Imperial Echoes

by Eric Thomson

  She grimaced.

  “The Regent will not be happy with this news.”

  “Understandably. Another human polity with the same capabilities as the Hegemony will almost inevitably present a threat. Perhaps not at once, but in the future, when we reunite humanity under our banner.” Torma paused for a moment. “Maybe we should track down the source of those rumors and see for ourselves.”

  He looked up at Robbins again.

  “I’ll raise the matter with General Bucco. He can decide whether it’s worth the Regent’s time.”

  Even as she spoke, Torma realized the Chief Commissioner wouldn’t mention this development to Vigdis Mandus. She wasn’t the sort who would welcome news that might disturb her nine-year term as ruler of the Hegemony. As far as Torma could tell, Mandus, like her immediate predecessors, paid only lip service to the ideal of reuniting humanity under Wyvern’s leadership. She seemed just as uninterested by the idea of sending expeditions to conquer the closest of the fallen worlds and slowly spread a new civilization, one purged of the defects that destroyed the empire. But what did he know? Mandus was even more of a cipher than the previous Regents, one who reached the pinnacle of power ahead of four-star flag officers with a greater claim to it.

  Yet Torma didn’t dare show his skepticism. Officers who disparaged the Hegemony’s ruling class saw their careers drastically cut short. His purpose, and that of every other State Security Commission member, was to make sure nothing ever threatened the current order. Yet his private study of the past proved that unchanging, stratified societies eventually perished, often violently, when conditions shifted.

  The regime’s reluctance to expand when nearby star systems were theirs for the taking showed how stagnant it was. No Regent wanted to be the first threatened with removal from power for upsetting the elites. And they would be annoyed at whoever sent military forces beyond the Hegemony’s sphere on a mission of conquest because it would make the home systems more vulnerable to unrest.

  Robbins stood and walked toward the bank of windows overlooking the HQ courtyard. Her third-floor office, one of the more spacious ones in the headquarters building at the heart of New Draconis, seemed austere, but it was an accurate reflection of her character. If it weren’t for wood paneling, the obligatory stand of flags, and the windows, it might pass for a storage room.

  Torma watched her movements and was struck again at how much menace she projected, though it had to be unconscious. Perhaps the Almighty had blessed her with a touch of the Sisters’ talent. Some of them, such as Ardrix, could put the fear of the Almighty into ordinary people with a simple glance if they so wished.

  “Shall I inform the Navy of my findings, General? Their intelligence analysts will probably consider the appearance of advanced tech items on Hatshepsut worthy of further inquiry. Perhaps the Chief of Naval Operations might even send a reconnaissance mission, in case there is a threat brewing beyond our sphere.”

  Though he didn’t see her face, Torma knew Robbins was frowning as she parsed the implications of his suggestion. She always frowned when facing delicate decisions. The two fighting branches of the Armed Services, the Navy and the Ground Forces, didn’t play well with the State Security Commission at the best of times. And this was despite the Chief Commissioner sitting on the Ruling Council alongside the other two service heads, the Regent, the Chancellor, and the four Consuls.

  Politics. Torma mentally shrugged. He was aware of a faction in the military that would gleefully embark on a campaign of expansion, as did General Robbins. But because successive Chief Commissioners remained opaque about their views on the matter, Torma and his colleagues left the Expansionists to seethe in silence at their leaders’ lack of energy. What ordinary citizens thought didn’t matter. They had no say in the affairs of state. Provided they obeyed the law, paid their taxes, and weren’t a burden on the public purse, the Commission didn’t bother them. And they understood attracting the Commission’s attention was a bad idea.

  Robbins turned and faced him. “Pass the details to Naval Intelligence personally, outside normal channels.”

  Torma kept his eyebrows from creeping up in surprise. He’d never figured Robbins was an Expansionist, or at the very least, sympathized with them.

  “In fact,” she continued, “I think you should speak with Rear Admiral Godfrey himself.”

  “Yes, General.”

  Johannes Godfrey, Chief of Naval Intelligence, favored the Hegemony’s expansion, though he kept his views well hidden. Torma only found out because of a chance remark by one of Godfrey’s subordinates. He’d filed the information away for future use, should an occasion arise. It was what Commission officers did for a living. Data hoarding, one of his juniors called it. They stored unguarded words for a rainy day or an interrogation. Did that prove Robbins was on the Expansionist side? If so, it was another tidbit he would add to the rest.

  Torma himself was agnostic on whether the Hegemony should pursue its stated and sacred mission of reuniting humanity across the stars. He would obey his superiors and protect the state to the best of his abilities, no matter what they decided.

  “I’ll tell him you’ll be in touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  Torma wondered what her words meant. Did Godfrey and Robbins enjoy a friendly relationship? Was she feeding him information collected by her investigators, thereby breaching the wall between the Commission and the Navy? Did Chief Commissioner Bucco know, or Robbins’ immediate superior, Commissioner Cabreras? And what was the quid pro quo from the Navy? There must be one. It was how the various parts of the Hegemony government worked with each other. Games within games within games. Some days, he needed a program to keep the network of quiet connections and backchannels straight.

  “You may go.”

  Torma stood, briefly came to attention, and nodded once instead of saluting since he didn’t wear a headdress.

  “General.”

  As he returned to his office, Torma idly wondered whether the long-gone Imperial Constabulary's inner workings had been as complex and twisted as those of the Commission. Unfortunately, he might never know. Most of the Constabulary’s records perished in the orbital bombardment of old Draconis, the former imperial capital. It had been unleashed by admirals of the 1st Fleet tired of watching the last empress destroy humanity. In the aftermath, they’d established the Hegemony and saved what little was left after the Retribution Fleet’s depredations.

  When he entered, he saw Sister Ardrix sitting on her meditation mat in the lotus position by her small desk. She opened one eye and speared him with her intense gaze, then glanced at the far end of the mat, her usual signal he should join her and unburden his soul. The difference between her usual persona and that in the interrogation chamber never failed to surprise him. Where he’d sensed nothing earlier, in the basement, he now perceived an aura of calm, as if she’d never unleashed the demons hiding behind Keter’s soul.

  Could Ardrix throw a switch and shut off the part of her that reached into the unwilling minds of others? Perhaps. Though she’d been his unit’s chief truth-sayer for over a year, he still knew little about the woman behind the always serene facade. It was as if she lived both in this world and another he couldn’t perceive.

  Torma obeyed her unvoiced command and adopted the lotus position facing her. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing pattern as she’d taught him while he let his thoughts roam freely. Ardrix was a strange woman. Ageless, like all those of her kind, she might be older than his mother, yet her unlined face would lead a casual observer to assume she was his junior.

  If Ardrix had ever spied on his innermost feelings, she’d never let on, though Torma was paranoid enough to believe she would mercilessly denounce him the moment she sensed disloyalty. Too many senior officers had taken abrupt retirement and vanished not long afterward for no apparent reasons during Torma’s career with the State Security Commission.

 
However, the meditation sessions after difficult interrogations helped him regain his mental balance, and for that, he felt grateful. But Torma never asked his colleagues whether the Sisters assigned to the Commission did the same with their commanding officers or whether Ardrix was going above and beyond her duties for reasons only she understood. And if so, why?

  “How did the general react?” She asked the moment both opened their eyes after surfacing from a deep dive into the Infinite Void.

  Torma thought about it for a moment, then said, “Interested, curious, but somehow aware our superiors might not welcome the news. She asked I pass our findings on to the head of Naval Intelligence in person and that she would open the lines of communication for me.”

  A copper-tinted eyebrow crept up Ardrix’s pale forehead.

  “Fascinating.”

  “Strange more like.”

  Torma rose and waited until Ardrix did the same before bowing.

  “This could be our first actual evidence someone else survived Dendera’s holocaust. But I fear we might never find out who they are, how they survived the Retribution Fleet, and where they’ve been hiding if our betters suppress the evidence in the name of avoiding social unrest. The myth of being the last survivors is too deeply ingrained in our people.”

  “Those who command the Navy’s fighting formations still have fire in their bellies. Once news reaches them, they will do everything in their power to track the origin of the items Keter brought back from Hatshepsut.” Ardrix’s soft alto voice seemed wrapped around a core of absolute certainty.

  “And you know this how?”

  Instead of answering, she gave him a mysterious smile.

  “If you have no more tasks for me, I shall bid you a good day and rejoin my Brethren at the abbey.”

  “Right. The Order has its own grapevine. Enjoy your evening, Sister.”

  — 3 —

  ––––––––

  Once back in the New Draconis Abbey, the Order of the Void Reborn’s Mother House, Ardrix sought Archimandrite Bolack, the Order’s Summus Abbas. Though he led the Hegemony’s only official religious organization, Bolack, like his predecessors, lived as simply as any Sister or Friar. At this time of day, he would be engaged in a walking meditation among the abbey’s extensive orchards, and so she made her way through the quadrangle, around the Void Reborn Orb dominating its center, and past the main buildings.

  Set on New Draconis’ southern outskirts, the abbey had been built as a precise copy of the one destroyed during the empire’s final collapse. It even looked as old as Wyvern’s earliest settlements, those established during humanity’s quasi-mythical first age of expansion when an almost forgotten Earth still ruled. But it was endowed with a much larger tract of land than its earlier incarnation, one the Brethren farmed intensively.

  When she found Bolack’s usual path, she composed herself and stood on one side, hands folded in front of her. If he was ready to speak, the Archimandrite would stop. If not, he would continue walking, and Ardrix would continue waiting.

  Within a few minutes, a dark-complexioned, heavy-set, bald man in his late sixties came into view. His intense, hooded eyes beneath bushy eyebrows framed a flattened nose set at the center of a square face outlined by a short salt and pepper beard. Bolack’s sole concession to the display of rank was the small Void Reborn Orb hanging around his neck from a simple silver chain. Otherwise, he wore the same practical monastic robes as any Friar.

  Acceding to Ardrix’s silent request, Bolack stopped a few paces distant, and she bowed her head with the amount of respect due to the head of her Order.

  “Yes, Sister?”

  The Archimandrite’s basso profundo bounced off the pear trees surrounding them.

  “My day has been most eventful, and there are things you should know.”

  Bolack tilted his head to one side, a sign she should speak freely, and Ardrix recounted Keter’s interrogation, with emphasis on the goods Keter brought back from Hatshepsut.

  “And you saw those items?”

  “I did. Crevan allowed me to inspect them.”

  A faint smile split Bolack’s beard.

  “He trusts you to that extent? Excellent.”

  “Crevan accepted my tutelage in matters spiritual and meditates with me regularly, especially after we deal with subversives. From there, I built a closer rapport than my fellow Commission Sisters enjoy with their assigned officers.”

  “Then matters are unfolding better than I’d hoped. And the objects?”

  “I recognized several of them as high-quality alloy surgical instruments. Items of recent manufacture, better than what the healing Sisters use. They most certainly weren’t produced on Hatshepsut, nor were they relics of the empire.” She pulled a small notepad from one of her robe’s inner pockets. “The instruments bore small markings in hidden spots. I reproduced them from memory.”

  Ardrix activated the pad and held it up so Bolack could see. Surprise creased the Archimandrite’s broad forehead when he recognized part of the marking, three nine-pointed stars inside an orb.

  “That looks suspiciously like an imperial-era Void abbey imprint. But I’m not familiar with the initials. From memory, there was no abbey whose name started with an L on a world whose name also started with an L during imperial times. Even the Mother House on Lindisfarne used AL, for Aidan/Lindisfarne, if I recall correctly.”

  “You do. That is indeed the former Order of the Void mark. I verified the records while Crevan was with Admiral Godfrey. As far as we can tell, there was no abbey using L/L at any time in our history before the Great Scouring.”

  Bolack’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated Ardrix’s drawing. The Order of the Void Reborn used a different imprint, a phoenix rising from the flames within a circle representing the Infinite Void’s Orb.

  “Then it can only mean there’s a new abbey out there, one founded after the empire’s collapse and not part of the Order Reborn.”

  She nodded.

  “An abbey which manufactures higher quality surgical instruments than we or anyone else in the Hegemony. Or someone is using the old Order’s markings for unknown reasons. Sure, the stars and orb were once a sign of quality, but it’s unlikely anyone remembers those days.”

  Bolack scratched his beard and grimaced.

  “The simplest explanation is usually correct. There is another on a world with which Wyvern lost contact. But where? There are at least half a dozen worlds I can think of whose names begin with L. And that’s without contemplating the possibility this L was colonized after the fall or disappeared from the astrogation records because of data integrity issues caused by the Great Scouring’s battles.” He glanced at Ardrix. “Did you discuss the markings with Colonel Torma?”

  “No. I wanted to speak with you first and confirm my conclusions by perusing our archives.” She paused for a moment. “If you’re wondering whether the Ruling Council will be more likely to order a reconnaissance expedition based on the inscriptions, I can’t say.”

  “Are you reading my mind now?”

  He gave her a mischievous glance. As head of the Order, he possessed a powerful male mind, and no Sister dare probe it without his knowledge. She knew he was teasing her and ignored his question.

  “If I tell Crevan, I’m sure he’ll inform the Chief of Naval Intelligence, and from what I hear, it will stir things up. Intelligence has been quietly militating for expeditions into the former empire in recent times. But proof some part of it beyond our star systems retained FTL space travel and the ability to manufacture advanced artifacts might trigger a political crisis.”

  He contemplated Ardrix for a few seconds, eyes searching hers.

  “A valid warning. You’ve learned well from your time with the Commission. What do you suggest?”

  “I’ll show Crevan the markings tomorrow morning and explain what we just discussed. If I don’t, he will eventually
find out the stars and orb were imperial-era abbey manufacturing marks and wonder why I said nothing about them. That might affect his trust in me.”

  “Indeed. And with things going so well, any setback would be a shame...” Bolack left his words hanging between them. “I give you my blessing. Tell Colonel Torma about the markings. Perhaps he or Naval Intelligence can make an educated guess as to what L/L might mean. I confess I’m curious about answers to this mystery. If Brethren from the old Order are prospering out there, it will make life interesting.”

  “You’re afraid they might consider us schismatics?” Amusement danced in Ardrix’s pale eyes. “Or an evolutionary step too far?”

  Bolack let out a bark of laughter, proving she’d hit the mark.

  “You may go. Search the records and speak with Torma tomorrow. Then tell me how he reacts.”

  She bowed her head.

  “As you wish.”

  Ardrix turned on her heels and retraced her steps through the orchard and back to the abbey’s building cluster. Throughout, she felt the Archimandrite’s thoughtful eyes following her. Evidence that a house of the old Order was engaging in the trade of advanced items could only mean it enjoyed the protection of a faster-than-light fleet, or at least had access to one. That fleet would be perceived by the Hegemony as a rival, if not an enemy, and Bolack knew it, though he’d not raised the matter. It revived the specter of warfare between human factions, a final war that might end the species once and for all.

  **

  “Show me.” Torma stood and headed for his office lockup, where he kept evidence during an investigation, in this case, samples from Captain Keter’s confiscated cargo. He placed his palm on the door’s reader, and a soft snick announced the latches had retracted. Torma reached in and retrieved the box marked surgical instruments.