by Eric Thomson
DeCarde snorted with amusement. “For a moment there, I almost heard Gwenneth speaking. You spend too much time with her.”
“The Void giveth and the Void taketh away,” he solemnly intoned with a small, but mischievous smile relaxing his tense features.
“Blessed be the Void.”
PART II - PROMISED LAND
— 45 —
Gaspard ‘Gus’ Logran, Chief Administrator of Lyonesse and a thirty-five-year veteran of the Imperial Colonial Office, looked up irritably from the monthly expenditure report when his office communicator chimed. Stocky, in his late fifties, the owner of a strong, angular, almost pugnacious face framed by short, gray hair and a longer, gray beard, Logran’s hooded eyes narrowed with irritation. Bad enough he was forced to go through every line with a micrometric scanner because the colony’s financial administrator took an unaccountably optimistic view of his staff’s honesty. Logran knew better, but catching the culprits who engaged in a bit of peculation on the side required meticulous verification. And since the colonial office hadn’t sent auditors in almost two years, Gus was it.
An interruption now, after he expressly shut himself away from everyone but Governor Yakin, merely served to send his blood pressure into the stratosphere. He stabbed the screen embedded in his desktop and, suppressing a frustrated snarl, asked, “What?”
“Operations Center, sir. Ulla Buccieri, here. The system’s subspace relay captured a message addressed to Lyonesse by someone calling himself Captain Jonas Morane, of the Starship Vanquish, 197th Battle Group. He claims to be in the Arietis system, but the message came on a carrier wave so faint it’s clear they didn’t use the Arietis subspace relay. It came from a ship’s transmitter.”
“And what does this Captain Morane say?”
“Three suspected reiver ships entered the Lyonesse branch of the wormhole network. We should expect their arrival here any time after seventy-two hours from his message’s coordinated universal date-time stamp.”
“What? How did reivers get through the Arietis system with no one stopping them? How did they even dare try? Is this a hoax?”
“He says they’re pursuing but are at least twelve hours behind the reivers.” A pause. “There’s a Captain Jonas Morane, commanding the fast attack cruiser Vanquish, 197th Battle Group, 19th Fleet.”
“19th? Isn’t their area of operations way out in the Shield Sector? What the hell is he doing in the Arietis system?”
“The message routing tags appear genuine, sir, and the subspace relay accepted the identifiers as coming from an Imperial Navy unit. Why would a hoaxer warn us of an impending raid?”
“Imperial Navy? Didn’t those idiots on Yotai declare the Coalsack Sector’s independence or some such folly?”
“Sorry, sir. I misspoke. The relay confirmed the message’s identifiers were from a Navy unit, allegiance unspecified.”
“Route a copy to me right away, then sit on the news until I can confer with the governor and the speaker, and warn the operations duty staff to stay quiet. Anyone who leaks a word before I give permission gets to spend the next six months babysitting the arctic research station.”
“Of course, Chief Administrator.”
“Logran, out.”
He sat back in his chair and exhaled. Reivers. In the Lyonesse branch of the wormhole network. Where was the Arietis Task Force? Did the empire collapse entirely? More importantly, was Lyonesse now alone, with no military protection except a colonial militia that looked splendid on parade but wasn’t even battle tested? He called up his assistant.
“Please ask Her Excellency to schedule an emergency meeting of the executive council this afternoon at Government House.”
**
An hour later Logran, who preferred to take his exercise when he could, walked down Lannion’s shop-lined central boulevard from the colonial administration’s offices to Government House. The colony’s capital still kept a frontier flavor with its one and two-story buildings, and streets crossing at precise right angles. It was strung out along the banks of the broad, sluggish Haven River where the first colonists settled more than a century earlier.
That river turned into a flat delta several kilometers beyond Lannion before spilling into the Middle Sea, an equatorial ocean separating Lyonesse’s only significant landmasses, a northern and southern continent, the former named Tristan and the latter, Isolde.
Isolde was uninhabited, save for temporary prospecting or scientific camps. Almost every human settlement was within a few hundred kilometers of each other on Tristan’s subtropical southern edge.
Logran turned off the boulevard and, after satisfying Government House’s automated security checkpoint, passed through an open gate piercing a high stone wall. Within the enclosure, a white, red-roofed, two-story mansion surrounded by a broad colonnaded veranda sat on a slight rise by the river’s edge.
Three flagpoles lined the curved driveway by the front steps — the silver and blue imperial banner in the middle, Lyonesse’s double-headed golden condor on a green background to one side and the gubernatorial standard on the other. Logran looked up at them by force of habit as they flapped in the soft breeze, but this time he wondered whether two of the three weren’t superfluous. If both the empire and the rebellion had abandoned the Arietis system, Lyonesse’s sole connection to the rest of humanity, then the gold condor was now truly alone.
A pair of Colonial Militia soldiers in dress uniform standing at the head of the stairs shouldered their weapons with crisp, precise movements as he came near. When he was a pace away from the steps, the soldiers silently presented arms and held that position as he passed between them. Logran returned the compliment with a nod and a ‘thank you.’
Inside the mansion, a soberly dressed, thin man in his thirties by the name Wickham Sanford, private secretary to Governor the Honorable Elenia Yakin, youngest daughter of Baron Hengist Yakin, Peer of the Empire, greeted him with his usual punctiliousness.
“Her Excellency is waiting for you in the main drawing room with Speaker of the Council Hecht and Major Kayne. If you’ll follow me.” He led Logran through a set of double doors, then came to a precise, almost military halt on the threshold of a large, airy room with floor to ceiling windows and an oversized portrait of Empress Dendera. “Your Excellency, Chief Administrator Logran.”
Sandford stepped aside and ushered Logran into Yakin’s presence.
The colonial office veteran dipped his head at the slender, forty-something woman with long dark hair, limpid green eyes, and sharp, high cheekbones. “Your Excellency.” Then he turned to the others. “Rorik, Major.”
Speaker of the Council Rorik Hecht, the eldest of the three by far, greeted Logran with a curt nod. His wary brown eyes, deeply set in a tanned, leathery face beneath bushy eyebrows watched Logran closely as the chief administrator took his seat.
“You interrupted what promised to be a fine bird-watching session, Gus. I hope your emergency really is one. Am I to deduce that Major Kayne’s presence indicates you’re about to drop a security problem on our heads?”
Hecht gestured toward the grizzled, whipcord lean fifty-something major with a veteran’s leathery features and a thousand light year stare. He wore a Marine’s rifle green battledress uniform and sported Marine-style rank insignia. But the unit badge on his collar and field cap featured a double-headed avian, twin to the one on the Lyonesse flag flying in front of Government House. Except this version was clutching a pair of crossed rifles. And unlike Imperial Marine Corps regimental crests, it wasn’t topped by a crown. Instead, it bore the word Lyonesse in gold characters.
Logran pulled a data chip from his tunic pocket and glanced at Governor Yakin. “Could I trouble your secretary to project the file on this wafer, Madame?”
At her nod, Sanford took the wafer. Moments later Morane’s message appeared on the drawing room’s primary display.
A few seconds after that, Yakin, Hecht, and Kayne turned to Logran with disbelief in their eyes.
“The message tags are genuine, and our subspace relay accepted the identifiers as coming from a naval unit. A Jonas Morane commands the cruiser Vanquish, assigned to the 197th Battle Group. Beyond that, I know nothing more.”
“But reivers coming through Arietis? How is that possible?” Yakin asked in a husky alto that matched her unconventional, yet patrician features.
“The Navy withdrew its task force and abandoned the system, Madame,” Kayne replied. “That’s the only answer. If there were still a permanent naval presence, no reivers would dare pass through.”
“But this 197th Battle Group seems to be in the Arietis system.”
“So it appears, Madame. However, since they’re from the 19th Fleet and the Coalsack Sector belongs to the rebellious 16th, we can only guess at what happened, and with little chance of finding the right answer.” Kayne’s brusque tone didn’t quite hide an undercurrent of worry. “It sounds like we’re about to find ourselves FUBAR.”
When he saw Yakin’s quizzical expression, he added, “Sorry, Madame, Marine Corps lingo. Something that doesn’t belong here. What I meant is I think we’re about to live in interesting times.”
Hecht’s bark of laughter echoed across the room.
“I’m sure Her Excellency has heard plenty of cuss words at court, Major. Fucked-up beyond all recognition, right? A very apt term if this Captain Morane isn’t pulling some elaborate stunt. And why would he? We’re nobodies at the far end of nowhere, with respect, Madame.”
Yakin waved Hecht’s apology away with a languid wave. “If I were a somebody, I’d still be enjoying the constant infighting and backstabbing at court. Or fall victim to Dendera’s latest bout of paranoia. Living here as a nobody is preferable.” She turned her eyes on Kayne. “You’re our military expert, Major. What should we do with this warning?”
“If we ignore it and reivers show up, we’re screwed. Begging your pardon again, Madame. If we prepare and reivers don’t show up, we’re no further behind. Seems like a simple choice.”
— 46 —
“Nothing’s showing up on sensors,” Chief Lettis reported a few minutes after Vanquish dropped out of FTL near Wormhole Arietis Six’s event horizon. “Myrtale would almost be at the wormhole’s far end by now anyway.”
“Or so we hope,” Creswell added.
“Sir?”
Morane turned to the signals petty officer. “What is it?”
“I’m receiving an encrypted signal. Myrtale left a stealth buoy to tell us when they entered the wormhole. Captain Sirak promises to leave more along the way, so we keep abreast of her progress.”
“Show me.”
Telemetry data filled a side display. Creswell let out a soft whistle. “Well done, Nate Sirak. That’s one fast passage from Arietis. The safety boffins at Fleet HQ would suffer a fit of apoplexy if they found out how hard he pushed against the intra-heliosphere FTL limits. If he can cross the next two systems that fast, he’ll only be a few hours behind the reivers.”
“Except Myrtale will shake herself into a wreck. The safety boffins put those limits on in-system FTL travel long ago for a very good reason.”
Morane glanced down at the first officer’s hologram by his right elbow. “At this point, whether our ships are usable by the time we reach Lyonesse takes second place to ensuring there is a Lyonesse to reach.”
“We still must defend it.”
“One step at a time, Iona. If we’re synced and ready to cross the event horizon, please engage. There’s nothing left for us here.” He glanced over his shoulder at DeCarde and Gwenneth. “Would you like a last view of Arietis?”
DeCarde shook her head, but Gwenneth said, “Please. I’d like to say a prayer for the souls who live there and will soon confront a time of grave peril.”
The Marine made as if to open her mouth and say something that might impugn the Almighty’s motives, but Morane gave her a stern glare, and so she remained still until the planet’s image faded away. Then, the universe vanished as Wormhole Arietis Six pulled them into its embrace.
Morane climbed to his feet and stretched. “The CIC is yours, Annalise. Sister, Colonel, could I offer you a cup of tea?”
“Certainly.”
Once in the captain’s day cabin, Gwenneth studied Morane as he served them. She accepted a mug, waited until he took a seat across from her and said, “You hide it well, but you must bleed off the stress you’re feeling. Otherwise, you won’t be in any condition to lead this battle group against the reivers, Jonas. You did everything in your power so far, but strength of will cannot influence events in the Lyonesse system before we arrive. That is entirely in the hands of the colonists, the reivers, and Captain Sirak’s ship. However, I believe the Almighty would not let us travel this far only to fail. Will there be suffering and destruction? Perhaps. Nothing worthwhile ever comes without challenges.”
“Easy to say, Sister. But a lot harder to do.” He took a sip. “I don’t possess your faith or your training to deal with my human failings. I’m a worrier by nature. Even about things I can’t influence. It’s a family trait, one bred into us by generations of service, be it political, humanitarian, or military.”
“Admirable in its place and probably at the origin of your vision to save humanity’s future. But it can also be destructive. Perhaps I might teach you how to meditate while we pass through this wormhole.”
A skeptical eyebrow greeted Gwenneth’s suggestion. “Meditate? Really?”
“It is an ancient technique to help bleed off stress and learning it would be a better use of your time than fretting until we reach the next system where you can determine whether Captain Sirak is catching up to the reivers. Or not.” She turned her impassive gaze on DeCarde. “The invitation is open to you as well, Brigid. There’s no mind-meddling involved unless you consider taking control of your own thoughts a form of mind-meddling.”
When the Marine saw a sardonic grin twist Morane’s lips, she sighed. “Very well. Since his fretting about the situation is contagious, and I’m highly susceptible to catching it just by breathing the same air, teach me O Sister of the Void.”
**
Governor The Honorable Elenia Yakin, stood with a graceful movement, followed by the others in quick succession as they tried to avoid being the only one sitting in her presence. It always amused Yakin to see Kayne, the dour former Marine noncom, be first on his feet and Logran last, while Hecht somehow seemed to rise effortlessly and almost match Kayne for promptness.
Almost, but not entirely, as if the Speaker of the Council carefully timed his gestures to make sure he wasn’t first and thereby appear to be the most subservient. Hecht nurtured his own ideas on Lyonesse’s power hierarchy.
“Thank you, gentlemen. We will speak again tomorrow after digesting this ill news. If you would please stay behind, Major.”
“Certainly, Madame.”
They watched the politician and the career bureaucrat leave the main drawing room side-by-side, followed by Sanford who closed the doors behind him, leaving the governor and her colonial militia commander alone.
“You put on a brave face in front of Rorik and Gus, but this is me. What do you really think?” Yakin gestured at the sofa, ordering him to sit again. He obeyed once she took her own seat.
Kayne appeared to carefully choose his words. “We owe this Captain Morane big time.”
“So you think it’s real. There are three reiver ships headed here.”
“Yes. And if not, no harm, no foul. At least we’ll be prepared. But without the warning? I doubt we’d be able to call out the militia in time. Hecht and Logran don’t want to panic the population and keep this quiet until we know for sure, but folks will figure something’s up when I place my soldiers on active duty even though it’s not a weekend or the annual training period. And the troops will need to understand why if I’m to put up the best po
ssible defensive measures. Then they’ll talk to their families, no matter what I say. Bugger Hecht and Logran. Get on the net and talk to the colonists. Tell them what’s coming, what we’re doing and how they can best protect themselves.”
“And that would be?”
“By packing a few days of food and water, then heading north, into the wilds. There are enough mining, farming and forestry settlements tucked away in the hinterlands that can help the townspeople.”
“What about the Harper Caverns?”
Kayne vigorously shook his head.
“No. People need to scatter. If the reivers are looking for flesh, they’ll zero in on where the life signs are most concentrated. The Harper Caverns and others like them will become traps, with no way out. At least in the wilds, folks can run. As a matter of fact, that’s what I’ll tell the troops to do with their families. Send them upcountry so they can concentrate on soldiering.”
“What if we offered the reivers booty? Let them take what they want from the naval supply depot unopposed in return for leaving us unmolested?”
“Never.” His tone brooked no arguments. “The best way to attract more of their sort is to pay them. The only way to see less of their sort is either kill them or make coming here so painful they’ll look for other victims. Right now, they’re not aware we can field a thousand troops, plus three dozen Imperial Navy folks at the Lannion Base Supply Depot. We’re not Marines or Guards, and only one in ten of mine is full-time, but they’re as well trained as any militia. Better equipped than most, thanks to Lieutenant Grimes turning a blind eye, unlike some logistics officers I’ve known. The bastards will have a shock once they land and find themselves under attack.”
“You intend to let them land.” Yakin gave Kayne a look of utter disbelief. “Isn’t Lannion Base surrounded by aerospace defense pods?”