At Empire's Edge Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  Ace Books by William C. Dietz

  GALACTIC BOUNTY

  FREEHOLD

  PRISON PLANET

  IMPERIAL BOUNTY

  ALIEN BOUNTY

  McCADE’S BOUNTY

  DRIFTER

  DRIFTER’S RUN

  DRIFTER’S WAR

  LEGION OF THE DAMNED

  BODYGUARD

  THE FINAL BATTLE

  WHERE THE SHIPS DIE

  STEELHEART

  BY BLOOD ALONE

  BY FORCE OF ARMS

  DEATHDAY

  EARTHRISE

  FOR MORE THAN GLORY

  FOR THOSE WHO FELL

  RUNNER

  LOGOS RUN

  WHEN ALL SEEMS LOST

  WHEN DUTY CALLS

  AT EMPIRE’S EDGE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2009 by William C. Dietz.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dietz, William C.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-14859-4

  PS3554.I388A’.54—dc22 2009026786

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Marjorie, with all my love

  ONE

  Aboard the Imperial prison ship Pax Umana, in hyperspace

  IN ORDER FOR SECTION LEADER JAK CATO TO REACH the cabin assigned to Xeno Corps Centurion Ben Sivio, it was necessary to walk half the length of the prison ship’s quarter-mile-long hull. The air was cool, verging on cold, because that was the way the Pax Umana’s computer system liked it. The overhead lighting fixtures were exactly twelve feet apart, the decals that identified first-aid kits, weapons lockers, and fire extinguishers appeared with monotonous regularity, and Cato’s boots clanged as they hit the metal gratings that kept him up out of the sheet of half-inch-deep water that glistened below. For unlike most ships, which had solid decks, the Umana had metal gratings so the crew could hose down the cells when necessary. The wastewater was continually pumped out of the sluiceways, purified by onboard systems, and used for everything other than drinking.

  That didn’t represent much of a problem at the moment, however, since the ship was carrying only one prisoner, and he had ways to get back at his jailers other than pissing on the deck. Cato was the person he hated the most, especially after an incident eight hours earlier, during which Cato’s shock baton sent a hundred thousand volts of electricity coursing through the Sagathan shape shifter’s body. So, as Cato approached his cell, Verafti put on a display for him.

  The Sagathi were a race of sentient shape-shifting empaths who had the ability to assume the form of any living creature having roughly the same mass as they did. This not only explained why they were so dangerous, but why the Uman Empire had been forced to create the Xeno Corps, a police force made up of bioengineered variants bred to hunt, capture, and imprison aliens of every description, the Sagathies being the most dangerous of the bunch.

  As Cato drew level with Verafti’s barred cell, he was treated to a first-class display of what the Sagathi could do as the naked alien morphed into a startling likeness of Officer Kath Larsy. She was arguably the most beautiful woman on the ship, and as the fake Larsy brought both hands up to cup a pair of large, pink-nippled breasts, she smiled suggestively. “Come on, Cato,” Larsy said huskily. “Feel them! You know you want to.”

  And Cato did want to, but knew that all of the men who had succumbed to such invitations in the past were dead and buried in the Xeno Corps graveyard adjacent to the high-security prison compound on Sagatha. “Go fuck yourself,” Cato replied contemptuously, as he stalked by. “Which you are uniquely qualified to do!”

  Verafti responded by morphing into a replica of Cato, which he immediately turned inside out, but Cato was gone by then. “You’re scared, Cato. I can feel it,” the shape shifter yelled through what looked like raw hamburger. “Sivio’s going to break you down to F-1. When we get to Sagatha, you’ll be shoveling shit out of my cell!”

  Cato made no reply, but as he cleared the cellblock and entered officer country, he knew the claim was probably true. Cato had served under Sivio long enough to know that the Centurion wasn’t one to waste time on idle chatter. So having used what many would consider to be excessive force on Verafti, Cato was about to get his ass reamed, a process both he and it had been through many times before.

  The Xeno Corps was not only organized along military lines, it was part of the Army, which generally wanted nothing to do with it. In fact, most Imperial legionnaires looked down on the variants, were afraid of the police officers, and jealous of their elite status all at the same time. Now, as Cato approached Sivio’s cabin, he paused to check his uniform. It consisted of a helmet, held in the crook of his left arm, sculpted body armor, a kilt with a subtle plaid intended to remind people that the Xeno Corps was technically part of the 3rd Legion, and a pair of black, high-gloss combat boots.

  The real Kath Larsy walked past at that point, winked at Cato, and said, “Good luck!” The Xeno Corps was a small organization, the detachment on the Umana was even smaller, and everyone knew what everyone else was doing. And that included the fact that Sivio was about to take Cato’s head off.

  Cato forced a smile, wasted a full second wondering if Larsy’s nipples really were pink, and rapped on the knock block mounted beside the durasteel hatch. Sivio had a parade-ground voice that could be heard through three inches of solid metal, and there was no mistaking the gruff, one-word in
vitation: “Come!”

  Cato palmed the access plate, waited for the hatch to slide out of the way, and took the standard three steps forward. Then, with a degree of panache befitting a member of the Emperor’s Praetorian Guard, he crashed to attention. “Section Leader Jak Cato reporting as ordered, sir!”

  At that point, had the purpose of the meeting been something other than what it was, Sivio would have said, “At ease.” And depending on circumstances, as well as the Centurion’s mood that day, might have invited his second-in-command to sit down. But Sivio was angry, and forcing Cato to stand at attention was a good way to communicate that fact. If that bothered Cato, the hard, angular planes of his face gave no sign of it, although Sivio was an empath and could “feel” at least some of his subordinate’s emotions. And that was indicative of Cato’s major flaw, because in spite of the fact that he had been created to deal with Sagathi empaths, he couldn’t shield his emotions the way most of his peers could. A dead, with the emphasis on the word “dead,” giveaway for a creature like Verafti.

  And Cato had other faults as well, including his rebelliousness, contempt for authority, and occasional drunkenness. Were such shortcomings the result of a DNA-related glitch that had left him unable to shield his emotions? Or would he have been a pain in the ass regardless of his disability? There was no way to know. One thing was certain, however, and that was the fact that Cato was a born leader and, as such, could have a detrimental effect on morale. Especially where the younger members of the team were concerned. Which was why Sivio planned to land on Cato with both feet. “At ease.”

  Cato, his eyes on a spot exactly six inches over Sivio’s head, slid his right foot away from his left, and moved his right fist to the small of his back. Even though he wasn’t looking straight at the Centurion, he could still see the bastard, and he wasn’t encouraged by what he saw. Sivio had black hair, the same olive skin that all the members of the Xeno Corps had, and a pair of beady brown eyes. They glowed with latent hostility, and were set too close to the officer’s nose, which was undeniably crooked. A none-too-subtle reminder that Sivio had been a champion kickboxer in his younger days. His lips were so thin they looked more like a well-healed incision rather than a mouth—and his massive jaw had a pugnacious quality. “So,” Sivio began ominously. “Prisoner Verafti claims that you zapped him. And for no apparent reason. Is that true?”

  “It’s partly true, sir,” Cato temporized, his eyes still focused on a spot over Sivio’s head. “I shocked him all right—but I was provoked.”

  Sivio worked his jaw as if preparing it for action. “You were provoked. In what way?”

  “The prisoner called the Emperor a bad name,” Cato answered self-righteously. “Which left me with no choice but to respond.”

  Sivio shook his head sadly. “That has to be the most pathetic lie anyone has ever had the balls to tell me! The truth is that you were playing cards with Verafti through the bars, when for reasons unknown, you drew your shock baton and hit him with a hundred thousand volts of electricity! The security camera mounted in front of Verafti’s cell captured the whole thing. So don’t bother to deny it.”

  “The bastard was cheating!” Cato responded defensively. “So what was I supposed to do? Let him get away with it?”

  The conversation was interrupted by a tone—followed by the flat, emotion-free sound of the NAVCOMP’s synthesized voice. “Be advised that the ship will exit hyperspace in ninety seconds. Primary, secondary, and tertiary weapons systems have been activated, and all members of the Umana’s crew will remain at battle stations until ordered to stand down.”

  It was a routine announcement, and since neither one of the variants qualified as a member of the ship’s crew, their conversation continued. “Shooting the shit with prisoners, playing games with prisoners, and all other interactions not specifically authorized by a superior officer are specifically prohibited,” Sivio said sternly. “And you know that. Even worse is the fact that having flouted regulations, you chose to administer corporal punishment to a prisoner, who is presumed to be innocent until proven otherwise.”

  That was too much for Cato. For first time since the session had begun, he allowed his eyes to come down and make direct contact with Sivio’s. “Innocent? You must be joking, sir. When the Beta Team arrested Verafti, he was crouched next to his most recent victim, gnawing on the poor bastard’s arm!”

  There was a stomach-flipping lurch as the Umana exited hyperspace 2,070 miles sunward from Nav Beacon INS4721- 8402, and began to prepare for the next jump. “That makes no difference,” Sivio said pedantically. “As you are well aware! Which is why I’m going to . . .”

  But Cato never learned what Sivio intended to do, because that was the moment when the ship lurched violently, and he was thrown into a bulkhead. A host of Klaxons, buzzers, and other alarms went off as the PA system came back on. “The ship is under attack,” the NAVCOMP announced calmly. “All weapons systems are under centralized control, nonessential personnel will report to their emergency duty stations, and Centurion Sivio will report to the bridge.”

  “God damn it to hell!” Sivio said vehemently, as he rose from his chair. “Get down to the cellblock and make sure Verafti is secure. What we don’t need is to have that murderous bastard running around loose while we fight the Vords.”

  Cato was tempted to remind Sivio that Verafti was innocent until proven guilty, but thought better of it, and said, “Yes, sir,” as he came to attention. He brought his right fist up over his heart, received a similar salute in return, and did a picture-perfect about-face. The meeting was over.

  Most of the light in the Umana’s control room originated from the hundreds of multicolored LEDs that surrounded Captain Simy Hong and her bridge crew as they struggled to understand what was taking place and react to it. “It looks like there’s only one of them,” Flight Officer Peter Umbaya said, from his position to Hong’s right.

  “Thank God for that,” Hong said evenly. She was thirty-six years old, wore her hair pageboy style, and was pretty in a no-nonsense sort of way. “What kind of ship are we up against?”

  Umbaya eyed the data that was scrolling down the screens in front of him. The combined glow lit his dark features from below and gave the officer’s face a spectral appearance. “It looks like a Vord M-Class Destroyer, Captain.”

  Like everyone else aboard the Umana, Hong knew that the tall, long-faced Vords, and the sluglike parasites they were hosts to, controlled an empire of their own. Some said it was equal in size to the 1,817 worlds that constituted the Uman Empire, but others claimed it was even bigger. Regardless of which group was correct, everyone knew that the aliens were nibbling at the edges of the Uman Empire. There hadn’t been any full-scale battles as yet, but hit-and-run raids on the Imperial rim worlds were becoming increasingly common, as were individual encounters with the M-Class Destroyers, which were widely believed to function as long-distance reconnaissance vessels. Was the ship that had launched a flight of missiles at them on such a mission? Yes, Hong thought it was, because Vord recon vessels had demonstrated a persistent interest in Nav Beacons like the one orbiting the local sun a couple of thousand miles off the port bow. Not that the reason made much difference as three torpedoes struck the Umana’s protective screens, blew up, and sent a shudder through the ship.

  The Umana was a prison ship, and as such she didn’t carry very many offensive weapons, but Hong felt the command chair lurch as the screens went down long enough for a pair of Mark IV missiles to race away, before coming back up again. It was a reasonably potent response to the unprovoked attack, the problem being that the ship carried only six of the ship-to-ship weapons, and would soon be entirely reliant on four batteries of medium-duty energy cannons for its defense. Only two of them could be brought to bear on a single target at any given time.

  The most obvious strategy was to make an emergency hyperspace jump because almost anywhere would be a better place to be than their present location. But, since they had ex
ited hyperspace only minutes earlier, it would be a quarter of an hour before the Umana’s accumulators could launch the ship into the never-never land of FTL travel once again. And that was an eternity in a space battle, especially when faced with a larger and better-armed foe.

  “Captain? You sent for me?” The voice came from Hong’s right, and the naval officer turned to find that Centurion Sivio was standing on the other side of the railing that circled the command tub, holding on to the metal tubing as the ship took another hit.

  “Yes,” Hong replied grimly. “A Vord raider has us out-gunned. But, if we can get in close enough, they won’t be able to fire their missile batteries without being caught in the back blast.”

  “So?” Sivio wanted to know. “What can I do to help?”

  Hong took comfort from Sivio’s calm, unflinching manner. If her extremely unorthodox plan was to succeed, it would depend on Sivio and the men and women under his command. “Once we close with the Vords, the battle will turn into an exchange of broadsides, and given the fact that they mount more guns than we do, the outcome is nearly certain. Unless we can come alongside, blow their lock, and board! The only trouble is that we don’t carry any combat troops—and my crew will be very busy.”

  The Umana shook violently, and Sivio was forced to hang on to the railing as something hit the screens, and they flared brightly. “Meaning that you want my team to fight its way onto the Vord ship?”

  “That’s right,” Hong confirmed. “Will you do it?”

  “We’ll try,” Sivio said grimly. “Assuming you’ve got someone who can blow that lock.”

  “I do,” Hong replied. “Get your people into space armor and take them to the main lock. A weapons tech named Raybley will be there to meet you.”

  Then, turning to Umbaya, the naval officer gave an order. “Turn the ship into the enemy, and accelerate. Even if we die, we’re going to take some of those ugly bastards with us!”