Andromeda's Fall E-Book

William C. Dietz

• Herausgeber: JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Legion of the Damned: Before the Fall
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 542

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

"Andromeda's Fall is one of the most interesting futuristic novels."—SF Site Hundreds of years in the future, much has changed. Advances in medicine, technology, and science abound. Humanity has gone to the stars, found alien life, and established an empire. But some things never change... All her life, Lady Catherine Carletto (called Cat) has lived for nothing but the next party, the next lover, the next expensive toy. Until, in a bloodthirsty power grab, Imperial Princess Ophelia and her cadre of synth assassins murder her brother the emperor, and go on to purge the galaxy of his friends and supporters—including Cat's family. The Carlettos are known to be staunch supporters of the emperor and Carletto Industries has been in the forefront of his pet project—developing cybernetic technology for use by the masses. Now Cat, one of the last surviving Carlettos, is on the run. And, like countless others before her, she finds her sanctuary among the most dangerous of society's misfits. Welcome to the Legion. Cat Carletto vanishes, and in her place stands Legion recruit Andromeda McKee. A woman with a mission—to bring down Empress Ophelia—or die trying.

Leseprobe

Andromeda’s Fall

Copyright © 2012 by William C. DietzAll rights reserved.

Published as an ebook in 2024 by JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.Originally published in 2012 by Ace Books.

Cover art by Dany V.S.

ISBN 978-1-625676-63-4 (ebook)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.

49 W. 45th Street, Suite #5N

New York, NY 10036

awfulagent.com/ebooks

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by William C. Dietz

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to Conlan Rios for creating Legion of the Damned the game, and to Gordon Rios for his help regarding futuristic computer technology. You guys rock!

For my dearest Marjorie

1

Here the question arises; whether it is better to be loved than feared or feared than loved. The answer is that it would be desirable to be both but, since that is difficult, it is much safer to be feared …

NICCOLÒ MACHIAVELLIThe PrinceStandard year 1513

IMPERIAL PLANET EARTHHE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT

Princess Ophelia Ordanus felt a fierce sense of joy as she led a squad of synths out onto the narrow footbridge that connected the palace to the royal tower. The summer residence had been built on top of a mountain in the Rockies, where, in the words of the first Emperor Ordanus, “I can see the sun rise and feel the urgency of the wind.”

And even the ruler’s critics had to admit that the soaring turrets, the carefully placed observation platforms, and the frail-looking bridges that tied everything together made for a truly remarkable structure. But in spite of the poetic words, and the almost ethereal beauty of the first emperor’s creation, the “sky castle,” as the locals referred to it, was far more than a monument to the Imperial ego. Because deep within the heart of the mountain, where it was safe from every possible threat, was the government that bound billions of people together.

And a good thing, too. For there were other spacefaring races in the galaxy, some of which would have been happy to glass Earth. The Hudathans being an excellent example. But the ridge heads aren’t going to get the chance, Ophelia thought to herself as her heels clicked on the pavers under her boots.

The sheer drop of more than five hundred feet on either side of the causeway meant the tower was an island where the monarch could retreat if necessary. Something Emperor Alfred Ordanus III did with increasing frequency. Not to escape his enemies but to avoid the pressures associated with his position and to pursue his scientific experiments.

But not for much longer, Ophelia thought grimly. While you play with your toys, our enemies gather all around. And rather than confront them, you continue to dither. That must end.

A squad of Imperial guards was stationed on the other side of the causeway, which could be blown up if necessary. They crashed to attention as the princess and her escort came to a halt in front of the security checkpoint. “I’m here to see my brother,” Ophelia said coldly. “Let us pass.”

“Of course, Highness,” the officer of the guard responded respectfully. “Is the emperor expecting you?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait for a moment while I …”

The sentence was punctuated by a popping sound as Ophelia shot him between the eyes. The long-barreled pistol had been there all along, hidden within a fold of her knee-length leather coat.

The officer fell as if poleaxed, and his men were still processing that event and trying to bring their weapons to bear when Ophelia stepped to one side. That cleared the way for the synthetics to open fire with their machine pistols. The hail of lead cut the human soldiers down in a matter of seconds. They lay in heaps.

Ophelia nodded approvingly, circled the steadily expanding puddle of blood, and made her way toward the door beyond. There was no going back. Win or lose, the dice had been thrown.

* * *

The “study,” as Emperor Alfred Ordanus referred to it, was a series of interconnected rooms that took up one floor of the royal tower. The furnishings included a stuffed velocipod from O-Chi 4, a messy lab, the daybeds that his dogs liked to nap on, alien plants, and at least a dozen androids in varying states of repair. Or what looked like androids although they were actually civforms. Meaning cybernetic vehicles intended for civilian rather than military use. Because it was Alfred’s dream to grant his subjects something close to immortality by providing them with affordable cyberbodies. The key was to take the technology that Carletto Industries had developed for military cyborgs, simplify it, and scale the production process up to keep unit costs down. Most of the development work had been carried out by Cyntarch (Count) Carletto and his staff.

But Alfred could claim credit for designing a thinner, more sensitive version of the thick MILSPEC “leather” developed for military applications. Unfortunately, there were occasional flaws in the sheets of “synthiskin” as they came off the rollers. Was that the result of a mechanical malfunction? Or a flaw in the mix of materials from which it was made? Alfred had been working on the puzzle for the last sixteen hours.

So he was anything but pleased when his Rhodesian Ridgebacks began to bark and ran skittering toward the main entrance. But since Alfred’s staff knew better than to disturb him for anything other than a true emergency, the emperor braced himself for another dose of bad news as he followed the excited dogs to the doorway. A Hudathan attack perhaps? A natural catastrophe somewhere? That was the problem with such a large empire. Something went wrong every day. A tiresome business that consumed most of his time.

And it was then, just as a steel fist punched a hole through the wooden door, that Alfred remembered something important: The officer of the guard should have called him but hadn’t. So the emperor was backing away as half a dozen powerful kicks shattered the door, and a synth entered the room.

The killing machine was humanoid in appearance, but only vaguely so, and that was intentional. The synth’s uniform had been sprayed on. Its head was made of metal, broad in front, and tapered in back where it formed a vertical ridge. Red eyes stared at Alfred from deep-set sockets, a slight bulge hinted at the possibility of a nose, and a fully articulated jaw moved as the machine spoke. The computer-generated voice was deep and resonant. “Stay where you are. Do not attempt to run.”

“Kill it,” Alfred said grimly, and pointed.

The ridgebacks, all of whom had been watching their master, growled in response. Toenails fought for purchase on stone floors as the pack attacked. The synth shot the first animal—and batted the second aside. It yowled and hit the wall hard. But the third, fourth, and fifth dogs were in the air by then, and the machine went down under their combined weight.

But the effort was to no avail as more synths entered the room and machine-gunned both the ridgebacks and the first robot. Alfred thought about running but recognized the gray-and-burgundy colors the intruders wore and knew all of the exits would be blocked.

Gun smoke hung in the still air. It shivered and parted as Ophelia stepped through the shattered door. Her long, dark hair was swept back over her shoulders, her heart-shaped face was empty of expression, and the pistol she was carrying was pointed at the floor. “What a pigsty,” the princess remarked as she stepped over a dead dog. “I’ll have to gut the place and start over.”

Alfred was more surprised than angry. He knew his sister was ambitious and ruthless. That was why he paid half a dozen people to spy on her—and even more people to spy on them. So why hadn’t he been warned?

Ophelia smiled thinly. “I know you, Alfred. I know you better than you know yourself. So it wasn’t that difficult to spot the people who were supposed to watch me. They’ll be dead before the night is over. As will you.”

Alfred felt the first stirrings of fear. He’d been careless. Stupidly so. But maybe there was a chance. “Don’t do it, Ophelia. There’s no need to. You can run the empire. I’ll focus on my work. Both of us will be happy.”

“Sorry,” Ophelia replied, “but that won’t work. I plan to rule the way you should have. Everyone who has a reason to oppose me is going to die. And that includes you. Besides, the nature of the so-called work you do runs counter to the needs of the empire. Think about it. If all of our citizens become immortal—how will that affect the economy? And how will they spend their time? Meddling in politics perhaps? And that’s just the beginning. Who knows what the rest of the trickle down would be.

“But enough of that … It’s time to say goodbye, dear brother. Too bad you won’t be able to attend your funeral. I plan to cry. Take him.”

Alfred turned and tried to run. But the synths were fast and were on him in seconds. “Be careful,” Ophelia cautioned. “Try not to leave any marks.”

“Please,” Alfred said pitifully as the androids half carried, half dragged him toward a pair of double doors that opened out onto an observation platform. “Don’t do this.”

“It’s too late to stop,” Ophelia answered. “Even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. Teams of synths have been sent out to kill your supporters and their relatives as well. Because they might oppose me. And I have no intention of dying early—or ever for that matter. Thanks to Cyntarch Carletto and you, my civforms are ready and waiting.”

Alfred felt a blast of cold mountain air as the doors were thrown open and he was wrestled out onto the large balcony beyond. The synths were going to throw him off. He knew that now. And then what? A claim of suicide? Probably. All of that raced through the emperor’s mind as he was hoisted up onto the railing. He could see the lights that were Denver, a couple of early stars, and the glow of a heliostat rising in the east. Then there were no more thoughts. Just the sound of someone screaming as he fell into the abyss below.

ORCAS ISLANDTHE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT

The Casino Pacifica was located on Orcas Island in the San Juans. The climate-controlled location was said to be beautiful year-round although Colonel Rex Carletto had a tendency to sleep during the day and hadn’t toured the island since his boyhood. He liked the casino because that was where he had won more than 150,000 credits before going up to Vancouver and losing it there. Now he was back at the Pacifica, where he hoped to win again. Then I’ll stop, he promised himself, even though he knew he couldn’t. How much had he lost over the years? Five million? At least that.

But that’s in the past, Rex assured himself, as the limo came to a stop under a huge portico. This time it will be different. A bellbot was there to open the door as the ground car came to a stop. “Do you have any luggage, sir?”

Rex didn’t but tipped the android anyway, knowing the money would be split between the casino’s human employees.

A red carpet led Rex to the front door, where a man in a tux stood waiting. Thanks to the video captured by the bellbot and relayed to the casino’s computer, the host knew the guest’s name. “Good evening, Colonel Carletto, and welcome back.”

“It’s a pleasure to be back,” Rex replied.

“Michelle will get you situated,” the host said as a lithesome brunette stepped forward. “Good luck.”

The hostess was wearing a low-cut black evening gown, and Rex smiled appreciatively. “Thank you.”

Rex allowed Michelle to lead him back past the holo slots and the poker tables to the room where the roulette wheels were. The odds were overwhelmingly in favor of the house, but there was something about the excitement of roulette that he couldn’t shake. An all-or-nothing thrill that was reminiscent of combat and the moments when all of his senses were fully awakened.

So Rex allowed Michelle to find him a seat at the table, gave her a chip card that had all of that month’s income on it, and felt the usual twinge of guilt. He hadn’t done anything to earn the money other than be the second son to Cyntarch Alfred Carletto II, who, having passed control of Carletto Industries to his eldest son, Dor, had seen fit to gift Rex with a large inheritance and a monthly income. The inheritance was long gone, but the payments from the family business were sufficient to keep the retired officer from becoming an embarrassment, and to feed his addiction.

Rex’s thoughts were interrupted as Michelle returned with stacks of yellow chips on a silver tray and gave him a receipt. There were other guests to greet, many of whom were better-heeled than Colonel Rex Carletto, but she was happy to spend time with someone who had links to the royal family. The next couple of hours were pleasant if not especially satisfying. Rex won, but lost as well, so he was only slightly ahead when a well-dressed blonde took the seat to his right.

She was probably in her forties but looked considerably younger thanks to some well-executed biosculpting. And since Rex enjoyed women almost as much as he enjoyed gambling, he was happy to reduce the size of his bets in order to focus his attention on her. She was not only attractive but quite witty, and openly curious about the Carletto family.

So when Rex offered to give her a nighttime tour of the Carletto estate near Seattle, she agreed. Her name was Macy Evers. And thanks to a hefty divorce settlement, she was wealthy enough to have her own air car, which made short work of the trip from Orcas to Seattle.

Knowing Colonel Rex as they did, none of the family’s retainers thought it strange when he requested permission to land someone else’s car on the family’s pad, then helped a woman to the ground and led her away. She would, they knew, finish the evening as so many others had—in Colonel Rex’s bed.

The air was cool as Rex and Macy followed a well-groomed path past a tastefully lit statue of Emperor Ordanus I. “That’s the main house,” Rex said as he pointed to a four-story stone-clad building. It was ablaze with light, and occasional silhouettes could be seen as people moved from room to room. “My brother lives there along with his wife Carolyn and their daughter Catherine. Or Cat, as she’s known in the family.”

“I’ve read about her,” Macy replied. “They say she’s very spirited.”

Rex chuckled. “You’re being polite. They say she’s a spoiled bitch. The first part is true. She’s touring the inner planets at the moment. And living very well indeed.”

“And the second part?” Macy inquired. “Is that true as well?”

“Sometimes,” Rex admitted reluctantly. “But she’s smart, and on those occasions when she chooses to apply herself to something, she’s invariably good at it.”

“You like her.”

“Yes,” Rex admitted. “I guess I do. The building on your left is the greenhouse. Carolyn loves orchids and grows them herself. The structure directly in front of us, beyond the main building, is the guesthouse. Or would be if my brother could get me to move out.”

Macy laughed. “So you enjoy living here?”

“Of course I do,” Rex admitted. “I have every possible convenience and don’t pay rent. That’s hard to beat.” He was about to say more when a loud thrumming noise was heard. Rex recognized the sound immediately. And it brought him to a halt. He peered up into the night sky. Why would a troop transport be hovering over the estate? Especially one without any running lights? Unless …

A brilliant flash lit up the night as a rocket hit the security shack next to the landing pad and blew up. Rex said, “Oh shit,” and was running toward the main house when the estate’s computer-controlled defense system came on. That included banks of lights that were aimed up into the night sky. The transport’s alloy belly was clear to see, as were the ropes that dangled below, and the figures that slid down them like beads on a string.

The staccato bark of automatic fire followed, and as Rex came to a stop, he could see muzzle flashes through the windows. Macy had caught up to him by then. She was frightened. “What’s going on?”

“Something bad,” Rex answered as he took her hand. “Come with me.”

Macy had to abandon her high heels and run barefoot in order to keep up with the officer as he led her down the brightly lit path toward the guesthouse. Muffled screams could be heard from the residence, but were cut off as more shots were fired, and flames appeared in a window.

Rex thumbed the door lock, burst into the entry hall, and went straight to his study. There was a thump as his fist hit the paneling, a door slid to one side, and a recess appeared. A pistol and three clips of ammunition were waiting. Rex took the weapon, the ammo, and a leather pouch. There were some old-fashioned gold coins in it. There should have been more. Would have been more if he hadn’t lost half the stash in Monte Carlo. Still, the coins made a comforting clinking sound as he dropped the purse into his jacket pocket and slid a magazine into the pistol. The slide produced a clacking sound as he pumped a round into the chamber. That was when Macy screamed.

Rex turned, saw the flat black synth, and shot it in the head. As the machine crumpled, a machine pistol skittered across the floor. But the weapon was electronically keyed to the “dead” robot and therefore useless. “Come on,” Rex said. “Those things are linked, so more will arrive soon. Can you swim?”

Macy gave a jerky nod.

“Good. ’Cause we’re going for a dip.”

Rex led the frightened woman through the house, out the back door, and toward the elaborate swimming pool beyond. It was lit from above, but some carefully aimed shots took care of that. The water was black as they jumped into it, and waves rippled out in every direction.

Rex quickly discovered that it was difficult to swim with a weapon in one hand while holding on to Macy with the other. So he let go of her as they surfaced. He said, “Follow me,” and she spluttered by way of a reply.

Rex turned and swam toward the sound of the artificial waterfall to his right. Then, as water began to pummel his head, he made a grab for Macy and towed her through the deluge.

The hidden grotto had been his grandfather’s idea. His brother and he had enjoyed the secret hideaway as children. Then, during his early teens, Rex discovered that the secret chamber was a wonderful place to take girls. There were half-submerged benches to either side plus a deep ledge in the back. It was stocked with a supply of fluffy towels and wide enough for two.

The water was warm, but the air was cool, and Macy’s skimpy cocktail dress was plastered to her body as they climbed up onto the ledge. It was dark, but Rex could hear her teeth chattering. “Get out of those wet clothes,” he ordered. “And wrap yourself in towels. We’re going to be here for a while. An hour at least.”

Sirens could be heard in the distance, but who was on the way? Firemen? Or more synths? There was no way to know, but one thing was for sure. Cyntarch Dor Carletto and Lady Carolyn were dead. That left Rex and Catherine. Cat! He had to warn her. But how? Lights stabbed downward, found the bottom of the pool, and began to explore it.

IMPERIAL PLANET ESPARTO

Lady Catherine Carletto snapped her lipstick closed and studied herself in the oval-shaped mirror. She had shoulder-length blond hair, wide-set blue eyes, and a softly rounded face. Everyone agreed that she was beautiful. And that was true. In the technical sense, anyway. The problem was that she didn’t feel beautiful. Or anything else for that matter. No ambition. No fear. No joy. And that didn’t make sense since she had everything. Or that’s what the vidnets claimed. Cat made a face at herself, dropped the lipstick into a tiny clutch, and turned to go. The door to her hotel suite hurried to slide out of the way, and the private elevator surged upward the moment she stepped on board.

There was a small but tastefully furnished lobby on the roof—and two of the hotel’s employees were there to wish Cat a good evening as she passed through. Less fortunate people were constantly wishing her “good morning,” “good afternoon,” and “good evening.” But very few, if any, meant it. And why would they? Everything was for sale—including the most trivial of greetings. So Cat ignored them, followed a green runner out to a waiting air car, and slid into the back seat. A chime sounded as she buckled the seat belt.

Moments later, the limo was in the air and entering the flow of southbound traffic. Esparto was an Earth-normal planet known for its vast grasslands, rich deposits of rare earth minerals, and the glittering city spread out below her. The only city on Esparto.

There were townships of course. But laws laid down by the first families limited them to populations of no more than ten thousand people each. The idea was to contain urban sprawl and encourage decentralization. But the unintended consequence of that policy had been to create a city that occupied more than five thousand square miles of land and had a reputation for both sophistication and decadence. That was the main reason why young men and women fortunate enough to be sent on the so-called grand tour wanted to visit Elysium. And Cat was no exception.

Thanks to her family’s relationship with Emperor Ordanus, and their considerable wealth, Cat was a much-sought-after guest. It was a role she both enjoyed and despised. Because although she loved the attention, Cat knew it was undeserved and felt a sense of contempt for both herself and the people who fawned over her.

So the socialite took in the view as the car followed a stream of other aircraft south over brightly lit buildings and toward the glowing globe perched atop the one-hundred-story-tall Imperial Tower. If one looked closely, it was possible to see that the familiar outlines of Earth’s seven continents had been etched into the opaque structure. The skyscraper had been built by Emperor Alfred II to house the planetary government and to remind the local citizens of where the real power was.

Hundreds of people had been invited to the governor’s ball, so as the limo circled the tower, and the pilot waited for a clearance to land, Cat had an opportunity to eye the sprawling city below. Elysium’s streets were laid out grid-style. But there were so many of them that Cat wondered if anyone could come to know such a huge metroplex.

Rivers of glowing headlights flowed along the main arterials. Commercials, many of which circled entire buildings, flowed snakelike from one section of the city to the next. And blimps that looked like internally lit jellyfish drifted across the night sky, all competing for eyeballs and mindshare. It was both beautiful and horrible. Or that’s the way it seemed to Cat as the air car came in for a landing.

At least two dozen landing pads were located in the area just below the gigantic globe. And while vidnet reporters weren’t allowed on that level, their airborne cameras were. The machines jockeyed for position as Cat stepped out of the limo. She smiled as the lights hit, and paused to turn a full circle so all the fashionistas could appreciate her ten-thousand-credit evening gown. It was red, with slits up both sides, and glittered under the lights.

Then Cat took the arm of the brightly uniformed militia officer who was waiting to escort her inside. He was a lieutenant, about her age, and clearly enthralled. His carefully memorized words of introduction were lost in the roar of repellers as Cat’s limo took off. But it wasn’t important since the officer was little more than an accessory and indistinguishable from all the rest of his kind.

Together, they entered a lobby, where Cat was welcomed by some functionary or other, guided onto an elevator, and taken down to the fifth-floor ballroom. It consisted of a huge room decorated in the early Imperial style. Heroic 3D murals covered all four walls and morphed into fresh perspectives every three minutes.

Hundreds of less important individuals were already present, and most turned to stare as her name was announced, and cameras swarmed around her. Then it was time to greet the governor and her husband. Both wore perpetual smiles, claimed to know her parents, and were clearly wary. And for good reason. Though nothing in and of herself, Cat could do them harm by dropping a few carelessly chosen words to the cameras.

After exchanging pleasantries with them, Cat allowed herself to be steered over to a reception line, where a line of lesser functionaries were waiting to greet her. It wasn’t long before their faces became a blur, their names merged into a meaningless drone, and she was grateful when the last sweaty hand had been shaken.

That was the point when things took a turn for the better as a group of chattering young people closed in around her. She knew many of them and was barely aware of the manner in which the disappointed lieutenant was shouldered aside by a fop decked out in a vid suit. Pictures of Cat and her friends roamed his body, and everyone laughed as the likeness of a girl with spiky pink hair slid down into his crotch.

During the next hour, Cat gossiped with her friends, took a moment to flirt with a moody sim actor, and consumed three cocktails. She was about to visit the buffet when a formally dressed hostess appeared at her side. “Lady Catherine? My name is Stevens. A man is here to see you. We told him you were busy, but he claims to have an urgent message from your uncle.”

Cat frowned. “My uncle? You’re sure?”

Stevens had closely set eyes and thin lips. “That’s what he claims,” she said noncommittally. “But I have no way to be sure.”

Since she departed Earth two months earlier, Cat’s parents had sent her messages every couple of days. Each of which had to be recorded on a chip, loaded onto a message torp, and sent through hyperspace the same way a full-sized ship would be. A very expensive process indeed. And since most of the holos were admonishments to take care of herself, or queries regarding some of her more notorious exploits, Cat had a tendency to let a few days pass before sending a reply. Or, in some cases, she ignored the missives altogether.

But Uncle Rex never sent messages. And being the official black sheep of the family, he was in no position to complain about public intoxication, partial nudity, or the provocative statements Cat made to the press. Was a member of the family sick or something? So, fueled by both curiosity and a rising sense of concern, Cat agreed. “Okay. Where is this guy?”

“He’s in the kitchen,” the hostess explained. “We couldn’t bring him into the ballroom because … Well, you’ll see.”

Cat followed Stevens through a pair of swinging doors and caught a glimpse of a busy kitchen before being led into an office labeled FOOD SERVICE. The man’s head was bare, his cheeks were covered with at least two days’ worth of stubble, and his clothes were filthy. And because his torso was resting on an argrav platform that floated just inches off the floor, he had to look up at her. “Good evening, miss. You look just like the pictures I seen.”

Cat glanced over her shoulder, saw that Stevens had withdrawn, and wished she hadn’t. A mistake had been made, and she’d been left with a vagrant. All she could do was play the farce through. “You have a message for me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully. “My name’s Toshy. Sergeant Toshy back before I lost my sticks in the battle of Ripper’s Ridge. But Major Rex don’t forget. The money comes every year. Right on the anniversary of the day I saved his life. It helps me and the missus to get through. So I owes him just like he owes me.”

Looking down at the ex-soldier made Cat feel uncomfortable, so she sat on a chair. The socialite hadn’t heard of Toshy, but Uncle Rex had told her stories about his career in the Legion, and the battle of Ripper’s Ridge. A hellish assault that left half of his battalion dead. So there was reason to hear Toshy out. “When my uncle retired, he was a colonel.”

“Really?” Toshy inquired. “I didn’t know that. Well, good on him. He was a fine officer.”

“You have a message for me,” Cat said flatly.

“Right you are,” Toshy said as he fished a chip out of his pocket. “It came yesterday. And there was a note. ‘Get this to Lady Catherine Carletto,’ it said. ‘And don’t tell nobody.’”

Cat frowned. Rather than send the chip to her hotel, Uncle Rex had chosen to entrust it to Toshy. And cautioned him to keep it secret. Why?

“Thank you,” Cat said as she accepted the chip. “It was very kind of you to come and find me.”

“I saw you on the news,” Toshy said proudly. “They said you’d be here.”

“I’d like to give you something for your trouble,” Cat said, and opened her purse.

“No thank you,” Toshy said stiffly. “The chance to help Colonel Rex is payment enough. Give him my best.”

And with that, the ex-legionnaire used two blocks of wood to propel himself toward the open door. Moments later, Toshy was gone. He was, Cat knew, one of thousands of badly wounded veterans who had been handed a severance check and put on the street. In all likelihood, Toshy had been issued a pair of bionic legs but, lacking the means to maintain the prosthetics, had sold them to pay the rent or gambled them away. Of course, that was his fault, or so many people maintained, her uncle being a notable exception.

Cat stood, took a quick look around, and spotted a holo deck. Having closed the door into the hallway, she went over to the player, slipped the chip into the slot, and touched a button. A cloud of confetti-like motes of light appeared, were attracted to each other, and combined to form a three-dimensional image.

The lighting was poor, as if her uncle had been forced to make the recording in a dark room, and there was a momentary buzzing sound as his face disintegrated and came back together again. “Cat … It’s me, Uncle Rex. I’m sorry, honey, but I have some very bad news for you. The emperor committed suicide. That’s what the vidnets say, but I don’t believe it. First, because Alfred was anything but suicidal, and second, because hundreds of his close friends and supporters have been killed during the last week.”

At that point Cat felt a sudden emptiness at the pit of her stomach. Because her parents fell into both categories. Friends and supporters.

“They were killed in air crashes, diving accidents, and house fires. And that’s what supposedly happened to your parents, Cat … Except I was there. And before the house caught fire, a military transport lowered at least two dozen synths onto the estate. And they killed everyone. Servants and family alike.

“So it’s clear that Princess O was behind it. Except that she’s the empress now, and judging from the way Alfred’s associates continue to drop left and right, she’s determined to purge anyone who might stand in her way. And that includes relatives who might want revenge. You and I are bound to be on that list, pumpkin. So listen carefully. Drop out. Hide as best you can. And don’t use your credit cards or try to contact any of the people you know. Because if you do, they will find you.”

There was a noise in the background at that point and, as Rex turned to look over his shoulder, Cat saw the gun in his hand. When he looked back there was concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cat. So very sorry. Find a hole to hide in, honey … And don’t ever come out.” The image broke into pieces at that point. They were sucked inward and disappeared.

There was so much to absorb, so much to accept, that Cat was numb. Then, as the full weight of her uncle’s words began to sink in, she started to cry. Deep sobs racked her body, and her stomach hurt as she rocked back and forth. Her mother. Her father. Both dead. It seemed impossible. Yet there it was, and having seen the look on her uncle’s face, she knew it was true.

The crying lasted for a good five minutes; tears were still running down her cheeks when someone knocked on the door. It was Stevens. “Lady Catherine? Are you okay?”

Cat wasn’t okay. But she couldn’t say that. So she said, “Yes, I’ll be right there,” as she plucked tissues out of a box. Then, having wiped the tears away, she removed the chip from the player and stuck it into her bra.

The door whirred out of the way, and judging from the expression on the other woman’s face, she knew something was wrong. Together, they walked back through the kitchen and out into the ballroom. And that was when Cat saw the synths. There were at least six of the Carletto Industry ALF-46s (Artificial Life Form model 46s). They crisscrossed the floor, pausing occasionally to stare at particular individuals, while the pale-faced governor was forced to look on. The room, which had been so noisy before, was eerily silent.

Cat stopped, and was trying to decide what to do when a robot spotted her. The machine fired a pistol and a bullet ripped through Stevens’s throat. There was a look of surprise on her face as she crumpled to the floor. Life as Cat had known it was over.

2

There is, in the flow of events, a time to run.

AUTHOR UNKNOWNA Dweller folk sayingStandard year circa 1950

IMPERIAL PLANET ESPARTO

As Stevens collapsed, Cat instinctively held up her hands as if to stop bullets with them and backed through swinging doors into the kitchen. The shock of what she had witnessed, plus the certain knowledge that the synths had orders to kill her, caused Cat’s heart to beat like a trip-hammer.

It was noisy in the kitchen, so the culinary staff hadn’t heard the gunshot. They looked up in surprise as a wild-eyed young woman in a red evening dress appeared and looked around. Having spotted the back door, she turned and ran. By that time, Cat was focused on only one thing, and that was the desperate need to escape the building. Her spirits rose as she entered the service corridor and saw the elevator. All she had to do was jump on board, get off on the first floor, and run like hell. Simple.

Except that it wasn’t. According to the indicator over the polished metal door, the elevator was on the sixteenth floor. And Cat knew the synths would catch up with her in a matter of seconds. So she glanced both ways, spotted a distant EXIT sign, and headed in that direction.

Cat hadn’t gone more than a few feet before she tripped, fell, and skinned a knee. The five-hundred-credit Horace Latimer high heels were the problem. So she stood, kicked them off, and continued on. Seconds later, she realized that leaving the shoes behind would show the synths which way she had gone. But there wasn’t enough time to go back and correct her mistake.

Cat heard a shout as she jerked the exit door open and began to race down the stairs. The duracrete was cold under her bare feet. Cat knew she wouldn’t be able to go all the way to the ground floor because the androids were in constant communication with each other.

Her worst fears were confirmed as she looked down through an opening at the center of the staircase and spotted a flash of movement. One or more of the ALF-46s were climbing upwards. So as Cat arrived on the third floor, she turned to the right and pulled the fire door open. That allowed her to enter a long, sterile-looking hallway. Doors opened onto a row of conference rooms.

Cat chose the one labeled CONFERENCE ROOM C, entered a dimly lit chamber, and set off for the door on the opposite side. But the dress slowed her down so she paused to rip the side slits open even more. Having granted herself more freedom of movement, Cat approached the door, which slid out of the way.

A sign that read LOBBY pointed to the right. She paused for a second, wondered how many synths were waiting in the lobby, and decided to chance it. As she sprinted down the hall toward a waist-high barrier, Cat heard a burst of gunfire and knew that at least one of the robots was behind her. What sounded like a swarm of angry bees buzzed past, and a glass chandelier exploded as she was forced to stop. The atrium was three stories high, and she could see a synth on the floor below looking up at her.

* * *

That was the moment when a camera operator spotted her. He was miles away, “flying” his vidcam from the comfort of a chair, when he spotted Lady Catherine Carletto on the top floor of the atrium and produced a whoop of joy. Then, using a small joystick, he sent his unit up to capture a close-up. Was she responsible for the exploding light fixture? Probably, not that it mattered, so long as he got the shot.

* * *

A synth was firing on Cat from behind and another was racing up an escalator to intercept her. What happened next was more the result of an impulse than careful planning. Cat was a gymnast. Or had been prior to college. And she was desperate. So she vaulted over the waist-high wall and fell into the void.

Her timing was good. She hit the rising vidcam hard, wrapped her arms around the shiny ball, and felt it sink toward the floor. The synth that had been chasing her arrived at the waist-high wall and sprayed the lobby with bullets. Lamps exploded, plants were shredded, and a guest took a round between the shoulder blades as he tried to escape the destruction.

Cat let go of the vidcam and dropped to the floor. She felt a stabbing pain as something penetrated her right foot. But there was no time to stop and examine the wound, so she hobbled forward. The ALF-46 on the third floor was changing magazines by then, but the synth on the escalator had opened fire, and a line of bullets chased Cat toward the formal entry. A blast of humid, ozone-tainted air hit her in the face as the door slid out of the way, and she ran into traffic. Horns blared, tires screeched, and there was a loud crash as a semitransparent taxicab hit the rear end of an automated delivery truck.

A synth stepped out onto the sidewalk and opened fire as Cat dodged around the front end of a passenger car. Bullets rattled as they hit both sheet metal and the driver, causing him to jerk spastically and slump over the wheel. Then the robot’s line of fire was blocked as a bus hit the pileup and propelled a limo into an intersection, where a powered unicycle slammed into it.

Cat had left the street by then and was about to limp into the half-lit passageway between two buildings, when there was a crack of artificial thunder. She turned in time to see multiple tongues of fire belch out of the tower’s fifth-floor windows. Then, as tons of debris rained down onto the street, she witnessed a series of lesser explosions. That was when Cat realized something important. Esparto’s governor had been appointed to her position by Emperor Alfred. Which meant that just about all of her guests could be counted among his supporters. So the synths had been ordered to kill all of them. Not just her. She was little more than a detail in a much larger plan.

The knowledge brought little comfort as sirens began to wail, and Cat turned away. Tears ran down her cheeks as she limped through a shadowy passageway to the street beyond. North–south traffic was still flowing there. So Cat stepped between a couple of cars and raised a hand. Two cabs passed her by, but the third stopped. The rear door hissed open, and Cat slid inside. The cab was semitransparent, but she knew her features would be little more than a shadow to people outside.

“Where to?” the driver inquired, as he eyed her in the rearview mirror. He was wearing dreadlocks, light-enhancing goggles, and had a stim stick dangling from one corner of his mouth. If he was aware of the explosion, there was no sign of it.

Outside of the rarefied world she lived in, Cat knew very little about Elysium. But she’d heard of an area called the darkside. A sprawling neighborhood, by all accounts, where many members of the working class lived. In other words, the last place a socialite was likely to go. “Drop me in the darkside.”

The driver frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A fire truck had been forced to stop behind the cab. The man at the wheel hit the siren, and the cabbie flipped him off before accelerating away.

Cat gave a sigh of relief and allowed herself to lean back against the seat. The next problem was how to pay the fare. And Uncle Rex was correct. The moment she used a credit card, the synths would know where she’d been. She checked and her clutch was still there—held in place by a gold cord that ran crosswise across her body. After poking around inside it she came up with a half dozen coins intended for use as tips. Would they be sufficient? Cat hoped so as the driver made a series of turns, and the skyscrapers gradually shrunk into five- and ten-story buildings. Garish signs battled each other for dominance as clothing stores, bars, restaurants, nightclubs, tattoo parlors, and bakeries fought for customers.

And there were lots of people on the streets. Most were human, although Cat spotted an exoskeleton-clad Dweller, some colorful Prithians exiting a bar, and a pair of Ramanthians. None were citizens of the human empire. But all three races had something in common, and that was the need for trade, and a common fear of the marauding Hudathans. “Okay,” the driver said. “Where should I drop you off?”

“The next corner is fine,” Cat said as she eyed the fare on the screen in front of her. The total fell just below the amount of money she had. And the rest would go to a small tip. A stupid indulgence given her circumstances. But that was how she’d been raised. “With wealth comes obligations,” her father used to say.

The taxi coasted to a stop. Cat gave over her money, the door hissed open, and she stepped into a puddle of filthy water. The experience was not only unpleasant but served to remind Cat of the cut on her foot, which hurt and was open to infection.

But there were other problems to cope with. The ripped evening gown and bare feet were already beginning to attract attention as Cat made her way down the street. So the first priority was to buy clothes that would allow her to fade into the background. But with what?

Cat conducted a mental inventory. She was wearing a diamond on a chain around her neck, a small ruby on her left ring finger, and her lipstick dispenser was made of gold. Taken together, they were worth at least ten thousand credits. The knowledge made her feel better, as did a large sign that read PAWNSHOP half a block farther on. But getting there seemed to take forever. There was a group of men standing outside a bar. One of them whistled, and another said, “Hey baby … How ’bout a ride?”

Then a street vendor carrying a tray of veg wraps approached her, quickly followed by a preteen beggar and a dull-eyed woman who wanted to save her from a life of sin.

So it was a relief to enter the brightly lit pawnshop. Racks of musical instruments hung from the walls. Used power tools were piled on a table just inside the door. And a manikin wearing a suit of space armor stood guard by the entrance.

To reach the cash register located at the back of the room, Cat had to pass between glass display cases filled with jewelry, alien artifacts, and various types of weapons. It was tempting to purchase a pistol. But Cat knew she’d have to submit ID in order to buy a weapon, and that would almost certainly bring the synths down on her.

The proprietor was a middle-aged man with a halo of gray hair, a chubby face, and the manner of a person who had seen everything. His eyes flicked down her frame and back up. In less than two seconds she had been weighed and evaluated. “Good evening, young lady. What can I do for you?”

“I have this,” Cat said, lifting the chain up over her head. “Plus this, and this.”

The man selected the diamond, eyed it through a loupe, and put it down. The ring and lipstick received a similar scrutiny. “So,” he said having completed his evaluation, “what do you have in mind? Do you want to sell this stuff? Or pawn it?”

The diamond had been a birthday present from her parents. But Cat was desperate for money. “I want to sell it.”

“Okay,” the man said evenly. “I’ll give you five hundred for the lot.”

“They’re worth thousands!” Cat objected. “The diamond alone is worth six or seven.”

“Not to me,” the pawnbroker replied. “I have to sell what I buy—and there isn’t much of a market for diamond pendants around here. Maybe you should take it uptown. A regular jewelry store would give you a better price.”

Cat knew that was true. But she couldn’t go back. Not with the synths looking for her. “Point taken. But five hundred credits is too low, and you know it. I want a thousand.”

“Six hundred.”

“Nine hundred.”

“Six-fifty, and that’s final.”

Cat looked around, saw a row of used suitcases sitting against a wall, and pointed to the nicest one. “Six-fifty plus that.”

The man grinned. He had a silver tooth. “You’re a lot tougher than you look. It’s a deal.”

Cat left a few minutes later with cash hidden in her bra and her new suitcase in tow. Rather than ask the pawnbroker about used-clothing stores, and provide him with information that could be shared with others, Cat was determined to find one on her own. A quick conversation with the owner of a fruit stand got the information she needed.

Walking briskly so as to discourage interference, Cat made her way to the end of the block and took a right. The store, which was called Rewear, was directly ahead. There was no front door. Just a mesh gate that could be pulled down to protect the shop.

Cat strolled in, cruised the aisles, looking for clothing in her size, and cautioned herself to forget about fashion. Twenty minutes later, she had three basic outfits including some new underwear, socks, and a knit cap. A pair of high-topped lace-up boots completed her wardrobe.

Cat was filthy but elected to change into a “new” outfit anyway because the ripped evening gown was attracting attention, and she wanted to protect her feet. So when Cat emerged from Rewear, she was clad in the cap, which effectively hid her blond hair, a waist-length leather jacket that had plenty of mileage on it, and a pair of military-style trousers. They were baggy and cinched at the ankles. Scuffed boots completed the outfit. The rest of her wardrobe was stashed in the black suitcase that rattled along behind her.

A short walk took Cat to a convenience store, where she purchased a first-aid kit, disinfectant, and some toiletries. By the time she left the store, Cat realized she was hungry. Very hungry. A stop at a food cart took care of that. The wrap was hot, greasy, and surprisingly good. She wolfed it down.

At that point the only thing Cat wanted was a place where she could enjoy a hot shower, take care of the cut, and get some sleep. There were hotels. Lots of them. And no way to know what they were like. So with no information to go on, Cat chose the Get Away Hotel. A name that was certainly consistent with her circumstances.

No bellbot came forward to help with her bag. The front door opened onto a seedy lobby that was furnished with a threadbare carpet, tired-looking furniture, and a pair of drooping plants. A fortresslike reception desk ran along the back wall. Only one of the two check-in windows was staffed. The desk clerk had thick black hair and a five o’clock shadow. He was perched on a stool, and there was something slimy about the way he eyed her. “Good evening, miss. What can I do for you?”

A vid set was visible on the shelf behind him. Judging from the pictures, the fire on the fifth floor of the Imperial Tower had been put out. Had there been shots of her? Cat hoped not. “I need a room.”

The man was wearing a sweat-stained tank top. And according to the name tag resting on the counter in front of him, his name was Fing Jat. “Of course,” Jat said. “Our singles cost one hundred credits per night. We take all major credit cards.”

“I plan to pay with cash.”

“Then I’ll need a deposit.”

“Fine,” Cat replied as she brought her roll of cash out and counted some bills onto the table. The stash was made up of small bills so it looked more impressive than it actually was. “Here’s two hundred. I’d like a receipt please.”

“This is a tough neighborhood,” Jat said judiciously. “Be careful where you flash your cash. And your name?”

The first name that came to mind was that of a friend back home. “Harmon. Sissy Harmon.”

“Okay, Miss Harmon, here’s your receipt, and a keycard. You’re in 808. The elevator is to your right.”

Cat said, “Thank you,” and felt the full weight of Jat’s stare as she entered the elevator lobby. The lift made a sustained groaning noise as it carried her upwards. A man and a woman were waiting when the doors parted. They stepped to one side so she could pass.

Cat took a right, made her way down the hall to 808, and slid the keycard into the slot. A light glowed green followed by an audible click. Cat entered a small room that reeked of stim-stick smoke. There was barely enough space to accommodate a full-sized bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. An attempt to activate the vidset on top of it failed.

She could have requested a different room but was too tired to go through the hassle. Not yet anyway. So Cat lifted a blind and found herself looking down into a dimly lit alley. It wasn’t much of a view, but she didn’t need one.

After opening the suitcase and depositing her toiletries in the tiny bathroom, she shed her clothes. The next step was to try to change her appearance by hacking fistfuls of long blond hair off with a pair of scissors from the convenience store. It was, in addition to her wealth and pretty face, the single attribute most frequently used to describe her. So to part with it was to part with some of her significance. And it was difficult to hold back the tears. But when she looked in the mirror, the spiky-haired girl looked very different from the one at the governor’s ball. And that was a good thing.

There was no tub in the bathroom. Just a shower. But it was reasonably clean. She stepped in, turned the water on, and was rewarded with a stiff flow of hot water. Having ducked under the spray, Cat allowed the water to break over her head and run the length of her body. Then, wrapped in the comfort of the liquid warmth, the tears came, and her body shuddered uncontrollably as wave after wave of sorrow overwhelmed her. Her mother, father, and all of the family’s retainers were gone. Along with friends, friends of friends, and people who had the bad fortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The weight of it drove her down until she lay curled up on the floor of the shower, as the water continued to pound her flesh. And what made it worse was the knowledge that she had survived while the rest of them hadn’t. Why? It was so wrong. Outside of college, most of her life had been spent finding new ways to have fun.

It was then, with her face just inches from the point where the water entered the drain, that Cat found a purpose. A reason to exist. And that was to bring Empress Ophelia to her knees. But how? She didn’t have the faintest idea. But the notion gave her life meaning—and the motivation to stand up.

Having wrapped herself in a scratchy towel, Cat left the bathroom and sat on the creaky bed. The perfect spot to examine her foot. The cut was clean now. But she dabbed disinfectant onto it anyway, winced, and applied a self-sealing bandage.

She was physically and emotionally drained by then. So she slipped into some new underwear, got into bed, and was about to fall asleep when she heard the mumble of voices from the next room. That was followed by distorted laughter and a thump as something hit the wall behind her head. Then came the rhythmic squeaking sound that the couple’s bed made as they had sex. A siren could be heard off in the distance, a door slammed somewhere, and it wasn’t long before Cat fell asleep.

* * *

Morning brought a gradual return to consciousness along with the vague memory of bad dreams and a sense of urgency. What was going on? What did the news nets have to say? Curiosity plus the fact that Cat was hungry drove her to get up, get dressed, and head out.

Cat dreaded running into Jat. But he was busy talking to a middle-aged woman. That was sufficient to lift her spirits as she exited through the front door. The sun was up. And as it warmed the streets, the combined odors of uncollected garbage, urine, and ozone grew stronger. But in spite of the smell and the run-down buildings all around, there was a sense of energy on the street. As if the locals were down but not out, and determined to accomplish something with their new day.

Rather than have breakfast in a sit-down restaurant, Cat chose to purchase a news tab from a street vendor, join the short line that led to one of the food wagons, and buy what was advertised as a “stir-up.” The disposable container contained a mix of chopped ham, eggs, and potatoes. All drenched with hot sauce. It was delicious.

Cat took the food plus a large cup of caf over to the ledge that ran around a dry fountain. Because it was filled with weeds and garbage, she turned her back to it. And it was there, while spooning the stir-up into her mouth, that Cat read about the horrible “accident” that had taken place the night before. The explosion had been caused by a gas leak according to one public-works official, and had been responsible for the tragic deaths of the governor, her husband, and nearly all of their guests. A police officer blamed the tragedy on a bomb planted by antigovernment terrorists. Both agreed that there had been an altercation in the street out front. An investigation was under way.

That was bad enough, but according to the tabloid’s editor, even worse news had arrived from Earth. It seemed that Emperor Alfred Ordanus had committed suicide two weeks earlier. Fortunately, Princess, now Empress, Ordanus had been able to step in to prevent the empire from spiraling into chaos.

According to Imperial spokesperson Tarch Othar, a firm hand would be required to root out the members of a conspiracy bent on seizing power in the wake of the emperor’s death. A plot which, based on preliminary findings, had been led by none other than Cyntarch Dor Carletto. He and his wife had been killed during a raid on his home.

And, the article continued, Lady Catherine Carletto was on Esparto, and had been present at the governor’s ball, but her body hadn’t been found. Was she connected with the explosion in some way?

The implied answer was “yes.” Cat thumbed her name, and the image that appeared was a picture of herself looking directly into the camera. The caption beneath the photo read, “Wanted dead or alive. A reward of fifty thousand credits will be paid to anyone who can apprehend Lady Catherine Carletto or prove that they killed her.”

Cat paused to take a furtive look around. Her hair was shorter now. And she wasn’t wearing makeup. But that wouldn’t prevent a cop or a bounty hunter from recognizing her face. Fortunately, none of the people seated around the dry fountain were paying attention to her.

Cat’s appetite had disappeared. She rose, threw the remains of the breakfast into a trash can, and carried both the caf and the tabloid back to her room. How many people had seen images of her face? Millions? Yes, since it seemed reasonable to suppose that the vidnets had been flooded with her pictures too.

But once in her room, Cat was faced with the hopelessness of the situation she found herself in. Even though she hadn’t been spotted yet, it was only a matter of time before she was. What she needed was a long-term plan. A way to hide, and remain hidden, until she could figure out a way to take Ophelia down. Eventually, having considered and rejected at least a dozen strategies, Cat fell asleep. And that’s where she was, stretched out on her bed, when something woke her. A noise? She thought so but wasn’t certain.

As Cat rolled off the bed she peeked out the window. What she saw came as a shock. A couple of synths were standing in the alley below! And Mr. Jat was there, pointing up at her room. It seemed that he had recognized her and was trying to collect the reward.

Then came the telltale thrumming sound as a transport took off from the hotel’s roof and Cat knew what had awakened her. She said, “Shit, shit, shit,” as she grabbed her hat and pulled it down over her hair. Then she put the leather jacket on and took a quick look around. Should she pack? No, there wasn’t time. Plus the suitcase would be an encumbrance.