Imperial Night (Ashes of Empire, #3)

by Imperial Night (epub)

  “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll stay here and watch the intercept until it’s over.”

  “Of course.” He gestured at DeCarde’s chair with an air of mock irritation. “And what did I tell you about standing just because I get up?”

  “That there’s a time and a place. Since it’s just the two of us, this is neither the time nor the place,” she replied with a sardonic grin.

  “Why is it you know the lesson but never apply what you’ve learned?”

  DeCarde shrugged. “Search me, Mister President.”

  He glowered at her. “Stubborn Pathfinder.”

  “Stubbornness is a professional requirement in my former branch of the service.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it stubbornness. Talk to you later, Brigid.”

  She watched Morane follow his aide out of the war room, then turned her attention back on the live feed from Vanquish’s CIC.

  As Morane climbed the stairs, a vague unease came over him. Why would Gwenneth send a messenger now, during the long-feared intrusion? And why send Loxias’ right-hand man instead of her own trusted assistant, Landry? There was something uncanny about Stearns and his mysterious history before Dawn Hunter rescued him on Yotai, not to mention his increasingly overt involvement in the current electoral race.

  He stopped on the main floor landing.

  “Jim, please take Friar Stearn to the waiting room and tell him I’ll be along just as soon as I deal with a few urgent matters. Offer him a cup of tea or a glass of water. Something doesn’t seem right about this, and I want to speak with Gwenneth before meeting him.”

  “Shall I alert the protective detail?”

  “Yes. They should make sure Stearn stays put until I clear this with the abbey.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Lutzow headed for the front hall while Morane entered his office. Once there, he called up the waiting room video feed, then opened a link with Gwenneth’s office. To his surprise, a visibly stricken Landry answered.

  “Mister President.”

  “Good afternoon, Landry. Is the abbess available?”

  “No, sir. May I be of help?”

  Morane was taken aback by Landry’s strained tone.

  “Perhaps. Friar Stearn just showed up at Government House claiming he carries a message for my eyes only from Gwenneth, something she can’t discuss over a comlink.”

  Landry’s eyes widened.

  “Under no circumstances should you be in Stearn’s presence, sir.”

  Morane glanced up at the video display and saw the friar enter Government House’s waiting room under the steely gaze of two Pathfinder sergeants in civilian clothes that didn’t quite hide their sidearms.

  “Why?”

  Landry hesitated for what seemed like an eternity while he mentally parsed possible answers. Finally, he said, “We suspect Friar Stearn assaulted Friar Loxias.”

  Morane frowned as he tilted his head to one side.

  “What happened? Is Loxias okay?”

  “He died in the abbey infirmary a few minutes ago. We don’t know what happened or how. Gwenneth and Marta are out looking for Stearn.”

  “I won’t even ask why they’re disobeying a shelter in place order and violating martial law. How is it the Lannion Police aren’t dealing with your wayward friar? If he killed Loxias, then it’s murder and not something internal to the Order.”

  A pained expression spread across Landry’s plain features.

  “Sir, it would be best if you ask Gwenneth when she reaches Government House, which shouldn’t be long now.”

  Suspicion reared its ugly head, and Morane’s frown deepened.

  “Why are Gwenneth and Marta usurping the role of the police during a lockdown, Landry? What is the Order hiding, and why is Stearn here?”

  “I’m truly sorry, sir, but I can’t answer your questions.”

  Morane knew the friar wouldn’t speak without Gwenneth’s permission, no matter what, so he dropped the matter, asking instead, “Should I ask my close protection people to detain Stearn until the abbess and Marta arrive? He’s in the Government House waiting room right now. My aide told him I was dealing with several emergencies and would receive him the moment I’m free.”

  “No, sir. Please do nothing of the sort.” The vehemence in Landry’s voice surprised Morane. “He would react violently if faced with perceived threats. Lives could be lost. Keep up the pretense you’re busy and contain him in the waiting room until Gwenneth arrives. And by everything holy, please stay away.”

  Gwenneth didn’t surround herself with fools, and Landry was no exception. Though still young compared to most friars, many of whom came from other abbeys long ago during the empire’s fall or had crewed the Void Ships before the Order turned them over to the Navy, he knew Gwenneth’s mind better than anyone besides Morane. If Landry felt justified in telling the President of the Republic of Lyonesse he should treat Stearn as a walking piece of unexploded ordnance, then there were good reasons.

  “I shall follow your advice and wait for Gwenneth, Friar. My close protection detail will make sure Stearn enjoys tea and scones in the waiting room.”

  “If I may offer a piece of advice, sir, withdraw your people from the room itself. Let them guard the doors from the outside. What Stearn cannot see, he cannot harm.”

  Morane gave Landry a tight nod, then touched the screen embedded in his desktop. “Jim, the protection detail will guard our visitor from outside the waiting room, and please warn the main gate that if Sisters Gwenneth and Marta show up, they should be brought in without delay.”

  Moments later, he heard, “Roger that, sir.”

  Shortly after that, both Pathfinders left the waiting room, each closing one of the two doors behind him. Stearn was now alone in a space reinforced so it would prevent anyone from penetrating deeper into Government House by sheer physical force. Of course, no one bearing weapons of any sort was allowed in, period.

  A faint air of relief momentarily relaxed Landry’s features.

  “Thank you for listening, Mister President. I’ll try to contact Gwenneth and find out where they are.”

  “You do that. Morane, out.”

  The president’s eyes rested on the display showing Government House’s waiting room once more. A visibly agitated Stearn paced back and forth, eyes never resting on a single spot for more than a heartbeat. The friar’s demeanor seemed so utterly devoid of a normal Void Brethren’s serenity that Morane felt a chill run up his spine. Something was utterly wrong.

  Then, Stearn stopped in front of Morane’s lifelike formal portrait hanging over the waiting room’s fireplace. It depicted him wearing the commander-in-chief’s dress uniform complete with the cuff stripes of a four-star admiral and a golden Vanger’s Condor with crossed swords and anchor insignia adorning the sky blue beret on his head. Stearn’s earlier agitation vanished so completely, Morane wondered whether he’d fallen into a trance while studying the painting. It was a good portrait, but one whose time in the waiting room was ending, along with Morane’s second and final term as president. Once his replacement was sworn into office, it would join Elenia Yakin’s in the main corridor bisecting Government House.

  Without warning, a migraine unlike any other struck Morane, and he let out a grunt of pain as his eyes slammed shut. But rather than the pulsing agony he’d experienced many years earlier, this assault on his nervous system remained steady. Nausea a hundred times worse than that which accompanied the transition to and from hyperspace or the one associated with a wormhole transition, threatened to choke him, and he was barely conscious by the time he stabbed the call screen embedded in the presidential desktop.

  When Commander Lutzow burst through the office door, alarmed by the voiceless signal, he found Morane slumped in his chair, unconscious.

  **

  “There’s what looks suspiciously like an unmarked police car, ju
st like the one Stearn took from Vice President Sandino’s guard detail.” Marta pointed at a dark, low-slung skimmer sitting on the curb a few meters from the main entrance to Government House.

  A low groan escaped Gwenneth's throat.

  “Let us pray we’re not too late.” The car’s communicator buzzed at that moment. “What?”

  “Landry here, Abbess. I just spoke with President Morane. Stearn is at Government House, claiming he carries a message from you. Fortunately, the president called to confirm. I told him Stearn assaulted Loxias, causing his death, and should be considered dangerous.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Marta said as Gwenneth pulled the car up to the closed gate where an armed soldier from the Lyonesse Rifle Regiment waited. “Stearn murdered Vice President Sandino and injured her close protection team.”

  “Good heavens! Fortunately, at my urging, President Morane is holding Stearn in the locked waiting room with guards outside each door, pending your arrival.”

  The soldier at the gate took one glance through the side window and gestured at an unseen comrade. The gate slid aside, and the man ushered them in with a wave of the hand, after which he snapped to attention and saluted.

  “How close is the waiting room to Morane’s office?” Marta asked.

  Gwenneth, intent on reaching the front steps as fast as possible, kept her eyes on the driveway.

  “Why?”

  “I fear Stearn is one of those who can project over short distances, even without a direct line of sight. He merely needs a focus for his thoughts.”

  Gwenneth let out a soft moan.

  “There’s a life-sized portrait of Jonas in the waiting room, and it’s a mere dozen meters from his office. What did we unleash?”

  “The same thing we freed in our younger sisters with no ill effects, but we didn’t know Stearn carried darkness deep within. He may not have known about it himself.”

  The car came to a jerky stop at the foot of the stairs, where, in better times, a pair of ceremonial guards stood, dressed in rifle green dress uniforms. Both sisters climbed out with alacrity when the driver and passenger doors opened. An alarm bell reached their ears the moment they entered Government House. The sergeant standing guard by the waiting room’s entrance seemed to vibrate with repressed tension.

  “What’s happening?” Gwenneth asked.

  “No idea, Sister, but it can’t be good. That’s the signal something happened to the president. Commander Lutzow should be with him.”

  Gwenneth turned to Marta and pointed at the corridor. “Find Jonas.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll deal with Stearn. Jonas needs your help.”

  After one last glance at the closed waiting room door, Marta nodded, then set off at a rapid pace. Gwenneth looked the Pathfinder straight in the eyes.

  “I will enter now the waiting room now, Sergeant.”

  — 48 —

  ––––––––

  Gwenneth took a deep breath while the sergeant unlocked the door. It slid open, and she stepped through. Roget stood in front of Morane’s official portrait, staring at it with disturbing intensity, unaware he was no longer alone.

  “Stearn!” Her voice cracked across the room like the detonation of a long-dormant volcano blowing its top, but he didn’t even twitch. “Stop it this instant.”

  After a second or two, he raised his left hand, palm facing outward, and aimed it at her. Gwenneth immediately felt an assault on her mind’s shielding, a battering ram so strong she staggered. Malevolent, unrestrained power surrounded her inner being, seeking a way in. The pressure quickly became unbearable, and part of Gwenneth marveled at Stearn’s raw mental strength.

  She no longer doubted his guilt for the deaths of both Loxias and Charis Sandino. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the floor in a heap under the astonished eyes of the Pathfinder sergeant. But she remained conscious and collected her strength to create a shield that would reflect Stearn’s energies back at him. If she built a viable feedback loop, the mad friar would inevitably self-destruct.

  A few rooms down, Marta knelt by Morane’s chair, laid a hand on his forehead, and opened her third eye while a thoroughly puzzled Commander Lutzow spoke with the Lannion Hospital emergency services. The violence of Stearn’s attack almost ejected her from Morane’s mind, even though Marta was ready for the sort of onslaught she’d experienced with Seled. But she steadied herself and pushed back at the horrible darkness engulfing Morane’s soul. At first, she felt no give. It was like wading up a raging torrent of waist-high water, knowing the slightest misstep could mean death. But at least she kept the onslaught from growing stronger.

  Then, Marta felt Stearn’s energy decline, as if something or someone was distracting him. Gwenneth? Marta pushed — hard. He recoiled enough to let her build a shield around Morane and protect it from further deadly blasting. But her strength was ebbing as well. That which fed Stearn’s mind was beyond comprehension, something primal drawing its power from the very essence of the Infinite Void while Marta depended solely on her own resources.

  With astonishing speed, Stearn’s mental assault collapsed, leaving Marta gasping at Morane’s side, searching for breath and her bearings. When she recovered, in a matter of mere seconds, Marta realized Commander Lutzow didn’t notice anything amiss. He was still on a comlink with the hospital, waiting for notification that an emergency medical team was on the way. The battle to push Stearn away and save Jonas Morane was fought and won in the blink of an eye. But was she successful, or did Stearn destroy Morane as thoroughly as he destroyed Loxias and Sandino?

  Marta gently reached into the president’s mind, and at first, she found the same damage she’d seen before, starting with Seled. A wave of despair washed over her. But before she could probe any deeper, one of the sergeants from Morane’s close protection team burst into the presidential office.

  “Sister Marta. Something’s happened. Both Sister Gwenneth and Friar Stearn collapsed.”

  She climbed unsteadily to her feet.

  “Commander Lutzow, tell the emergency team they must place President Morane in a medically induced coma the moment he’s on a stretcher. Otherwise, he might not survive.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t say, but I know an induced coma is his only chance. Make them do it at gunpoint if necessary. I must see what happened to Gwenneth and Stearn.” Marta didn’t wait for an acknowledgment — a Sister of the Void’s medical opinion was almost sacrosanct on Lyonesse. She brushed by both Lutzow and the sergeant on her way out of Morane’s office while trying not to stagger with fatigue. Marta feared what she would find in the waiting room. Stearn was stronger than Gwenneth, though not as experienced or cunning.

  When she entered the room, one of Morane’s close protection people was kneeling at the abbess’ side, fingers pressed against her neck. He looked up at Marta and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Sister. She’s dead.” The Pathfinder nodded at Stearn, lying on his back in front of Morane’s portrait. “The friar still lives, but my gut tells me he’s fading fast. It was the strangest thing. They both lost consciousness at the same moment. Well, he lost consciousness. She might already have been dead when she hit the floor. How’s the president?”

  “He was alive when I left his office just now, but he suffered a seizure.”

  “Him too?” The man gave Marta a hard look. “What’s going on here, Sister?”

  “I wish I knew.” She leaned against the door frame before a wave of vertigo sent her spinning to the floor. “Vice President Sandino also suffered a seizure at her home. She’s dead.”

  “What?” He climbed to his feet. “Why are so many important people getting seizures?”

  Marta waved away the question.

  “I can’t answer that, Sergeant, but I suggest you send a security detail to the late vice president’s estate.”

 
He gave her a single, brusque nod and produced his communicator. She reached out with her mind, first to touch Gwenneth and repressed a sob when she found her soul was gone, leaving only an empty physical shell. Then, she probed Stearn, and he was still alive, but no more than a shadow of himself. Most of his mind was a blasted wasteland, and she understood Gwenneth set up a feedback loop with her last remaining strength. Marta pushed herself upright, crossed the room, and knelt beside him. She laid her hand on a forehead that already felt colder than it should. Stearn was indeed slipping away. He had minutes left if that. He woke at Marta’s touch and stared at her without comprehension.

  “Make your peace with the Almighty and tell me the truth.” She gazed into the dying man’s eyes, searching for what he once was. “Tell me about this inner darkness you’ve hidden from us?”

  Stearn didn’t answer right away. His lips moved silently while a shudder ran through his body. When he finally spoke, it was with a rasp.

  “I claimed Antelope was a privateer, a salvager searching for advanced technology to bring home, but I lied. We were out-and-out pirates enriching ourselves by raiding the weak and vulnerable. I lost count of how many people we’d killed by the time Antelope crash-landed on Yotai. Early on, we tried to avoid casualties, you understand. None of us were born murderers. But people insisted on fighting back. It became easier if we simply opened fire without warning.” Stearn’s voice became fainter as his essence began merging with the Void. “The first time we deliberately murdered innocent people, most of us got sick to our stomachs, me included. But it was less nauseating with every raid, and with every starship we plundered until none of us thought of our victims as fellow humans.”

  “Is that how you got the Void beacon?”

  “Yes. My story of finding it in the ruins of a spaceport on Montego was also a lie. We raided a Void priory on New Karelia. There were maybe thirty or forty Brethren. Mostly sisters. After killing them and taking their tech, I ripped it from the neck of the prioress. I can’t explain why.” A cough. “They weren’t the only Brethren we murdered. I may not be a sociopath, but the rot in my soul does not differ from that in Seled’s. Granted, I wasn’t a moral man, to begin with. None of us were. Otherwise, we’d have stayed on Scotia helping our own people instead of cruising the wormhole network to pillage communities made vulnerable by the empire’s collapse.”