Bones of Empire by William C. Dietz Page A

con of some sort. So he would have to pursue the matter. But carefully—very carefully. “Yes, sir,” Inobo said, with what he hoped was the right note of sincerity. “I’ll do my best.”

FIVE
    The city of Imperialus, on the planet Corin
    THE SUN WAS OUT BUT HIDDEN ABOVE A GREASY layer of smog, which the light breeze from the west seemed powerless to drive away. The result was an unrelieved simmering heat and a lot of short tempers, especially down on the city streets, where police officers were required to work. District Seven, which was generally referred to as the X Quarter, was no exception.
    The teeming neighborhood, which was home to more than 150,000 non-Uman sentients, was located in the southwest section of Imperialus, sandwiched between District Six to the east and District Eight to the northwest. Its main claim to fame other than the diversity of the sentients who lived there was a crime rate second only to that of Port City, where the Usurlus motorcade had been ambushed. And, as was the case in all of the Empire’s ghettos, the denizens of D-7 made it a practice to prey on each other.
    That was why Cato and Officer Yar Shani were walking the crowded streets, looking for the Ur con man who had sold lethal Dream Dust to the quarter’s pushers, and through them to dozens of unsuspecting addicts, six of whom had been killed over the last two weeks. “I don’t know why we bother,” Shani said disgustedly, as they stepped out of an Estengi whorehouse. “Why not let this Sesu guy do all of the work for us? Most of D-7’s addicts are thieves, prostitutes, or worse. We’re better off without them.”
    â€œI hear you,” Cato replied as he paused to let his eyes adjust to the light. “The problem stems from the word ‘most.’ The rest are innocent of anything other than a physical addiction. They deserve our protection.”
    Shani wasn’t so sure of that, but having been rescued by the Centurion and given a second chance, she was in no position to argue. So she blanked her emotions, and said, “Yes, sir.”
    â€œSave the ‘sir’ stuff for when other people are around,” Cato replied. “We’re working as partners at the moment—and you know this city a lot better than I do. So the last thing I need is for you to ‘yes, sir’ me as I make some damned fool mistake.”
    Shani, who had already taken a liking to Cato, felt her respect for the Centurion increase even more. Most officers, especially those right out of the academy, thought they knew everything. “Yes, sir. . . . I mean sure,” she replied. “So what’s next?”
    Cato was about to reply when a voice spoke through the plug in his right ear. “This is nine-four. I have shots fired and two officers plus an unknown number of civilian casualties at the scene of a code 64. I need backup, plus medical units, and I need them now . Over.”
    Cato knew that a code 64 referred to a shooting, but there was no way to know what the circumstances were as he touched a button on the right side of the sculpted half helmet typically worn during warm weather. What looked like a transparent visor appeared in front of his face. It was light green in color and shimmered with reflected light. Section Leader nine-four’s location had already mapped itself onto the Centurion’s heads-up display (HUD), along with a glowing cursor that pointed the way. “This is eight-one with eight-five,” Cato said. “We will respond. Over.”
    All sorts of emergency radio traffic began to pour in through Cato’s earplug as the staccato sound of gunfire was heard, and both he and Shani began to run. Because they were empaths, both officers could “feel” the emotional slipstream that flowed past them as they followed glowing cursors across a street and through a busy shopping arcade. The police officers were running, so some