The Only Game in the Galaxy

by Paul Collins

  Maximus frowned. An angel? Some kind of miraculous helper?

  Interesting.

  Maximus had several hours before the surrender was ‘announced’. He saw no reason to change this aspect of history – who knew what repercussions even so slight a change might have? – so he made it his business to find the virus and examine it. The virus intrigued him.

  When he had made his analysis – protected by Level Five fields, compliments of the Sentinels – he sat stunned and shivering, as if history had come alive and pointed the finger of guilt at him.

  Wheels within wheels within wheels.

  He hurried back to the command bunker. It was nearly time.

  He found the commander sitting in his favourite chair, smoking a cigar, staring fixedly at the holographic replica of the field of battle. As the commander watched, a sector changed colour, and he sagged slightly.

  Maximus moved up behind him and drew his blaster. He wanted this to be as painless as possible.

  ‘That you, Major?’

  Maximus swallowed. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Not a good day, is it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Things will shift soon. Tides of war.’ He paused, took a puff on his cigar. Maximus saw it was unlit. ‘Just wanted to say, lad, it’s been an honour serving with you, come what may.’

  A lump came into Maximus’ throat. He levelled the gun at the back of the commander’s head. Tears stung his eyes. He blinked them away furiously.

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s been an honour for me too.’

  He pulled the trigger.

  The announcement of surrender went out with historically timed precision.

  A perfect ‘image’ of Quizko appeared on views-creens and comm boards throughout the Fortress, in every field station, and on each and every naval vessel. From there it was relayed throughout the Empire.

  The war was over. The Insurrectionists had won.

  Victory celebrations began at once, and so too did the scramble for power, which Anneke had predicted, just as Maximus could have – after all, both knew their history rather well.

  And it was in the light of that history that Maximus laid his plans.

  It was time to leave. Maximus had no illusions about what would happen once Bok assumed leadership of the Empire forces, which would happen the moment Quizko’s death became common knowledge. The historical record showed that Bok’s first move was to seize the pride of the dreadnought fleet, Quizko’s own flagship, and continue the fight. Many other space commanders would follow suit, surrender being anathema.

  The Fortress of Kestre, however, would be out of their hands (and invulnerable to dreadnought attack), already being handed over to the League, as per history.

  What happened after that was skimmed over in the history books. Chaos reigned for some time. Factionalism became rife, and threatened to plunge the galaxy into a new war that would result in fragmentation, in the creation of petty fiefdoms and militarised principalities owing allegiance to no one, all tyrannically bloody-minded about territorial boundaries.

  And yet that didn’t come to pass. Instead, the Pax Galactica was born, along with a crude, embryonic RIM. And in a few short years, the Sentinels would appear upon the scene.

  And it all began here. And now.

  Maximus used his virtual image of the commander to order one of Quizko’s elite squads to accompany Maximus up to the dreadnought, the Saviour, which Maximus had chosen for its name.

  Before he left the Fortress, however, he had one more thing to do.

  He visited Hester in the detention block. She had an equanimity that he almost envied.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ he said.

  Hester said nothing, showing no emotion.

  Maximus looked down at his feet. ‘You could come with me.’

  He expected a firestorm, a stunned repudiation, but instead he received a surprise. ‘I do not condone what you did,’ she said, ‘and I hope never to see you again in this life, but I must inform you that I’m pregnant.’

  Maximus’ head snapped up. ‘That’s not possible – I mean, you couldn’t know this soon!’

  ‘Many in my Order’– one corner of the cell had been set up as a shrine and the odd-shaped amulet she wore about her neck was similar to one known in his day, belonging to a sect of mystics that had been absorbed into RIM in its earliest stages of development – ‘have such knowing. My feeling is that this child will change the course of history …’

  Unlike his father, Maximus thought to himself.

  ‘So my place is here,’ she said, ‘as yours is not.’ For the first time, a note of distaste entered her voice. ‘We’re all pawns, Major. The forces that shape space and time shape us also.’

  Maximus moved to the door, speaking over his shoulder. ‘You’re free to go. Your brother has taken control of the Fortress.’ He turned at the last minute. Their eyes met briefly. ‘And I’m nobody’s pawn.’

  Once on board the Saviour, Maximus took command and made a swift inspection of the ship. It was better than he had hoped. The ship was stocked with munitions, food and medicines, and it represented one percent of the two percent of the fleet that had been converted to Maximus’ specifications to use the unlimited fuel of n-space distortions.

  As he took his seat on the bridge, Maximus felt a surge of excitement.

  With this vessel, he could go anywhere, carve out his own empire, dictate terms to whomever he pleased. It wasn’t as good as returning to his own time (though he hadn’t given up on that notion), but in the meantime, it would address his needs.

  He ordered the ship’s captain to take them out of orbit and prep for a jump.

  ‘Where to, Commander?’ asked the captain, who was twice Maximus’ age and whose face permanently wore a prim, disapproving expression.

  ‘Anywhere,’ replied Maximus. ‘Just get us the hell away from here!’

  The captain’s jaw tightened. ‘We’re … running away?’

  Maximus eyed her. ‘We’re not running away, Captain. We’re protecting a major asset of the Imperial Fleet until we can valiantly fight another day.’

  The captain nodded, her concerns assuaged for now. Maximus knew he’d have trouble with the woman later, but that was later.

  While the ship left orbit, Maximus set up a bio-sealed lab in the aft storage bay, and there he spent hours tinkering – with the protection of shaped fields and differential pressure balances – with the doomsday virus, which he had brought with him.

  He’d almost completed his modifications to the virus when he felt a lurch in the ship’s motion. He hit a comm unit.

  ‘Captain, report!’

  ‘Sir, you’d better get up here. Right away.’

  Grumbling, Maximus carefully sealed away the virus, passed through layers of field walls – closing each meticulously behind him – then hurried to the bridge.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are we being attacked?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, sir, yes.’

  ‘Spit it out,’ he said.

  ‘Something has taken control of the ship. We’re helpless, sir. Even ship-to-ship communications are down.’

  Maximus peered at the forward viewscreen. ‘But we’re moving. Is this the course I ordered?’

  ‘No, sir. As soon as the controls went dead the ship changed course. It looks as if we’re prepping for a jump.’

  Of course. How stupid of him. It was such a glaringly obvious fact of history that he’d overlooked it. Shortly after the armistice, and before order had been re-established, every Demon class dreadnought in the Imperial Fleet had mysteriously ‘disappeared’.

  And where had they gone?

  Maximus groaned. To the old weapon caches, of course. To the very graveyards of history he’d been seeking for so long.

  And to which, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was about to get a one-way ticket.

  ‘YOU have the Fortress – Commander!’

  Herik stared at Anneke, then down at the master key she had placed in his h
and. ‘Then this was for nothing?’

  Anneke’s face had an intensity that made him blink. ‘Right now, this key is the most important thing in the galaxy. Trust me.’

  There was a formal handing-over ceremony, with the senior Imperial officer – Quizko’s body had been found – presiding on behalf of the now defunct Empire.

  When the formalities were out of the way, and Herik had personally rejoiced at being reunited with his long-imprisoned sister, he gathered his field commanders in the old War Room to take stock.

  Lieutenant Ethon Sed summed up the current situation. ‘The war’s over, though the war’s just begun,’ he said sourly. The expression on his face caused several around the table to laugh good-naturedly. Ethon was popular, but wore his heart on his sleeve. ‘Most of the dreadnoughts have been co-opted by their commanders pulling out of the system. Some are continuing the fight, and a few are waiting to see what happens …’

  ‘To see what offers are on the table,’ said Herik.

  Ethon nodded. Herik said, ‘Where are the League forces?’

  ‘Still several days away, but coming in haste. Until then, we are sorely outnumbered.’

  A grizzled old commander spoke up. ‘The situation is volatile, Herik. The slightest incident could set the whole place ablaze again. We’re sitting ducks here. I don’t understand why some ambitious ship’s captain hasn’t blown us out of the ground already!’

  Anneke spoke up. ‘Because they can’t.’

  ‘What’s that you say?’ the old commander asked.

  Anneke explained the puzzling immunity the Fortress of Kestre enjoyed, thanks to Klankis. There were whistles and expressions of amazement around the table.

  ‘That explains a lot,’ said Ethon. ‘They never did defend this place properly from a space attack – and capturing a dreadnought was always on our list of objectives, which they must have known.’

  Herik cut through the discussion. ‘Let’s stay focused. What do we do now?’

  Ethon shrugged. ‘Hold out till the League forces arrive.’

  Herik exchanged an uneasy look with Anneke. He sighed, and straightened his battle-stained tunic. ‘That isn’t going to happen. I have new intel that requires that we act sooner.’

  Not unkindly, the grizzled commander asked, ‘Who is the young lady and what is this intel?’

  Herik said, ‘I will ask Anneke to explain this herself. Each of you has been chosen to be here today because you know me and we’ve been through much together. I now have to ask you to go through more. Anneke has my total support and confidence, even if what she is about to say seems outrageous. Anneke?’

  Anneke took the floor. She’d rehearsed this several times in her head, but it never came out right, and sometimes – listening to herself – she didn’t believe it either.

  ‘I’m going to be blunt,’ she said. ‘I’m here from the future. I’m a – reluctant – time-traveller.’

  She watched the faces around the table: some looked nonplussed, some blinked, others smiled, looking to Herik for confirmation of the joke. But Herik wasn’t smiling. Instead, he nodded.

  ‘Listen to her,’ was all he said, his voice tired and stressed.

  She gave them a potted history of her adventures in their future.

  Ethon whistled. ‘A thousand years from now? Have they worked out how to control the weather?’

  ‘Long before I was born,’ said Anneke.

  The grizzled commander was one of the frowners. ‘Surely this is a joke, Herik? You can’t expect us to believe this!’

  ‘She knew I came to find the master key.’

  ‘Then she’s a spy,’ hissed somebody.

  ‘Nope,’ said Anneke. ‘I just read the history books when I was a kid.’

  ‘We’re in history books?’ asked Ethon, wonder and joy on his face.

  ‘Yes, Ethon. You especially.’ He gave her a who, me? look. ‘You form an organisation known as RIM – the Regis Imperium Mentatis. You, and Herik’s sister, Hester.’ Hester, who was sitting on a chair nearby, looked startled, then gave a nod and laughed, as if she’d recognised the truth of Anneke’s words.

  ‘RIM will act as the main guardian organisation for the next thousand years – a guardian of peace. It will instil a sense of mission and self-denial into its followers, making them as incorruptible as human beings can be, and it will succeed. But to do this, it needs not only a carrot, but a big stick – or, the idea of a big stick …’

  Hester said, ‘The dreadnoughts.’

  Herik had said his sister belonged to an order of mystics. Now Anneke believed him. ‘Yes, the dreadnoughts which, according to history, were hidden in three secret caches shortly after the armistice. No one, except a handful of people inside RIM, knew where, and they only told their successors. The idea of those dreadnoughts, sitting out there, ready to be used if war or tyranny broke out again, was a powerful antidote to galactic disorder, and because of this the galaxy has known an unprecedented period of peace – a thousand years.’

  In the silence that followed, Ethon spoke up, his voice small and full of wonder. ‘And that’s what we have to do? We have to take the fleet and hide it – before the League arrives?’

  Anneke nodded. ‘I hate to tell you this, but the League will prove not to be as cohesive a body as you have hoped. With the lure of power and the removal of the Imperial yoke, many worlds will declare autonomy, and seize power for themselves. You will get a taste of it, even if we succeed in hiding the dreadnoughts.’

  The grizzled commander snorted. ‘This is preposterous. What proof do you offer that you are a traveller in time?’ Only his innate manners stopped him from sounding rude.

  There were murmurs of agreement around the room.

  Anneke reached over, took the blaster from Ethon’s belt, and slid it across the table to the commander. ‘Pick that up, would you, sir?’ He did so. Unlike modern blasters it had no settings: it vaporised anything in its path, within a limited range. ‘Please shoot me. I suggest everyone steps back.’

  The commander stared. No one there was aware that a similar test had taken place only a few days earlier. The commander laughed. ‘This is a trick. You’ve jigged the blaster.’

  ‘Then please use your own.’

  The commander drew out his own and pointed it at her. Then lowered the weapon.

  ‘This is ridiculous. Herik?’

  ‘Do it,’ said Herik. ‘That’s an order.’

  The man pointed the blaster, and fired. Staggeringly powerful energies ripped across the room, engulfing Anneke in an inferno that could unzip the molecular structure of all known materials. But at the end of the prolonged burst, Anneke stood there, smiling.

  The silence that followed was suddenly broken by the commander. ‘That’s impossible,’ he said, averting his attention from Anneke to the blaster in his hand and back to Anneke. ‘Impossible …’

  ‘Impossible now,’ said Anneke. ‘Impossible in this time. Not in mine. And to confirm …’ She looked at her watch. ‘In exactly twenty-seven seconds, Colonel Bok will be contacting us with an ultimatum. His opening words will be, “Insurrectionists, this is the Flagship Imperiatus, Colonel Bok speaking. I have declared the surrender of Commander Quizko an illegal and treasonable act of cowardice, and am willing to offer terms for your immediate surrender to my superior forces …”’

  The call came in to the second. Herik put Bok on the visual-audio. Mouths dropped open as the colonel’s words unrolled. ‘Insurrectionists, this is the Flagship Imperiatus, Colonel Bok speaking. I have declared the surrender of Commander Quizko an illegal and treasonable act of cowardice, and am willing to offer terms for your immediate surrender to my superior forces …’

  Eyes full of dark uneasiness slid from the speaker to Anneke.

  The ultimatum proved timely.

  With its help, Anneke, Herik and some hand-picked ‘specialists’ took a shuttle up to orbit and were met in the landing bay of the Imperiatus by Bok. It was a dangerous move. Bok was an un
predictable character likely to have them all executed if talks fell through, flag of truce notwithstanding.

  Anneke and Herik had no intention of letting the matter stand.

  As they were escorted to Bok’s conference room, Anneke kept her eyes peeled, noting the condition and strength of Bok’s forces, and signs of a surprise weapon. She hadn’t confided in Herik, but shortly before embarking she’d discovered that someone had hacked into Quizko’s security system, located the remaining sample of the doomsday virus, and removed it.

  The hack had the hallmarks of Brown, supported by his apparent participation in the last days of the Empire – not to mention Quizko’s last days. From what Anneke could glean, Brown and Bok hadn’t been on good terms, and no one knew what had happened to the virus or Brown. She’d made a point of fulfilling her promise to Herik and inoculating his entire battalion – just in case.

  They reached Bok’s conference room and settled in.

  No sooner had they sat down than Bok’s men produced guns and trained them on the visitors. Herik feigned surprise. ‘We came here at your request, Colonel.’

  ‘Admiral,’ corrected Bok. ‘I’ve given myself a promotion. You know as well as I do that you came here with a game plan. The fact that we could have talked with you safely inside the Fortress means you’re up to something.’

  ‘Then why’d you let us on board?’ asked Herik.

  ‘The chance to capture Herik of Vane? Not that I thought you’d be stupid enough to actually come aboard!’ Bok laughed, then signalled to his squad leader. ‘If you’d be so kind as to accompany my men to the brig. Any attempt to escape will be met with force.’

  Anneke stood. She made sure the dampening field enclosed their team, then nodded to Herik. He said, ‘Admiral, I came aboard to accept your terms of surrender. I strongly suggest you do so, now.’

  Bok stared. He started to laugh, then stopped, perhaps sensing danger. ‘Kill them!’ he barked.

  A dozen blaster beams lashed out and swallowed the visitors.

  When the barrage stopped, Anneke and the others remained where they had been (though sweating slightly). Bok was thunderstruck.