That was sufficient to bring Lucia to a halt and open her purse. Because even though Hason was dead, Nalomy’s agents could have been sent after her as well, which was why the “beggar” had been assigned to keep an eye on her house. Of course the visitors could be well-wishers, come to convey their condolences, or business partners who wanted to follow up on some transaction. Two decims rattled as they hit the bottom of the otherwise-empty bowl. “Are they security agents?” Lucia inquired. “Or regular citizens?”

  “There’s no way to be sure,” the man answered cautiously. “But they didn’t look like agents. Their clothes were expensive, both of them had off-world accents, and one gave me an Imperial! How many security men would do that?”

  “Not many,” Lucia admitted with a wan smile. “Watch my veranda. . . . If I hang a rug over the rail, everything is okay.”

  The beggar eyed Lucia from under his hood. He had brown eyes and three days’ worth of carefully cultivated stubble. “And if you don’t?”

  “Then send help,” Lucia answered grimly. “Lots of it.” And with that she began to climb the stairs.

  “Here she comes,” Albus said evenly, as he peered through the window.

  Usurlus was on the other side of the nicely decorated living room inspecting a photograph of Hason Ovidius and his wife Lucia. She had short brown hair, intelligent eyes, and a face that while attractive was too narrow to be called beautiful. Would she blame him for her husband’s death? Yes, probably, and with good reason. Because immediately after meeting the businessman the year before, Usurlus had taken advantage of Hason’s anger toward Nalomy to recruit him as a spy. Which led directly to his death. Usurlus turned toward the front of the house. “Did she talk with the beggar?”

  Albus was still looking out between the white curtains. “Yes, sir. She did.”

  “So she knows we’re here and still has the courage to climb the stairs,” Usurlus mused out loud. “Something tells me that Hason was a lucky man.”

  Lucky men got to keep their heads on their shoulders, or so it seemed to Albus, but the bodyguard knew better than to voice his opinion. “If you say so, sire.”

  “I do,” Usurlus replied. “Now come over here so she’ll see both of us when she enters.”

  Albus obeyed, which meant that as Lucia pushed the front door open, the sun threw a carpet of gold over the floor. Usurlus watched Lucia Ovidius enter the room and pause. There was uncertainty in the woman’s eyes, but determination as well, and her voice was steady. “You broke into my home.”

  “Albus picked the lock,” Usurlus replied, with a nod toward the other man. “But the effect was the same. And for that we apologize. Please accept our deepest sympathies regarding the death of your husband. . . . He was a brave man and a patriot. I know it will be small recompense but I will do everything in my power to see that his service to the Empire is officially recognized, and that you as his widow receive the financial support that is due you.”

  Lucia’s expression remained unchanged. Her eyes shifted from face to face. “And you are?”

  “I am Legate Isulu Usurlus,” the official said. “And this is Vedius Albus. My chief bodyguard.”

  “I’ve seen Legate Usurlus,” Lucia said skeptically. “In fact I was in the crowd when his motorcade carried him down Imperial Boulevard. And he’s better-looking than you are.”

  Usurlus brought a hand up, pressed the nodule located behind his right ear with his right index finger, and felt the face mask begin to squirm. Then, once the pseudoflesh had separated itself from his real skin, it fell free. Usurlus’s hands were positioned to catch it. “There,” he said. “How’s that?”

  “Better,” Lucia said grudgingly. “Please wait here. . . . There’s something I need to do.”

  Both men watched as Lucia went over to pick up a colorful throw rug, which she carried out onto the veranda that spanned the front of the house and threw over a railing. Once that was accomplished, she came back inside. The two men were right where she had left them. “Please,” Lucia said politely, “have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No,” Usurlus said, as he sat on what had been Hason’s favorite chair. “Thank you.”

  Albus, who had taken up a position at the window, made no reply. He was scanning the surrounding buildings with a small but powerful pair of binoculars.

  “All right then,” Lucia said, as she took the chair next to the one Usurlus was seated on. “It was dangerous for you to come here. Dangerous for you—and dangerous for me. And while I appreciate all of the nice things that you said—every one of those sentiments could have been expressed in a letter or holo. What do you want?”

  Usurlus took note of not only the direct manner in which Lucia spoke, but also the woman’s failure to use any of the honorifics to which he was entitled, and felt a mix of emotions. Lucia Ovidius was strong, which was important given the task he wanted her to carry out, but she was either lacking in the social graces or simply disrespectful. Which made a marked contrast to her husband, who had been a good deal more deferential, and properly so.

  But with only a limited number of tools at his disposal, Usurlus was in no position to be picky. So, as his eyes locked with hers, Usurlus was frank. “I know that you were aware of your husband’s work on behalf of the Empire. . . . So you have an excellent understanding of what’s at stake. Were it not for the steadily increasing conflict with the Vord, I would have arrived with a Legion of Imperial troops, and been able to carry out my investigation in a normal manner.

  “But, because his resources are stretched rather thin at the moment, all the Emperor could send was me and my personal bodyguard. That means that when I make my move, which will occur in the coliseum on Founder’s Day, popular support will be critical. And not just acquiescence, but active support by such a large majority of citizens that the people in command of the militia will realize that it would be foolhardy to continue their support for Nalomy. Then, and only then, will I be able to pull this tyrant down! So what I ‘want,’ as you put it, is for you to continue your husband’s work. Which was to find hard proof of Nalomy’s guilt, or failing that, to help build the support I need. If you refuse, his death will have been for nothing.”

  The last was a blatant attempt to manipulate Lucia’s emotions and she knew it. But the tactic was effective nevertheless, because Hason had given his life to improve conditions on Dantha, and Usurlus was the only person who could deliver on that dream. Lucia was silent for a moment, but in the end she bowed her head as if in submission, and spoke the words Usurlus wanted to hear. “I will serve you as my husband did regardless of the cost.”

  TEN

  Near the town of Donk’s Well, on the planet Dantha

  THE ENGINE WAS RUNNING, AND THE AIR CAR WAS ready for takeoff, assuming that the repairs held. But it was pitch-black in the mountain clearing, and without even the stars to guide them, it would be easy to hit one of the trees that stood all around. Still, Phelonious claimed that he could manage it, and Cato wanted to believe him. Because if the threesome remained where they were, and waited for daybreak, there was a good chance that they would be discovered by High Hold Meor’s warriors.

  So as Cato and Belok checked their seat belts, Phelonious checked the air car’s instrument panel, before applying power and lifting straight up. There was a limit to how high an air car could go without traveling horizontally. And, because some of the surrounding trees were a good twenty feet tall, it was necessary for Phelonious to push the tubby vehicle to the very edge of a stall before finally leveling out. The air car shuddered as the hull brushed a treetop before soaring out over the slope below. They were free! And, more importantly, alive.

  Ten minutes later, when the lights of Donk’s Well appeared in the distance, the air car turned toward the south. The little aircraft wasn’t designed to fly higher than a thousand feet, which meant it couldn’t cross the Sawtooth Mountains directly, and would have to negotiate the S-shaped east-west pass instead. A tricky business at night, but not impossible, thanks to the solar-powered nav beacons positioned along the way.

  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 thumps 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.”