A striking beauty, the light accented pale cheeks to either side of a classic nose ever so lightly dusted with freckles. Her full-lipped mouth pinched as her amber eyes sought Bruen. Worry etched her high forehead. A knotted golden rope cinched the flowing robe around a delicate waist, the folds of the garment hiding the full swell of her breasts. Only under close inspection did the dark splotch at the hem of the garment betray its origin: blood.
She's seen the fighting. No wonder her features are drawn and nervous. Very well, my child: it begins.
She gasped in relief at the sight of him hunched over the blocky wooden table. He gave her a grin and a wink before he bent to frown into the yellow-toned monitor, pulling at his ear as he pondered the words displayed on the screen,
"Blessed Gods, Magister! You're heref Her voice echoed in contralto relief through the endless cavern.
Bruen — bald pate gleaming ivory — looked up from the comm monitor, blinking his light blue eyes. "Indeed. Would I be elsewhere?" He made a gesture with semitranslucent hands. "You think I would perhaps be chasing scarlet floozies in the bawdy houses down on D block?"
"Magister!" she cried, shocked. "Only you would jest at a time like this! The whole city is in uproar! The miners are rioting in the streets! People are dying. How long do you suspect it will take before the Regan Fleet is overhead?
Come, we must take you from the city. Now, Magister!" She bent to gather his cloak where it lay in a pile behind the bench.
Bruen hiccuped and placed an age-wrinkled hand over his mouth She's such a beauty. Ah, would but that I were youner! To hell with humanity! I'd pack her up, and we'd be gone to some remote corner of the universe where I could ravish that.
Oh, never mind.
He sighed and turned his head to the monitor. "That will be all for today, computer. Please note my place and correlate the notes I've made on the text. Forward a copy through Mag Comm to Magister Hyde in Vespa for his perusa, I'll be in touch as soon as possible." The screen went dead.
He made a gesture with his hand. "Now, dear Arta Fera, what has brought you running breathlessly to my side? Only riots? I sincerely doubt it was love or desire for these old bones that has left you panting so."
She shook her head, groaning in frustration. "Magister! Honestly, were you not the foremost scholar in Free Space, I'd… I'd wring your neck! Come on, we've got to get out of here! Escape this insanity!"
Indeed, Arta, would that you only knew. Escape, my dear? No indeed, I've no choice but to place your incredible beauty between the jaws of the lion.
Aloud, he chuckled dryly. "Is this the respect the young attach to the older and wiser? Wring my neck, my dear? Don't some of the harlots on D block engage in such—"
"Magister!" She had him on his feet, wrapping the robes about his body, tying them off so his knobby varicoseveined legs were free should they need to run. "Your preoccupation with whores and lewd behavior ill befits your esteemed position. You mind is the finest in all. What are you laughing at?"
He shook his head, grinning and chortling. "Ana just what do you suppose a scholar does in his off time, my dear? Especially an old man like me? Perhaps I. urn. investigate such behavior to gain an insight into the human condition. Hmm?" He bent down for a sagging black leather satchel, refusing to be tugged away without it. The
grip safely in hand, he let her pull him along down the long dark halway.
"You'll think nothing if we don't get you out of here! You dop't say such things in public, do you? You don't mention these. fantasies to your colleagues."
"Bah!" He began to pant as she led him to the garage. The stitch of pain in his hip awoke to stick angry pins into his joint. "Position in society concerns you, dosn't it, dear Arta?" He smiled as she palmed the access hatch. "You worry too much. Social status is but an illusion. Instead, knowedge is the—"
"But your teachings, Magister. If I thought for a minute you actually habituated such places and associated with those. those women, I'd…"
"You'd what?" He looked into her flaring amber eyes. "Give up your studies? Turn down the wisdom of the ages? Cease to probe the mystery of the quanta? Go so far all because the illustrious Magister Bruen sported with prostitutes?" He raised an eyebrow, an amused grin rippling the wrinkles.
"A man of your reputation and honors shouldn't—"
"Bah! With my looks? Only a woman who was well paid would consort with the likes of me. No, they want young handsome men, virile with big. " At her horrified expression, a twinkle filled his eye. She took a deep breath, ready to launch into a new lecture; he deftly changed the subject. "And they are rioting in the streets again, you say? Have they forgotten the wrath of the Star Butcher so soon? They would provoke Rega into a reaction?"
The door slid open as Arta Fera caught up his sleeve, cut short his musings, and dragged his withered body into the aircar that waited on the pad with open doors.
"Yes," she grunted, irritated at his apparent lack of concern. "The idiots are parading with placards — demanding their rights as productive citizens of the Regan Empire. They claim they want representation — of all things! Imagine? Under the very eyes of the battleships they want rights! Who do they think they are?"
"It isn't exactly a new concept. In fact, you can trace such maundering philosophies back to the original migrations from Earth. Of course, from there on back, the roots are lost—"
"What? Earth? A myth, Magister. To me, rights and representation seem an excellent fertilizer from which to grow blaster fodder, blood, and pain. You know we'll be blamed for all these upheavals again!"
Precisely, my dear. Let's shake you up a little. lie settled himself in the rear seat, the scuffed leather satchel on his lap. His fingers patted the soft leather contentedly as he began undoing the latches.
She followed the flight-check procedures while he considered his options. Her competent fingers danced on the board, flicking switches to energize the system and set the flight comp for Makarta.
He spoke in barely a whisper, nevertheless it froze her in the seat. "Of course, my dear, the blame is ours. That is exactly the purpose of this revolt."
She turned to stare at him, mouth agape, amber eyes wide. "What?"
He nodded soberly, watery blue eyes looking about the garage. "Well, who else do you suppose planted such an idea in the blocky brains of these mining dolts? Indeed, dear Arta, you won't allow me the diversion of shady ladies-so what's an old man with visions of glory to do?" He raised a fragile hand to his mouth in feigned shock, adding meekly, "Oh, dear. Along with harlots I can see you also object to my dabbling in revolution."
"Blessed Gods!" Arta groaned as she lifted the car from the pad. Overhead the big doors slowly parted to reveal a wounded sky.
She gasped as he set the thermal grenade launcher next to her on the seat.
"That's. "
"Yes, it is." This will be your first test, my girl. Now, Hyde, we will see if our labors were for naught.
Bruen calmly pulled a second grenade launcher from the case and tucked it next to his side. From the corner of his eye, he could see her fighting to swallow, cringing away from the gleaming metal of the weapon as if it were some sort of venomous reptile.
As they crested the steep temple roof he could see the extent of the damage. The city of Kaspa reeled with violence; pillars of smoke rose to either side. A flare of brilliant orange lit the low-hanging clouds where a fire raged
through a phosphorous refinery, the billowing fumes manyhued with bright colors. Here and there about Kaspa, garish flames danced in macabre contrast to the low black clouds. Spatters of rain slashed at the windscreen as Arta shot the car forward.