by Eric Thomson
After returning to his desk, he withdrew bagged items one by one and placed them in front of Ardrix, who had her notes ready with the records she’d retrieved from the abbey’s database. She carefully took a set of shiny surgical scissors from one bag and turned them over until she found the tiny engraving. Using her notepad, she magnified it and nodded.
“Three nine-pointed stars inside an orb, with the notation L/L. I’m no expert, but these don’t look like they were manufactured in Dendera’s day.” She carefully ran her thumbnail over the edge of one blade, then studied it. “Sharp. Perhaps even unused.”
Ardrix let Torma compare the engraving with the old Order records on her pad, then returned the scissors to their bag before examining a pair of forceps.
“The same marks.” She looked up at Torma. “According to the records, abbeys would commission the manufacture of surgical instruments, both for their healers and as gifts for non-Order infirmaries, and have the maker engrave the abbey’s mark. That way, everyone knew the provenance. The instruments would be simple, so even the most rustic colonial health care providers could use them in the absence of power sources. And they’d be made to last a lifetime without sharpening, oxidizing, or falling apart.”
“Then they might be artifacts from the imperial era.” Torma perched on a corner of the desk and watched Ardrix go through the samples.
“That is always a possibility. Unfortunately, the metallurgical analysis didn’t offer enough clues linking them to know imperial manufacturers. But here is the most important indication.” Ardrix pointed at the L/L inscription on a scalpel whose blade was sheathed in hard plastic. “Based on our records, no old Order abbey used this particular letter combination.”
“Perhaps the data was lost during the ultimate attack on Dendera’s capital. A lot of records vanished during that time.”
She inclined her head.
“A definite possibility. But think of it this way. Pre-industrial healers can use those instruments, making them perfect trading goods on fallen worlds, yet their manufacture is beyond any of them. Coupled with the other items Keter brought back, I think we’re not looking at leftovers from the distant past. This is fine work, finer than anything we’ve saved from imperial days.”
Torma stood. “I’ll see if the lab can deduce anything from those engravings.”
“Will you bring this to Admiral Godfrey’s attention?”
“You better believe it, Sister. If you’re correct, this is momentous news. Why not bring the matter up yesterday, so I could inform General Robbins?”
“I had to be sure and needed a few hours in our records hall.” She gave him an amused smile. “You taught me I should always confirm before speaking, lest we make the sort of mistakes that might damage investigations beyond all repair.”
“So I did. Glad we can teach each other new tricks. Will you prepare a full report on your findings? I’m sure Admiral Godfrey would like something his analysts can work with.”
“Of course. Give me an hour. I’m not due in interrogation until ten.”
Torma settled behind his desk.
“Which case is on the menu?”
“Administrator Kai Ornelas. Charges of perverting the course of justice.”
He nodded.
“Right. Centurion Yau’s investigation. A nasty customer, that Ornelas.”
Since official corruption came under the subversion umbrella, Major General Robbins’ division investigated those accused of taking bribes. But Torma found such cases more annoying than satisfying, grubby rather than cleansing. He rarely took them on himself unless the quarry was of sufficient stature that nothing less than a full colonel heading a central Anti-Subversion section would do.
But the Hegemony didn’t lack for corrupt officials, no matter how severe the penalties because — and no one in his or her right mind would ever say so openly — many, if not most, got away with it thanks to political patronage.
— 4 —
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Torma returned the two sentries’ crisp present-arms with an equally precise salute as he climbed the Navy Headquarters' front steps the next morning. Though they were there more for ceremonial purposes than actual security, both wore black battledress uniforms, the Guards Corps black beret with the Navy’s phoenix, sword, and crossed anchors badge, and carried well-used plasma carbines.
Navy HQ, along with Ground Forces HQ and Commission HQ, occupied one corner of the Hegemony Government Precinct at the heart of New Draconis. An inner security perimeter separated the three from the other ministries, one that only visitors whose names appeared on the approved list could cross. As a result, the Guards Corps sector was a forbidden city within the capital for all intents and purposes, a distinction it shared with the nearby Regent’s Wyvern Palace and its counterpart, the Chancellery.
Armored glass doors slid aside at his approach, and he entered a spacious foyer whose granite floor was decorated with the Hegemony coat of arms. He knew an invisible sensor would scan his credentials and match them to the biometrics on record in the expansive Hegemony database, maintained by the Commission itself. If there was a mismatch, armed duty personnel would appear out of nowhere and arrest him. But nothing stirred.
Torma looked around to orient himself and check if anything had changed since his last visit. The huge, metallic representation of the Guards Navy insignia still hung from the far wall, between a pair of grandiose staircases curling away toward the building’s wings, above the flags of the Hegemony, the Guards Corps, and the Navy.
Various display cases lined the remaining sides, each holding relics from the empire’s downfall, including a piece of the Retribution Fleet’s flagship, the battleship Ruggero, destroyed by the combined might of the 1st Fleet on the day of Empress Dendera’s death. Although tempted, Torma didn’t walk around the foyer to see if the Navy added anything new to its collection. Instead, he took the left-hand ground-floor corridor toward the Naval Intelligence offices.
Because he wore the Commission’s phoenix, sword, and scales of justice insignia on his beret, he received curious looks from naval officers and noncoms along the way. Still, no one dared ask him about his business with one of the fighting branches. The appearance of a senior State Security officer never boded well. Torma found Rear Admiral Godfrey’s office suite at the far end of the wing and entered the antechamber without announcing his presence.
Godfrey’s clerk, a grizzled senior petty officer, wearing a high-collared black service uniform with silver rank insignia on the sleeves, stood the moment he spied Torma’s crossed swords and diamonds. The aide-de-camp’s desk was vacant, though a metallic plate in a wooden holder said ‘Krennek.’
“Please come in, Colonel. Admiral Godfrey is expecting you.”
He waved toward the inner door, which opened silently at Torma’s approach.
Mindful of his manners, Torma marched up to Godfrey’s desk, halted a regulation three paces, and saluted, fingertips brushing his right temple, just below the band of his black beret.
“Thank you for making time to see me, sir.”
Godfrey, tall, lean, with thick white hair and the intelligent features of a man who missed nothing, gave his visitor a formal nod in return.
“At ease, Colonel. Please sit. From what Ishani said, I’ll be the one thanking you.”
Torma didn’t react at hearing a Navy flag officer casually use his superior’s first name. Still, it reinforced his suspicions that there were more connections between the Commission and the Navy than anyone let on.
“Sir.”
Torma took one of the chairs facing Godfrey’s cluttered desk.
“Ishani says you found evidence there could be another remnant of the empire that didn’t sink into pre-spaceflight barbarism.”
“Yes, sir. We seized trade goods from a merchant ship that traveled beyond Hegemony star systems without permission after an anonymous ti
poff. Unknown parties chartered him, and he brought advanced technology artifacts back from Hatshepsut, the sort we’d be hard-pressed to copy without diminishing quality. It means they were made by someone who not only didn’t lose knowledge after the collapse but kept progressing. And some of those items, surgical instruments, bear the manufacturing mark of an old Order of the Void abbey, one whose initials don’t appear in what remains of imperial records. That means it was probably established after the Great Scouring.”
Godfrey cocked a surprised eyebrow at Torma.
“I was about to ask whether those artifacts could be of non-human origin, but it seems you’ve just given me the answer. Instead, please tell me about those abbey markings.”
“There’s not much I can tell, sir. The Void Reborn Sister assigned to my unit recognized the engraving as an old Order mark — three nine-pointed stars inside an orb rather than a rising phoenix — and the initials L/L, which indicate the abbey name and the name of its home planet. According to the New Draconis Abbey’s database, there was no L/L at the time of the empire’s collapse. But as with most records from that time, the Void Reborn’s are not one hundred percent complete.”
“And that trader knows nothing about the items’ origins?”
Torma shook his head.
“No. Although he asked for provenance, the vendor on Hatshepsut couldn’t tell him anything beyond the fact they were given in barter by locals, part of a seafaring society heavily involved in trade, who got them from off-worlders. I gather the vendor wasn’t keen on revealing too much. And since Keter — that’s my prisoner’s name — was alone, he didn’t press the issue, lest he finds himself a target far from any sort of help.” Torma fished a memory chip from his tunic pocket and placed it on Godfrey’s desk. “This holds everything we know, sir. I made sure the chip and the data can’t be traced to the Commission.”
A cold smile briefly twisted the Admiral’s lips.
“Ishani said you were a shrewd man, Colonel. Good. Anyone who’s attuned to Hegemony politics can go far, so long as he takes care where he steps. In return for your discretion, I’ll discourage my analysts from speculating about the source of this information. That way, we keep the firewall between the Navy and the Commission intact. And the parties unknown who chartered him?”
“They used the usual cutouts on the darknet, so they’re effectively untraceable, but Keter submitted a report before we arrested him, so they know about what he found and brought home. No doubt, by now, they’re also aware he’s in our hands and told us everything he knows, meaning they’ll make sure there is nothing left that could connect them.”
“No doubt.” Godfrey studied Torma for a few seconds. “You’re probably wondering what I’ll do with your information.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you won’t ask.”
“No, sir. Mainly because of that firewall you mentioned. My job is rooting out the state's enemies, not following up on intelligence that is, at best, extraneous to my investigation. I have Keter dead to rights. He’ll face a trial in due course, and if found guilty, he’ll be executed.”
“If?” A mischievous smile appeared on Godfrey’s lips. “Don’t you mean when? No need to answer that, Colonel. But you’re still curious, admit it.”
“Certainly. Evidence that one or more star systems survived the collapse and are sending starships through the wormhole network without our knowledge is the biggest news in living memory. Until now, we believed ourselves the sole heirs of humanity’s accumulated knowledge and history.”
“Which is precisely why many would suppress your discovery. Overturning the belief that kept the Hegemony as it is for almost two centuries might not end well for our people, especially those whose power and wealth are intimately woven into our founding myth. They’ll not look kindly on any chance of upsetting the status quo.”
Torma grimaced.
“Sadly.” Then a thought struck him. “Is this why General Robbins had me brief you personally, sir? So that word gets out no matter what?”
Godfrey nodded.
“Reality will unfold as it does, no matter what humans want, and you can’t stop a signal if it’s repeated over many channels. I’ll see that Ground Forces Intelligence receives a copy of your report, again unattributed, and I’m sure Ishani will do her part. That covers the three services. What happens afterward will happen. Thank you, Colonel.”
Torma, hearing dismissal in Godfrey’s tone, stood and came to attention.
“With your permission, sir?”
“Dismissed.”
Torma saluted, pivoted on his heels, and marched out, wondering whether he’d just been co-opted by a cabal of senior officers working to rouse the Hegemony’s senior leadership from its complacent torpor. If so, he would take part willingly because he knew from his lifelong study of humanity’s history, including parts the regime would rather keep buried, that societies in stasis eventually decayed.
And if the rising number of corruption cases was any sign, the rot was already setting in. Left untended, it could just as surely end the last spark of star-faring civilization as the long-ago Retribution Fleet’s orbital bombardments almost did. Only it would take years, if not decades, leaving most unaware the end was nigh.
Torma crossed the broad parade square separating the three HQs from each other at a steady pace, absently returning salutes as he brooded on the idea of not only stopping the rot he saw in every sector of society but reversing it.
A message to see General Robbins at once upon his return from Navy HQ sat on his desk. As per schedule, Ardrix was helping with another interrogation in the basement. Therefore, after dropping his beret on his desk, Torma took the stairs up to his superior’s office. Her door stood open, so he tapped on the jamb with his knuckles to gain her attention.
“You asked for me, General?”
“Come in. Close the door and sit.”
Torma did as he was bidden and settled into a chair across from her, waiting for the inevitable questions.
“How did Admiral Godfrey react?”
“With great interest. I believe he’ll pursue the matter via intelligence channels within his organization and that of his Ground Forces counterpart. He said words to the effect that one cannot suppress a signal if it’s spread through multiple channels.”
By the cast of her eyes, Torma guessed Godfrey and Robbins spoke over a secure channel while he was on his way back. In other words, Robbins was testing him.
“And what do you think he meant?”
Torma thought for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully.
“Admiral Godfrey believes the news of another world or star system cluster not only surviving the Great Scouring but advancing technologically would be quashed. It proves the Hegemony is not the sole custodian of humanity’s long history and its best hope of reviving an interstellar civilization.”
She cocked an ironic eyebrow at him.
“Thereby going against the state’s founding narrative.”
Torma gave her a helpless shrug.
“Inevitably, and it will invalidate a system of government built on existential preservation at any cost, one which cannot be questioned without committing treason against humanity itself. It’s the sort of paradigm shift many will resist, especially those whose whole existence is tied to said narrative.”
She contemplated him for a few moments.
“Did you ever hear the saying about hard times making hard people?”
“Yes. Hard times bring forth hard people, hard people create soft times, soft times make soft people, and soft people lead to hard times, correct?”
“Indeed. And where are we in this cycle?”
He thought for a moment.
“We’re frozen halfway between hard times making hard people and hard people making soft times.”
“Correct. Stasis. And what do you think will happen now that the sig
nal is being dispersed over several channels, to use Johannes Godfrey’s words?”
“I truly couldn’t say, General.”
“But you’re okay with it?”
He looked Robbins in the eyes.
“I have devoted my life to the pursuit of truth in service of the Hegemony and its citizens. If there are others like us out there, they could be either a threat or an opportunity, and suppressing the reality of their existence won’t serve anyone.”
If she faulted his brush with heresy, then so be it. Fate, or the Almighty, or an impish universe, take your pick, put narrative-shattering evidence in his care. The moment he opted against suppressing it in the name of truth and duty, even though he’d done so unconsciously, he’d embarked on a path of no return.
“Then we understand each other, Crevan. Keep your prisoner alive and well. He might be of further use. And do not discuss the matter with anyone other than Sister Ardrix and me, not even if Commissioner Cabreras presses you.”
“As you command, General.” A faint sense of relief coursed through his veins as he stood. “With your permission.”
“Dismissed.”
— 5 —
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As Torma expected, the Commission’s Torrinos Group was lukewarm about investigating the Torrinos Eight antimatter refueling station manager. Whether it stemmed from the usual truculence at doing Wyvern HQ’s bidding or because of a coverup, he couldn’t tell. Even the State Security Commission, especially its groups in the three subordinate star systems, occasionally suffered from bouts of official corruption and needed cleansing from one of Major General Robbins’ teams.
Torma had done his share of those over the years. But short of traveling to Torrinos and making himself even more unpopular with his colleagues there, he couldn’t do much but wait for the inevitable inconclusive report. That meant his efforts to find the people who chartered Keter and his ship were likely doomed.
However, Torma’s unit didn’t lack for cases, and many days passed without a further word about the possibility of another advanced tech-producing human entity capable of faster-than-light and wormhole travel. It was as if his superiors had consigned the news to the nearest black hole. As instructed, he didn’t discuss the matter with anyone, not even Ardrix or Robbins. The subject never came up, and Torma wasn’t the type who indulged in idle conversation. After all, he was known as ‘Torma the Taciturn’ by his colleagues for a reason.