Free At Empire's Edge by William C. Dietz

stairs led to the top of the defensive wall and Moshath was on sentry duty. Perhaps he had witnessed the same phenomenon and could explain it.
    But, as Sivio arrived on the walkway that ran along the top of the four-foot-thick wall, there was no sign of Moshath. And that made Sivio angry because if Moshath was sick, or needed to take a dump, then all he had to do was get on the com and let someone know.
    That was when Sivio heard a gentle whuff ing, wondered what Moshath was up to, and put the mug down on top of the waist-high wall. Having retrieved his flashlight from his belt, the officer followed the blob of yellow light eastward. He hadn’t gone more than ten feet when he saw Moshath’s boots, his legs, and the black blood that was pooled beneath the officer’s torso. As for Moshath’s head, well that was missing, along with his assault rifle!
    Sivio felt ice water squirt into his veins, and was fumbling for the switch that would turn his com set on, when he ran out of time. The police officer “sensed” the assailant before he actually saw him, knew the feeling of hate was coming from a non-Uman, and was in the process of reaching for his sidearm when Hybor Iddyn landed in front of him.
    The Lir Chieftain’s chest was still wet with Moshath’s blood and he held an energy pistol in each clawlike hand. Sivio’s service pistol had cleared leather by then but wasn’t going to come up in time. Sivio remembered Cato’s warning, wished he had taken it seriously, and tried to shout.
    But Iddyn had anticipated such a possibility, and when the Lir fired, both of the bright blue energy bolts pulped the Uman’s vulnerable throat. There was no pain to speak of, just a momentary sense of warmth, as Sivio’s hands came up to touch the wound. At that point Sivio’s eyes rolled back in his head, the flashlight and the handgun clattered to the walkway, and he toppled over backward. There was a muted thump as Sivio’s body landed on the stone walkway.
    Iddyn couldn’t smile, not given the nature of his physiology, but the way the feathers around his neck rose and fell signaled his pleasure. Two Umans were dead, which meant that eleven of the Imperials were still alive, not counting the individual who had been flown out the day before yesterday. A significant number to be sure, but vulnerable nevertheless, thanks to the element of surprise.
    Iddyn made a high-pitched keening sound that Umans couldn’t hear, listened for the soft whuf , whuf , whuf of leathery wings, and was soon rewarded as more than a dozen heavily armed warriors swept in out of the surrounding darkness. A war was under way, the first battle had been won, and the enemy was blissfully unaware that the next one was about to begin.
     
     
    Though very primitive, the strange half-lit scene inside Station 3 had a homey quality because of the odor of warmed rations, the items of clothing that had been hung up to dry, and the gentle murmur of conversation. Some of the officers were trying to sleep, but Honis, Batia, and Tonver were playing cards. Not for money, which they didn’t have, but for the stim strips that were included in their rations. Three or four of the strips chewed all at once would produce a buzz equivalent to a shot of liquor. And that was worth something out in the middle of the Plain of Pain.
    Meanwhile, as the threesome sat in a circle, each guarding his or her cards, Verafti was quietly alert. There were strangers in the area. The shape shifter could “feel” their presence—and the rich amalgam of hatred and fear that surrounded them.
    Were the Xeno cops aware of the intruders? No, it was clear that they weren’t. And that presented a problem. Or was it an opportunity? Because if the beings that were closing in on Station 3 meant to kill the Umans, that would be good. And it would behoove him to remain silent. But if it was their intention to kill everyone inside the building, then that would be bad, and a warning was in order.
    Of