by Eric Thomson
“I guess there will be a lot of changes in the next while.”
“That would be an understatement PO. The captain said our ships are being reduced to two-thirds crewing on account they won’t leave this system again any time soon, with the other third assigned to ground units. Or at least those who don’t resign and become settlers.”
“Yeah. That matches the gossip. Any idea when this will shake out?”
“It depends a lot on the Colonial Council.”
“So a few months then?” He asked with a grin, eyes on his controls as the shuttle edged its way through the force field and out of Tanith’s hangar.
“I don’t think the captain will let them blow hot air for long. He’s a man on a mission and tough luck if you stand in his way.”
“Yep. And that’s why we’re here with him.”
“I thought we’re all here because we’re not all there,” Vietti said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Harkness’ laughter filled the small cockpit. “That too.”
**
The next morning’s command conference was barely starting when the control center interrupted Morane’s opening remarks.
“Sir, Tanith’s telemetry transmissions stopped a minute ago, shortly after her last visual transmission showing she was still on course to enter the sun’s corona. Vanquish confirms she’s no longer detectable on either sensors or visual.”
The duty petty officer didn’t need to say the rest. Since the time lag from the sun to Lyonesse was eight minutes, Tanith was already gone. Morane felt a faint upwelling of relief that at least one problem was now solved. One of a long list, beginning with the increasingly fractious political prisoners.
“The colonial administration is still dragging its feet with relocating the politicals,” he said. “Major Kayne has proposed an interim solution. I’d like us to consider it so we can relieve the pressure on Lannion Base while the courts void their convictions, because it seems none of the social services agencies will help the politicals without that. If we do nothing, Sister Gwenneth might face a mutiny from her long-suffering colleagues. Please go ahead, Matti.”
“Yes, sir. The Colonial Militia established a half-dozen camps scattered around the settlement area so that each company has a proper place to assemble and train. They’re nothing much. Shipping containers assembled into buildings within fenced off compounds, with the necessary sanitation and power generation. Suitable for part-time soldiers who train four days a month and assemble for a few weeks once a year. Each of the camps is within easy reach of the respective company’s garrison town. Easy reach by ground vehicle that is. More arduous on foot.”
“And you propose to disperse the politicals to those camps, pending the court’s decision?” Commander Ryzkov asked.
“With a guard detail from the 21st Pathfinders for each, and counselors from the Order, sir. Of course, that puts a logistical burden on us because we would need to make sure they’re fed, receive medical care and the camps’ infrastructure, minimal as it is, keeps functioning.”
“Make ‘em dig kitchen gardens,” DeCarde said. “And do their own housekeeping, so they learn what a settler’s life is like. I vote a great big yes for Matti’s suggestion. It’s not just the Order that’s getting fed up with the buggers.”
Morane turned to Gwenneth. “Comments, Sister?”
“I would rather see them released into the community at once, where they would be forced to adapt and integrate. Since that’s not possible yet, dispersing them into smaller groups would ease the pressures both they and we feel.”
“Can you recommend how best to divide them?”
A cold smile appeared on her lean face. “Oh, yes. We know our guests better than they know themselves by now.”
— 59 —
“Are you sure it’s wise to head back out so soon?”
Rinne made a so-so hand gesture. “Wisdom has nothing to do with it, Captain Morane. I was charged by the Brethren to look for more of ours fleeing from persecution and bring them here to what will soon be the Order’s Lyonesse Abbey. And our new leader,” he inclined his head toward Gwenneth, “suggested I could leave as soon as my ship was ready.”
The friar, Morane, Gwenneth, and DeCarde were in the latter’s office after Rinne asked to meet so he could announce Dawn Trader’s departure the following day. Corinne, now a nameless novice of the Order, her cover identity declared dead in stasis, had been subsumed by the Brethren.
“How will you pass through what are now the badlands without falling prey to pirates?”
A small, but confident smile split the friar’s white beard. “I’ve not told you everything about Dawn Trader, Captain. She’s more agile, can reach higher hyperspace bands and hide her electronic signature more easily than your own cruiser. Many tried to catch me over the years, even when I traveled beyond the empire’s writ, but none succeeded.”
“In that case, I will wish you fair winds and following seas and suggest you top up your antimatter fuel containment units before leaving this system. The automated cracking station still works, but there’s no telling how scarce fuel will become once various sides reach the point of imposing scorched earth policies.” Morane stood and offered Rinne his hand. “Make sure you return safely.”
“The Almighty willing, I shall, and with the latest news of what’s transpiring out there.”
“And if the Almighty isn’t willing?” DeCarde asked.
“Then he will have other plans for my crew and me, Colonel.”
“The Void giveth, the Void taketh away, blessed be the Void,” the Marine intoned.
Rinne, refusing to be baited merely smiled beatifically. “Just so. I know you mean to be ironic, but someone reconciled to his or her fate inevitably finds a more fulfilling path through life.”
“Such as accepting I’m marooned in a star system few ever heard of, let alone visited.”
“Marooned is such a harsh word, Colonel,” Gwenneth said. “You and your Marines escaped certain death on Coraline because you’re needed here, be it to help Lyonesse in the present, or to lay the foundations of something that will help Lyonesse and perhaps even humanity in the future.”
Her calm certitude gave the Marine pause, and when she repeated, “Blessed be the Void,” in a soft murmur, it was with less asperity.
“Do you need any supplies?” Morane asked in an attempt at steering the conversation onto a more practical track. “Whatever you need from the depot is yours. It hasn’t been pilfered nearly as much as I feared and Speaker Hecht’s family business replenishes preserved food stocks regularly.”
“Rations, and perhaps my chief engineer can go through the parts inventory and see what might be useful. I’d like to lift within the next day.”
“Of course. Colonel, might I impose on you to warn Lieutenant Grimes?”
“Certainly, sir.” DeCarde gestured toward Rinne. “Perhaps we should obtain a copy of Dawn Trader’s databanks before she leaves, just in case.”
“Already taken care of,” Gwenneth said. “You will receive what we consider general knowledge in due course.”
“Once you strip out the secrets of the Order.”
“Just so, Colonel.”
**
“Do you think we’ll ever see her again?”
DeCarde, Morane, and Gwenneth stood by the Marine’s office window, watching Dawn Trader rise on brilliant columns of energy before turning into an ever-shrinking dot quickly swallowed by a band of early morning clouds.
“If it is the Almighty’s will, Colonel.”
Before DeCarde could answer, Centurion Haller stuck her head through the door. “Sirs, Abbess, Government House just called to convene what the governor’s secretary called a plenary conference for thirteen hundred hours. You’re expected to be present. It’s being held in the Colonial Assembly Hall.”
“Did he say who else is invited to this plenary?” Morane asked. “The venue seems to hint at numerous attendees.”
“No id
ea, sir. He didn’t give me a chance to ask questions. A little full of himself if you want my opinion.”
“His sort usually are, Eve. Please ask Major Kayne if he’d be so kind as to give us a lift. I’m sure he’ll be part of this conference.”
“Will do, sir.” Haller vanished back into the battalion command post next door.
“We need to find our own ground transport, and soon,” DeCarde said. “I should ask Major Salmin to dig through the depot’s inventory and see if there are a few skimmers hidden behind the stacks of starship parts.”
“Or you could buy some with those precious metals you liberated from the now no doubt late Governor General Klim.”
DeCarde barked a laugh. “I completely forgot about that. Eve must be sitting on the crate, waiting for orders. I suppose we should think about securing our treasure chest, considering there’s probably over ten million imperial marks’ worth of ill-gotten gain.”
“May I suggest you use your wealth sparingly?”
The Marine gave her a curious frown. “Why, Abbess?”
“Negotiating position. If the governor and her advisers, especially Speaker Hecht find out you’re hiding this wealth, they’ll be less inclined to discuss ways of regularizing your status as paid members of the Lyonesse defense forces. The reiver raid and your evidence from other worlds frightened them into accepting your protection as a necessary evil, but for many, we remain an unexpected and unwelcome burden. People don’t like to hear their futures will not be what they expect.”
“And Hecht will be looking for ways to separate us from the stash, just on of general principle.”
“Precisely and please keep calling me sister. I am merely first among equals as current head of the Lyonesse Abbey, such as it is. Abbess is a role, not a title.”
“Wilco, Sister.” DeCarde turned to Morane. “Dress uniform this afternoon?”
“Can’t hurt.”
**
“Brace yourselves,” Sister Gwenneth murmured as they climbed the Colonial Assembly Hall’s steps, Major Kayne in tow. The hall, a gray, two-story stone building occupying a whole city block at Lannion’s center served as both parliament, housing the Colonial Council in a sober amphitheater, and as a public meeting space.
The latter was in a high-ceilinged room with space for thousands. The sprawling lawn beyond massive transparent doors could accommodate thousands more.
“This will not be a pleasant exchange of views. I sense a great deal of hostility and fear as one would expect from people about to hear their universe is collapsing.”
DeCarde almost rolled her eyes at the sister’s remark, but then she felt it herself as they crossed the threshold and entered the grandiosely named Citizen’s Agora. A large table had been formed by shoving two dozen smaller ones together. It was surrounded by a little over forty men and women, all of whom stared at the newcomers with expressions ranging from curious to cold while the buzz of twenty different conversations died away. More colonists sat in a semi-circle a few meters behind the table, bringing the total to almost a hundred.
Logran stood and waved them to four empty chairs across from where he and Hecht framed a lighter version of the gubernatorial throne they’d seen in Yakin’s drawing room. Before they could sit, the governor’s secretary called out, in a surprisingly loud and clear voice, “Her Excellency, The Honorable Elenia Yakin.”
Everyone present climbed to their feet and assumed a respectful stance, except for the three officers, who came to rigid attention. Yakin swept into the hall and, with Logran holding her chair, sat at the midpoint between the table’s far ends, facing Morane. As if on cue, everyone else imitated her.
“Good afternoon,” she began. “At the request of Lyonesse’s Estates General, I convened this plenary so Captain Morane of the Navy, Lieutenant Colonel DeCarde of the Marines and Sister Gwenneth of the Order of the Void may explain the reasons for their unannounced arrival, what they propose and why. For the edification of our visitors, the Estates General of Lyonesse is composed of the Colonial Council, whose leaders are at this table and whose members are sitting behind me; the mayors of Lyonesse’s communities; the chancellor of the Lyonesse University; representatives of the Lyonesse Mercantile Association; senior administrators of the Lyonesse government; and representatives at large of trade unions, citizen’s groups and professional associations. The Estates General are called into a plenary only on rare occasions when the government is faced with grave decisions concerning the colony’s future. This is one of them.”
Morane nodded once to acknowledge Yakin’s explanation. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”
“So far, only a few heard what you told us and saw your evidence, Captain, though everyone knows the gist of your purpose. And of course, everyone on Lyonesse knows of the debt we owe you and your people,” she continued. “If I could impose on you to repeat your story and answer any questions. My secretary is prepared to display the recordings of those unfortunate colonies.” Yakin pointed at a giant screen dominating the one wall not pierced by transparent doorways.
“Certainly, Madame.” Morane stood and let his gaze roam over the assembled colonists, meeting their eyes without embarrassment or nervousness, no matter how hostile they might seem.
Then he spoke in slow, measured tones about a subject few seemed able to grasp and even less accept as fact — the violent end of a social and political order that had lasted longer than a dozen lifetimes.
And how they could salvage humanity’s future along with their own.
Ashes of Empire continues with
Imperial Twilight
About the Author
Eric Thomson is the pen name of a retired Canadian soldier with thirty-one years of service, both in the Regular Army and the Army Reserve. He spent his Regular Army career in the Infantry and his Reserve service in the Armoured Corps. He worked as an information technology specialist for a number of years before retiring to become a full-time author.
Eric has been a voracious reader of science fiction, military fiction, and history all his life. Several years ago, he put fingers to keyboard and started writing his own military sci-fi, with a definite space opera slant, using many of his own experiences as a soldier for inspiration.
When he is not writing fiction, Eric indulges in his other passions: photography, hiking, and scuba diving, all of which he shares with his wife.
Join Eric Thomson at http://www.thomsonfiction.ca/
Where you’ll find news about upcoming books and more information about the universe in which his heroes fight for humanity’s survival.
Read his blog at: https://ericthomsonblog.wordpress.com
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at Goodreads, or with your favorite online retailer to help others discover it.
Also by Eric Thomson
Siobhan Dunmoore
No Honor in Death (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 1)
The Path of Duty (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 2)
Like Stars in Heaven (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 3)
Victory’s Bright Dawn (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 4)
Without Mercy (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 5)
Decker’s War
Death Comes But Once (Decker’s War Book 1)
Cold Comfort (Decker’s War Book 2)
Fatal Blade (Decker’s War Book 3)
Howling Stars (Decker’s War Book 4)
Black Sword (Decker’s War Book 5)
No Remorse (Decker’s War Book 6)
Hard Strike (Decker’s War Book 7)
Quis Custodiet
The Warrior’s Knife (Quis Custodiet No 1)
Ashes of Empire
Imperial Sunset (Ashes of Empire #1)
Imperial Twilight (Ashes of Empire #2)
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