Imperial Sunset

by Eric Thomson

  “Six are operational, but we don’t have properly trained crews. The Land Raptors used to man them, but since they left, Grimes’ logisticians and my full-timers are the only ones who even know how the pods work, let alone how to ensure a successful first salvo. Because if that first salvo fails to take them out of action, the reivers will drop kinetic strikes from orbit on anything that looks like it can shoot back. Best to let them believe we’re helpless until we can see the whites of their eyes. Starships are at their most vulnerable on the ground. In space, they can laugh at us ground pounders as much as they want. Let them land on the strip at Lannion Base.” He raised his chin in a defiant gesture. “And they’ll see just how vulnerable their ships are to aerospace defense guns firing over open sights. Or at any spaceport once my heavy weapons detachments cover the tarmac.”

  “Shoot at them while they’re landing,” Yakin suggested.

  “And watch a starship with antimatter fuel aboard crash into the middle of a built-up area? No. Once they’re on the ground, we can cause them enough damage to prevent a liftoff without turning the tarmac and everything around it into a crater.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Matti.”

  Kayne snorted. “So do I. But what I’ve just said is per the book. Imperial Marine Corps doctrine. Chapter twenty-two of the manual. How to defend a colony against reivers.”

  A skeptical smile pulled up her lips. “Is it really? Chapter twenty-two, I mean?”

  “No. I can’t even remember from which manual the plan I described comes. But the part about it being Corps doctrine is a hundred percent true. I’ve never seen anyone carry out such an operation because the Navy was always around to stop the fuckers before they could even enter orbit. But they usually base Corps doctrine on figuring out how to avoid the sort of screw-up that made developing said doctrine necessary in the first place.” He gave her a crooked grin. “As a wise man once said, good judgment comes from experience, and that comes from bad judgment.”

  — 47 —

  “The promised buoy is transmitting. Same sort of telemetry as before.”

  Morane nodded his thanks at the CIC signals petty officer. “Put it up.” He studied the data. “Myrtale spotted no trace of the reivers when she emerged from the wormhole terminus. But Captain Sirak was confident they were still in this system when he dropped the buoy. He’ll drop another one before taking the next wormhole, to let us know if he managed to reduce their lead a bit more while crossing ISC668231-2.”

  “How long will we loiter here?” Mikkel’s hologram asked.

  “No longer than it’ll take Narwhal and Dawn Trader to declare themselves ready for FTL travel. We, Myrtale and the reivers are the only ones here if the reivers aren’t already in transit to the next system, and I don’t particularly care if they spot us. In fact, I hope they do. It might give the bastards pause, or even a reason to turn around before easy pickings turn deadly.”

  Morane studied the tactical display, more as a way to pass the time than anything else and DeCarde, sitting at her station, noticed he was much calmer now, with none of the subtle signs of stress Gwenneth had mentioned. None of the fidgeting or unconscious gestures.

  She too felt less on edge and gave the silent sister sitting next to her a grudging mental nod of thanks. Perhaps her sort wasn’t as suspect as the Ancestor made them out to be. Much changed in a thousand years, even ancient religious orders.

  Then, as if Gwenneth could sense her thoughts, she glanced over at DeCarde and smiled.

  “You and the captain both seem much more relaxed,” she murmured. “But if you don’t practice regularly, the stress will return.”

  Startled, the Marine could only nod. “As you say, Sister.”

  Gwenneth turned her eyes back on the CIC’s main display.

  Damned mind-meddlers.

  “Now hear this. Transition to FTL in five, I repeat five minutes. That is all.”

  **

  “I’m not sure that was wise, Your Excellency.” Logran, wearing a gargoyle’s scowl entered the small conference room next to Government House’s main salon, where Yakin, Hecht, and Kayne waited for the tardy chief administrator. He dropped into the sole empty chair with a sound akin to that of a deflating balloon. “Recommending the townspeople head into the wilds, I mean.”

  “What would you have me do?” Her voice was as cold as the glaciers covering the Yakin family’s homeworld, Scandia. Her expression was even icier. “Wait until the reivers appear above us and witness mass panic? The sort that leads to mass confusion and casualties? This way, I gave them time to disperse in reasonably good order. And with their families out of the way, Major Kayne’s troops can better concentrate on preparing the defenses.”

  “We still don’t know a raid is coming. Our only evidence is one faint message from someone who shouldn’t even be in this sector. In the meantime, your announcement threw everything into turmoil. Our stores are empty and our economy is essentially shuttered. Hell, I just walked along Founder’s Boulevard and there’s not a soul in sight. Half of my staff didn’t report for duty. The other half are glancing at the hinterland with increasingly nervous eyes. I’ll be lucky if I can keep the operations center running.”

  “Nonetheless, it is done. No one will argue being prepared for a non-event is better than being unprepared for a disaster. I called you here to discuss moving the colonial government to Lannion Base. Major Kayne assures me that since the supply depot’s warehouse chambers were dug deep into the cliff side, they’re impervious to anything short of a direct nuclear strike.”

  Logran gave her a grudging nod. “If we can use the Lannion Base control center for operations, that would convince more of my people to stick around instead of taking an impromptu wilderness vacation. At this point, the only part of the colonial administration still at one hundred percent strength is the police. I truly wish we’d discussed this before Your Excellency went on the net.”

  Yakin inclined her head by way of apology. “You are correct. But I felt giving the people more time to evacuate was paramount. Let’s consider it a learning experience. If the Navy has abandoned Arietis, this raid could only be the beginning.”

  “You’re free to use the control center and its adjacent offices, Chief Administrator. Neither the Navy nor we use it much anyway,” Kayne said. “Lieutenant Grimes and her folks are checking to see how we can connect the Navy’s systems with the colonial administration’s, so we’re not blind should the reivers decide the government precinct makes a nice target.”

  “Good.”

  “Then I suggest we shift to Lannion Base in the morning.”

  “As you wish, Madame. Major, will you please order your militia to carry out regular patrols in every town, just in case a few of our fellow colonists decide to carry out impromptu wealth redistribution? Surely that can be done without compromising your own preparations.”

  “I’ve already passed the order. Maybe a proclamation that anyone caught looting will get an all-expenses-paid one year stay in the Windy Isles might help discourage miscreants.” The Windy Isles, a vast archipelago at the center of Lyonesse’s World Ocean, which covered almost an entire hemisphere, was a place of exile, home to hardened criminals who either couldn’t or didn’t want to reform their ways.

  Logran snorted. “Decreeing punishment before due process? And sentenced to the Windies at that? It’s just the thing to get up Justice Dettmar’s great beak of a nose. I’ll issue the proclamation as soon as we’re done here. There’s one more order of business I’d like to raise. What about the folks who sent their families upcountry but stayed behind to protect their properties? A lot of the colonists aren’t exactly short on guns, and most of them know the business end from a hole in the ground.”

  Kayne shrugged. “Nothing will convince any die-hard property defenders that it’s safer to leave, and when it comes to making reivers pay a price, the more, the merrier. Teach them we’re no pushovers. So long as they don’t open fire on my troops by m
istake, I see no issues.”

  **

  “Right on the nose.” Myrtale’s jubilant navigation officer grinned over his shoulder at Captain Sirak. “Twenty thousand kilometers from the wormhole’s event horizon.”

  Sirak smiled back at him. “Excellent job.” He touched the panel in his command chair’s arm. “Engineering, this is the bridge.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the chief engineer’s dour voice replied moments later.

  “Tell me our little sprint broke nothing.”

  “Break? No. But half a dozen systems are almost giving me the amber eye, and I won’t even mention the microfractures I’ll find in her bones.”

  “So long as those half-dozen systems don’t go red yet. We’re making our next wormhole transit in fifteen minutes, so there’s no time to run a full check.”

  “I wasn’t expecting to, but I can’t guarantee what she’ll be like after two more wormhole transits and two more FTL jumps at speeds beyond the safety limit, Captain.”

  “The only thing that matters is getting to Lyonesse and stopping those reivers, Collin. This is the old girl’s final chase. Best she arrives broken but on time than too late.”

  Lieutenant Commander Collin Partlow emitted a sound halfway between a grunt and a sigh. “More’s the pity. But we knew that going into this.”

  “Cheer up, Collin. With any luck, you’ll be a prosperous farmer this time next year, just like you’ve always wanted to do after swallowing the anchor.”

  “It’s one thing to talk about it, Captain. Staring that future in the eye is another.” Sirak could hear Partlow scratch his beard. “If there was nothing else, I’d best make sure we don’t lose odd parts here and there while crossing the event horizon. Otherwise, I might buy that farm before setting eyes on Lyonesse.”

  “Always the optimist.”

  “It’s part of my charm, Captain. Engineering, out.”

  Sirak turned to his second officer. “Helena, please load the next buoy with the latest telemetry and kick it out the door.”

  — 48 —

  Built at the foot of a tall escarpment several kilometers north of Lyonesse’s capital, the Imperial Navy’s Lannion Base appeared distinctly unimpressive to the casual observer. A fence-topped earthen berm surrounded its centerpiece, a long, wide tarmac. But other than a few defense pods, little else was visible above ground. Though she had never visited the installation, Elenia Yakin knew the warehouses, offices, and everything else were dug into the escarpment.

  As her ground car came around the last bend in the road before running straight through the security checkpoint, she got a glimpse of the dull metallic portals at ground level. These were wide and tall enough to admit the largest of orbital transport shuttles. Human-sized doors pierced the reddish-gray granite between them while windows looked out from above.

  Up close, Lannion Base seemed well-nigh impregnable, the only place on Lyonesse capable of resisting marauders more interested in plunder than combat. Yet she knew the supply depot was not designed as a fortress. A determined foe could peel back the layers of defense and plunder what it contained. Which would now include the colonial government’s core people. But reivers weren’t that sort of determined foe.

  Her car, driven by Wickham Sanford, pulled up to one of the smaller doors where a pair of militia soldiers in light armor stood guard. They snapped to attention and saluted as Yakin climbed out. She returned the compliment with her usual nod and smile, then waited as the private secretary retrieved their luggage from the rear compartment.

  Another car, this one driven by Gus Logran, screamed across the tarmac and stopped beside hers. The chief administrator jumped out and pulled a stuffed knapsack from the passenger seat.

  “Good morning, Your Excellency.”

  “Good morning, Gus. I trust you’re well.”

  “As well as a colonial chief administrator can be when his colonial administration is in chaos. You shut Government House?”

  “The mansion is locked up tight, but if the reivers want my formal silverware, they won’t find breaching the defenses a particular challenge. And quite frankly, they’re welcome to it. We no longer need a reminder of the feckless empress and her degenerate court. Not when we’re about to face a dread enemy thanks to the Navy’s self-immolation.”

  The cliffside door opened and Major Kayne, in battledress minus the light armor his troops wore, stepped out, came to attention and saluted the governor.

  “Welcome to Lannion Base, Your Excellency, Chief Administrator. Although I suppose that should be Lieutenant Grimes’ line since this is still legally an Imperial Armed Services installation.”

  Yakin’s lips twisted into a moue. “Does it matter? Or should I use my executive powers to declare Lannion Base a possession of the Lyonesse government and Lieutenant Grimes an officer of the Lyonesse Colonial Militia?”

  “It doesn’t matter. If you’ll follow me, we’ve given you rooms in the barracks formerly occupied by the 77th Marine Regiment. They’re next to the regiment’s old administrative offices, which I’ve been using since Lieutenant Grimes opened her doors to the militia. We’ve prepared office space there for you, Madame, the chief administrator and Speaker Hecht. Then we can visit the operations center and the workspace set aside for the rest of your staffs.”

  Kayne first showed Yakin into quarters that were once assigned the Land Raptors’ commanding officer. She gazed around the suite while Sanford brought her bags into the bedroom and said, “Cozy. And I’ll certainly sleep better know I’m surrounded by tons of hard granite rather than Government House’s comparatively flimsy walls. If I sleep, that is. Considering we’re slowly coming up on Captain Morane’s deadline. Why don’t you see that Gus is settled in so we can continue the tour, Major?”

  “Certainly. The chief administrator’s quarters are next door. The Land Raptors’ second in command used to occupy them. Speaker Hecht will stay across the hall in those once occupied by the regimental sergeant major.”

  Kayne and Yakin exchanged an amused glance when an air of satisfaction briefly lit up Logran’s face at hearing his quarters were one notch above Hecht’s. The Colonial Militia depended on the chief administrator for funding and not the council even if Kayne reported directly to the governor.

  Lieutenant Hetty Grimes, overweight and more than a little overaged for an officer of her rank, came to attention as Yakin entered the Lannion Base operations room. A pair of chief petty officers who also seemed slightly gone to seed, the result of too many years serving in a backwater where nothing ever happened, flanked her.

  The governor knew Grimes from formal occasions, most notably when the naval logistician first presented herself at Government House as a courtesy upon her arrival. The intervening years had not done her any favors, in large part due to a lifestyle informed by the knowledge her career prospects were dim.

  “Your Excellency.”

  “Lieutenant Grimes. How are you?”

  “As well as can be expected under the circumstances, Madame. This is the most excitement I’ve seen since coming to Lyonesse. I don’t know if you’ve met Chief Petty Officers Beeney and Kopman.” Grimes gestured at the noncoms behind her. “Chief Beeney is the Lannion Base coxswain, and Chief Kopman is in charge of the warehouses.”

  Yakin gave both a polite, quasi-regal nod. “Gentlemen.” Then she looked around at what seemed almost like a starship’s bridge, or what the Navy called a combat information center if her memory served.

  Displays covered three of the four walls. A panoramic window overlooking the tarmac fifteen stories below dominated the fourth. From this height, she could see all of Lannion, including Government House sitting shuttered by the river’s edge, and as far as the mist-shrouded shores of the Middle Sea.

  Workstations, each with its own terminal, surrounded a large command chair set on a pedestal. Men and women in both Navy blue and militia green occupied several of them.

  “Would you like to try the duty officer’s chair, Madame?” Kayn
e asked.

  “Why not?” Yakin settled into what seemed like a throne and examined the control surfaces set in each of the wide arms. “I imagine I shouldn’t touch any of these.”

  “No worries, Madame,” Grimes replied in her surprisingly high-pitched voice. “They’re not active right now.”

  After pointing out the various functions that could be carried out from the operations center, Grimes caught Chief Administrator Logran’s eye.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, did you consider shutting down the entire satellite constellation, except perhaps for one of the surveillance units? While the satellites are active, any hostile ship approaching Lyonesse can target and destroy them. And if I understand the situation correctly, we may not see replacements for a long time, if ever. But put into dormancy, they might escape attention. I would suggest we do the same to the wormhole traffic control buoy the moment it reports something coming through the terminus, and then the system subspace relay. With any luck, the bad guys might not notice either as they orient themselves.”

  Logran rubbed his bearded chin, eyes staring sightlessly through the panoramic window. Then he seemed to shake himself as if Grimes’ proposal added an unwanted layer of realism to a peril he still felt could be theoretical. When he spoke, Logran’s tone was grudging rather than dismissive.

  “Not a bad idea, I suppose. If this turns out to be real rather than a drill. Can we do it from here? I mean at the last minute since shutting the orbital constellation now would cause even more chaos when we’re still trying to evacuate the towns.”

  “If you’ll allow us to link into the ground control network, sure. But I suggest we put the constellation, save for a surveillance satellite to sleep at least twenty hours before Captain Morane’s deadline. A ship with military grade sensors could pick up an active satellite network from the wormhole terminus. And as I said, we turn off the traffic control buoy and subspace relay the moment the former reports an intruder.”