“That’s a very good question,” one of the two men said sarcastically, as he straightened up. He had a long lugubrious face, and a pair of droopy eyelids made him look sleepy. “We were told to take this unit out, even though it works fine, and install a table. But you should know, because the work order came from what’s his name, Centurion Piss-ayo.”

  “That’s Pasayo,” the other technician corrected him, “and you talk too much. Come on, let’s get this thing out of here. We’ll come back for the mount.”

  The civilians left at that point, and the door to the projection booth stood open, so Cato stepped inside. Though not necessarily important, the mere mention of Pasayo’s name had been sufficient to pique his interest. There wasn’t a whole lot to see other than the mount for the missing projector, which was still bolted to the floor, and a roughly one-foot-by-one-foot aperture through which a holobeam could be projected.

  But as Cato bent over to look through the hole, he found himself staring directly across the arena to the platform on which Usurlus was going to speak. Was that a matter of coincidence? Or something more? Especially if there was nothing wrong with the holoprojector.

  Then there was the matter of a table. . . . Why would Pasayo give orders for a table to be placed inside the booth? It didn’t make any sense unless . . . Suddenly Cato had it! Like all police officers, he was required to qualify with certain weapons each year. Typically that meant a nerve-wracking stroll through a virtual reality (VR) scenario in which good guys and bad guys appeared at regular intervals, requiring the person who was running the course to make a series of split-second decisions regarding whom to shoot. And more than that, once shots were fired, how effective they were.

  But certain weapons, sniper rifles being a good example, were frequently fired on an actual range in addition to VR scenarios. Often from a bench, where the marksman was allowed to sit, while experimenting with various loads. Was that what Pasayo had in mind here? A table that he or another marksman could use to support a large-caliber sniper’s rifle? The aperture, the containment, and the angle would be perfect for that. The only problem was that it didn’t make sense. Not given the fact that Verafti would be able to kill Usurlus from close range.

  Then Cato had it. Verafti! That was the answer. The sniper’s job was to kill Verafti once Usurlus had been murdered. Not only to silence a potential witness—but to get rid of a very dangerous serial killer. One who, if allowed to go free, could threaten Nalomy herself. And, should anything go wrong with the primary plan, the sniper would be in the perfect position to shoot Usurlus as well!

  All of the pieces fit, and as Cato left the booth, he felt that he had a good understanding of the way the assassination plot was supposed to unfold. But could he put a stop to it? That remained to be seen.

  There were still a good four hours to go before the sun rose. So with nothing better to do, and concerned lest someone challenge his right to be there, Cato chose to climb up to the highest seats. Once there, he found a spot where he could wrap himself up in the red militia cape around his body, sit down, and get some shut-eye. But it was difficult to put Alamy out of his mind, so it was quite a while before sleep finally came, and eventually carried him away.

  As Pasayo left his quarters, gun case in hand, he felt better than he had in weeks. Because here, after months of stultifying staff work, was the sort of day any hunter would welcome! The sky was clear, the air was cool, and the newly risen sun had just begun to push long thin shadows west toward the Sawtooth Mountains, all made memorable by the nature of the challenge before him—to lie in wait for one of the most dangerous killers in the Empire, drop Verafti with one shot, and hang his head on the wall with all the rest! In the process, he would secure a trophy that no other hunter could equal!

  The possibility of that put a spring in Pasayo’s step as two bodyguards fell in behind him and the three men made their way along a series of well-manicured pathways to the looming coliseum beyond. Sentries crashed to attention as Pasayo arrived, but he was only marginally aware of the soldiers as he marched past, his mind focused on what lay ahead.

  It took the better part of ten minutes for Pasayo to climb all the steps and follow the outer wall to the west until he arrived at the projection booth that would serve as his hide. Originally, back when Nalomy first identified the need to eliminate Verafti, their discussions centered around something close-up, an approach that would make Verafti’s death look like a natural reaction to the assassination. But, given the empath’s ability to sense what people were going to do, that approach was abandoned in favor of the long-distance solution that Pasayo assigned to himself.

  The door to the projection booth was unlocked. A light came on as Pasayo entered and paused to look around. A table had been placed in front of the aperture. A tripod-style bench rest was bolted to the flat surface, and an unpadded chair was positioned in front of it. A thermos of hot caf sat at one end of the table, an empty bucket had been placed in one of the corners, and a com set was sitting on a shelf. All the preparations were consistent with the orders Pasayo had given.

  Satisfied that his requirements had been met, Pasayo lowered the gun case onto the table before turning to the door and ordering both bodyguards to leave. Even though it didn’t matter at the moment, guards could draw attention to the booth, and that was the sort of thing that someone like Verafti might very well notice. Nor did Pasayo want two people looking over his shoulder as he made the most important shot of his life.

  Once the soldiers were gone, Pasayo closed the door, went over to the table, and opened the case. All of the components for the FARO 3025 sniper’s rifle lay nestled within. Once it was fully assembled, the forty-two-pound weapon would be nearly six feet long. And with a muzzle velocity of 4,750 fps, the tungsten darts were capable of penetrating two-inch-thick armor from a distance of three thousand feet.

  That made the FARO an excellent weapon for attacking light-armored vehicles, airborne troop transports, and homicidal lizards! Even ones who were wearing body armor. The only problem was that, once the fléchette hit Verafti, the resulting devastation would be so complete that there wouldn’t be much of him left to scrape up. But, by aiming for Verafti’s chest rather than his head, Pasayo hoped to preserve a trophy.

  Pasayo smiled grimly as he pulled on a pair of white gloves, removed the black matte receiver from the case, and went to work. Not only did Nalomy want Verafti dead, the slimeball was responsible for killing nearly a dozen members of Pasayo’s militia, and now he was going to pay.

  In spite of the early-morning sun that poured in through the windows, and the soothing music that was playing from the overhead speakers, Usurlus was nervous. And for good reason since he was about to walk into the coliseum and bring charges of corruption against a woman who had thousands of troops under her command. So, being out of sorts, little things took on exaggerated importance. Like the fact that a slave named Ooly had been sent to serve his breakfast instead of Alamy, who not only knew all of his preferences, but was more enjoyable to look at.

  Adding to the dissatisfaction that Usurlus felt was the fact that Vedius Albus, the man he sometimes referred to as “my rock,” had been making a lot of mistakes lately. Nothing major, just little things like his failure to lay out Usurlus’s body armor without first being prompted to do so, and the way he kept calling Usurlus “Excellency,” rather than “sire.” They were small things, and of no great consequence, but annoying on a day when so much was at stake.

  But, even though Usurlus wanted to lash out at Albus, he managed not to do so and was eventually able to calm himself by retreating to the bathroom, where he spent a full hour examining his face inch by inch while delivering the carefully memorized speech for the umpteenth time.

  Finally, as ready as he could be, and surrounded by heavily armed bodyguards, Usurlus departed his quarters. Fiss Verafti, in his role as Vedius Albus, led the way.

  The sun was halfway to its zenith, thousands of people were seated in the coliseum, and hundreds more arrived every minute. At exactly 10:30, Nalomy was scheduled to introduce Usurlus who, assuming that Lucia was correct, would publicly bring charges of corruption against the Procurator. Unless Verafti shot Usurlus first . . . which would almost certainly take place unless Cato found a way to prevent it.

  The crowd roared as Nalomy, Usurlus, and various bodyguards stepped out onto the gaily decorated platform. But the roar had an ominous quality, and judging from the tenor of it, the crowd noise was born of anger rather than joy, as many of Dantha’s citizens took the opportunity to make their feelings known. But thanks to both the volume of the response, and the fact that everyone was staring at the VIP platform, Cato had the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

  The projection booth was closed and had been ever since Pasayo had entered the enclosure an hour earlier. And it seemed safe to assume that the door was locked from within. Fortunately, Cato had a key in the form of his right foot! It hit the thin sheet metal right below the handle, the door flew open, and there was a loud bang as it struck a wall. No sound was audible over the crowd noise.

  Pasayo was seated at the table, peering into the FARO’s 10X scope, when Cato exploded into the booth. The sudden movement caught Pasayo by surprise, and he had just started to turn around, when the door slammed shut, thereby cutting off any hope of reinforcements. “Hold it right there,” Cato said grimly, as he aimed his pistol at Pasayo’s head. “Or would you like me to splatter your brains all over the wall?”

  It took a moment to see past the uniform, but the voice was familiar, and Pasayo made the connection. “Cato! Well I’ll be damned. . . . You can accomplish something when you put your mind to it!”

  Nalomy was speaking by then, and while Cato couldn’t make out the exact words, he knew that precious seconds were ticking away. “Tell me what Verafti looks like,” he grated, “and tell me now.”

  Pasayo’s eyes narrowed. Somehow, by means unknown, Cato knew about the assassination. And if Cato was allowed to interfere, Usurlus might survive, thereby ending Nalomy’s political career, and Pasayo’s plan to become a general. All of that flashed through Pasayo’s mind in less than a second and resulted in a fierce determination to kill Cato quickly so there would still be enough time to fire the critical shot.

  Cato “sensed” what was about to happen a moment before Pasayo rolled sideways. So Cato was already readjusting his aim, and could have killed Pasayo, but he chose not to. He needed to keep Pasayo alive long enough to find out what Verafti looked like. But there was no reason not to kick the sonofabitch, which Cato attempted to do, only to have Pasayo grab his foot and twist it.

  Then it was Cato’s turn to fall. His arm hit the floor, the gun skittered away, and as Pasayo lurched to his feet, he fumbled for his handgun. But it was held in place by a retaining strap, and by the time Pasayo thumbed it off, Cato had drawn the ceremonial dagger that all Section Leaders carry as part of their dress uniforms. Having rolled to his knees, he brought the double-edged weapon up under his opponent’s unprotected rib cage, and felt the eight-inch blade go deep. The sliver of steel missed Pasayo’s heart but found a lung, and cut an artery. The dagger remained there for a full second—until Cato jerked it out.

  Pasayo’s face registered an expression of profound surprise, his hand fell away from the gun, and he toppled over backward. Cato scrambled forward to kneel next to the wounded officer. Pasayo’s eyes were still open; he was gasping for breath, and jerking spasmodically. “Tell me,” Cato demanded harshly. “Tell me what Verafti looks like.”

  Pink bubbles appeared on Pasayo’s lips. He was dying and knew it. A sly smile appeared on his face. There was even more blood by then, and the officer was gargling as he spoke. “Alamy,” Pasayo said, as Cato’s face floated above him. “I gave her to Hingo!”

  The knife flashed downward, penetrated Pasayo’s right eye, and entered his brain. The force of the blow caused Pasayo’s skull to bounce off the duracrete floor, and that produced an audible thud. Cato attempted to pull the blade free, discovered that it was stuck, and left the dagger where it was. His pistol was two feet away, which made it necessary to crawl over and retrieve it.

  Because Cato was an empath he could “taste” the bitter residue of his own hatred as he lurched to his feet. Then, feeling slightly sick to his stomach, he stumbled to the table and bent over to peer through the hole. Nalomy was speaking, and thanks to the PA system, her words could be heard throughout the coliseum. “And now,” she said, “in memory of those who have given their lives for the Empire, please welcome the cavalcade of flags!”

  There was a momentary blare of trumpets, followed by an upwelling of martial music as two columns of mounted militiamen cantered into the arena on nearly identical angens, each carrying a rectangle of brightly colored cloth representing one of the Empire’s Legions, a planetary militia, or one of the many auxiliary units. There was scattered applause, but not much, since Dantha’s militiamen were generally viewed as oppressors rather than defenders.

  But since Cato needed every second he could get, he welcomed the ceremony as an opportunity to scan the VIP platform and try to figure out which of the dozen or so people standing around Usurlus was really an alien shape shifter. Then he realized that he could look through the 10X scope instead and sat down in an empty chair. The moment that Cato put his eye to the scope he discovered something interesting. The crosshairs were centered on one of the Legate’s bodyguards! A well-turned-out individual who was located immediately to the official’s left, where he was in an excellent position to either protect Usurlus or shoot him!

  But was that who Pasayo had been planning to kill? Yes, based on the way the FARO was locked down, which meant that Cato knew whom to go after! More than that, he had a rifle that was clearly capable of putting Verafti down for good. So it was tempting to release the FARO’s safety, snuggle up to the skeletal stock, and take the shot Pasayo had set up for him.

  The problem was that Cato couldn’t be absolutely sure that the man standing at the center of the crosshairs was Verafti without getting close enough to verify the shape shifter’s emotional “fingerprint.” So Cato rose, made his way over to the door, and slipped outside. The latch was broken, so all he could do was pull the door closed, and hope for the best.

  Cato was faced with a choice. He could run down, jump off the wall, and make a mad dash for the other side of the arena. Or he could follow the edge of the coliseum around to a point above the VIP platform.

  After looking at the angens continuing to circle the arena below, and the militiamen who were riding them, Cato turned and began to run. Three walkways circled the coliseum, and Cato was on the second level, which was crowded with late arrivals, people purchasing food from vendors, and those lined up to use the restrooms.

  As he ran along Cato yelled things like, “Coming through! Stand aside!” and “Get out of the way!” Most people scuttled out of the way, but one man was too slow, and went sprawling as Cato shouldered him aside. There were guards of course, lots of them, but because the man causing the disturbance was in uniform, they made no effort to intervene.

  While Cato ran, he took occasional glances to the right, where the last of the mounted militia could be seen leaving the arena, their gaily colored flags snapping in the breeze. That was Nalomy’s cue to introduce her guest. “Now, on behalf of the citizens of Dantha, it is my privilege and honor to introduce His Excellency, Legate Isulu Usurlus!”

  There was enthusiastic applause this time, both because Emperor Emor remained popular in spite of Nalomy’s failings, and because Usurlus was the only person that the planet’s dissatisfied citizens could look to for relief.

  Adding to the strength of the applause was the fact that resistance leaders like Lucia Ovidius had gone to great lengths to pack the coliseum with their followers. All of them were eager to embarrass Nalomy by giving the Legate the sort of reception denied her.

  All of that was lost on Cato as he bellowed, “Clear the way!” and sent a flock of schoolchildren scattering in every direction as he arrived on the south side of the coliseum and ran toward a point directly above the VIP platform. Meanwhile, with the applause fading, Usurlus began his speech.

  Usurlus had given lots of speeches, hundreds, maybe even a thousand of them. But never had he delivered one that was so important, incendiary, and dangerous. As he stood on the platform, and looked out at thousands of faces, everything was crystal clear. The warmth of the sun on his face, the rich smell of fried food that hung in the air, and the sound of blood pounding in his ears. Usurlus was afraid that he would fail, afraid that he would succeed, and afraid of being afraid. Fortunately, the much-practiced words were ready and waiting. “Thank you,” Usurlus said, “both on behalf of myself and Emperor Emor. . . .”

  Nalomy began to edge her way to the right-hand side of the platform. Verafti was standing to Usurlus’s left, which meant he would fire to the right, and what if he missed? Nalomy had no desire to be killed by a stray bullet or have all of her clothes ruined if the projectile flew true and sent a bloody spray in her direction.

  Then there was the matter of what was going to happen to Verafti in the wake of Usurlus’s death. When Pasayo fired, the tungsten dart would probably blow the shape shifter into a thousand pieces. That gave Nalomy even more reason to move sideways. Fortunately, the whole thing would be over soon. Should she accompany the Legate’s body to Corin? Yes, Nalomy decided. That would not only be a nice touch—but provide her with an opportunity to put herself forward as the dead man’s logical successor! A smile touched Nalomy’s lips as she waited for the people around her to die.

  Cato! Verafti could “feel” the Xeno cop’s presence. But where was he? Verafti felt a sudden surge of fear. He was supposed to fire now, before Usurlus had time to say anything of consequence, but was reluctant to do so unless he knew where Cato was. And there were other dangers to consider, too, including the possibility that Nalomy had assigned someone to shoot him as Usurlus fell, thereby ridding herself of a witness. Slowly, so as not to draw attention to what he was doing, Verafti freed the strap that held his pistol in place and began to turn. Cato was behind him. . . . But where?