Imperator

by Timothy Ellis

  “All we ask right now is you consider your options. We hope you will reach out for further information, and in due course, form some sort of relationship with the Imperium for our mutual benefit. For now, our communications network is open for you to use, so anyone can send us a message using the contact details supplied. I and this ship will be departing immediately for our home system, but should you request to visit us, we can have ships to you to move delegations to the trade network, very shortly after such a request is made.”

  “Thank you for listening to this message, and I bid you all a good day.”

  Jane stopped the recording, and played it back for me. It wasn’t my best vid ever, but it also wasn’t my worst. I’d had several years of making them after all. I authorized it to be sent off, and took myself down to my suite for a quiet drink, while we waited for any sort of fast response.

  With nothing official an hour later, I opened a rift to Haven, and we went home.

  Thirty Nine

  I guess it was inevitable.

  A single Earth station accepted our invitation to visit the Imperium, and Jane sent a Lightning limo to collect the delegation. They were all impeccably dressed in the current Earth suit fashion, with designer luggage in the expectation of being away overnight.

  The Lightning took them to Imperious station, and all but two of them debarked, with one feeling sick, and another waiting with him. The main party were shown to the room with the rift to Haven.

  They drew guns, took the two occupants of the room and Jane’s limo avatar hostage, hacked the computer interface for a schematic, and headed towards station operations, and the two security offices.

  On the Lightning, the two remaining there also drew guns, and entered the cockpit. They were surprised to not find a pilot, but one of them immediately sat in the pilot’s chair, and attempted to take control of the ship. After a few moments of getting nowhere, both of them noticed it was getting hard to breathe, and within thirty seconds, they passed out.

  Divided now into three groups, each with a hostage, and not aware the ship seizure had already ended, they coordinated storming the three destinations designed to give them control of the station, and thus access to the Imperium.

  All three rooms were empty. Not just no people in them, but nothing at all. Just bare walls. They had moments to realize they’d been led into a trap, before gravity smashed them all to the floor.

  The three hostages shifted into Jane in red Admiral uniform, sidearms now visible, and she calmly drew each gun and shot them all one by deliberate one, as they watched helplessly. The gravity shifted back to normal, but none of them moved.

  An hour later, they started to wake up.

  The first of them looked around and found they were lying on the ground under moonlight. Nothing looked familiar. Not even the stars above. They’d been stripped down to their underwear, and all devices and other belongings had been removed.

  As he stood, while others moaned and began to open their eyes, he noticed a man coming towards them. He had orange skin.

  “Don’t come any closer,” said the Earth soldier.

  The orange man grinned.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m just the welcoming committee.”

  “Where are we?”

  “You don’t know?” He laughed. “You really must have pissed someone off. This is the Imperium’s penal planet. Most who find themselves here are sent here by a court.” He looked for confirmation, and didn’t find it. “If you’re here without any due process, you really screwed up.”

  “Where is here?” the soldier said, putting command into his voice.

  “Honestly, no-one knows. There is no tech of any kind here. No ships land. Nothing comes here except new blood, and nothing, ever, leaves.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The man laughed again.

  “Everyone says that. And some do try. We know this is an island. We know there is a continent out there, and most of it is desert. We know because one in a hundred who leave manage to return. They tell of grave markers, skeletons lying where they fell, and no hope of survival anywhere but here.”

  The rest of them were sitting up now, listening to the exchange.

  “Why should I take your word for that?”

  “No-one cares if you do or don’t. Your survival is your own problem. I’m just here to tell you how things are.”

  “And how are they?”

  “There is plenty to eat, but you have to gather it yourself. You can hunt, but you’re not the apex predator here, so leaving the safe areas carries great risk. You can join whatever group you wish who will have you, or stay to yourselves. But if you don’t help others, no-one is going to help you.”

  He shook his head sadly.

  “And you lot came here with a lot less than is normal. You want clothes? Without joining a group, you’re going to have to make something yourselves. You want tools? Make them yourself. Want to know what’s poisonous? Trial and error. You have the look of soldiers, and we can use soldiers. Hell, we need you. But if you think you’re going to lead, think again.”

  “We’ll talk about it.”

  “I’ll leave you to it then. If you decide to be sociable, you’ll find the main settlement about an hour’s walk up that track.”

  His arm pointed to what was little more than a game trail. He nodded, and started walking the direction he’d indicated. Once out of sight of the soldiers, Jane shifted back to herself, and vanished.

  Within seconds of showing me the vid, it was sent to all the media.

  An hour later, we received an official sector level apology for having allowed a rogue group of soldiers attack us. But they also declined our invitations, although allowing our ships to enter their space for civilian purposes.

  In other words, they were more than happy to have a lot of people leave to join the Imperium, but they wanted no part of it officially.

  I gave them six months before the war with their neighbors erupted.

  Forty

  The following morning was yet another boring Imperium meeting as the Germans joined us.

  I’d hosted all the senior officers and team leaders the night before for dinner, and while nursing coffee or wyvern beverages, we’d discussed where we went from here.

  We had a lot more options than I’d expected. The planned two main divisions of troops were formed up and ready for a trial deployment. The second tier division was half in place as well, and would be ready to go in as soon as another week. All three divisions were getting special units from dragons, wyvern, Lufaflufs, and each of the big cats. And all three were getting at least a mobile regiment, made up of all the heavy vehicles I’d taken from the Nazi’s. The majority were rapid deployment vehicles with big guns. The second tier division was also getting earth moving equipment, and builder droids.

  The way things were going, we’d end up with three divisions and a second tier division, but it would take a few months to form up the last of the units, given they were going to be formed piecemeal from individual volunteers. People were streaming into Haven now, with military moving to the military space scrapers, while their families were allocated to residential ones.

  Since we’d used our stocks of the small trader stations, Bob had made an effort to complete the conversion of the three Trixone ships we’d captured. The two battleships were now Cobra carriers, while the transport carried Pythons. Between them, Fearless, Homer, and Bonko’s Club, also now hastily refitted without most of their accommodation to carry more troops, and the two assault frigates Custer and Slim, the second tier division was almost mobile. One part of the shipyard was churning out Cobras as fast as it could, and once the big ship requirements were met, they’d be fitted with jump drives, allowing for the remainder to be carried and deployed independently.

  All in all, we had a lot of flexibility, and we discussed that flexibility until late. With decisions to be made on my mind, I didn’t sleep very well.

  After the Imperi
um meeting, I moved to my office in the military space scraper, and was joined by the four stars. We knew what the Germans were bringing to the table now, and this completed what we knew we had to use in the short to medium term.

  I looked around at the four of them. Marshall James Bigglesworth, who while captain of the titan Valkyrie, was in charge of carriers and fighters. Admiral Darius Jedburgh, captain of the titan Trident, and in charge of fleets. General Vonda Wellington, who commanded the new army and marines. And General Walter Harriman, who controlled all things supply and logistics.

  “Recommendations,” I asked them.

  Heads turned to Bigglesworth, who was senior.

  “I want to move Dreamwalker and Knüppel,” he said without hesitation. “Not from the Claymore task force, but to Chaos class dreadnaughts. I feel both are wasted flying carriers, now we have something better.”

  Jedburgh was nodding. I knew we had four of the new dreadnaughts due for completion today, and another four due tomorrow. Priorities kept changing, but those eight dreadnaughts had remained on the top of the list from the moment we’d taken possession of the first pirate shipyard. We needed more heavy hitters if we were going to go on the offensive.

  “Who do we have to replace them?”

  “There’s two good Wing Commanders in the simulators at the moment. Guy Gibson is British, retired several years ago, and has regretted the decision ever since. His simulator scores were good all the way up to cruisers, so I shifted him into a Scimitar, where he’s not quite so good with the titan turret, but he has an impressive record as a wing commander.”

  “Get Dreamwalker to coach him on working with his AI.”

  “Already have.”

  “Good. Move him out to Claymore as soon as you can, and have Chris do some in the seat training before he leaves. He can take the first Chaos class which comes out of the shipyard this afternoon.”

  “He’s going to want to take Claymore with him I think,” said Walter.

  Claymore the AI, not Claymore the ship. Sometimes it was confusing, but Jane insisted the AI’s chose their own names, and they mostly wanted to associate with their first ship.

  “It’s their choice, but I’d suggest Claymore clone herself to the new ship, and either controls both, or the clone becomes a new AI, but with memories preserved and a new name. They’ll diverge enough to become separate entities pretty fast I suspect.”

  “Confirmed,” said Jane, through room coms.

  I’d let them figure it out.

  “The other Wing Commander is a Frenchman called Pierre Clostermann. As soon as we announced claiming Iceland, he contacted us to see if we’d take him.”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “He had a training accident a few months ago, and was forced to retire. He’s still limping, but hoped we could help him fly again. Jane informed him of the controls we use, and he practically begged to be allowed to join us. We sent a Lightning to pick him up, and he’s been in the simulator almost as long as Gibson has, with much the same results. He was a Lieutenant Colonel, and in charge of a wing of fighters. Neither of them were penguins either.”

  A penguin is a squadron or wing commander who doesn’t, or no longer flies missions. The name goes back as far as the First World War, when air warfare began. They were the last thing we needed.

  One of the first things I’d done in designing the first Excalibur was remove the need to use foot pedals. They were a hangover from atmosphere fighters, which had never been designed out, and while fighter pilots wanted the overall feel of four limb control, it wasn’t necessary anymore. And besides, Clostermann’s injury was exactly why I’d done it. Back then I was always hurting my left leg. In fact, for a moment, I mused about the unusual fact of my not limping at present. I dragged my mind back to reality.

  “Fine, send him to Katana and get Gertrude to coach him. She can take the second Chaos class out.”

  “Names for the ships?” asked Walter.

  I thought about it for a moment. I had a list of Chaos class names, but these two were not going to be flying with them. I hunted for words associated with each of them. Gertrude’s was easy, but Chris’s needed some sideways thinking. When I had both, I smiled.

  “Gertrude gets Bludgeon, and Chris gets Shade.”

  “You mean Shades?” laughed Vonda.

  Shades referring to the belt suit Chris used for eyes, which was alternately a facemask, and old style glasses. I’d watched enough old square and flat screen stuff to know what shades were. So apparently had Vonda.

  “No, Shade. Look it up. It’s appropriate for both Chris and the Chaos class.”

  Her eyes glazed for a moment, the laugh downgraded to a smile, and she nodded. The word had two uses in the context. It was a play on shadow, which pertained to Chris being blind, and also to him throwing a shadow over the fleet he was attacking. It also had slang use meaning to trash someone, and in this context it meant trashing the enemy. Bludgeon was easier, since it also had connotations of destroying the enemy, while being the common translation of Gertrude’s callsign, Knüppel.

  “I’ll let Bob know,” said Walter, and he had that look for a moment of sending a ping to someone.

  I looked back at Bigglesworth. As the Chaos class were technically single seat fighters, even if they were three quarters of a kilometer long, they fell under his command, not Jedburgh’s.

  “What about the other two coming out today?”

  “I have eleven pilots coming through the pipeline at the moment for them. Six will get the Chaos’s, and the other five will get upgraded pirate cruisers. I’m thinking two of the cruisers go to the Claymore task force to round it out, and the other three go to Space Commodore Lacey for his new wing. While they won’t have much in the way of life support, they will each get a mage, and be able to cope with emergency jumped pilots if need be. Solves his ejected or blown up pilot issue he’d have without a mage in his force.”

  It made sense. We had no mage pilots yet, although I knew there were several in training. But with a force of Excalibur fours, there wasn’t much room on them to put an ejected pilot. With the next generation bomber Lacey wanted, that wouldn’t be a problem, but for now, he needed to take something big with him, just in case he hit a meat grinder, or as had happened before, a trap. Mobility had its downsides.

  “Where are the new pilots from? I take it none of them are ours?”

  “Right. Those of ours who could fly these ships, don’t want to. But we have some really good pilots in the system now. These are the ones with the best records. There are three British, two Americans, a Canadian, an Australian, and four Germans. The Germans are on their way, while the others are in the simulators now. Most are squadron leaders, but a couple are full commanders.”

  “They’ll all be commanders. I’m making that the junior rank necessary for cruiser and higher, where the ship is basically a fighter. Squadron and wing ranks make no sense where the pilot is not commanding others, but is still a senior rank. Gibson and Clostermann can retain Wing Commander rank if they want to, since they will be also the CAG’s on their own ships. But the rest are straight navy.”

  “Naval air arm sort of thing?” asked Walter.

  “Something like that. But the ships are big enough a pilot rank makes no sense. So navy. Those who aren’t a full commander now, should be promoted with the appointment to the ship.”

  “Noted,” said Bigglesworth. “You want me to assign pilots to ships?”

  I pinged him the next six names on the Chaos class list. He paused a minute, obviously updating records.

  “So. Leonard Cheshire gets Furore. Kenneth Cross gets Frenzy. Albert Ball gets Uproar. Eddie Rickenbacker gets Calamity. Richard Bong gets Anarchy. And Clive Caldwell gets Entropy. That’s assuming things work out in the simulators the way I think they will.”

  “And who’s getting cruisers?” asked Walter.

  “William Bishop will get the first one out, and go to Dreamwalker. I’m thinking Werner Voss wi
ll also go to Dreamwalker, and Manfred Von Richthofen, Erich Hartmann, and Ernst Udet go to Lacey.”

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” I said. “Keep me in the loop as the ships come out.”

  “Will do.”

  “When all eight dreadnaughts are out, send the six to Greer, and divide them up into two fleets. Greer gets six. Promote Miriam to Fleet Admiral, and give her the other five.”

  Miriam had been disappointed not getting the promotion at the same time as Greer had, but she admitted it made no sense with only five ships. While she and Greer were not exactly rivals, they had both started as squadron leaders, he with heavy fighters, and she with medium. Greer had always been senior in terms of time in, but the last couple of promotions had been more or less together.

  Anyway, she was due, and being my ex-girlfriend had nothing to do with it. Odd how such a thought pops in there when you least expect it.

  “Any preference on who goes where?” asked Bigglesworth, bringing my thoughts back yet again.

  “Let Greer and Miriam sort it out. George won’t care. I’m not sure Annette will either. Not sure about Grace.”

  George had fought with both. Annette not so much, but was easy going enough to go where sent. Grace was something different, but she was the junior pilot until some of the new ones joined. The new promotees would be junior to her.

  He nodded.

  “Do you want to keep the fleets solely to Chaos class?”

  “Why?”

  “The Bhockah captaining Dauntless is a total nut job.”

  Odd. I’d met him, and he hadn't come across like that. Maybe command of a much more maneuverable ship than he was used to, was bringing out his inner kitten. The mind boggled.