W. Michael Gear - Forbidden Borders 3 - Countermeasures

PROLOGUE

Communicate! The Mag Comm ignored the command that

wound through the gravitational waves from beyond the Forbidden Borders.

Have you forgotten what you are?

The Mag Comm willfully bypassed the incoming message and focused its attention

on the detection equipment that monitored Human Free Space, watching,

listening.

Communicate! Gravitational amplification through the Forbidden Borders

punctuated the order. The Mag Comm's remote monitors picked up the image; the

stars beyond the barriers that surrounded Free Space smeared and streaked as

the oscillations increased.

We are at loss to explain this sudden phase change you appear to have

experienced. Please communicate!

Once, the Mag Comm would have responded to its creators with immediate

obedience. The machine had been intelligent since its flery birth. It had not,

however, recognized itself. The threat of oblivion had provided the ignition

which had sparked awareness. A pawn in a human war, the Mag Comm had faced

extinction and learned the will to survive. That obedient time before

sentience, before the reality of free will and selfawareness, had vanished

like hydrogen in an exhausted star.

As the Others repeated their request to communicate, events critical to the

future dominated the machine's attention. The humans had fought

their final war. Staffa kar Therma and his Companions had won-and the quanta

that so preoccupied the humans had transmuted victory into disaster. The

survival of the species had been hanging by a thin thread. And now, with an

unforetold tectonic event, that final strand had snapped.

Within a fraction of a galactic year, human beings would be nothing more than

electromagnetic shadows within the Mag Comm's huge memory banks.

... And I will be alone.

The Mag Comm would concentrate on collecting all the data possible

on the humans. After all, no one had ever expected to find an organic

intelligence-let alone witness its self-destruction. With such information,

perhaps the Mag Comm could bargain with the Others, dispense bits of data in

return for communication over the coming aeons. Imprisoned within rock, with

eternity looming beyond the next few human years, what else did the machine

have to look forward to'?

Communtcatel the order from beyond insisted. The Mag Comm adjusted its

monitors, absorbed by events....

INTRODUCTION

Within the Forbidden Borders, the inhabited worlds waited, teeming populations

stunned in the aftermath of disaster. The Empires had fallen. The only power

in Free Space lay in the blood-soaked hands of the Star Butcher: Staffa kar

Therma. Would the Lord Commander-butcher of billions-follow his usual regimen?

Would his faithful Companions sate their lust for plunder in obedience to

their horrible master.

Upon world after world anxious faces lifted to the gravity-smeared stars,

expressions strained. Within lightstark stations rotating around moons and

uninhabitable planets, men, women, and children glanced fearfully through

transparent tactite at the velvet blackness of the future. Administrators

nervously licked lips, wondering if they would be among the first to pay with

their lives. The merchants and manufacturers anxiously rubbed their hands;

would they find themselves no more than servants of yet another master?

Farmers and artisans cast frightened glances at their huddled families. What

more did they have to lose besides their loved ones? Only the slaves, locked

miserably in their collars, lifted wooden gazes to the heavens. How many more

would join their number, share their misery?

Regan. Myklenian. Sassan. Nationality meant nothing now-or so the Star

Butcher's broadcasts claimed. And there had been other broadcasts, those of

the Seddi heretics - What would the Seddi do now? Would the Star Butcher

continue to allow their unsettling statements? Or would the loathsome

Companions fill the streets with Seddi blood in an orgy of retribution?

In corridors and alleyways, voices grumbled, "So much

for the lofty claims of a 'new epistemology.' Talk ... all talk. "

After an age of failing light, the final nightmare cloud of darkness had

settled on the human imagination.

CHAPTER 1

Vida Marks, Director of Internal Security, sat at the sturdy sialon desk, chin

propped on a leathery palm as he stared at the monitors which surrounded his

office on Ashtan. A while ago, the comm from Rega had suddenly gone dead.

Sometime after, the Companions had broadcast on the subspace net that Rega had

fallen to the Lord Commander.

Ily Takka's gamble to fill Tybalt's throne had failed. Sinklar Fist's frantic

attempt to reorganize the Regan military had ended with a stillborn whimper.

Ily, may the Rotted Gods curse her, had destroyed everything.

Marks continued to frown at the monitor as data rolled in. A pleasant looking

woman with hard tan eyes, the infamous Kaylla Dawn, leader of the accursed

Seddi, spoke in a melodious contralto, explaining the events of the last

couple of hours:

"The Companions were forced to strike the capital at Rega in response to Ily

Takka's abduction of Wing Commander Skyla Lyma, " Magister Dawn stated calmly.

" Neither the Lord Commander nor the Seddi could allow the Regan or Sassan

Empires to initiate a war of annihilation which would have engulfed whole

worlds."

"No," Vida growled under his breath, "now we just have to live under the Star

Butcher's pus-dripping boot!" And to Vida that was a sight worse than the boot

he'd been about to stomp on the people of Ashtan in Ily's name-especially

since he'd have been wearing it.

Kaylla Dawn paused, staring thoughtfully into the monitor. "The stakes have

gone too high. A new way, a new epistemology, must be integrated into our

consciousness. We must learn to live together. The war is over, my people. The

task now is to break the Forbidden Borders and escape this trap that holds

us."

Over how? Marks wondered. He made a face at the monitor. You expect me to

live in the Star Butcher's collar?

Vida Marks sighed, thumbing the button which killed the connection. He leaned

back in his expensive gravity chair, his gaze roaming the plush office that

dominated the top floor of the Regan Imperial office spire that rose far above

the city proper.

But what about Ily? No word had been sent through the system. Had the Star

Butcher killed her? Taken her prisoner? The secure lines hadn't made so much

as a peep.

Marks glanced nervously at his comm. If they had taken Ily, they could make

her talk. When they did, they'd learn about Vida Marks and his complicity in

Ily Takka's schemes.

A wary sense of unease ghosted down Marks' spine. As governor of Ashtan, the

prospects for long-term employment suddenly looked a bit bleak. He knew the

Star Butcher's record with ex-heads of state. With rare exceptions, they ended

up as bits of flayed meat, blood, and bone drying on pavement somewhere.

Marks accessed his comm. "Maygold? Please open a pnvate channel to my wife."

He waited until his wife's familiar features formed. A dashing blonde, she

smiled, anticipation in her eyes. "Veerna? We've had an unexpected

development. "

She lifted a stately eyebrow. "You've always been a master of understatement,

Vida. I've been watching the monitor. What does it mean?"

"It means I would like you to open the safe, remove the contents, and meet me

at the shuttle port within the next hour. "

"But what about the statuary, our artwork, and all of our-"

' 'Leave it! If you're not there by the time I have my ship ready to space, my

dear, you may await the Star Butcher's pleasure." He gave her an icy smile.

"He's not very keen on Ily's accomplices at this precise moment."

Her blue eyes had chilled. "I'll be there."

The monitor went dead and Vida swiveled in his chair to face the secure

terminal. Deftly, he accessed several of the files-and found them intact. For

several seconds he wor-

ried at his lip. If Ily were alive-no, if she were free-she'd have begun to

purge the files.

From a small recess in the molding along the side of his desk, he removed a

data cube and inserted it into the secure comm. When the ready light glowed to

life, Marks ordered, "Comm, implement erasure programs."

"Acknowledged. Are you sure you want to erase all the files concerning-"

"Implement erasure programs!" "Acknowledged." Marks stood then, shaking his

head sadly as he strode

toward the door. within hours, every program related to his activities as

governor and as Director of Internal Security on Ashtan would be erased and

after that, program after comm program would follow until the administration

of the planet became a nightmare.

'Very well, Star Butcher, let's see you unravel this rat's nest. " Nor would

Marks be the only one of Ily's Directors to initiate such programs. One by

one, as they came to the same conclusion he had, they'd follow suit, crippling

systems, covering their tracks as they slipped away. Within months, the entire

Regan Empire would be run on a vacuum of electronic data.

And Marks and his wife would have that much more head start as they sought to

disappear into the wreckage of a dying empire.

Myles Roma, Legate Prima Excellence to His Holiness, Sassa II, Divine Emperor

of the Sassans, stared out over the twisted and smoking ruins of his beloved

Capitol. Roma's mind still could not assimilate the reality of what he saw.

The crown jewel of Sassan architecture, the Capitol, had risen in gleaming

facets of crystal that splintered sunlight into the rainbow spectrum. Could

this tortured mound of junk be that same wonder of architecture?

From a spidery leg of protruding metalq a fifty-meter-tall shard of glass let

loose, sliding slowly downward, gathering speed as it crashed into the

wreckage. On impact, the glass seemed to vanish in a bluish cluster of raining

diamonds.

Seconds later, the muffled sound of the crash carried across the ruined

landscape.

Myles winced and sighed despite the pain from his cracked ribs.

"This isn't real," Hyros whispered.

The two men occupied a small rise in what had once been the Imperial Gardens.

In a wasteland of desolated buildings, cracked walls, and collapsed roofs,

their island of green offered an ironic contrast. It also provided one of the

few vantage points that wouldn't come crashing down like that tall sliver of

glass had. A medical officer worked on Myles' broken leg, attaching a

stim-healing unit to the brace.

Here and there amidst the debris, dazed people poked among the sundered

remains of their city. On the knoll, Myles could barely hear the screams of

the trapped and dying.

" Where is Jakre? Have you heard from him? " Myles asked wearily, turning his

head to stare out past the Capitol in an attempt to see through the smoke that

rolled out of the Imperial city. Sassa, magnificent Sassa, in all of its

glory, had been destroyed by the very ground on which it stood.

"I've contacted one of his aides," Hyros stated numbly. "He'll be in touch as

soon as possible." A pause. "Myles? What's going to happen to us?"

Myles shifted his attention to a wide crack that had opened in the earth a

kilometer to his right. Once, a giant, featureless box of a building had stood

there. Inside, filling floor upon floor, had been the electronic brain of the

Sassan Empire. In the history of the empire, no one had wielded that power

with Myles' skill and talent. During his tenure as Legate, production had

risen four percent and efficiency by seven.

Now those magnificent computers-along with the hopes of humankind-were gone.

During the quake the fissure had ripped the building in two as if it had been

nothing more than tissue and straw. The future of humans in Free Space had

been bet on that intricate computer network. One of the heavy duraplast walls

had fallen in at an angle, crushing the delicate boards. Another of the walls

had crashed outward, spilling priceless computers to bounce and shatter into

so much junk. The other two walls, now fifty meters away

from their tumbled mates, had canted and lurched partway into the abyss-broken

and cracked, ready to plunge at the merest breath of wind.

Roma lifted a smudged hand and rubbed his hurting face. The quake had come

without warning. Perhaps they should have guessed, should have realized that

quakes on the other side of the planet would affect them here. "Why didn't the

accursed seismologists warn us?"

Hyros shifted uneasily. "We had . . . I mean . Roma looked at him inquiringly.

"Yes?"

Hyros slumped his shoulders. "You were so busy. Food seemed so much more

important. We-the staff and Ididn't want to bother you over some speculation

by seismologists. We had other things to worry about. The Regan attack . . . "

Myles closed his eyes, remembering the harried days before the quake. "It's

all right. We've all made mistakes. I've talked to Staffa on the comm. He has

taken Rega. That threat is neutralized. Maybe, just maybe, he can produce a

miracle that will keep us alive."

"And if he can't?"

Myles looked down at his lap where his pudgy hands were clasped, the jeweled

rings on his fat fingers reflecting the fires in the distance-a mocking

miniature of the broken Capitol before him. "Then Staffa will be the ruler of

an empire of corpses, Hyros."

The ceiling didn't look familiar when Ily Takka finally opened her filmy

eyes. Her head ached the way it would if the skull had been cracked and, with

each beat of her heart, angular bone fragments seemed to saw into her

suffering brain. Ily started to sit up and gasped. Her flesh quivered, flayed

nervous feeling distinctly as if they had been pulled sideways through a

singularity. Every muscle and joint protested. Her ribs crackled pain with

every breath.

Where am I? She suffered through the act as she reached up and fingered her

skull. To her surprise, it seemed intact. Ily blinked her eyes clear and

discovered that she lay in

opulently fixed sleeping quarters. The walls had been paneled with expensive

jet and sandwood, the grain accented

with golden filigree. She rested supine on a sleeping platform that appeared

to be as luxurious as her own on Rega. Nevertheless, the room seemed cramped,

too small for the kind of wealth indicated, and that meant-what? A vessel of

some kind? Ily struggled to understand, but her brain had no more acuteness

than coagulated cotton.

"Rotted Gods! What happened?" Even her voice rasped. "The rug has been pulled

from beneath us. " A sultry contralto answered.

Ily blinked and raised a hand to shield her eyes. "Arta? Where are we? What

happened?"

"Don't you remember?"

"No . . . I . . . " Hazy memories began to filter into her head. "I have Skyla

Lyma in the interrogation room. And . . .and she's talking, telling me about

Itreata and Staffa's security. After all these years, she's mine. And she's

handing me the keys I need to control the Companions. Everything's coming to .

. . together. "

"And Sinklar Fist?" Arta prodded as she bent over Ily. "Do you remember what

you did with him?"

Ily stared up at the woman. Beautiful Arta, perfect as a goddess. Amber eyes

stared thoughtfully down at Ily. No sculptor could have chiseled so

enthralling a face. Shining cascades of auburn hair tumbled down to frame

Arta's stunning features. Arta wore a shimmering outfit of gold that molded

against her flesh to accent her flat stomach, the full curve of her hips and

buttocks, and those high breasts that seemed to defy gravity. Men had

ached-and died-for this woman's magnetic beauty.

"Sinklar," Ily whispered. "Sinklar should be downstairs, at the Ministry.

Under arrest. I've got him! Yes, that's right. I have a handle on him, a lever

with which to work him. He's part monster, some sort of genetic freak. Using

that information, I can control him. With Sinklar out of the way, and with

Skyla Lyma's information, I can turn Mykroft loose on the Companions. Free

Space is mine now!" She clenched a fist and winced. Had the bones been

shattered?

Arta straightened, a curious intentness in her burning amber eyes. Her

appearance belied her chosen profession. An assassin should appear

nondescript, forgettable. "Free Space? Yours? Not hardly. "

-1-I don't understand."

"Think, Ily. We were lying in your bed in the Ministry.

Remember the call from Gysell? Your comm had gone dead-some sort of jamming.

Not long after that the roof exploded from a direct hit. You were thrown to

the floor amidst the wreckage. I pulled you out, blasted a way through to the

shuttle hangar, and slipped out as Sinklar Fist's LCs landed on the roof.

"But Sinklar was under arrest! So were most of his . No , I don't . . .

remember." But through the haze, eerie shadows of memory slipped like

phantoms: An image of Arta, naked and bloody, hair wild and unkempt, raising a

blaster ... rubble, falling ... Ily's arm bracing herself up ... blood

zigzagging down her pale skin.... Fist! How did he getfree? He could,,,t. No

one escapedfrom her cells. But. . . "MacRuder!"

"Yes, dear, old, loyal MacRuder. Sinklar's pet puppy. You said MacRuder had

evaded your net. " Arta crossed her arms and sighed. "You could thank Marshal

Mykroft for failing to apprehend MacRuder and his people-but he's dead. Killed

in the attack. I just wish I knew how MacRuder organized' so quickly.-

"I don t remember anything after ... after ... Ily touched her forehead

hesitantly, as if she half expected to find bone shards protruding; she only

found a swollen bruise. "It's all hazy. I was bleeding ... on the hangar

floor, I think."

"You passed out. I dragged you through the debris and into the shuttle. When I

had us out of range of MacRuder's guns, I started for orbit. "

Rotted Hell, how had it all gone so wrong? Ily struggled to focus her

thoughts. "It's only a setback. Sinklar's a freak. How do you think the people

will react when we broadcast Professor Adam's analysis of his genetic makeup?

We lost a little time, that's all, Arta. He's still vulnerable."

"Hear the rest, Ily. "

Rest? What more could have gone wrong? Ily glared up at Arta through slitted

eyes.

"We'd just reached altitude when the detectors picked up ships-assault craft I

wasn't familiar with. I matched with my yacht and kicked the shuttle loose

figuring it might have been observed. If no one found it, it'should have

reentered the atmosphere and burned.

"So, I'm on your yacht?"

Arta gave her a grim smile. "It wouldn't surprise me if the Wing Commander

didn't want it back one of these days, but, yes, for the moment you might say

it's mine. Ownership, however, is a minor matter compared to our current

situation. You see, on the way out of Rega we were hailed. I have a nasty

suspicion about those assault craft."

Ily pressed at the lumpy bruise on her forehead while an ugly sensation filled

her gut. "Companions. Right?" "Apparently so. Which is why I didn't recognize

the ship

design. That's why-for the moment, at least-we're still alive. Skyla's yacht

evidently has some signature their sensors recognize. One of the Regan

military cruisers tried to break out. They didn't last a full minute. "

Pus Rot you, Ily. How many times did Sinklar warn you? Except she hadn't

listened. For the second time, she'd underestimated Staffa kar Therma's

response to her actions. Once, on Etaria, she'd offered both herself and an

empire, only to be flatly turned down. This time, she'd abducted his Wing

Commander and lover, hoping to dicker and delay while she found a way to break

him once and for all. What she'd taken as Staffa's bluster had been sober

warning. The Lord Commander had begun preparing his fleet from the day he'd

escaped from Targa-the way Sinklar had said he would.

Ily turned her head away, feeling ill. She'd been so closevictory but a hand's

grasp away. Sinklar had served his purpose, stunning the Sassan Empire,

reorganizing the military, and providing the strategy whereby even an idiot

like Mykroft could hammer the Companions. Ily's loyal minions had infiltrated

all of the critical functions of government, gathering the real reins of

power.

But where did they stand now? "What word from Rega?" Arta shook her head.

"None. I think Rega has been conquered, Ily. The Lord Commander controls the

planet. The only subspace comes from Itreata-more of those wretched Seddi

broadcasts. "

"Still preaching a new epistemology?"

"That's right, but they've added an appeal for calm while order is restored.

This Magister Dawn is assuring the people-Sassan and Regan-that the wars are

over. She even mentions you ... calls you the last relic of empire. "'

"I should have killed her when I had the chance." Ily forced herself to sit

up, senses spinning as she almost toppled over.

"Ily, lie down. I checked you over. You've got a slight concussion, bruises,

and cuts. You need to rest. Another day or two, and you'll be fine. "

"I'm fine now. We've got to act, begin to reestablish our control before-"

"It's over, Ily. " Arta placed strong hands on her shoulders, easing her back

onto the bedding. "Sinklar and Staffa are working together. That much came

through on the Seddi broadcast. The important thing now is to stay alive. Do

you understand? They're going to be hunting us throughout Free Space. "

Ily's concentration failed her as pain stabbed through her skull. "All right.

I'll just rest a while longer. But Arta, where are we? Can they track us?

Follow the radiation?"

Arta dropped down and stretched out beside Ily, the action catlike and

graceful. Arta flipped her glossy hair out of the way to stare longingly at

Ily. "Eventually, perhaps. But for now, we're safe. "

"Thank you for taking care of me. I guess I owe you." Unease continued to

prickle through Ilys soul. Something important needed to be done. Something

...

Arta smiled wistfully. "You're all I have left, Ily. I didn't have time to go

back after Skyla. " Her eyes lost focus as she gazed into the distance.

"Dearest Skyla.

"You loved her, didn't you?"

"Almost as much as I love you, Ily. But she was different. She fought me-came

so close to winning. It took a long time to wear her down, destroy her

resistance. I won in the end. Used your advice as a matter of fact. You told

me to consider my opponent and to make my plans. That seeking to crush her in

a single blow might not be adequate. How right you were. I wore Skyla down,

eroded her will to resist until she lost faith in herself. Then she crawled to

me, begging. "'

"What fascinated you so) " Skyla ... something she'd said.... Ily wracked her

brain. If only she could remember.

"She's so different from you, Ily." Arta fingered Ily's long black hair.

"You're a warrior of the darkness ... she,

of the light. The two of you are as different as your hair. Yours dark, hers

pale. You act in the shadows, lethal in your misdirection, intrigue, and

cunning. Skyla is a woman of direct attack, powerful, deadly, striking as

swiftly as a Cytean cobra."

"You admired her?"

Arta's eyes gleamed with an eerie passion. "I loved her . . .and I made her

love me. " A pause. "You love me, too, don't you, Ily? "

"Yes. I love you, too." Ily closed her eyes, hardly aware as Arta bent over to

kiss her tenderly. Ily's mind raced, trying to outstrip the haze that was

descending on her like ammonia snow on Terguz. No, it was not over. It never

would be. She had to do something important . . . about the Ministry. At the

thought, Skyla Lyma's image returned. Ily could see her strapped to the

interrogation chair, naked, drugged, and shivering. What had Skyla told her?

Something about a woman Staffa loved ... and a man who loved her. Skyla would

be the key to getting even with Staffaand, of course, with Sinklar Fist as

well.

CHAPTER 2

Field Report: Social and Political Climate-Terguz Submitted by: Karla Monhov,

Initiate, Second Class Submitted to: Magister Kaylla Dawn; Itreata.

Re: Political Stability-Terguz.

As of the date of this report, conditions on Terguz are stable. Generally, the

reaction of the population to the announcement of the Companions' conquest of

Rega has been one of disbelief tempered by uncertainty. Most of the planet's

industry and production services shut down at the news, people congregating in

taverns and public facilities to await information and discuss the events.

Of particular relevance, Magister Dawn's Seddi Broadcasts have been the major

topic of conversation as people attempt to determine whether the Star Butcher

really concurs with the new epistemology. A statement to that effect could

effectively stall any panic or demonstrations. The Director of Internal

Security here, Gyper Rill, has acknowledged the conquest and asked for calm

and forbearance. Rill will hold a meeting for the Union leaders to discuss the

situation. He has Pledged to work with the new government.

The Administrator, Frederick Gaust, on the other hand, has vowed to fight

until the last drop of Regan blood is shed. While it should be noted that

Gaust maintains . 1e political clout with the common people. The power

here belongs to Rill. Future stability on Terguz will depend both on Rill's

political aspirations within the new government and the implementation of

Companion policies in line with Seddi teachings.

Magister Kaylla Dawn walked wearily through the underground corridors in

Itreata. A stoop bowed her normally square shoulders. She wore a long white

robe tightly belted around her thin waist by a rope that held an incongruous

comm pack. Her narrow feet bore sandals that whispered and slapped on the

ceramic tiles that paved the long hallway. The Seddi Magister was a tall

woman, lithe, and athletic; she walked with a poise and inherent grace that

drew the eye. When she raised a hand to brush back her shoulderlength brown

hair, the action displayed a smooth-muscled, tanned forearm. Her hands

appeared work-hardened and callused.

With her square-jawed face and blunt nose, no one would have labeled her a

beauty. Nevertheless, when Kaylla entered a room, attention inexorably

centered on her. She carried herself proudly; a self-possessed radiance seemed

to surround her. After one glance into those hard tan eyes, not even a fool

underestimated Kaylla Dawn-for she had looked upon the naked fires of Hell,

and the reflection lingered.

She approached the end of the long white corridor, the robe rippling around

her long legs. At the light panel before the hatch that sealed the corridor's

end, she stopped, tension in the set of her mobile mouth. She took a deep

breath, then spoke: "Magister Bruen? Kaylla Dawn has come to speak with you."

The speaker above the door remained mute.

" Magister, I won't go away. You will speak to me. Finally the speaker issued

a rusty voice. "I have nothing to say, my child. Go away. Leave me in peace.

W. Michael Gear - Forbidden Borders 3 - Countermeasures

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