Andropolous shared the joke as his two security men entered the room. Each carried his inventory computer and scanner as well as a side arm, stun rod, and binders.
"Thank you for coming so swiftly, gentlemen. I'd like you to meet…"
A loud pop sounded followed by a hiss — and the security officers dropped.
"What the…" Andropolous started forward, reaching for the comm alert, only to have Alexia grab his wrist and push him back into the squeaky chair. Wispy tendrils of gas choked him, and his strength began to drain away.
"Don't worry Colonel. The gas won't hurt you," she told him as her competent fingers ran over his comm control. "It just paralyzes the neuro-musculature. You'll still be able to think, and, after a bit, to speak if we need you to."
Andropolous could see past her to where the two men had kicked the door shut and now bent over his security team to pull the weapons from their belts. His horror grew as security systems fell one by one under Alexia Dharmon's commands.
Dharmon glanced at a wrist monitor. "All clear. The gas has dissipated." She pulled the red scarf from her face, and with it, the small conforming gas mask.
"Wha. " Andropolous croaked.
"Wing Commander?" one of the men asked.
She stepped back, motioning at the wall that separated his office from the computer room. "Go for it."
In the edge of his vision, Andropolous could see the two men attack the wall with small vibraknives they pulled from their pouches — knives too small to have triggered the security detectors, but big enough to slice through wall panels.
"Who…" Andropolous croaked.
The blonde woman leaned over him, checking the security readouts on his comm system. He could see the scar running across her cheek, hardly diminishing her startling beauty.
To the men, she called, "No alarm, Ryman. So far, so good."
"Who.. are.. "
She spun Andropolous' chair around, squatting on her heels before him. "Sorry about the damage Colonel, but you see, we're only the beginning of your troubles. And things will be getting a lot worse before they get better." "Can't… get… away. with. "
"We're not here to get away. We're here to wreck your computers — and through them to introduce a virus into your entire defense network."
Andropolous blinked, trying to understand.
"Wing Commander, we're through!" one of the men called.
"Be right there."
Wing Commander? "Skyla. Lyma." Andropolous closed his eyes, weary to the core of his soul.
"Very good, Colonel," she told him. Something pricked the skin on the back of his hand. "We're through now, so we won't need you anymore. Sorry you had to recognize me. The Companions don't take any chances."
The chair rocked as she brushed past him. A foggy haze drifted up around Andropolous' thoughts. The last thing he remembered was the creaking of the chair.
Staff assistants hurried back and forth across Myles Roma's tower office. The room he occupied as Legate to His Holiness, Sassa II, was large and sprawling, opulently furnished with thick carpeting and gleaming desks. Holo monitors filed all of one wall, constantly processing updated information and status reports — especially now that the fleet was assembling, troops were moving, and the incredible nightmare of logistics had snarled everything. The view from his engraved sandwood desk caught the eye, the spires of the Sassan capital building rose against the aqua sky. Behind him, the holographic image of His Holiness dominated the room. Not even the familiarity of years had gotten Myles over the feeling that the God-Emperor was staring watchfully over his shoulder at all times. Maybe it helped keep him honest.
"A call has come in, Legate," an aide informed through the comm. "The Lord Commander is on secure line one."
The Lord Commander? Roma made a distasteful face and straightened his saffron robe, cleared his throat, and resettled himself in an effort to hide his fat-swelled gut. He checked his reflection to make sure he looked the part
of Legate, and twiddled the glittering rings on his fingers. Satisfied, he swiveled in his gravity chair and punched the button which dropped a privacy screen around him. Of all the Legate's duties, he hated dealing with the Companions the most. Something about Staff a kar Therma sent a quiver through his guts. When the Lord Commander stepped into a room, the effect could be likened to a shard of glass passing through a box of balloons.
The holo generator flickered and projected the Lord Commander's image. Staffa kar Therma smiled and nodded ever so slightly, the gesture as formal as frost. He looked exactly as he should. Hard gray eyes took Myles' measure. The straight nose and square jaw befitted a merciless conqueror. As always, the Lord Commander's straight black hair had been gathered into a ponytail over his left ear and held in place by a jeweled brooch that glinted with multicolored rays. The top of a slate-gray battle suit could be seen and the long cloak that was kar Therma's trademark bunched on the muscular broad shoulders.
"My Lord Commander," Myles greeted. "It's good of you to call. I hope this is a status update on your mobilization for the Myklenian attack?"
"It is exactly that Legate." The cold voice sent a shiver up Myles' spine. Staffa continued, "You may tell His Holiness that the Companions will engage the Myklenian defenses within a matter of minutes. If you would be so kind as to hurry your mobilization and deploy at the earliest opportunity, we'll be ready to hand the planet over to you upon arrival."
Myles sputtered as he jerked bolt-upright. "Attack! Now? But our forces are only half ready. You can't attack! Not until we're ready."
Staffa's expression didn't change. "Legate, if you would like to argue the terms of the contract, you may do so later. If your admirals are going to throw petty fits of temper, you may deal with them."
"But, Lord Commander, Sassan honor—"
"Is not my concern." Staffa kar Therma paused. "If you have a problem, Legate, take it up with your emperor."
"Take it… No! No, you can't do this! Attack, without our military forces… I refuse to let you."
A nerveless smile crossed the Lord Commander's lips. "Do you wish to cancel the contract?"
"Cancel the. No, of course not. We're just. His Holiness is going to be very displeased. He might. might…"
"Yes? You were saying?" A mocking glint lingered in Staffa's eyes,
A twisting sensation of defeat grew in Myles' belly. He could feel the sweat popping out on his brow. "Just tell me, Lord Commander. Why did you act before we were ready?"
An evil demon might have stared back at the Legate. "Because no one expected us to strike now — least of all you, or the Praetor's spies."
"Are you insinuating that our security is—"
Staffa leveled a gray-gloved finger, deadly menace in his eyes. "Don't use that tone of voice with me Legate."
Roma's tongue stuck in his mouth and he recoiled in physical horror, his gravity chair rolling out of the privacy field and canceling its protection.
"That is all I called to tell you Legate." Staffa narrowed his eyes. "Come as soon as your forces are ready. Myklene will be waiting."
The holo flashed off and Myles trembled, aware that all eyes were upon him. He pulled a perfumed handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his damp face.
He didn't try to pull his chair back, but rose on unsteady legs. "Get me His Holiness."
His aides simply stared.
"Now, by the Rotted Gods, NOW!"
Staffa kar Therma, the Lord Commander of the Companions, sat alone, though surrounded by so many — a solitary man in gray enfolded by the instrument cluster pods that rose like petals from the raised command chair that dominated the warship Chrysla's bustling bridge. No expression
crossed his face. Despite the hum of machinery, the constant murmur of voices, and the flashing of monitors, his gray eyes stared absently — lost in the depths