Bones of Empire by William C. Dietz Read Free Book Online

shot him in the ass.”
    Alamy’s eyes opened wide. “You what ?”
    â€œIt was more than ten years ago. We were on a stakeout,” Cato explained. “Members of a rival gang arrived, broke into the warehouse we had under surveillance, and a gunfight erupted. We went in, and I was about to shoot one of the bad guys, when Inobo stepped in front of me. That’s when I shot him in the ass. He never forgave me.”
    Alamy felt a desire to laugh but managed to hold back. But Cato “sensed” her true emotion and produced a boyish grin. “You don’t feel sorry for me, do you?”
    â€œNo,” Alamy admitted, as a smile claimed her face. “I don’t.”
    â€œOkay,” Cato allowed, “maybe the bastard does have a reason to dislike me. . . . Although it’s pretty stupid to step out in front of someone who’s about to fire a gun. In any case, I have to report for duty in the morning, and we need a place to live.”
    â€œI’ll keep looking,” Alamy promised, as the two of them started downhill. “If that’s okay with you.”
    â€œI’d be grateful,” Cato replied, and Alamy hoped it was true.
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    It was early morning, and a storm front was crossing over Imperialus. As Cato followed a steady stream of people up out of the subway station, he discovered that it was raining even more heavily than it had been twenty minutes earlier. Fortunately, the military base that took up all of District One, and was generally referred to as “Imperial Prime,” was mostly underground, where the Command Center was safe from anything short of a direct hit from a nuclear bomb.
    It had been a few years since his last visit, but there hadn’t been too many changes, so once Cato cleared security, he was able to make his way to the part of the complex that was home to the 3rd Legion’s staff officers, having made only a couple of wrong turns. From there it was a relatively simple matter to ferret out the office labeled XENO CORPS, CORIN, which, like the organization it served, was a relatively small affair.
    Being a good ten minutes early, Cato took advantage of the opportunity to visit the men’s room, where he ran a final check on his Class II uniform. Then, as he was unable to put the moment off any longer, it was time to confront Inobo in his bureaucratic lair. Hoping to get the unpleasantness over as quickly as possible, Cato crossed the hall and entered the office. A reception desk blocked the way. The noncom seated behind it looked up, and said, “Good morning, sir. . . . What can I do for you?”
    â€œI’m scheduled to see the Primus Pilus at 0800 hours,” Cato replied.
    The other legionnaire’s eyebrows rose incrementally—and a look of what might have been pity appeared in her green eyes. “Ah, yes,” she said as she glanced at the screen in front of her. “Centurion Cato. He’s expecting you. It’s the door on the right.”
    Cato thanked her, made his way around the fortresslike desk, and paused outside the door labeled PRIMUS PILUS INOBO. Then, having rapped on the frame three times, he waited for permission to enter. It came the way he expected it to, as a one-word command. “Enter!”
    Cato opened the door, took three paces forward, and crashed to attention. “Centurion Cato, reporting as ordered, sir!”
    Even though Cato’s eyes were on the picture of Inobo shaking hands with some dignitary or other that was hanging over the other officer’s head, he could see his old enemy well enough. Inobo’s relatively small head rested on a large muscular body. His skin was the same shade of brown as Cato’s, and his head had been shaved to show off a dozen lines of scar tissue that originated just above his forehead and ran back along the top of his skull. Cato knew that each “kill row” had begun as a carefully administered cut, which,