Imperial Echoes

by Eric Thomson

“Don’t I know it. Be warned, Nero Cabreras will likely buttonhole you the moment he hears you’re back. He’s been snooping around my office during your absence, and I don’t think he bought the story about fostering more operational integration between the Navy and the Commission.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Welcome home, Crevan. I’m glad everybody is safe. We’ll speak again once you’re on the ground. Robbins, out.”

  Her image faded from the workstation’s display, and Torma let out a long exhalation while giving Ardrix a wry smile.

  “Now the hazardous work begins. Regimes like ours have a history of shooting the messenger.”

  She smiled back.

  “They’ll need an army for this job because, the way I see it, there are a lot of messengers. Shall I call the Archimandrite and let him know he’ll be hosting throwbacks still stunned that we’re the sort of heretics who allow males as head of priories, abbeys, and the Order itself?”

  “Enjoy the call.”

  To Ardrix’s surprise, Bolack promptly answered himself rather than let the friar acting as his executive assistant do so.

  “Welcome home, Sister. General Robbins just let me know in a very cryptic way I should expect your call momentarily. I understand you brought back tremendous news.”

  “We did. You recall the double L abbey markings on the medical instruments?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “The Lannion Abbey on Lyonesse, a house of the old Order, made them.”

  “Good heavens! And where is this Lyonesse?”

  “At the end of a wormhole cul-de-sac on the distant outskirts of the Coalsack Sector. Survivors of the Great Purge established a new house there in the years before Dendera unleashed the Retribution Fleet, which didn’t visit Lyonesse, by the way. The Lannion Abbey took in thousands of Brethren rescued from across the Coalsack and adjoining sectors. Eventually, it took on the title of Mother House, figuring Lindisfarne no longer existed, which is quite likely. In the last few decades, working with the Republic of Lyonesse government, they’ve sent out dozens of missions to reclaim former imperial worlds. They help locals recover lost knowledge and technology and prepare them for reunification under Lyonesse’s banner. Hatshepsut is the newest and most distant from Lyonesse, established three years ago.”

  Bolack let out a low whistle.

  “How extraordinary. And you’ve met these old Order Brethren?”

  “We brought eight of the ten back with us as involuntary guests. The other two were in hiding at the time. Since this expedition was unauthorized, we cannot parade them around, nor can we keep them in the Commission’s cells. Colonel Torma would like our Order to receive them in one of our priories on Wyvern, and I was thinking Grenfell. It gets no secular visitors, the Brethren there are contemplatives who never leave the grounds, and it’s still within reasonable aircar distance from New Draconis. I’m sure our Order’s theologians and historians will be keen on interviewing our guests to their hearts’ content.”

  “Done. Can a shuttle from Repulse fly them directly there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let me warn the prioress. I assume I’ll see you in person within the day, so you can brief me on the expedition?” Bolack paused and glanced to one side. “I received an invitation from Admiral Benes for a meeting at Navy HQ tomorrow morning. May I assume there’s a relation with your expedition?”

  “That is likely the briefing Colonel Torma, and I will be giving. Admiral Godfrey and General Robbins should also be in attendance. Perhaps even a few others who helped organize our trip, such as General Sarkis.”

  “Then I shall welcome you home in person tomorrow. Was there anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Until the morning. Bolack, out.”

  Ardrix glanced over her workstation display at Torma.

  “The Grenfell Priory it is.”

  “I received a message from General Robbins. We’re staying aboard Repulse until tomorrow’s meeting at Navy HQ. The shuttle will take us directly to the HQ landing pad. Our guests will stay here until afterward.”

  She gave him a knowing nod.

  “In case Benes decides that we can’t risk letting them live.”

  “There’s nothing in his background that might suggest he’s the type who’d commit an atrocity, but this is the most unusual situation in the Hegemony’s history.”

  “You sound worried.”

  Torma chuckled.

  “I am worried. We’ve come home with a shipload of extremely uncomfortable truths which will upend the paradigm that has governed us for two centuries. Historically, one of three things happens when such a paradigm is shown as false. The government in place sees the light and changes course; it refuses to see the light and successfully punishes those who dare upset the established order, or it tries to punish those who dare, triggering a coup d’état which removes the government in place. The latter two, not unsurprisingly, can trigger civil unrest, perhaps even a rebellion or an outright revolution. Those never end well.”

  Ardrix grimaced. “Something like the chain of events which ended the Ruggero Dynasty and the old empire.”

  Torma tapped an extended index finger against his nose.

  “Precisely. However we handle this, we must make sure it doesn’t end in another collapse. And now, I should warn our guests and make the transportation arrangements.”

  **

  The next morning, Torma and Ardrix, bags in hand, reported to the hangar deck where Repulse’s pinnace piloted by Petty Officer Klaasen, waited for them. They landed on the Navy HQ roof less than an hour later, under a glowering sky that promised a deluge before the morning was over.

  The moment they stepped out, a lieutenant senior grade came through the enclosed stairhead’s door and walked toward them. He wore an aide-de-camp’s knotted gold cord over the left shoulder, but judging by his worn features, he was probably a former chief petty officer commissioned from the ranks. Since old chiefs usually weren’t given dog robber duties, those being reserved for young, up-and-coming Academy graduates, Torma figured he worked for Godfrey, and his actual job didn’t involve catering to a flag officer’s official needs.

  He halted and raised his hand in salute.

  “Welcome home, sir. And you, Sister. My name is Krennek, and I’m on Admiral Godfrey’s staff. He and the rest of the attendees are assembling in the secure conference room. We can leave your bags in his office on the way there.”

  Torma returned the salute, then gestured at the stairhead.

  “Lead on.”

  He took one last look back before the door closed behind him and saw the pinnace lift off. He felt a brief and somewhat strange sensation of loss, as if its departure marked the end of an adventure among people who made him feel like a proper officer and not a political policeman in a Guards uniform. People he now considered comrades in arms, if not necessarily close friends.

  By the time Krennek ushered them into the secure conference room, several seats were occupied by people Torma didn’t know. Besides Benes, Godfrey, Robbins, General Sarkis, and Archimandrite Bolack, there was the chief of Ground Forces Intelligence and three middle-aged civilians wearing obviously expensive business suits. Senior bureaucrats who were part of the network, perhaps. They gave him the impression of being Chancellery secretaries, the sort who ran the machinery of government from the shadows.

  “Colonel Torma and Sister Ardrix,” Krennek announced.

  Benes smiled at them.

  “Welcome back. I understand the mission was successful beyond anyone’s expectations. So successful, in fact, that we face several hard decisions.” He gestured at a pair of empty chairs on his right. “Please sit.”

  They did so while Krennek busied himself at a discreet control panel by the wall-sized display. After a few moments, he turned around and nodded once.

  “We are protected from any and al
l attempts at eavesdropping, sir.”

  “In that case, Colonel, please go ahead.”

  — 37 —

  ––––––––

  When Torma fell silent over an hour later, he felt curiously buoyed rather than exhausted. The men and women around the table had listened intently, eyes on him or on Ardrix whenever she took over telling part of the tale, though none interrupted with a question or comment, which was unusual with flag officers in his experience.

  Rear Admiral Johannes Godfrey was the first to speak.

  “History has a way of reaching out and touching you in the most unusual ways. That ghost fleet you found, Rear Admiral Leung’s 211th Battlegroup, according to the logs Commodore Watanabe’s people recovered, could have changed the Battle of Wyvern’s outcome and handed Dendera one last victory, had its crews not mutinied. Leung was a well-known loyalist back in his day. Had he reached Wyvern, the Hegemony would never have been born because the rebellious admirals who founded it would be dead, and Wyvern devastated in retaliation. We’d be worse off than the unfortunates on Hatshepsut, and Lyonesse would have eventually owned all human worlds.”

  “History also has a habit of repeating itself,” Benes’ tone combined thoughtfulness and worry. “What shall we do with Colonel Torma’s findings, the Lyonesse Brethren he brought back, and news of another human polity absorbing former imperial worlds? Technically, we are already in rebellion against a Ruling Council whose greatest fear is losing its absolute control over the Hegemony, its mandate of the Infinite Void, if you’re of a mystical bent.”

  “And yet that control is more illusion than fact,” Archimandrite Bolack said. “Otherwise, General Robbins, Colonel Torma, and the rest of the State Security Commission wouldn’t face more work than they can handle. If you look closely enough, you might wonder whether the Hegemony keeps on existing in its current form out of sheer habit.”

  Benes tapped the tabletop with his fingertips.

  “That sheer habit will end soon if it hasn’t already. The question now is, how do we approach the Regent? Our dear Vigdis is also a creature of habit, as are the service chiefs and the Consuls. The idea of bestirring themselves because of a potential and still distant threat won’t hold much appeal. Not if it means diverting funds from the entitlement spending that keeps the citizenry fat, dumb, and happy to pay for a large naval expansion program. I won’t even mention the costs of imitating Lyonesse by sending missions to former imperial star systems, where they won’t be under the Council’s direct thumb and might think for themselves.”

  “I would need more Brethren for missions of the sort Lyonesse uses, and that also means added funding,” Bolack said. “And I doubt the Ruling Council would be enthusiastic about expanding the Order’s size. We’re just about the only thing in the Hegemony that isn’t both under its control and under constant surveillance.”

  A grimace crossed Godfrey’s face.

  “We don’t have many options. And those we can consider all involve bypassing the service chiefs, which will be construed as insubordination.”

  “Not if I act as a messenger,” Bolack replied. “I’m one of the few who enjoys direct access to the Regent, can see her alone with the evidence and explain in no uncertain terms what must happen if she wishes to keep power. If she dithers or outright refuses, then you can activate the network and make sure the Ruling Council, along with the service chiefs, do nothing that might cause overt rebellion. For the sake of civil peace, any change in government policy this momentous, let alone regime change itself, must be carried out behind the scenes.”

  “You would do that?” Benes asked.

  “Vigdis Mandus is hardly the sort who’d risk alienating me, Admiral. She may not always listen, but my person is as safe as any. Even the Regent understands that should she strike me down or order someone to do it on her behalf, the accord between the Hegemony government and the Void Reborn is nullified. And that means we will no longer preach obeisance to the regime for the greater good under the Almighty’s benevolent gaze.”

  “Looking the gift horse straight in the mouth, what’s your motivation?” One of the unnamed civilians, a narrow-faced man with a receding hairline and a prominent nose, asked.

  Bolack shrugged.

  “My wish to see the Hegemony fulfill its destiny, one in which the Order of the Void Reborn plays a major role.”

  A faintly mocking smile appeared on the civilian’s lips.

  “Especially now that you know you face competition guiding the human soul through the Infinite Void.”

  “Competition or fellowship?” Bolack returned the smile with just a hint of condescension. “The Brethren Colonel Torma and Ardrix brought back may well help to reunify not just the secular but the spiritual as well, something that should interest you immensely.”

  “Oh, I’m interested. There are opportunities galore for those who can seize the moment. And many in the Chancellery keep our eyes on the future, unlike those in the Wyvern Palace.”

  Suddenly, Torma knew who the man was — First Secretary Gelban Vermat, one of the mostly unknown bureaucrats surrounding Chancellor Conteh who, as the top civilian in the Hegemony, oversaw the government’s day-to-day operations. The other two must be colleagues of his.

  Bolack inclined his head.

  “Of that, I have no doubt. But back to the Lyonesse Brethren. May we receive them in the Grenfell Priory?”

  Benes raised his hand.

  “Just one moment, if you please, Archimandrite. We’ve not yet decided on a course of action.”

  “If you plan on anything other than releasing them into my care, we might find ourselves at odds, Admiral.”

  “Meaning?”

  Bolack didn’t answer for what seemed to everyone else as an eternity. Then, he said, “For the good of the Wyvern Hegemony, you and I cannot be at odds.”

  None dared speak in the tense atmosphere that suddenly weighed on all present until Godfrey let out an exasperated sigh.

  “Folks, we’re not debating options because there are none. The Lyonesse Brethren may take up residence in the Grenfell Priory so that everyone else forgets about their existence. They are interesting but aren’t a factor in the immediate decisions we face. Archimandrite Bolack offers his services as an emissary to the Regent. I think it is the most efficacious solution. Once we know how Grand Admiral Mandus reacts, we can plan the next steps. In the meantime, Task Force Kruzenshtern must disperse, its ships return to their battle groups, and the Network alerted for possible action.”

  The Chief of Naval Operations gave his Chief of Naval Intelligence a stern look. Not so much for his words, which were on target, but for his tone, which bordered on the insubordinate.

  “Johannes is right, Admiral,” Vermat said when he saw Benes’ reaction. “Both about the Lyonesse people and the Archimandrite acting as an emissary. I would add just one suggestion. Colonel Torma and Sister Ardrix should go with him to the Palace.”

  “Why?”

  “A twofold purpose, as subject matter experts and targets should the Regent feel an uncontrollable need to shoot the messenger.” Vermat pointedly did not glance at Torma or Ardrix, both of whom showed no emotions whatsoever. “Best we give her rage an immediate target that isn’t named Bolack. Guards colonels and Sisters of the Order, on the other hand, are eminently disposable.”

  Neither could tell whether Vermat was serious. The senior civilian echelons of the Hegemony government were just as ruthless as their military superiors. And just as self-interested.

  “Very well.” Benes turned his gaze on Torma. “Colonel, when we’re done here, Lieutenant Krennek will take you to the secure communications room. There, you’ll call Commodore Watanabe and pass on my order that the Lyonesse Brethren be landed at the Grenfell Priory and that he then disbands Task Force Kruzenshtern.”

  “Yes, sir.” The easy way in which Benes gave him orders, even though he belonged to a d
ifferent branch of the service and his own superior was in the room, supported Torma’s belief the CNO was, if not the head of the Network, then one of its top leaders.

  “Then, you and Sister Ardrix will be at Archimandrite Bolack’s disposal. Consider yourselves confined to quarters for security reasons. As far as the rest of the universe is concerned, you’re still detached from the State Security Commission and under sealed orders. That means no visiting your offices or leaving your quarters for any other reason than mealtimes in the officer’s mess or the abbey’s refectory. While out of your quarters, you will not engage in any conversations beyond saying hello and commenting on the weather. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

  “I was about to suggest the same thing,” General Robbins said. “Commissioner Cabreras is keen on interrogating Colonel Torma about his expedition. He doesn’t believe the cover story for a single second.”

  Benes gave her a knowing nod.

  “And he has his eyes on the Chief Commissioner’s job, which means he’ll use any means of ingratiating himself with the Ruling Council, so they’ll support his nomination when the Conclave meets to elect Bucco’s successor.”

  Vermat let out a snort of derision.

  “Cabreras is neither ruthless nor smart enough to claw his way into the Ruling Council’s private chambers. I’d be surprised if he ever becomes Chief Commissioner, for that matter.”

  “Does anyone wish to raise last-minute questions?” Benes let his eyes roam around the table. When all present shook their heads, he stood. “This meeting is adjourned. You may carry out your orders, Colonel.”

  Torma expected a few minutes with Robbins, but Benes’ tone brooked no dilly-dallying. He nodded at Lieutenant Krennek and waited while the senior officers filed out of the conference room. Krennek then led them past Admiral Godfrey’s office and through an empty storeroom with a second door at its far end.

  “I’m sorry, Sister, but the intelligence communications node is top-secret special access, and you don’t have the need to know at this moment. If you’ll wait here while the Colonel speaks with Repulse.”