wooden door was the only barrier to freedom — assuming they didn't have the street covered with sharpshooters, too.
Bruen grunted as he settled into a desk chair and rubbed at his hip. "I'm not as young as I used to be."
"None of us are," Staffa said quietly.
Kaylla stepped into the room and stood uncertainly, wary glance shifting between Staffa and Bruen.
The Magister looked up, a pensive expression on his face. "Lord Commander, what happened on Myklene? You saw the Praetor — and then everything changed."
Staffa narrowed his eyes. What should he say?
"You have to start somewhere, Staffa," Kaylla reminded. "Or else all those words in the crate were meaningless."
Staffa took a deep breath. "Yes, he and I met — and I found out the extent to which he'd manipulated my life. He called me his greatest creation, a construct. It was as if. "
"A floodgate had opened in your mind," Bruen finished. "And you suddenly discovered that you didn't know who or what you were."
Staffa stepped forward, placing knuckles on the desk and staring down into Bruen's placid eyes. "You know a lot about me."
"I know a lot about the Praetor," Bruen countered, refusing to flinch under Stafs hard gaze. "I know how brilliant he was when it came to biotechnology, genetics, physiological and developmental psychology, and a host of other disciplines. About Staffa kar Therma, I know relatively littleexcept that your behavior is not the same as it was before the conquest of Myklene."
Staffa straightened and turned away, a tidal rush of emotion loose inside.
Bruen continued, "You left Itreata to find out what had gone wrong with you, didn't you? Your behavior became erratic, illogical, and unpredictable. And all the predictions went askew — everything for naught."
"For naught?" Staffa crossed his arms, leaning against one of the desks. "I don't understand."
Bruen raised his eyebrows, altering the patterns of wrinkles on his face. "For the moment that doesn't matter. It's the future we all must face now. Things have changed. I must find out how much. Who are you now Lord Com-
mander? What are your plans for the Companions, for the future? What has the Praetor done to you? Should the Seddi trust you? Or destroy you?"
"Why should I trust the Seddi?" Staffa countered. "You've been trying to assassinate me for years."
"And you have systematically worked to crush the hopes, aspirations, and dreams of billions while you ground them under your steel boot."
"Excuse me," Kaylla said, stepping forward. "I doubt either side is free of sin. Magister, you were right when you said the future is the important challenge for the moment. I think the Lord Commander understands the threat to humanity — and after the sands of Etaria and the weight of the colar, I believe he shares an empathy he never had before."
Bruen clapped his hands, looking up at Staffa. "Well said, Master Kahn." He didn't see Kaylla flinch at the words. "Very well Lord Commander. What are you here to do?"
Staffa glanced at Kaylla, a weary smile on his lips. "I'm here to find my son. The Praetor left him in your hands many years ago. When I have done that, I'm going to return to Itreata and seek to repair the damage to Free Space. My ultimate goal remains unchanged. I intend on unifying humanity and breaking the curse of the Forbidden Borders. What has changed are the mans by which I will attain that end." Staffa smiled grimly. "The conqueror is dead, Magister Bruen. Perhaps the liberator has been bom."
Bruen turned his old blue eyes on Kaylla. "Do you believe him?"
She nodded, a hard glint in her own eyes. "I do, for the most part." At Bruen's questioning look, she added, "Words are easily spoken, Magister. I've heard the Lord Commander's words. I'll wait to see his actions."
"But a decision must be made based on what he says." Bruen cocked his head. "Do we give him a chance Master Kahn?"
Staffa tensed, aware of the stinging pain that title had to cause Kaylla. He met her somber gaze, guts in a knot as he waited for her answer.
She took a deep breath. "I think we should. If we don't, everything we believe in, all of our philosophy, is nothing more than vulgar hypocrisy."
"Magister," the dark man called, as he struck his head in the door. "I can't get Hyrim. His line is cut off."
"Fist!" someone yelled in the warehouse. "He's onto us! Him and that Regan raptor!"
"Wilm? We had better be gone from here," Bruen told the black man. "Bring the car around."
Wilm disappeared, slamming the door behind him.
Bruen sighed and stood up, wincing at the pain in his hip. "It appears Lord Commander, that we must get you safely to Makarta. From there, we will see to firming up our relations, contacting your Wing Commander, and finding the records about your son."
"I'd rather work on my own."
"I understand that Lord Commander, but Ily Takka is on Targa, and I fear she's breached our security. Would you rather trust me for the moment, or her?"
Wilm stopped a groundcar before the door and Bruen stepped out into the slanting sunlight. Staffa followed Kaylla as she climbed in and settled on the cushions. Two of the guards lifted Bruen into the seat with reverent hands.
"Go!" Wilm called. "I have a report. There are troops closing!" He turned, motioning. "The rest of you, scatter! Cover us if you can!"
Wilm leapt aboard after plucking up a shoulder blaster. Staffa's head jerked back as the car accelerated and the fans blew gravel and dust out behind them.
"I'm sorry," Bruen began apologetically. "We had no idea you would be walking into a hornet's nest. You see, Sinklar Fist has taken the planet — a feat beyond any of our expectations. Further, he has one of our assassins in custody who. Well, she was supposed to kill you Lord Commander."
Staffa tore his squinted gaze from the brick-lined street they accelerated down to stare at the old man.
"Left!" the driver, a blonde woman, shouted as she sloughed the craft to the right at the first intersection.
Wilm leveled his blaster, the weapon ripping a long charge into a formation of combat armored men and women who spilled out of an adjoining street.
Reflexes triggered, Staffa climbed high in the seat and braced himself, his own blaster flashing controlled shots into the scrambling troops.
The car swerved, blaster bolts tearing jaggedly through the air around them. Staffa fought for balance and barely caught himself as they slid around the curve and scattered yet another detachment of troops trotting toward them. Flattening himself over the rear of the vehicle, Staffa laced fire to cover their retreat. His shots hit home with that phenomenal accuracy which had always been his.
A pulse of air patted his back and tickled his spine with the familiar sensation of a thermal grenade launcher discharging its payload of death. A split second later, the end of the street expoded in fragments of brick, boiling dust, and flying glass.
"Not so bad for an old fart!" Bruen cackled gleefully, as he struggled to pull his grenade launcher up off the seat where he'd braced it.
"How did they know that was our warehouse?" Wilm wondered.
Tne car pitched sideways as the woman expertly guided it around yet another corner. Staffa caught a quick glimpse of worry in Kaylla's eyes as they careened past a delivery vehicle and dived into a lighted and tiled tunnel.
Bruen pointed and said, "There, I think." The woman shot the car through the light traffic to slow next to a service hatch.
"Quickly!' Wilm called, aad jacked the hatch open.
Staffa bodily picked Kaylla up and tossed her into the blackness before turning to help the old man.
"You, Star Butcher." Wilm pointed a hard finger. "You don't touch a hair on that man's head! You hear?"
"Hair?" Bruen wondered from where he had propped himself in the hatch. "On my head? Begone, Wilm!"