Imperial Sunset

by Eric Thomson

  “What in the name of everything that’s holy are you talking about, Wafflegab? If that’s your name. Admiral isn’t your rank. I’ve never heard of a flag officer called Wafflegab. In fact, I’ve never heard of anyone with such a ridiculous name. And what is this vice-royalty you claim? It isn’t the Coalsack Sector, which means your presence here is questionable. And salvaging an Imperial Prison Service vessel without permission in Viceroy Custis’ dominion is definitely not legal.”

  “Tell you what — Rainer was it?”

  “Rayder, but to you, I’m Rear Admiral Ostrow.”

  “Whatever floats your starship, Rayder. We’re almost done here. Once my transport confirms she’s secured Tanith and is ready to go, we’ll leave former Grand Duke Devy’s domain. Let us go and no one gets hurt. If my battle group doesn’t open fire, your ships will be able to keep on scaring off uninvited guests. Cross me, and I’ll do more than merely scratch your flagship’s paint job.”

  “Battle group? I see one fast attack cruiser whose transponder seems to be offline, one transport, ditto on the transponder, and that’s it. How, pray tell, do you intend to scratch my flagship’s paint job?”

  “With the rest of my ships, which are still running silent, but have their targeting sensors pointed straight at your throat, Rayder. Considering what’s happening in the empire these days, you can’t afford to lose a few cruisers. Between limited repair yard capacity in the Coalsack Sector and no new shipbuilding for the foreseeable future, every one of your units is irreplaceable.”

  “So are yours.”

  “Of course, but I’m a desperate man. Are you?”

  “What are you talking about? Desperate? Whatever for?”

  Creswell raised her hand to attract Morane’s attention. He made a cutting gesture, and when the signals petty officer nodded, he asked, “What?”

  “Narwhal confirms she has Tanith and is ready to go FTL for Wormhole Parth Five.”

  “Is Commander Ryzkov sure?”

  “She says they docked with Tanith as cleanly as possible under the circumstances and that squeezing the last few percentages of certainty would take longer than we have.”

  “Narwhal is authorized to proceed. Iona, once she’s transitioned to hyperspace, Myrtale and Dawn Trader can go up systems and hook into our navigation plot. The moment Tupo confirms we’re linked, you can take us FTL as well.”

  He nodded at the signals petty officer to reopen the link with Rear Admiral Ostrow.

  “You still there, Rayder? My transport is about to leave. I suggest you don’t waste ammunition or any of my goodwill by obstructing her departure. Once she’s FTL, I’ll take the rest of my battle group away from here.”

  “Now wait a moment!”

  Creswell pointed at the port side status display. Narwhal and her cargo shimmered out of existence and headed across the Parth system in hyperspace, albeit in one of the lower bands. Moments later, the frigate and Dawn Trader appeared on sensors, and Iona Mikkel’s hologram nodded. “Ready.”

  “Sorry, Rayder. I’d love to stay and hurl insults at you a little longer, but it’s time to go. Enjoy your life and please restrain your atavistic instinct to chase intruders. We’ll be wormholing out of here as quickly as we can.” He nodded at his executive officer. “Go.”

  Transition nausea gripped him instantly, but it faded within moments, and he felt his tense shoulder muscles relax.

  Creswell pumped a fist in the air. “We did it!”

  “I never figured you to be such a talented bullshitter, as well, Skipper.”

  “It surprised me too if truth be known, but when Lori Ryzkov began taunting Ostrow, it reminded me of something I read during my misspent youth at the Imperial Academy. De l’audace, encore de l’audace, toujours de l’audace.”

  “Meaning?”

  Morane glanced at DeCarde. “Does your vast fund of trivia include that quote, Colonel?”

  She grinned at him. “Audacity, yet more audacity, and always audacity. Though I believe the man who coined the expression didn’t have a good end. He lost his head, so to speak.”

  Mikkel groaned. “And then, there were two.”

  — 34 —

  “Yee-haw.” Lieutenant Vietti’s heartfelt shout echoed through Tanith’s bridge the moment jump nausea faded, drawing smiles from her companions. “In case you were wondering, that wasn’t me making you want to puke, but Narwhal. We went FTL without breaking a sweat.”

  “Meaning we can sit back, enjoy life and pretend we’re on a cruise, right?” Barca’s playful tone was a sign she didn’t think it would be that easy. The Marine, like everyone else aboard, had opened her helmet visor once the environmental systems finished taking care of any lingering odors from the massacre.

  Vietti shook her head. “Sadly, no. But we can strip off our tin suits, now that we’re no longer under threat of rebel fire. Then, it’s survey time. Since there are only three of us Navy types, I’ll want you Marines to crawl through every space. Report anything that seems abnormal or out of place even if you don’t know what it is.”

  Barca grinned. “A tall order for people short on technical knowledge.”

  The naval officer grimaced. “Rancid pun, Adri. Just for that, I’ll make you check the environmental filtration system personally. But kidding aside, if it looks cracked, bent, strained or out of alignment, your folks should take a picture and log it with the ship’s AI while we spacers survey the systems both here and in engineering.”

  One of the petty officers, Leo Atreus, said, “Perhaps Vlad can take engineering while you do the bridge and I ride herd on our ground pounder friends, Lieutenant.”

  Vietti considered the suggestion for a moment, then nodded. “I guess it makes sense. Petty Officer Harkness has the most experience of us three with engineering.”

  “And you being an officer would know about bridge matters,” Atreus said, grinning. “Leaving little old me with the rest.”

  “If we find no issues, does that mean Narwhal lets us go once we drop out of FTL?” Barca asked.

  “No. This is just a preliminary survey. We’ll need a qualified engineering officer to sign off on a full survey that’ll allow us to go FTL or transit a wormhole under our own power. I doubt Captain Morane will allow that before we’re well away from any threats.”

  “As long as Narwhal doesn’t experience problems hauling twice her mass,” Petty Officer Harkness said. “She isn’t fresh out of the builder’s yard and won’t have carried a pod in more years than I’ve served her Imperial Majesty.”

  “Hello, passengers,” Commander Ryzkov’s voice unexpectedly boomed through the bridge speakers. “This is your cruise director.”

  Barca’s right eyebrow shot up. “Radio? In hyperspace?”

  A peal of gentle laughter followed the question. “No, not radio. Since you’re physically mated to my ship with grappling arms, we can talk as though we were in separate parts of the same entity. With more time to prepare, we might even have set up an airlock to airlock connection allowing free movement between ships.”

  “Which would let your engineer carry out a survey, sir. This is Vietti, by the way. Centurion Barca of the Marines and Petty Officers Harkness and Atreus are with me on the bridge.”

  “When we drop out of FTL on our approach to Wormhole Parth Five, maybe we can jury-rig an airlock connection. If there’s enough time. Meanwhile, I suggest you do a preliminary survey.”

  “Already planned and about to start, sir.”

  “In that case, carry on. Call us if you need to talk. Reassurance and information is pretty much all we can offer right now.”

  **

  The sound of footsteps echoing through the prisoner transport compartment pulled Adrienne Barca from her examination of yet one more apparently functioning stasis pod. After more than a hundred, her eyes were getting blurry.

  “There you are.” A smiling Peg Vietti came around the corner.

  “Here I am.” Barca lowered her tablet and exhaled. “I figur
ed I’d best take the duty of checking on our sleeping beauties, in case the ship’s AI forgot to tell us about impending or actual malfunctions. None of us can face tossing another dead body out the airlock so soon after cleaning up the Imperial Starship Slaughterhouse.”

  “And?”

  “So far, so good. One hundred and five down, four hundred and eleven to go.”

  Vietti examined the closest pods, five to a stack with enough space for a human between each stack. The semi-transparent sides let her make out vaguely human silhouettes flat on their backs, unmoving. The hatches, which doubled as front panels, boasted small displays showing the health of each pod’s systems and that of the inmates. Green lights, which would no doubt turn amber or red if problems arose, gave the casual observer an instant glimpse that everything was well. And in this section of the stasis compartment, all the lights, as far as Vietti could see, were green.

  “I wonder what it’s like to be inside one of those,” she said in a contemplative tone. “Do you dream? Or is your existence a void from the moment they turn on the stasis field to the moment they decant you?”

  “Apparently, from what they told me, it’s a void. You remember nothing. What I wonder is how the last moments feel before entering the pod, knowing you’ll wake up on Parth, exiled to a prison colony forever, never to reunite with friends and family again.”

  Vietti chuckled. “Other than the stasis part, isn’t that our fate? Exiled to a faraway colony, with no chance of seeing friends and family again?”

  “Touché.” Barca ran calloused fingers over one of the hatches. “I wonder how they’ll react when they wake up and find we’ve rescued them from an ugly fate on Parth for a different place of exile.”

  “I should imagine that those who with a limited sentence, or the hope of buying their way out won’t be pleased.”

  “More reason to leave them in stasis until we reach wherever we’re going. Dealing with a bunch of pissed-off courtiers isn’t my idea of fun. And it’s beyond my pay grade. Not that we’re getting paid anymore.”

  “Agreed. Dealing with courtiers is for Captain Morane.”

  “I’ve meant to ask, but how did a nice girl like you end up in this mess? We Marines didn’t have a choice, or we did but preferred not to die alongside the thrice-damned Imperial Guards. But I understand Morane let one of the 197th’s ships leave with those unwilling to follow him. Why this and not that?”

  Vietti shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do. Staying with my shipmates, I mean. I left home fourteen years ago to enter the Academy and haven’t seen my family since then. They weren’t happy with my choice, and I couldn’t be bothered staying in contact. So my only real family is the people aboard Vanquish. It’s the same story for a lot of us. The ones who left were those few with spouses or children waiting at some forlorn naval base. Might I regret it one day? Perhaps, but living long enough for regrets means getting to the captain’s sanctuary and making a new life for ourselves. What about you?”

  “The Marine Corps is my mother and my father. My fellow Marines are my brothers and sisters. I’ve not set foot on my homeworld since enlisting twenty-five years ago.” When she noticed the surprise in Vietti’s eyes, Barca chuckled. “No, I’m not a product of the Imperial Academy. I enlisted as a private, worked my way up to command sergeant and took a commission as a centurion.”

  “You don’t look old enough.”

  Barca winked at her. “Why thank you for the compliment, honey. But I spent more than half of my life in uniform and can’t quite remember what being a civilian puke was like, so I don’t mind following Colonel DeCarde to a new home. Besides, if your captain is right, the Corps I used to know won’t live for much longer and fighting for a jumped up admiral or viceroy would stick in my craw. My oath was to defend the Imperial Constitution, not whichever warlord might end up owning the 6th.”

  The two women studied each other in silence for a few moments, then Barca cleared her throat. “Did you want something, or is this a social call?”

  Vietti gave her a sly grin. “Just practicing something I learned from Captain Morane — leading by walking around the ship.”

  The Marine gave her a knowing nod. “It also helps keep an eye on any miscreants.”

  Before Vietti could answer, the ship’s public address system came to life. “Harkness to Vietti. I found something in engineering you’d better look at yourself.”

  “Vietti here. What is it?”

  “The crew or the rebels left a little present behind, one that, if I’m right, would have ensured none of the stasis stiffs ever felt sunshine on their faces again, along with whoever salvaged this tub.”

  — 35 —

  Both officers made their way aft to engineering at what was almost a running pace. When they entered the compartment, Petty Officer Harkness waved them over to where the hyperdrive controller housing sat like a hulking elephant.

  “Keep in mind I’m a bosun’s mate, not an engineer, Lieutenant, but I spent enough time getting cross-trained, and my eyes are telling me this doesn’t seem right.” He pointed at a holographic projection of the antimatter injectors. “As far as I can tell, it looks like someone’s buggered up the magnetic valve system and made it so the AI doesn’t know. I figure the moment you charge up the hyperdrives by drawing antimatter from the magnetic containment units, everything goes kaboom.”

  Vietti shook her head. “I wouldn’t know, PO. We’ll need to wait until a proper engineering team comes aboard. But what made you check this out?”

  Harkness’ chuckle was grim. “Healthy paranoia, Lieutenant. A bosun’s version thereof. Fucking with the antimatter fuel system is the one thing that can turn a starship into cosmic dust, and that means it’s the best thing to sabotage if you’re aiming to screw over any salvagers or scavengers. Since the Navy routinely does it to fuck with reivers and they with us, and bosun’s mates are front and center in boarding parties when there are no Marines around, they taught me how to spot this crap. Fixing the damn thing? That’s for a real engineer.”

  “Which we won’t be able to bring aboard for a while. Are you sure this won’t go off for other reasons? Once I make my report to Commander Ryzkov, she’ll wonder whether it would be best to drop out of FTL, set Tanith loose and wish us good luck.”

  “Like I said, Lieutenant. I’m a bosun’s mate who knows a trick or two. The only thing I can tell you is someone messed with the antimatter fuel feeds. If we don’t use the hyperdrives, we don’t need antimatter fuel. Therefore, no kaboom. I might find more presents but if they rigged something as powerful as this, why bother, right?”

  Vietti slowly nodded. “I suppose.” Then, she sighed. “Time to head for the bridge and let Narwhal know she’s carrying an antimatter bomb cleverly disguised as an Imperial Prison Service starship. Feed me a copy of that hologram, and I’ll pass it on to Commander Ryzkov. Perhaps her chief engineer can tell us whether we’re the walking dead or it’s something they can disarm once we drop out of FTL.”

  **

  “Nasty trick.” Ryzkov’s tone was sour, and Vietti could almost picture her pinched face. “A good thing Captain Morane didn’t tell you to light up and instead, let us be your bearer. I’ll ask my people to look at what you found, but if I understand Petty Officer Harkness’ explanation correctly, we’re in no immediate danger. If the saboteurs used something more sophisticated, such as a detonator capable of sensing the transition to and from hyperspace, we might not be speaking right now, but they’re notoriously hard to build and calibrate. Much easier to mess with the antimatter flow regulation system. However, I’d rather not tempt fate and do a wormhole transit before we disarm that little trap and an engineer looks over the rest of the fuel, reactor and power systems.”

  “So you won’t jettison us?”

  Ryzkov’s chuckle wasn’t entirely reassuring. “Not yet, Lieutenant. But once we drop out of FTL by Wormhole Parth Five, that may become not just an option but a necessity, though I’ll send over a team to ass
ess your situation first. In the meantime, my people will study that hologram your petty officer helpfully provided and work toward a solution. Keep going with that survey.”

  “We will, sir. That’s all I wanted to pass on.”

  “In that case, Narwhal, out.”

  Vietti glanced at Barca, who grimaced. “I feel no better than I did before you spoke with Ryzkov, Peg.”

  The Navy officer gave her friend a half-shrug. “If it helps, keep in mind she doesn’t appear to think there’s an imminent danger. Otherwise, we’d be watching Narwhal go back into hyperspace without us. Since we can’t do anything else, we might as well return to work. It’ll keep our minds off this matter.”

  “So long as no one finds any other poisoned presents.”

  **

  “Myrtale and Dawn Trader kept perfect station on us,” Chief Lettis announced shortly after Vanquish dropped out of FTL near Wormhole Parth Five’s event horizon. “No sign of Narwhal just yet.”

  Morane nodded. “I’m not surprised. We traveled the higher bands. She’ll be stuck in the lower ones thanks to Tanith’s added mass. So long as Rear Admiral Ostrow and his merry band of rebels don’t try to chase us, everything will be good.”

  “No evidence of that, sir. Yet.”

  Creswell grinned. “Always the optimist, eh, Chief?”

  “I’m rarely disappointed if I expect the worst, Commander. Especially with the human species.”

  “You and every other chief petty officer throughout the course of history.”

  “Comes with the starbursts.” Lettis paused, then raised a hand. “I see a hyperspace trail. A fat one. Must be Narwhal.”

  “Making good time.” Morane studied the updated tactical display. “She’ll meet up with us well before we reach Wormhole Five and that means no extra loitering. If Ostrow is serious about chasing us, he’ll catch up within a few hours. It doesn’t take that long to turn a flock of heavy cruisers around and jump.”