Tyrant

by Richard F. Weyand

  Saaret’s dread now reared up and became terror. What would the Emperor do? What would he not do?

  Saaret reached up and lifted the chain with his medal of office over his neck and handed it to Dunham. Dunham took it and placed it in the side pocket of his uniform. He nodded at Saaret.

  “Well done, Mr. Saaret. You don’t want to be part of that bunch anyway.”

  Dunham went back to his observation of the Imperial Council building.

  “Another thing I learned last night is that my father, when he was a teenager, killed two boys who had raped and beaten his first cousin. And when their older brother and father came after him, he killed them as well. ‘Sometimes a man‘s just gotta do what needs doin’. I couldn’t undo what those bastards did, but I could make damned sure they didn’t do it to anybody else.’ That’s what he told me last night, when I called home.”

  “And you never knew?”

  “No. They never told us. He said he didn’t want us getting ideas. Killing a man is a serious business, he said, and you need a damned good reason.”

  Dunham continued to look out at the Imperial Council building.

  “Another thing I learned last night was that Dee had signed an Imperial Decree dissolving the Council, and an Imperial Finding that the Council and the Imperial Police were in open revolt against the Throne.”

  Dunham turned his head to look at Saaret.

  “She exempted you from that last. By name. Hence your resignation.”

  Saaret nodded. He was being protected by the Throne from the consequences of the rest of the Council’s actions. But what would those consequences be?

  “The last thing I learned last night was how big of an explosion you can make with a few cylinders of oxygen and acetylene.”

  Dunham pushed the trigger button in VR.

  When Dunham pushed the button in VR, three things happened. First, Imperial Navy ships in orbit around Sintar launched a dozen orbit-to-surface projectiles.

  Second, two hundred and fifty Imperial Marine heavy assault shuttles took off from the staging area south of Imperial City where they had paused in their flight from the Imperial Marine Training Center.

  Third, the blast doors between the sub-basement of the Imperial Council building and the people-mover closed. When they were secure, the chemical munitions strapped to the columns in the central storage room of the building detonated. They bent or broke the columns holding up the center of the building. They also set off the acetylene-oxygen mixture that now filled the whole central storage area, turning the two-hundred-foot-square, fifteen-foot-tall room into an oxy-acetylene bomb.

  The peak pressure of a well-carbureted acetylene explosion in a confined space exceeds two hundred pounds per square inch. The ceiling of the central storage area was forty thousand square feet, or six million square inches. While the entire Imperial Council building weighed nearly two hundred thousand tons, the acetylene explosion in the central storage area momentarily pushed up on the center of the building with a force of six hundred thousand tons.

  The other thing the pressure of the acetylene explosion did was compress the ten thousand gallons of gasoline in each of the tanker trailers that had been parked there this morning and crumple the trailers. When the peak pressure dropped and the gasoline expanded, the mangled tanks re-inflated and burst. The pressure of the explosion having blown out the overhead rolling doors of the storage area and the dock, the gasoline drafted air from the tunnel to the dock entrance as it burned.

  A sharp jolt shook the palace. Saaret was looking at the Imperial Council building as the center of the building bulged upward several feet and then fell back down. Without intact support beams in the sub-basement, the center of the building fell past its normal position and kept falling. Saaret watched in horror as the center of the building collapsed and pulled the sides in with it. With a thunderous roar, the entire building collapsed into its footprint and flames roared up from the wreckage.

  “And so ends the Imperial Council,” Dunham said. “For violating your oaths of obedience to the Throne, and for the murders of Vasilisa Medved, Deanna Dunham Garrity, Sean Garrity, and Cynthia Newberry Dunham, your lives are forfeit. The Throne will prevail.”

  They were looking east and down as the gasoline fire roared through the wreckage, consuming the furnishings and the occupants of the former Imperial Council building, when a whistling noise drew Saaret’s attention to the south. He saw perhaps a dozen traces down the sky, disappearing behind the buildings of Imperial Park South. Two minutes later, distant rumblings were heard, like thunder echoing through the city.

  Dunham was looking in the same direction, as dozens of aircraft arrived and descended below the buildings to the south. Two dozen more landed on the lawns around the palace and began unloading Imperial Marines.

  “And that would be the reduction of Mr. Stanier’s Imperial Police Headquarters,” Dunham said. “It was a mistake to have an armed paramilitary force not sworn to the Throne. That situation no longer pertains.”

  Saaret watched all this with bewilderment.

  “How? How can all this happen so fast? In minutes, you’ve destroyed the Imperial Council and the Imperial Police. And the attack on the palace was just last night.”

  “They underestimated her, Mr. Saaret. They always underestimated her. They underestimated her intelligence. They underestimated her integrity. And they underestimated her preparations.

  “She knew, Mr. Saaret. She knew all along. What they were up to. All of this was prepared by her in advance, for either her, or me, or some other successor. It was all in place, but she would not strike the Council until they struck the Throne. Once they turned it into an organizational battle, however, the Throne would prevail. You know that.”

  “Yes, Sire. In history, challenging the Throne was always a bad idea. As I tried to explain to my erstwhile colleagues.”

  “But she could not and would not move against the Council unless they struck first. If they hadn’t, they would all still be alive. As it is, though....”

  Dunham spat over the railing in the direction of the burning wreckage of the Imperial Council building. He turned to Saaret.

  “And now, Mr. Saaret. I understand you are currently unemployed. I therefore have a proposition for you. I have a job opening that is a perfect match for your skills. Co-consul.”

  Saaret started. Co-consul was, in historic terms, a co-ruler of Rome during the Republic, and often the right hand man of the Emperor during the Empire. The Emperor held the ultimate authority, but consul was the highest ranking position after only the Emperor himself.

  “Why would you offer me such a position, Your Majesty? I was the Chairman of the Council that struck at the Throne.”

  “Against your judgment, your integrity, and your advice. Mr. Saaret, you were one of the very few people my sister trusted to act, in all things, in the Empire’s best interests. The self-serving Council, with all its minions and flunkies and assistants, is gone. I need someone to pick up the threads of government, to work with me to reweave them into a new structure. The Empire still needs your judgment, your integrity, and your advice, Mr. Saaret.”

  Saaret looked into those white-blue eyes. My God, the man is serious.

  Dunham smiled slowly as he saw the realization flare in Saaret’s eyes.

  “Let me put it this way, Mr. Saaret. If not you, who would you suggest?”

  Saaret shook himself.

  “I have no alternate to suggest, Your Majesty.”

  “Is that an acceptance, Mr. Saaret? Are you prepared once more to work for the greater good of the Empire?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “Very well, Mr. Saaret.”

  Dunham reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket, and pulled out the chain and medal of office Saaret had surrendered earlier.

  “Your medal of office, Mr. Saaret.”

  “Not a new medal, Your Majesty?”

  “Why, Mr. Saaret? You never sullied this one.”
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  Saaret bowed deeply before the Emperor, and Dunham put the chain over his head and around his neck.

  After one last look at the burning wreckage of the Imperial Council building, Dunham turned to go back into the palace.

  “Come along, Mr. Saaret. We have work to do.”

  “One question, Your Majesty.”

  “Yes, Mr. Saaret?”

  “What will be your reign name, Sire?”

  “Why, Trajan, of course.”

  Saaret had not known Dunham was a student of history, but he nodded. Trajan was the second of Rome’s Five Good Emperors, a commoner and a military man. He expanded the Roman Empire to its greatest extent, and was considered one of the best, if not the best, emperors Rome ever had. He ruled for twenty years of prosperity.

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  First Steps

  The residents of the Residence Wing had been evacuated from the Imperial Palace the evening before. Most had still been awake, and the rest had been woken by the building shaking from multiple impacts. The VR had carried the alarm, as well as audible alarms in the apartments.

  Imperial Guardsmen had moved down the corridors, knocking on doors, and Guardsmen in the hallways had directed them down the fire escape stairwells. Over twenty floors down the stairwells and out into the night, then over to the Imperial Research building. The Housekeeping night shift had brought blankets, and they had all camped out in the large central atrium.

  Nobody really slept. They napped on the floor, off and on, as terrible rumors circulated. One thing they all knew for sure was there had been an attack on the palace. They had seen the fires while they were walking from the Imperial Palace to the Imperial Research building. At least one of those fires was in the Imperial Residence, dangerously close to the Empress’s apartment.

  The commuting staff did not come in that morning, having been told in VR to stay home today, but the cafeteria staff came in at eight o’clock and served everyone breakfast. George Pullman, Ann Pullman, Bob Finn, and Fiona Alvey sat together for breakfast.

  “Do we know anything for sure yet?” Fiona Alvey asked.

  “Not really,” George Pullman said. “There’s been no public announcement, and none of the staff seem to know anything. But I think it’s bad news, based on the looks on the faces of the Imperial Guardsmen. They aren’t saying anything, but they know something.”

  “I think it’s bad news, too,” Ann Pullman said. “The Guardsmen look really upset. I hope she’s OK, but I fear she’s not.”

  “If she’s not – if the worst has occurred – the interesting question is, Who is the heir to the Throne?” Bob Finn said. “And what does that mean for all of us and our efforts to reform the government?”

  “That’s a dark thought,” George Pullman said. “I have no idea.”

  About nine-thirty they felt a sharp shock shake the building, then a distant rumbling sound that went on for several seconds. Someone came in from outside where he had been taking the morning air on the front lawn.

  “The Imperial Council building just imploded. It just came crashing down. It’s completely destroyed. There are missiles from orbit striking south of town. And shuttles full of Imperial Marines are landing on the lawn outside.”

  “Are we in any danger?” Alvey asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Ann Pullman said. “Look at the Imperial Guardsmen in the room. They don’t seem at all concerned. As a matter of fact, they’ve taken on an air of grim satisfaction.”

  “I think the Throne has struck back,” George Pullman said. “We’re in the middle of a civil war.”

  “Was the Council in session?” Finn asked.

  “I don’t know,” George Pullman said.

  “What’s south of town?” Fiona Alvey asked.

  “The Imperial Marine Training Center is south of town,” Ann Pullman said.

  “Yes, but that’s four hundred miles from here,” George Pullman said. “The Imperial Police Headquarters, though, is in the south outskirts of the city.”

  Their speculations ended when General Daggert, Major Dunham, and Lord Saaret of the Imperial Council entered the room and walked to a raised area to one side where everyone could see them. Daggert addressed the crowd.

  “Good morning, everyone.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience last night. The fires have been put out, and everyone will be allowed to go back to their apartments once we’re done here. This will not be a normal work day, so you will all be free to catch up on the sleep you missed last night.

  “To address any safety concerns, we are safe here now. A regiment of Imperial Marines is providing security on the palace grounds for the moment while cleanup operations are underway.

  “What happened last night is Imperial Police forces loyal to and under the command of members of the Imperial Council attacked the Imperial Palace. Despite the valiant defense of the Imperial Marines, the attack succeeded in its primary goal, to kill the sitting Empress. Empress Ilithyia II is dead.”

  Daggert choked up on this last, and murmurs and gasps ran through the crowd.

  “The Empress named the heir to the throne as the tension between the Throne and the Council increased over the last month. Her heir is her brother, Major Robert Allen Dunham, the Emperor Trajan. Long live the Emperor!”

  Everyone stood, and many in the crowd called out “Long live the Emperor” as Daggert turned to Dunham and bowed. Then Dunham addressed the crowd.

  “Be seated, everyone.

  “My sister the Empress died in the attack last night, as did her husband, Captain Sean Garrity, and my wife, Cynthia Newberry Dunham. I survived only because I had gone to see what the alarm was about, and even so it was a near thing, as I was still on the upper floor of the Imperial Residence when the attack came.

  “The attack was in response to my sister’s efforts to reform the Empire. It was carried out by Imperial Police forces loyal to and under the command of rogue elements within the Imperial Council. My sister had seen this as a possibility, and had prepared responses, but she would not strike at the Council absent a direct strike against the Throne.

  “Finding itself under attack, however, the Throne has struck back. At nine-thirty this morning, I gave the order for the responses my sister had prepared. The Imperial Council building was imploded using explosives that had been emplaced at my sister’s order. The Council was in session at the time. Everyone in the building died in the implosion and subsequent fire.

  “Additionally, Imperial Navy and Imperial Marine forces under my command implemented plans that had been put in place by my sister, and have destroyed the Imperial Police Headquarters and killed or captured everyone there.

  “The civil war is over. The Throne has prevailed. The Empire survives. My sister died to ensure that outcome. Now it is left to us to carry out her reforms, to remake the Empire for the benefit of its people. We will do that, now, without Council opposition. The Imperial Council as an organization has been dissolved by Imperial Decree.

  “Aiding us in our efforts will be Mr. Saaret, the former Chairman of the Imperial Council. The attack against the Throne was carried out by the Council against his judgment and advice, and without his knowledge. His honor is not besmirched, and there is no greater student of the Empire or more knowledgeable administrator of its government to help us in our efforts. Mr. Saaret has agreed to take the position of co-consul in the new government, his authority second only to that of the Throne itself.”

  Dunham turned to face Saaret and clapped, and the crowd joined in the applause. Saaret bowed, first to the Emperor, then to the crowd.

  “We will renew our effort to reform this government, to make it a government of civil servants dedicated to the well-being of the people. We will begin that effort tomorrow. Today is a day of mourning the loss of our Empress and our friends.”

  Dunham choked on the last word. He waved a simple goodbye and walked to the exit, followed by Daggert, Saaret, and the Empress’s Personal Secretary Claude
Perrin, as the crowd yelled “Long live the Emperor!”

  Once the Emperor had left, George and Ann Pullman, Bob Finn, and Fiona Alvey sat back down at their table.

  “The Empress gone,” Ann Pullman said. “That’s hard to take.”

  “And the Council, and the Imperial Police,” Bob Finn said. “In less than a day.”

  “They made the mistake of striking at the Throne,” George Pullman said. “That turned it from a criminal matter to a war for control of the Empire, and the rules are different.”

  “She had that building wired in advance,” Bob Finn said. “She had to have. That takes a while to set up. Days, at least.”

  “What do you think of the new Emperor?” Alvey asked. “That sounds a little weird. Emperor.”

  “I don’t know him that well, but I don’t think it will be a problem,” George Pullman said. “The Empress was very popular. Her reforms have resulted in lower shipping charges, lower passenger fares, better healthcare, lower prices on a whole bunch of things as the patent reforms open up competition. The economy is roaring. Now that she’s a martyr, her popularity will only grow. And he’s her brother. People will expect him to carry on her reforms.”

  “And the strike against the Council?” Finn asked.

  “He’ll inherit some of her popularity anyway, as her brother, as well as sympathy, but the strike against the Council will make him even more popular. The Council killed the people’s beloved Empress, and he struck them down with righteous vengeance. As you would expect a brother to do.”

  “What about Saaret?” Finn asked.

  “It’s a brilliant move,” George Pullman said. “Not only is Saaret a student of the Empire’s history, he was working with the Empress to force the Council to accept her reforms. So he’s on the right side of this struggle anyway. But with Saaret agreeing to be co-consul, it makes it crystal clear to everyone that the rest of the Council was off the rails. If Saaret thought this Emperor had acted improperly toward the Council, he wouldn’t have anything to do with him. And I would hate to have to put a government together without him. He’s a tremendous resource.”