Imperial Echoes

by Eric Thomson

  This time, Fenrir laughed uproariously.

  “You got me there, Sister.”

  “Back to this Crimple. Would he speak with one of us?”

  He shrugged.

  “If you make it worth his while, I’d say so. The man sells everything and anything, information included. But you can’t just wander over and knock on his door. It’s at least a two-week trip in a ship like mine with a better than even chance of sighting pirates in the Central Passage. If you’d rather avoid the Passage, it means going around the Saqqara Islands the long way. And at this time of the year, the seas are rough in both the northern and the southern latitudes. Even more so when you’re headed into the prevailing winds down south. There’s a reason we call them the Roaring Forties. As we mariners say, there’s no law below forty and no God below fifty, so it’s best we stick closer to the equator or go around to the north. A shame you don’t keep one of those spaceship shuttles for your own use.”

  She put on a resigned air.

  “Indeed, but we must be practical. Who’d maintain them? And where would we obtain fuel? One day, yes. In the meantime, travel across this world is by sail and Stirling engine, even for missionaries from Lyonesse.”

  Fenrir took a sip of iced tea while studying Hermina with a calculating look she knew only too well from interacting with Theban merchant captains.

  “If the priory can charter Aswan Trader, I’ll take you to Mazaber. My expenses, plus a small profit, perhaps paid in Lyonesse-manufactured goods I can use for barter at the other end. Say a five-week round trip.”

  “And what would your expenses plus a small profit look like?”

  “Nothing a fountain of modern wonders such as your priory can’t afford, Sister.”

  Her smile returned.

  “We don’t as yet manufacture those modern wonders. They come in via supply ships, which means finite quantities, especially since Hatshepsut is at the far end of Lyonesse’s network. But perhaps we can figure something out. In fact, if I turn the trip into a reconnaissance and see whether Mazaber might suit for a new mission in a few years—”

  Fenrir’s snort cut her short.

  “I can already tell you the answer is no. What’s the old expression for places like that? A cesspool of scum and villainy?”

  “Something of the sort, but that’s where the Almighty is most needed, don’t you think? However, as I said, the trip could be a reconnaissance as well as finding out what this Dave Crimple knows about the provenance of your railguns.” She drained her glass. “But first, I’d like to examine the weapons along with Friar Metrobius, who served in the Lyonesse Defense Force as a young man and therefore knows more about them than anyone else here.”

  “Metrobius, a soldier? He looks like everyone’s favorite uncle.”

  “Spacer, actually. He was a petty officer back in the day, a boatswain’s mate trained in small arms handling. His time aboard starships gave him a deeper appreciation of the Void, and when his contract was up, he postulated with the Order.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “You and he have more in common than you may think. I’m sure you spend night watches staring at a clear, star-lit sky on occasion, no?”

  Fenrir bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Some of my best memories are of reclining on the deck after full dark and looking up at a universe that once teemed with my fellow humans. It’s both awe-inspiring and depressing. So many dead.”

  She made a sad face.

  “Up to ninety percent of our species, most historians say. I’m not sure it was that dire, but the imperial records we collected on Lyonesse tell us Hatshepsut had upwards of five hundred million inhabitants in the final years. When our survey ship scanned this world five years ago, it picked up maybe fifty million distinct life signs. One-tenth of the original population, which means only one-tenth of that likely survived the Retribution Fleet after it scoured the major population centers. Five million out of five hundred million. Ninety-nine percent dead at Dendera’s hands. There is no hell deep enough for her rancid soul.”

  “And yet we prevail.” Fenrir raised his glass before draining it. “While Dendera and her empire are gone. So, what’ll it be, Sister? A charter to Mazaber for a few of your Brethren?”

  “Yes. You, me, and Metrobius will discuss the modalities after we examine your weapons.”

  “Are you busy this afternoon?”

  “What time?”

  “Would fourteen-hundred suit?”

  “It would. Thank you for trusting me with this, Lars. If the railguns didn’t come from Lyonesse but from another world that either survived the collapse or rebuilt at breakneck speed, it would mean a significant realignment of our efforts to rebuild a human community across the stars.”

  “You make that sound ominous, Sister. Should I be worried?”

  Hermina gave him a reassuring smile as she stood.

  “No. Metrobius and I will see you this afternoon.”

  Fenrir imitated her and bowed his head at the neck.

  “Always a pleasure, Sister.”

  “Likewise, and don’t worry. You brought us a mystery worth solving, and I thank you for it and for your honesty.”

  — 17 —

  At the appointed time, Hermina and Metrobius, a stocky, white-haired, kindly-faced man with an equally white beard and twinkling blue eyes beneath thick brows, walked up Aswan Trader’s gangplank. The first mate met them with due courtesy under the side-to-side awning, which provided the only bit of shade beneath shimmering white masts and spars, the latter hugged by tightly furled sails.

  Even over Thebe’s expansive harbor, the still afternoon air felt like it had escaped from an open furnace. But low, dark clouds over the ocean racing toward them promised relief in the form of a rainstorm, provided it came over the archipelago instead of skirting it like so many this year. Upon spying the distant squall as she and the chief administrator headed downhill toward town, Hermina had prayed the Almighty would grant them relief, not just because of the stifling heat but because the ripening crops inland desperately needed rain.

  Though Theban agricultural practices were about as good as they got in societies on the verge of industrializing, irrigation remained a constant issue, as did fertilization and land use. Hermina hoped a new contingent of Brethren, agronomists, and civil engineers among them, would show up within the next year or two. It wasn’t enough that Thebes could export foodstuffs; it would soon become imperative they also export know-how under the Brethren’s gentle prodding, so the more primitive parts of Hatshepsut embarked on the long climb back up the industrialization ladder.

  They followed the first mate down a flight of stairs and aft along a narrow passageway to the captain’s quarters above the three-master’s giant rudder. The man knocked twice on a wooden door at the end of the corridor and, upon hearing a gruff ‘enter,’ opened it and led them into a brightly lit cabin that spanned the width of the deck.

  A cot hung from thick deckhead beams on the starboard side, while a desk occupied space beneath open windows on the port side. A table surrounded by chairs dominated the center, and on it sat a long, narrow carrying case made of a material that assuredly did not originate on Hatshepsut. Lars Fenrir, who stood behind it, nodded politely.

  “Welcome.” He swept his arm over the case. “You may inspect it as you wish.”

  Hermina and Metrobius inclined their heads as the former said, “Thank you.”

  Under his superior’s watchful eyes, the Friar approached the table and ran his fingertips over the case.

  “A plastic compound of sorts, no doubt. A hard shell impervious to anything but a direct hit, I’d say. It resembles nothing we use on Lyonesse for weaponry storage and transport.”

  He found the latches and popped them open, then raised the lid and examined the case’s contents.

  “That’s a railgun, no doubt about it. Twelve or fifteen millimeters. I see four pow
er packs and a high-efficiency solar collector array to charge them. None of these look like anything made by Lyonesse Arsenals, which equips the Defense Force or any manufacturers serving the civilian market. Granted, I’ve been out of the Service for a while now, but the basic design and basic look and feel changes little over the generations. If it works well, don’t modify things just for the sake of it, I always say.”

  Metrobius looked up at Fenrir and chuckled.

  “As my old divisional chief used to say, overthinking design doesn’t necessarily mean better, but it could easily mean clogging the drains, and on a starship, that’s the last thing you want. May I handle the weapon and see an example of the slugs you bought?”

  “Sure.” Fenrir pulled a dull gray, tapered cylinder from his pocket and placed it on the table. “You’re right, fifteen millimeters. We checked. Makes nasty holes in wooden boat hulls. Nastier ones in human flesh.”

  “Aye, it would. The hydrostatic shock from the transfer of kinetic energy when it enters a body is hard on human tissue. I doubt any of the pirates you hit survived, even if they didn’t drown.” Metrobius reached into the case and lifted out the gun. “Heavier than ours. Not a dismounted infantry weapon, let alone any good for boarding parties. However, I’ll wager it would do for long-distance sniper work, what with its large caliber and the flat trajectory you get from the energy discharge of a barrel this long.”

  He turned the weapon over in his hands, studying every nook and cranny until he found proof marks on the barrel’s underside.

  “Definitely not made on Lyonesse. I don’t recognize those marks. Ours always include a representation of a Vanger’s Condor.” Metrobius glanced at Fenrir again. “Our national symbol, a large, double-headed bird of prey with its wings outstretched. Except the real version, flying high above our mountains only has one head. This mark includes a sort of avian as well, but vastly different from ours. If I were a fanciful type, I’d almost think it was a phoenix rising from the flames. I also see the letters W and H and three digits, seven, one, four, so we know it’s of human provenance.”

  Metrobius carefully worked the action to make sure the firing chamber held no ammunition, then inserted a powerpack into a slot on one side of the butt. He watched as electricity awakened the gun’s small control screen, confirming the electromagnets that would propel slugs were charging. A few seconds later, the Friar let out a soft grunt.

  “Not as smooth or as quick to go live as the ones I trained on with the Marines, to be sure. But well balanced and likely as accurate as any railgun in existence. Mind you, that’s just my gut feel. Whoever manufactured this must be at almost the same technological level as Lyonesse. Perhaps a little behind, considering the quality isn’t what our Navy would accept back when I served.” Metrobius powered down the weapon, released the powerpack, and returned both to their place.

  Then he picked up the solar charger and studied it intently.

  “Our ground forces also use the like. The thing doesn’t seem as well machined, nor are its marks anything I can recognize, but it’ll no doubt charge packs if you can’t access a power source which is pretty much everywhere on Hatshepsut beyond the priory walls. Did you try, Captain?”

  Fenrir nodded.

  “Aye. The moment we left Mazaber, and a good thing too. Thankfully, the instructions that come with it are easily decipherable even by heathens like us.”

  “Ah yes, instructions.” Metrobius opened a pocket under the lid and retrieved a plasticized booklet. He scanned each page carefully, then glanced up at Hermina. “Written in Anglic, the same as our version, using soldier-proof language your slowest trooper can understand. Nothing else that identifies provenance, except for a larger version of the proof mark. That’s definitely a phoenix.”

  He turned his eyes on Fenrir. “How long did it take to charge the power packs?”

  “From what I could tell, they were at half when we bought them, and it was at least three hours exposed to the equatorial sun before they reached full.”

  The Friar nodded knowingly.

  “Meaning a full charge would take most of the afternoon. That’s slow compared with ours, even those we use to keep the priory’s emergency power banks full. It might indicate they’re a bit behind us. Perhaps a generation or so.” He eyed Fenrir again. “Wait until you folks manufacture your own solar collectors based on our designs. Your power packs won’t need more than an hour, ninety minutes tops, for a complete charge from empty. Heck, even the powerpack designs will be better and give you more shots before dying, pun intended.”

  He turned to Hermina.

  “We must find out more about these off-worlders who sell railguns on planets without large-scale power generation. This is huge. The folks back home will want answers, which makes a quick trip to Mazaber imperative before the next supply ship arrives.”

  “When is it due?” Fenrir asked.

  “If they keep the schedule, in four or five weeks, perhaps even less.”

  “And a round trip with seven days in port at the other end means five weeks, but we can’t tarry. The winds are uncertain at this time of year and relying on engine power alone means a much slower trip. She fairly flies under full sail. Until we use something better than Stirling engines and can build larger screws, sail means speed, and yes, that was a hint.” He winked at the prioress.

  Hermina gave him a resigned look. “Name your price, Lars.”

  “Let me see the priory’s high-tech storeroom, and I’ll tell you what I want.”

  She glanced at Metrobius, who shrugged.

  “We don’t have gemstones or precious metals, and I doubt Captain Fenrir plans on bartering his services for those of our healers and teachers.”

  “Very well. How about you come to the priory in the morning, say around oh-nine-hundred, and Metrobius will show you what we can offer?”

  Fenrir nodded once, a pleased expression on his deeply tanned face.

  “Done.”

  Metrobius picked up the slug. “May I keep this? When our ship arrives, I’ll hand it to the crew, and they’ll take it home for analysis.”

  “Of course, but I’ll be looking for a little extra tomorrow morning since we can’t yet manufacture railgun ammunition, and every round is precious.”

  Both Brethren exchanged amused glances.

  “Fair enough, though Lyonesse might advance a few things on Hatshepsut’s timetable now that another player has introduced electromagnetic weaponry. And if your metal smiths are open to new ideas, we might show them ways of producing replacement slugs, though they won’t be as finely machined nor as high density as these.”

  Fenrir escorted them back to the gangway and watched them amble down the pier until they vanished behind one of the warehouses, wondering how he could squeeze the most from this unexpected development. Getting in the Brethren’s good graces was, of course, step one.

  **

  When Hermina and Metrobius were halfway up the hill, and well beyond anyone’s earshot, the latter allowed himself a brief chuckle.

  “You know our friend Lars will see that he gets the better part of the bargain, right? None of us have even the remotest idea what chartering a barquentine for five weeks might cost.”

  “Oh, I know. I could sense his glee at the chance of inspecting our little supply depot. He dreams of becoming the wealthiest, most powerful shipowner in the Republic of Thebes, that’s clear. Having us as his best friends will only help if the government puts obstacles in his way. And yet, finding out about those mysterious others is worth every expense. Hatshepsut might quickly become a buffer system between two human polities capable of traveling the wormhole network, and our leadership will want to know everything we can discover.”

  “No arguments here. But who will we send? Certainly not you or me. But it should include a Sister with a powerful talent since this Mazaber merchant might not be free with his knowledge. However, losing even one h
ealer for weeks at a time isn’t a good option.”

  “Rianne. She’s stronger than the rest of us. We can spare a counselor more than a surgeon. A Friar with technical knowledge should go with her.”

  “Horam, then. As a bonus, he can fight like a berserker should they meet with trouble. That railgun would be a plaything in his hands, a precise and lethal toy.”

  “Which he will hopefully never use, but I agree. Rianne and Horam it is. Should we add a pair of locals to the team, one of the new Sisters and Friars?”

  He nodded.

  “Yes. I think Friar Alcide would be an asset. He’s smart, fearless, and almost as big as Horam. May I suggest Sister Lilith as the fourth member?”

  She turned her head and glanced at him through narrowed eyes without breaking step.

  “Why?”

  “Something tells me an adventure of this sort will help her talent flourish, especially under Rianne’s tutelage.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, oh. And you know I’m right.”

  This time it was her turn to chuckle.

  “How is it you can read my mind as well as I can read yours? Lilith was my choice even before you spoke her name.”

  “Our Mother House matches its missionary teams carefully, particularly the Sisters named prioresses and the Friars who would be their administrators. It’s almost as if they deliberately engineer a true meeting of the minds. A match made in the Almighty’s Infinite and Heavenly Void, if I may use that ancient, albeit trite expression.”

  “Hah!” She let out a bark of laughter. “The miracles of modern psychology. The sort that relies on actually knowing what’s going on in a person’s head rather than guessing based on the practitioner’s own prejudgments and coming to utterly incorrect conclusions.”

  “So I read in the ancient texts during my postulant period. Then we agree. Rianne, Horam, Alcide, and Lilith. I’ll see they’re equipped for a long voyage into the wild, weapons, rations, and shortwave radios included. After Lars’ attempt at plundering my stores.”