Imperial Echoes

by Eric Thomson

  “The red jar contains two hundred doses of a powerful analgesic. If you suffer from joint pain, are hungover, or suffer from clogged sinuses, among other bodily aches, it’ll do wonders. The blue jar contains medication that cures insomnia, also two hundred doses. One of those pills, and you sleep like a baby.”

  “That buys you two of the — what did he call them, fabricators?”

  “And you’ll sit on the third one forever? Consider that you can make a huge profit on the antibiotics, seeing as how you exchanged mere information for them.”

  Rianne concentrated another wave of positive emotions on Crimple’s mind, and he nodded, scowling.

  “Done. Take those things out of here, and I’ll be happy. Any other off-world wonders you’d care to trade?”

  She gave him a pleasant smile.

  “Not now, but if you find the medication you bought useful, let one of the Theban captains know. Given the right conditions, we might set up an Order of the Void house in Mazaber, and you could enjoy direct access to those off-world wonders.”

  “I shall take it under advisement. So long as I enjoy a measure of exclusivity.”

  “Can we leave our purchases here while we scout out the location where Jan Keter landed his shuttle?” Horam asked.

  Crimple shrugged.

  “Sure. And I won’t charge you extra. I suppose you’d like me to round up a herd of argvags and the men who followed Keter?”

  Rianne beamed at him again.

  “If you’d be so kind.”

  Less than an hour later, the landing party found itself bouncing in hard saddles strapped to four-legged creatures whose gait reminded the Brethren of nothing so much as a ship in a storm. The argvags — whose long rubbery faces, floppy ears, and large, sparkly compound eyes made them resemble horses designed by a madman suffering from hallucinations — did have a distinct odor. But the Brethren no longer noticed it by the time they crossed Mazaber city limits.

  Both of Crimple’s men, wiry street toughs with mean, narrow faces, were taciturn to the point of mutism. One rode point while the other trailed the group. They were clearly used to argvags and sat easily in the high saddle, undismayed by the constant swaying.

  Horam noted their watchful eyes and the way they held short-barreled shotguns across the saddle horn. When he’d asked the point man if they were expecting trouble, the latter merely grunted and said, “Can’t be too careful out in the hills. If you carry weapons, keep them clear and ready.”

  As the sun rose higher in the sky, it became much warmer but no less humid, increasing their discomfort. After two weeks with a constant sea breeze keeping them cool, they’d almost forgotten Mazaber was near Hatshepsut’s equator, just like Thebes, but didn’t enjoy the latter’s constant trade winds. The stifling heat eased a little when the ancient imperial road, still in excellent condition, took them into the tree-covered hill country.

  Shortly after the midday hour, they emerged in a narrow valley whose center was curiously devoid of vegetation. As they moved forward, the cracked road became a broad, smooth surface, untouched by both war and time. Familiar markings etched into the tarmac caught their eyes, and a slow grin split Horam’s face.

  “Figures. That’s an old landing strip. Those overgrown humps over on the far side must be ruins that were once part of a commercial or private complex. Dendera’s killers probably decided it wasn’t worth the ammunition expenditure, and this Keter character saw it clearly from orbit.”

  Rianne nodded in agreement.

  “We really should do better surveys before landing on a fallen world. Otherwise, we’d know there was an intact strip south of Mazaber.”

  A shrug.

  “Until the government authorizes satellite constellations for places without a Lyonesse security presence, there’s only so much the Void Ships can do. How about we check out the ruins before heading back into town?”

  — 27 —

  ––––––––

  “Crap.” The sensor chief swung around and faced his captain, seated in the combat information center’s command chair. “I’m picking up ships in Hatshepsut orbit, sir. Five of them, and they sure aren’t merchants or Lyonesse Navy. No evidence they spotted us yet.”

  “We’re as tight as a drum,” the first officer said from his post on the bridge. “There’s no way they can detect us, even at this range.”

  “I expected no less,” Commander Al Jecks, captain of the Republic of Lyonesse Starship Serenity, replied in a dry tone. “But do you think now would be a good time to thank the Chief of the Naval Staff for ordering that Lyonesse ships exit hyperspace rigged for silent running at all times?”

  The directive, issued a few years earlier, when Lyonesse ships began venturing beyond the Coalsack Sector, wasn’t popular, mostly because no starships other than those bearing the double-headed Vanger’s Condor emblem of the republic traveled that part of the galaxy. Going silent every time a ship dropped out of FTL seemed excessive for most spacers, officers, petty officers, and ratings alike.

  “Consider me suitably chastised, Skipper,” the first officer replied. “What’s our plan?”

  “Cruise in silent running at Hatshepsut’s hyperlimit and watch until they leave. Heading back with the mission’s supplies undelivered isn’t an option until we’ve run out of loiter time.”

  “Which won’t be for months.”

  “And we keep our passive sensors on them. Suppose there’s another human civilization out there that recovered from the empire’s collapse to the point of fielding FTL warships, or even worse, non-humans expanding into former imperial space. In that case, we should find out everything we can. Otherwise, HQ will scold us for being lackadaisical.” Jecks paused for a few seconds. “And if anyone thinks it might be a good idea, no, we won’t make contact. Not without permission from the CNS, and we’re too far from the nearest subspace relay for a quick call home.”

  “I don’t think we need to worry about non-humans, sir.” The ship’s combat systems officer pointed at a side display. “Those hulls are clearly based on imperial-era cruiser and frigate designs, though with enough differences to indicate they’re not two-hundred-year-old survivors. The fifth is probably an armed transport, though it shares design characteristics with the others. The only markings I can make out are hull numbers, names, and a symbol that resembles nothing so much as a bird of sorts.”

  Jecks studied the side-by-side comparison of the intruders with images drawn from Serenity’s database, then checked the markings visible on the primary display.

  “Definitely cousins of ours, and I’ll venture that bird is a phoenix rising from the ashes. But what’s their origin? And why are they here?” He turned his chair to the right. “Signals, see if you can pick up any radio chatter on the old imperial frequencies. Chances are good they’re still in use, considering those ships look very much like pre-collapse technology.”

  The first officer let out a soft snort.

  “At least our starship designs have advanced enough that the folks over in Hatshepsut orbit won’t immediately identify us as human, and boy, will they get a shock if they ever try us on.”

  “Best if they don’t identify us, period, Number One.”

  Serenity and the rest of her class were colloquially known as Void Ships because of their solitary voyages reconnoitering fallen star systems and linking the Order’s scattered missions. But they bore little resemblance with the originals that sought refuge on Lyonesse long ago and were drafted into the nascent republic’s tiny Navy. The size of a light cruiser, with advanced weaponry beyond anything the empire once fielded, the Lyonesse Navy armed transport Serenity was a match for any of the ships in orbit. But Lyonesse’s best defense, despite her growing fleet of warships, was still anonymity, as decreed by the Defense Force’s first chief of staff and subsequently the republic’s second president, Admiral Jonas Morane.

  “Roger that, Skipper, but
do we at least warn the priory?”

  Jecks shook his head.

  “No. Neither we nor the priory can risk the intruders picking up a transmission. The Brethren will have to cope with any surprises on their own. I’m sure Sister Hermina has contingency plans in place and will hide the Lyonesse folks if ever off-worlders land in Thebes.”

  “I gotta say, Skipper, I don’t enjoy feeling helpless like this. Those could be enemy ships between our people and us.”

  Serenity’s captain knew the first officer spoke for the entire crew. Spacers crisscrossing the former imperial sectors in Void Ships quickly developed a protective attitude toward the Brethren who volunteered for mission duty on primitive worlds from which they might never return.

  “Understood, but they knew what they were signing up for, and our primary obligation is protecting Lyonesse. As a wise man once said, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

  The first officer snorted.

  “That saying should be the Navy’s motto.”

  “True.” Jecks tapped his command chair’s arm with his fingertips. “But who says they’re enemy ships? We’re all the descendants of those who survived the Retribution Fleet’s wrath. Surely that makes us kin?”

  “I don’t know, Skipper. But the names on those hulls aren’t friendly like ours or that of the other Void Ships. Repulse, Reprisal, Dominator, Devastation, and Terror? Kind of nasty sounding, like the old imperial nomenclature I read about in the history books. If nothing else, it makes me wonder what sort of Navy they serve.”

  “Either an aggressive one or a Navy wanting to seem so, I suppose.”

  **

  “That’s the place, Colonel.” Jan Keter, Adam’s apple bouncing nervously, nodded as he studied the image on the conference room’s primary display. “An old imperial-era private landing strip. I didn’t meet another soul in that area, but it’s hot as Hades in the middle of the day.”

  “Why there?” Major Vinh asked.

  Keter gave him a curious look.

  “Because it’s the only landing strip near a large settlement I could see from orbit, and because it’s far enough from human habitation to see threats coming.”

  “And was it? Far enough?”

  The former merchant spacer nodded.

  “The only thing they did was follow me back from town, but since the creatures they rode couldn’t keep up with my ground car, I was aboard my shuttle and secure by the time they arrived.”

  “How’s the road?”

  “Easily passable. Also from the imperial era. Mazaber itself, however.” Keter screwed his face into an expression of sheer disgust. Something on the display attracted his gaze and he pointed at it. “Is that live?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then the landing strip has visitors.”

  Everyone in the conference room turned to watch the video feed. Nine humans riding four-legged equine analogs were emerging from the shadows of a tree-covered pass between two jagged hills and were making their way toward the landing strip.

  Vinh let out a soft grunt.

  “Seems we’re not the only ones interested in that particular spot.”

  “Perhaps they’re just passing through,” Ardrix suggested. “Isn’t that another road headed south at the tarmac’s far end?”

  “It is. I guess we’ll see soon enough, Sister.”

  The answer came quickly when the small caravan busied itself around ruins smothered by vegetation before heading back toward Mazaber.

  “Why would those people be interested in the spot you chose as landing site?” Torma asked his prisoner.

  Keter replied with a twitchy shrug. “I couldn’t say, Colonel.”

  “Did this Crimple who sold you the items mention their provenance?”

  “No. He called it a trade secret.”

  “Then we’ll ask, and not quite as nicely as you,” Vinh growled. “Anything else you can tell us about the area?”

  “No, sir. Everything I know you know.”

  “Then if you don’t mind, Colonel, I suggest we land at daybreak, local time, tomorrow morning.”

  Torma inclined his head.

  “Agreed.” He gestured at the bosun’s mates guarding Keter. “Take the prisoner back to his cell.”

  Both snapped to attention and the senior of the two barked out, “Aye, aye, sir.”

  **

  “Did you want to see Crimple again?” Fenrir asked once they dismissed the two men and their herd of argvags at the livery stable close to the town pier.

  The late afternoon shadows of a sun reaching for the western horizon were painting Mazaber’s streets with dark stripes. At the same time, a curious hush hung over the settlement, as if it went into suspended animation during the worst of the afternoon heat. Almost no one seemed up and about, not even the thieving urchins.

  Rianne grimaced.

  “No. We’ve uncovered everything we can, but Alcide and Lilith should pick up our purchases.”

  “Then I’ll recall the boat while they do so, and we can be quit of this place.” Fenrir looked around them as they walked down the cobblestone avenue toward the pier. “And not a moment too soon.”

  “Will you sail on the evening tide?”

  Something about the Sister’s tone caught Fenrir’s attention.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “If I suggested we raise anchor the moment we’re aboard, what would you say?”

  “That for a mystic, you’re remarkably sensible. I’d rather spend the night at sea than in this harbor, don’t fear. And on a heading for the North Passage. The waters in between are safe enough for a ship sailing under moonlight only. No hidden reefs reach out far from shore in these parts.” He gave her a searching glance. “May I ask why?”

  “I can’t tell you, and that’s because I don’t know myself. But the sooner we’re away from here and just one more ship at sea, the better.”

  Horam gave Fenrir a pat on the shoulder.

  “You can trust a Sister’s intuition more than a politician’s promises or a weather prognosticator’s forecast, my friend. For what it’s worth, I agree with her. Let’s set sail for where the air is clear and healthy.”

  “You’re paying for this charter, which makes you the boss.”

  He stepped out on the pier, facing his ship, and raised both arms over his head to make a large circle. Moments later, the launch appeared around the barquentine’s hull, stack emitting puffs of smoke as it headed for shore.

  With a nod of satisfaction, Fenrir pointed at the rocky beach to their right.

  “Let’s leave the same way we came, just in case.”

  They were aboard Aswan Trader within the hour, her launch back in its accustomed place amidships beneath a rapidly darkening tropical sky. By the time the last rays of the sun vanished behind purple hills marching in staggered rows across the western horizon, the barquentine was beating out of Mazaber Bay using her engine. Once clear of the headland, Fenrir aimed her prow north-north-east on a course that would take them to the North Passage.

  That night, Rianne contacted the priory on the shortwave radio and told Sister Hermina what they learned.

  **

  Colonel Torma and Sister Ardrix — both wearing battledress with combat harness, visored helmets, and in the former’s case, a holstered blaster at the hip — entered Repulse’s hangar deck. There Jan Keter, flanked by two of the cruiser’s Marines in combat armor, waited by the aft ramp of a dropship prepared for departure. Both troopers snapped to attention and saluted while the shuttle’s pilot, a Navy noncom in battledress, appeared at the top of the ramp.

  “Petty Officer Klaasen, sir. Everything is ready. The dropships with Marines from the 1st Special Forces have just launched from Terror and are trailing Repulse, waiting for us.”

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  After making sure his passengers were stra
pped in correctly, Klassen vanished through the door to the flight deck, and moments later, the ramp lifted, cutting them off. Torma could see red warning lights strobe through the portholes on each side as the hangar deck’s inner airlocks slammed shut. Then, the space doors opened, leaving a shimmering force field in their wake to keep the deck pressurized, and their shuttle began moving.

  Once they were free of the cruiser, the two dropships carrying Major Vinh’s Marines flanked them, and the flight began its lazy spiral down into Hatshepsut’s atmosphere, bound for the abandoned landing strip south of Mazaber. Meanwhile, dawn spread across the Saqqara Islands and over the Aksum Sea, where a three-masted ship sailed north at best speed.

  — 28 —

  ––––––––

  Shortly after sunrise, Friar Horam came on deck and greeted the quartermaster at the wheel before taking his usual spot by the taffrail so he could watch the coast of Aksum slide by. Mazaber was already well beyond the horizon after a night under full sail, and this part of the coast had no settlements, leaving him with a view of ragged shorelines and rough beaches.

  As he lazily scanned the western sky, a trio of dots caught his eye, and he studied them intently. After a few moments, the former Marine decided their movements were too regular and too much in unison for native avian species, and he walked over to the binnacle.

  “Can I borrow the bring them near, Padraig?”

  The quartermaster nodded.

  “Knock yourself out, Friar.”

  Horam fished the collapsible telescope from its slot and pulled it to full length as he walked over to the portside mizzenmast shrouds and used the taut rope to steady the burnished copper and glass instrument as he searched. After zeroing in on one of the dots, he studied it intently, and though it was too far for details, he recognized it as a shuttlecraft of some sort.