"And Hauws? He's…"
"Dead, sir. Private Buchman confirmed it. Section First
Hauws was fatally wounded when they destroyed the Third Ashta headquarters. We took the surrender of the remaining Sections of that Division just before you passed out, sir.
Sinklar slumped back against the cool metal plate. Hauws, who should have been conducting public health inspections, dead? Why are we living this shit?
"Sir? Buchman has gone back for the body. Maybe we can—"
"Where in hell are we?"
"Vespa, sir. We're inside the brick factory again. Seems like there hasn't been tme to find a different headquarters."
Sinklar nodded. "No, I suppose not. Where's Gretta? Has she checked in yet?"
Mhitshul swallowed hard. "Well, that's just it, sir. We don't know. No one's seen her."
Sinklar closed his eyes, dullness constricting around his heart. He forced his mind to clear and replayed that entire flight back from Kaspa. They'd parted in front of the LC before the headquarter and. "Wait, she said something about the Seddi assassin. Anybody checked the old Internal Security headquartes?"
Mhitshul shook his head. "No, sir."
"Let's go!" Sinklar pulled himself to his feet, grabbing a blaster from the rack. "What happened to the guards that were down there?"
"U, that would have been Seventh Section. I'll have Mayz send them back to duty."
Lost in his worry about Gretta, Sinklar trotted down the ramp, aware of the number of people swarming around portable tables that had been set up. Evidently, the brick factory now served as planetary headquarters. The place buzzed with talk, shuffling feet, the clicking of comm keys, and the scraping of chairs on the gritty concrete floor. The high ceiling amplified the bustle.
The room went quiet as they spotted him. Sinklar stopped short, aware of their awed attention. All eyes were upon him as they stood in their scorched and battered armor. Plastaheal had been slapped across lacerations and bums. An occasional suit arm bung empty, or a person leaned on crutches, pale but mobile.
But their faces, they had such curious expressions. Some thing possessed their eyes, some sharpness. New wariness and deep pride had etched their raptorian features. They were changed, forged into something different than
the bumpkins he'd inherited with the First Targan, or the bro ken remains of the defeated Second Division. Here and there, Targan Rebels stood shoulder to shoulder with Regan former enemies, all looking at him in that same keen man ner. He could sense the glow, the sharpening of breath, an increase of color in cheek and brow. A spark seemed to leap electrically from eye to eye and a radiance infused every one of them. Possessed. possessed by what?
A voice broke the silence, clear, echoing from the arched roof so high overhead. "LONG LIVE SINKLAR FIST!"
They erupted in a roaring swell of sound, "LONG LIVE FIST! LONG LIVE FIST!" It rolled, booming in the big hall.
He lifted his hands, having to wave them to bring order. "It was you who did the impossible, not I."
"SINKLAR! SINKLAR! SINKLAR!" they exploded, the booming shout rattling the rafters overhead.
Sinklar stood paralyzed until Mhitshul appeared beside him and took his arm. He let himself be led through the crowd that parted magically before him. Still the roaring salute pounded the air as the press shouted his name over and over.
"I don't understand," he muttered as Mhitshul ushered him through a side door. "What are they doing?"
"They know you saved them, sir. You defeated five of the best Regan Divisions the Emperor has. Rega is suing for peace with us. The Lord Minister, Ily Takka, is landing tomorrow to seek an audience with you." Mhitshul swallowed, eyes still downcast. "How many men would challenge an Emperor for the likes of them?"
Sinklar winced. "It. had to be done. Not just for them, for all of us."
The cell block stood silent and empty when they arrived. A terrible premonition grew in Sinklar's breast. Mhitshul unslung his blaster as Sinklar activated the main door control. Three long days had passed since the Regan attack. During that time, no one had attended the cells.
"Sir?" Mhitshul called. "Wait, please. I've taken the liberty of having a squad sent over. Just a precaution, sir."
Sink sot him an irritated look. "When did you start call-' ing me sir all the time."
Mhitshul colored. "Just seemed appropriate, that's all."
"If Gretta's locked in here somewhere, I'm going to find her. You coming or not?"
"But the risks…"
"Gretta?" Sinklar bellowed as he walked down the cell block. His heart pounded in his chest. She wouldn't have come here. By the Blessed Gods, what would have driven her to… "Makarta!"
He sprinted down the line of cells, remembering that final conversation. "Gretta thought she could learn the location of Makarta from Arta Fera."
He slid to a stop before the maximum security door and slapped a palm to the lock plate. The cell door slid back to reveal an empty cell.
"Maybe the interrogation room?" Mhitshul suggested.
"Where's that?"
"This way."
Sinklar entered the control center. The cameras still monitored the main interrogation room. Arta Fera sat in one of the chairs, arms crossed, eyes closed as if she were asleep.
Sinklar panned the camera and stifled a cry. Members of Mayz's Section came trotting down the hallway as Sink stopped before the security door and stared at the lock. "Quick, what's the code for this?"
Mhitshul spread his arms.,
"Blast it open!" Sink ordered, and stepped back.
"Wait!" A woman came forward, pressing a code into the lock.
As the heavy door slid open, a sickening odor drifted into, the hallway. The amber-eyed woman sat cross-legged on a chair in the corner, her features peaceful as she smiled at Sinklar Fist.
He glanced down. Familiar brown hair lay like a mantle around the bloating corpse in the center of the floor.;
Chapter 26
Myles Roma disliked worry — and lately he had begun to spend way too much time doing what he disliked. His stomach had begun to send painful signals that
all was not well with his digestion and he'd lost nearly ten kilos.
Night had fallen beyond his tower office, and the holo image of His Holiness Sassa U stared down over his shoulder. Myles rubbed his tired eyes and glanced out over his sandwood desk desk at the lights of the capital. The endless hours had become routine. No wonder he'd lost weight.
Not only had Divine Sassa placed him in charge of the Myklenian rehabilitation, but the whole problem of the Companions had been dumped in his lap, and now, on top of every thing else, mysterious reports of Regan mobilization were coming in via his spy network.
Myles bent over the reports once more, keeping place with his finger as he skimmed the intelligence reports. Targa continued to fester in the Regan rear. No one knew Staffa's whereabouts in either the Sassan or Regan Empires. He almost passed the report from the agent in Etarus off as innocuous, but mention of Ily Takka caught his eye.
Myles plucked the report from the desk, reading it carefully. Ily had been making enquiries on Etaria regarding a missing person. She had been seen ushering two slaves into the Internal Security building — and within moments the place had practically blown up. The new Director of Internal Security had ordered a state of emergency and sealed the planet for two days and Ily had spaced immediately afterward for an unknown destination.
Myles tapped his fat chin with ring-bejeweled fingers ile he thought about it. With no little hesitation, he punched the comm button. When his secretary's face
formed, Myles ordered, "See if our agent monitoring Etarus got a photo of the slaves accompanying Ily Takka."
"Yes, Legate. It will be but a moment."
Myles glared at the reports still piled on his desk. The Regans were being uncharacteristically sloppy. Feint? Did all those rerouted transports mean that they wanted Sassa off-balance, or were they really mobilizing for war?