasn’t much reason to be. Verafti had requested permission to dine on Alamy’s body as well as her emotions, but Hingo had insisted that he feed on a slave named Lea instead. Why? Because, based on the lust that surrounded Hingo when Alamy was around, the Uman was determined to have sex with her. A perfectly understandable motivation insofar as Verafti was concerned but one that put the two of them at odds, and would have to be resolved. In Verafti’s favor, of course. And sooner rather than later. Because while Verafti’s metabolism was slow, his hunger pangs were growing stronger, and would soon have to be dealt with.
Verafti’s ruminations were interrupted by the sudden
bleat
of a Klaxon, a series of
thump
s as steel security doors dropped into place, and a computer-generated voice announcing that a “Class II security violation” had taken place. There were expressions of alarm, followed by the scrape of chairs, as some of the Procurator’s guests pushed themselves back from the linen-covered table.
Nalomy, who was seated at the opposite end of the table from Usurlus, stood and forced a smile. “Please. . . . Remain calm. It’s probably a false alarm, not that it matters. Even if the palace is under attack, my troops have the resources necessary to deal with any threat.”
Usurlus didn’t doubt that, since no expense had been spared in the effort to protect his hostess and, therefore, the palace from the local populace. But what about a Vord raid? Surface attacks had been rare so far but weren’t unheard of, and he had serious doubts about whether Dantha’s militia would be equal to a contingent of Vord Nightstalkers.
But Vedius was on duty, as were roughly half of the Legate’s bodyguards, and it was only a matter of seconds before the ex-legionnaire was talking to Usurlus via the earplug. “An unauthorized air car landed on the roof, sir,” Vedius said calmly. “I have no idea why the militia failed to shoot it down a mile out. But I will investigate and report back.”
Nalomy must have had a similar link with
her
people, because as the security doors began to rise, she spoke to her guests. “The situation is under control,” Nalomy said reassuringly. “It seems that an air car declared a mechanical emergency, requested permission to land on the roof, and was denied. But the pilot came in anyway, and that triggered the alarms, just as it should have. I’m sorry about the interruption,” she continued sweetly, “but I believe dessert will more than make up for the delay! Please continue to eat while I check with the head of security.”
Most of the guests were happy with that explanation, and the incident generated a buzz of conversation, as Alamy pushed the dessert cart into the room. But some of the guests, Usurlus and Verafti among them, were curious and took the opportunity to follow Nalomy out of the room. The Procurator resented it, but couldn’t object, given the fact that Usurlus outranked her.
So as Nalomy entered the elevator that would carry her up to the roof, she was accompanied by four guests, half of whom had brought glasses of wine along with them. Cold air rushed in to fill the elevator as it opened onto the flat roof and a very remarkable scene. Because there, sitting at the center of Nalomy’s pristine landing pad, was a very old air car. It was bathed in the glare produced by three powerful spotlights. Standing next to the disreputable machine were an unkempt Uman, an olive drab android, and a Kelf. All with both hands on tops of their heads.
A frantic Section Leader, who was clearly distraught by what had occurred, rushed over to greet Nalomy. “I’m sorry, Highness!” the man said. “They said it was an emergency! We told them to land elsewhere, but they kept coming! Then, when I ordered the missile batteries to fire, the air car was too close! An explosion might have done damage to the palace.”
The air car should have been blown out of the sky the moment it entered the one-mile-deep security perimeter that surrounded the palace. So Nalomy was quietly furious, and might well have had the responsible parties executed on the spot, had it not been for the presence of so many witnesses. Especially one who reported directly to the Emperor. But the intruders were fair game. So soldiers stared as the partially nude Procurator made her way out into the glare that surrounded the unauthorized visitors and stood with hands on shapely hips. “Who are you people?” she demanded angrily. “And how dare you enter a restricted area!”
Cato squinted into the bright light. He wasn’t sure who the partially clad woman was, but judging from the way everyone deferred to her, she held a position of authority. Nalomy herself? Yes, quite possibly, which was fine with him. “My name is Jak Cato,” he said authoritatively. “And I’m an Imperial police officer. I’m here on official business, and I hereby call upon you, and your staff, to render the full measure of support required by the law.”
The request was not only exceedingly bold, but completely unexpected, and Nalomy reacted accordingly. “An Imperial police officer?” she inquired skeptically. “That seems rather unlikely based on appearances.”
There were expressions of surprise all around as Cato removed a hand from the top of his head and held it palm out. The glowing blue badge left no doubt as to the extent of his authority. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Usurlus exclaimed. “He
is
a cop!”
But one of the onlookers
wasn’t
surprised, because he knew Cato rather well, and knew what the Xeno cop was capable of. Which was why Fiss Verafti was already on the elevator, and on his way down, when Cato sensed the shape shifter’s presence.
And there was no mistaking who the person was, because each individual’s emotions were as unique as a fingerprint insofar as Cato was concerned, and Verafti had a very distinctive profile. It consisted of a brooding paranoia, overlaid by seething anger, and propelled by a deep hunger. The totality of which was unmistakable.
“Verafti!” the policeman exclaimed, as he drew his weapon and looked from face to face. I know you’re here, you bastard! Everyone freeze!”
But the sight of the seemingly deranged policeman holding a weapon that was pointed in Nalomy’s direction was too much for the already shamed Section Leader. He drew a stunner, aimed it at Cato, and fired.
Cato staggered, felt his muscles lock up as if seized by a gigantic cramp, and would have screamed had his body been functioning properly. But it wasn’t, so he fell, and his pistol skittered away as he hit the roof.
There was a moment of silence after that—which Nalomy broke as she turned to her guests. The sudden appearance of a Xeno cop, plus the mention of Verafti’s name, had been something of a shock. But the Procurator was a skilled actress, and none of that was visible in her expression. “Well,” she said brightly. “That was unexpected! But it looks as though everything is under control—so let’s return to the dining room. Our desserts are on the table by now—and we wouldn’t want to keep the others waiting.”
Cato wanted to warn Nalomy about Verafti, but discovered that his jaw wouldn’t work, as his entire body began to spasm. The back of his head hit duracrete, the arms of darkness reached out to enfold him, and Cato was gone.
The city of Solace, on the planet Dantha
In keeping with the standard template that Emperor Deronious had laid down 252 years before, the coliseum was located a short walk from the palace. Like the militia, the arena was well maintained, and for much the same reason: to keep Dantha’s population in line. Because to the extent that the plebeians could be bought off with bloody sporting contests, musical concerts, and 3-D holo dramas imported from Corin, Nalomy was not only happy to oblige but usually present when such events took place. That gave the citizens an opportunity to look up at her as she looked
down
on them from her thronelike seat in the Imperial Box. The suite of well-appointed rooms was located high above the seats on the south side of the coliseum, where Nalomy’s guests could see the entire arena, and never be required to stare into direct sunlight.
But as Nalomy entered the Imperial suite and took her place on the thronelike chair that Emperor Emor would sit on should he ever get around to visiting Dantha, there was nothing to look at other than the rusty red awnings that hung over empty seats, and the carefully raked arena below. The awnings flapped gently as a breeze took a shortcut across the coliseum on its way to Lake Imperium, and Nalomy heard the steady
thump
,
thump
,
thump
of boots as Pasayo marched Verafti and a section of heavily armed militiamen up to the open door, where the formation came to a crashing halt.
Nalomy stood and waited for the man who looked exactly like one of the officers on the prison ship
Pax Umana
to enter. The form Verafti had chosen was tall, handsome, and easy on the eye. So much so that the official could easily imagine taking the man to bed. But the knowledge of what she was
truly
looking at was sufficient to keep Nalomy’s libido in check and release something cold into her bloodstream. “So,” Nalomy said evenly, “it didn’t take Officer Cato long to notice your presence, did it?”
Verafti shrugged indifferently. “Cato is one of the less reliable members of the Xeno Corps, but he’s an empath nevertheless, and very familiar with my emotional profile. So yes, he was able to recognize me right away, just as I was able to recognize
him
. And that raises a rather interesting question. . . . Why is Officer Cato still alive?”
Nalomy didn’t like being challenged, especially by someone she saw as an inferior, so Verafti could “feel” the sudden flood of resentment produced by his question. Nalomy’s bodyguards were present, but too far away to hear what was being said, which allowed her to answer the question honestly. “The Lir were supposed to arrange for Officer Cato’s death, and make it look like an accident, but he’s more resourceful than he appears. And, now that Usurlus is aware of his presence, a different strategy will be necessary.”
The shape shifter’s eyebrows rose incrementally. “But not for long. Or have you changed your mind regarding Usurlus?”
“Don’t be silly,” Nalomy replied dismissively. “That’s why I invited you here. This is where I want you to kill him. Not in the Imperial Box, but down
there
, on the platform, where everyone can see it take place.”
Verafti made his way over to the open window and looked down on the arena below. There were four platforms, one marking each point of the compass. They were rectangular in shape, and set eight feet off the floor of the arena, just beyond the walkway that circled the coliseum. Nalomy had joined Verafti by then but stood well out of arm’s reach. It was a very prudent thing to do, all things considered. “The platforms serve a variety of purposes,” she explained. “Officials use them during sporting events and Usurlus will speak from one of them on Founder’s Day. But,” Nalomy continued, “about halfway through his comments, one of the Legate’s own bodyguards will draw a weapon and shoot him in the head.”