Imperial Sunset

by Eric Thomson

  “And what’s our destination?”

  “ISC119041-5, according to the Imperial Star Catalog of 2592, which, as the year might tell you, was published under the empire’s first ruler. The last digit was added after the discovery of stable wormholes since it has five termini. But because it has no habitable planets, no one bothered to give it a name, even if it sees a fair amount of traffic. I’m hoping this time none of that traffic is naval, no matter from which side.” Morane stood and stretched. “Could I interest you in a tour of the ship?”

  “With pleasure, Captain.”

  “Along the way, we can discuss how to use your Marines as part of the ship’s company while we do so. From now on, I can only assume every star system we enter is hostile.”

  — 20 —

  After an uneventful day, DeCarde joined Morane in the CIC for their exit from the wormhole. Mercifully, the video feed turned on only after the strange stretching and distorting sensation passed. Out of precaution, Morane placed his ship at battle stations, in case trouble awaited them on the other side.

  Since they were now part of the crew, DeCarde’s Marines had donned their armor and taken station around Vanquish according to the ship’s original standing orders that included the use of any embarked infantry element. Pathfinders were nothing if not adaptable, and after a few quick practice runs, they were ready when the actual call sounded.

  “Scanning,” Chief Lettis said the moment their universe stabilized again. “Narwhal and Myrtale are still keeping station and are in silent mode. If I didn’t know they were there, I wouldn’t see them.”

  “Both report a successful transit,” the signals petty officer added.

  Morane turned to DeCarde. “And now we wait and watch for activity in this system. The wormhole ejected us with a decent sublight velocity, meaning we need not light our drives just yet.”

  No more than an hour passed before Chief Lettis said, “The sensors picked up three hyperspace signatures headed in our direction. Two in close formation some distance behind the third.”

  “Not quite as deserted as we hoped. No matter. They’re unlikely to spot us.”

  Half an hour later, Lettis spoke again. “Three emergence signatures just over six hundred thousand kilometers off our starboard quarter.” A video feed appeared on the main display while the tactical projection gave birth to three red icons. “Two Rancor class frigates and one freighter. Looking for identifying marks on the freighter.”

  As they studied the unknown ships racing toward Wormhole Four, one of the frigates fired at the civilian ship and scored a direct hit on its aft shields, creating a blue-green aurora that spiked into the purple.

  “Judging by that flare, the freighter’s aft generators are about to overload. I don’t think it has the hull strength to resist for long without shields.”

  Morane nodded. “Aye.”

  “Sir, they’re broadcasting at the freighter. In clear.”

  “Put it on speakers.”

  “Dawn Trader, this is Retribution. By order of Viceroy Santana, you will decelerate and prepare for boarding. If you do not comply, we will destroy you.”

  “You’re nothing but damned pirates pretending to be part of a navy,” an irate man’s voice replied, “and your poxed viceroy is no more than a jumped up, sociopathic clerk with delusions of grandeur. Besides, if we surrender, we’ll be executed at Santana’s orders, so fuck off.”

  Creswell raised her hand to attract Morane’s attention. “Dawn Trader belongs to the Galactic Dawn Corporation, headquartered on Yotai. The frigate Retribution is listed as part of the 16th Fleet, 168th Battle Group, stationed in the Ariel system.”

  “Last warning, Dawn Trader. Surrender and live. Resist and die.”

  “And I said fuck off.”

  “There’s a Santana listed as governor general of Ariel. A minor baronet of no great accomplishments or family. He could have declared himself independent of Viceroy Joback, who runs the Coalsack. Or at least Joback did when we received our last update. The admiral commanding 16th Fleet might be in control now if he followed Loren’s example in the Shield Sector.”

  “Maybe this Santana suborned the 168th’s flag officer or convinced a subordinate to mutiny in return for a quick promotion, so he could set up his own fiefdom. But I didn’t think parts of the empire were already so far down the road to chaos.”

  “Things fall apart; the center cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,” DeCarde quoted in a soft voice.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “William Butler Yeats, Captain. A twentieth-century poet. The combination of a quasi-eidetic memory and a propensity for collecting pre-imperial and even pre-diaspora historical trivia is a family curse that has afflicted us for centuries. Some say Yeats’ poem was meant to underscore the dissolution of a stable political order in the aftermath of a great war.”

  “Your family curse could be a boon to our project, Colonel. We’ll need to consider how best we can tap that particular fount of knowledge.”

  “I draw the line at anything resembling a mind probe.”

  “Nothing of the sort, though I do expect you to talk freely and share.” Morane’s eyes slipped back to the display just in time to catch the frigate Retribution firing again. This time, Dawn Trader’s aft shields gave birth to a bright purple aurora which collapsed with terrifying suddenness.

  “Captain,” Mikkel’s hologram said, “whatever the reasons for the pursuit we’re witnessing, it doesn’t feel right watching a pair of Navy frigates — it doesn’t matter whose navy — attacking an unarmed civilian ship with who knows how many souls on board.”

  Chief Petty Officer Lettis glanced over his shoulder. “According to my scans, approximately two hundred.”

  Morane let out a heartfelt sigh. “You are correct once more, Iona. Vanquish will go ‘up systems’ and target both frigates. Fire at my orders. Signals, open a link with Retribution. Narwhal and Myrtale to stay silent.”

  DeCarde let out a grim chuckle. “I’d love to see the face of that frigate captain when a fast attack cruiser suddenly appears on his sensors.”

  When the signals petty officer nodded, Morane said, “You’re about to get that chance just now. Open the connection.”

  An angry, dark-haired woman with a miser’s mean features swam into focus on the CIC’s secondary display. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

  “I’m Captain Jonas Morane, 197th Battle Group. Why are you shooting at a civilian freighter?”

  “None of your business. And if you’re 19th Fleet, you don’t belong in this sector.” She glanced to one side and frowned. “Where are the rest of your ships?”

  “They’re here, running silent but watching you, ready to come ‘up systems’ and open fire. You may have noticed that my ship is targeting you, and as I carry a battlecruiser’s weight of guns and missiles, I can easily shred a pair of frigates. And I’m not in a mood to be charitable when I catch Navy ships trying to destroy an unarmed vessel with two hundred innocent people aboard. Therefore, please refrain from firing on Dawn Trader again. Oh, and I believe it’s common courtesy to name yourself when a senior officer calls, especially when said senior officer is giving you an order.”

  “I’m Commander Garbina Qoli, of the frigate Retribution. And that freighter you seem so keen to protect, Captain, is carrying traitors, dangerous subversives who attempted to overthrow Viceroy Santana.”

  “Ah, yes.” Morane settled back in his chair and gazed at Qoli with hard eyes. “Viceroy Santana. And what would his allegiance be? The Coalsack Sector comes under Viceroy Joback, no?”

  “Joback’s dead, killed by Admiral Zahar, who usurped the viceregal chair and denounced Empress Dendera. As a governor general loyal to Her Majesty, Guillermo Santana assumed Viceroy Joback’s mantle and ordered loyal units of the 16th Fleet to arrest rebels, such as the traitors fleeing in Dawn Trader. And what are your loyalties, sir?”

  “My loyalties are neither here nor there, Commander,
but I won’t allow you to massacre civilians. The Aldebaran Conventions still apply to any human armed services, no matter to whom they pledge allegiance.”

  “You’d open fire on us to protect traitors?”

  “To protect civilians against rogue naval units carrying out illegal acts? Of course. Now break off pursuit and let them go through the wormhole.” When Qoli didn’t immediately reply, Morane glanced at Creswell. “A warning salvo across Retribution’s bow, if you please. Let’s see what color we can get from her forward shields.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Fire.”

  A half-dozen large caliber plasma rounds erupted from Vanquish’s guns and streaked across the void. They grazed Retribution’s bow shields close enough to raise a bluish aurora as competing energies clashed.

  “Turn around and leave,” Morane said. “Your chase is over. Going after Dawn Trader through that wormhole to Coraline won’t do you much good. The system has fallen to Admiral Loren’s rebel forces and is presently occupied by Commodore Kischak’s 191st Battle Group.”

  Qoli sneered. “Meaning you’re traitors as well.”

  “You may believe whatever you choose. However, take note I have not actually fired at you, even though my battle group could destroy your two ships in a matter of minutes. And I will let you leave unharmed once that freighter vanishes without further harm.”

  Lettis raised a hand and pointed at a side display. Dawn Trader was about to cross the wormhole’s event horizon.

  Morane nodded. “Something that will occur in a matter of minutes.”

  They saw Qoli’s lips move soundlessly as she gave orders after cutting the audio portion of the link.

  “They’re changing course, Captain.”

  The audio came back on. “Viceroy Santana will hear of this. There will be no safe haven for you anywhere in the Coalsack Sector.”

  “Not even in systems held by Admiral Zahar?”

  “He miscalculated how much of the 16thFleet was willing to rebel and will find himself trapped in the Yotai system soon enough. We will meet again, Captain, and under circumstances that will make you regret helping enemies of the Crown escape.” The link abruptly went dark.

  “Not one for courtesy,” Mikkel murmured.

  “Apparently not. We will stay at the current velocity until Commander Qoli and her colleague initiate a wormhole transit, to make sure they can’t track us.”

  “What if they leave through Wormhole Three? That’s the one you want to use.”

  “Then I shall be forced to plot a new route, Iona. It’s a given they’ll be waiting on the other end for a day or two in case we come through. If not to ambush us, then at the very least to find out what we supposed rebels from the Shield Sector are doing in their part of the empire. Though I fear our new path might lead through more inhabited systems than planned, with the risk it entails.”

  DeCarde gave Morane a wry grin. “No plan survives contact with the enemy, right?”

  “Correct. And I fear we now face nothing but enemies. The loyalists consider us rebels, and the rebels believe we’re loyalists.”

  Chief Lettis snorted. “And that means we’ve reached peak FUBAR, sir.”

  — 21 —

  “There’s no hiding from the fact our options are shrinking.” Morane’s eyes went around the conference room table. “Since the ships from the 168thtook the wormhole I intended us to use, our next best route means eventually crossing the Parth system. Thankfully, it’s the only major populated junction before Arietis. The other inhabited systems shouldn’t present any problems since they’re unlikely to have a naval presence from either side.”

  “Famous last words?” Mikkel’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

  “More like a pious hope, Iona. As our Marine reminded me yesterday, no plan survives contact with the enemy. My first one didn’t, and this new one probably won’t either.”

  “Adapt and overcome.”

  Morane nodded at DeCarde. “Precisely.”

  “Is there still time to quit this caravan of the damned?” Lori Ryzkov, present via holographic projection once more, asked in a joking tone.

  “I think Dawn Trader was your last chance,” Mikkel replied.

  “And head back to where Admiral Loren started this fun? Pass.”

  Morane raised one hand to stop any further banter. “If there are no more points up for discussion, I intend to stay on our current heading for another eighteen hours while we run silent and see if Qoli and her ilk show up again. Then we will get underway for Wormhole Two.” When no one spoke, he stood. “Thank you. Dismissed.”

  He intercepted DeCarde at the door. “Buy you a cup of tea?”

  “Certainly.”

  Morane ushered her into his day cabin and then filled two mugs from the samovar. After handing her one, he settled into the chair behind his desk. “You know, I can’t help but wonder who the people aboard Dawn Trader were and what their fate will be.”

  DeCarde gave him a quizzical glance. “You considered asking them to join us?”

  “If they’re people with nowhere else to go.”

  “Do you intend to collect every stray who is neither loyalist nor rebel?”

  “Sure, if they own a starship and buy into my plans.”

  “Then we might really become Lori Ryzkov’s caravan of the damned. Didn’t I once read an ancient tale with a similar theme? A fellowship formed to redeem a fallen world?”

  “You may well have. That story is as archetypal as they come. People fleeing collapse and banding together for a trek to some Promised Land.”

  “Perhaps the next shipload of subversives fleeing naval units turned warlord enforcers will stick around long enough to hear your sales pitch.”

  Morane cocked an eyebrow. “Warlord enforcers?”

  “You didn’t seriously buy this so-called Commander Qoli’s contention a self-proclaimed viceroy, Santana, became the Crown’s legal representative in the Coalsack Sector after Admiral Zahar killed Viceroy Joback?”

  “Clearly you’re not a believer.”

  “Empress Dendera is infamous for nepotism. Far more so than her father, who was no slouch himself. Viceregal appointments are her sole preserve, and she only hands them out to her close family and cronies. She’d never countenance a governor general, a minor baronet at that, practicing self-promotion on such a scale. Santana might call himself viceroy now, but he’ll not be a loyalist, and he may not rule over anything more than the Ariel system.”

  “You seem well versed in these matters.”

  DeCarde smiled ruefully and tapped the side of her head with an extended index finger. “It’s that hereditary talent for trivia.”

  “Then I suppose Qoli decided we were loyalists and spun her tale accordingly.”

  “I’d wager your restraint toward her was the giveaway. Rebels don’t play the noblesse oblige game from what I’ve seen since the uprising began, which is probably why the loyalist factions in the Armed Services are losing badly. They’re not ruthless or hungry enough.”

  “Or care about Dendera enough.”

  DeCarde inclined her head. “That too.”

  **

  DeCarde was at lunch with her officers the next day when the battle stations siren sounded. The Marines swallowed a last bite and rushed back to the barracks where she grabbed her emergency gear and headed for the CIC. Once there, she studied the tactical projection and saw a single icon near the wormhole terminus leading to Coraline.

  “One of Commodore Kischak’s ships?”

  Chief Lettis shook his head. “The power curve is that of a civilian vessel, and I do believe it’s our old friend Dawn Trader.”

  DeCarde and Morane exchanged glances. “They didn’t stay long on the other side,” the latter said. “We last saw them what, eighteen hours ago?”

  “About that, sir.”

  “Not long enough to reach Coraline.” Morane turned to the signals petty officer. “Try to raise them on subspace.”

 
The voice that finally replied was the same irate one telling Commander Qoli where to go the previous day.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m Jonas Morane of the cruiser Vanquish. We held up your pursuers yesterday and forced them to break off the chase. I’m curious why you came back here so quickly.”

  “Shit’s hitting the impeller over by Coraline. Who knows how many warships are pounding each other into scrap metal. I figured I’d never make it to my target wormhole without being intercepted by someone, and any other terminus would spit me out where my passengers don’t want to go. So I’m looking for another way around.” A pause. “I suppose we owe you our thanks for stopping that bastard Santana’s minions. The name is Rinne, by the way. I’m Dawn Trader’s master.”

  “A pleasure, Captain Rinne. Let’s just say I’m averse to naval officers attacking unarmed civilians.”

  The man snorted with derision. “They might have been naval officers once upon a time, but now they serve only the highest bidder, which is Santana, who saw the opportunity to seize control of Ariel and the adjoining systems for himself.”

  “And Admiral Zahar?”

  “Bah. He’s an idiot. After murdering the legal viceroy, Zahar tried to tighten his grip on the Coalsack Sector, but the harder he squeezes, the more star systems break off and proclaim independence. May I ask to whom you owe allegiance, Captain Morane? You evidently came from Coraline where it seems rebels and loyalists are fighting to the death right now. Yesterday, you behaved like a proper Imperial Navy officer in shielding me from Qoli and her mercenaries but didn’t identify yourself as such. I’ll confess to being puzzled by your intentions.”

  “When we left Coraline, the only other ships we could detect in the system belonged to Admiral Loren’s rebellious 19th Fleet, and they were heading for the planet itself where a small loyalist contingent is still holding out. Who might be fighting them now is a question I can’t answer. As for our allegiances, we belong to neither Loren, nor the empress, nor anyone else.”