Bones of Empire by William C. Dietz Page A

them were rather comely—and Usurlus watched them swim away. “I see some things never change,” Paulis rumbled as he dabbed his forehead with a hand towel. “You still have an eye for beauty.”
    Usurlus smiled as he turned to look at Paulis. “And your advice is still sought by all. Tell me, Senator. . . . What the hell is going on? I haven’t been back for very long, but judging from what I’ve seen and heard, strange times are upon us.”
    Paulis looked around, as if to be sure that no one could hear, and nodded sagely. “All of us play our various roles, but the Empire rotates around the Emperor, just as planets must circle their suns. So if a sun becomes unstable, the entire system suffers.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” Usurlus demanded. “What’s wrong?”
    Paulis shrugged. “Consider the last few months. . . . The Vords take possession of Therat, so what does Emor do? He agrees to negotiate. Meanwhile, a small group of separatists take over a small town on Regus IV, and he nukes them! For what? A century of legionnaires would have been sufficient to bring the rebels to their knees. And there’s more, much more, none of which makes any sense.”
    Both men were silent for a moment. “So,” Usurlus said thoughtfully, “what could explain such unpredictable behavior?”
    â€œI could be wrong,” Paulis allowed soberly, “and I hope I am. But it’s my guess that Emperor Emor is insane.”
    The words seemed to hang suspended in the air, and Usurlus felt a chill run down his spine. Suddenly, what had already been a bad situation seemed immeasurably worse.
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    Like all of the neighborhoods around the circumference of the crater, Far Corner was divided into the lower slope, the middle slope, and the high slope. But unlike upper-class areas like North Hill and Crater View, residents of Far Corner couldn’t ride public transportation any higher than the middle slope.
    That created a situation in which what might have been premium real estate up along the rim of the crater was less valuable than property lower down, mainly because the people who lived there had to own private air cars or climb hundreds of steps to reach their homes. Not a pleasant process in the rain, which rattled on the umbrella Alamy held overhead and drained just beyond her shoulders. She lacked appropriate footwear, however, so her feet were soaked, and her shoes made occasional squeaking sounds as she battled ever upward.
    Looking for a place on the high slope was a desperate strategy. She knew that, but having explored the lower slope with Cato, and the middle slope by herself, Alamy had come to the conclusion that if an affordable apartment existed, it was somewhere above. So, with three listings in hand and a crusty meat pie for sustenance, she had set out to conquer the heights.
    The price was right on the first apartment, but it was too small, and dreary to boot. The second property was perfect in every way, but had already been taken, much to Alamy’s disappointment. So she wasn’t holding out much hope for the third rental, which was even higher than the others and slightly over budget.
    Alamy paused, eyed a street sign, and took another look at the address on her printout. She was close, very close, so as she paused to catch her breath, she turned to look down on the city. It was still raining, and mist obscured the downtown area, so there wasn’t much to see.
    In order to reach what the owner called Arbor House, it was necessary to turn left off the public stairs, open a rustic gate, and follow a narrow path between a raised knee-high flower bed on the right and a well-clipped hedge on the left. Then, as Alamy passed under a vine-covered trellis, she saw the house uphill on the right. The outside was covered with white stucco, the structure was three stories tall, and the roof was covered with red tiles. She liked it right