The Empire of Ruin

by Robert I. Katz

  The next night, a ship popped out of slipspace. It resembled the London but its lines were subtly different. It was longer, a little wider. Gun turrets bulged from its midsection and all around her stern. The naval forces of the Imperium immediately went to full alert. In Naval Command, in a hidden bunker deep underground, a screen flickered and lit up. “Transmission coming in, sir.”

  The Admiral had been awakened from a deep sleep and was still feeling a little sluggish. He nodded his head and said, “Put it on. Let’s see what they have to say.” He activated a booster gland and immediately felt a pleasant zing as the stimulant shot through his system.

  On the screen, a man peered out at him, dressed in the uniform of a Captain in the Navy of the Second Interstellar Empire. He scanned the room and focused on the Admiral. “Greetings,” he said. “I am Captain Michael Glover. To whom might I be speaking?”

  “Josiah Danforth: Admiral. I am the commanding officer of the Dunbar naval detachment.”

  “Excellent.” The figure on the screen rubbed his palms together and smiled widely. “We’re here to negotiate.”

  Linda Prescott Jones resembled her mother. She had the same blonde hair, the same cold beauty, the same supercilious gleam in her eye. “No,” she said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  The Security Agent was tall, thin and stooped. His name was Burton Lester. He wore glasses, a ridiculous affectation in this day and age, but one which tended to disarm opponents, as did his hesitant smile and air of diffident uncertainty. “I apologize, Madame, for the disruption. I assure you, we will not be long.”

  She glared at him, her voice almost hissing. “This is ridiculous. I have no such person in my household.”

  Burton Lester winced and almost visibly cringed. “I am afraid that we will have to satisfy ourselves that such is the case.”

  Linda drew herself up, her face red. If it was an act, Burton Lester thought, it was a damn good one. “This is an outrage!”

  More of a cliché, actually. Burton Lester shrugged. “Nevertheless, we have a warrant. Please, get out of my way.” Suddenly, Burton Lester looked neither diffident nor uncertain.

  Linda blinked. Her face turned pale. She seemed about to say something, then she compressed her lips and stepped to the side.

  “Guard her,” Burton Lester said to two of his men. “She is to be allowed no contact with anyone until we are through here.”

  Linda was the oldest of Lydia Prescott Jones’ five children. The inheritance had been divided equally but Linda had declared her intention of purchasing her siblings’ shares in the old estate. None of the siblings objected. In the meantime, Linda maintained her former residence, a large house on an acre of land in an exclusive neighborhood near the beach.

  The servants were soon inspected, the grounds searched. Linda stood stiffly in the kitchen and glowered, while two of Burton Lester’s men watched her impassively. In the end, they found no sign of Timothy Rice. If he had ever been there, he had vanished.

  Michael had been tempted to be far more provocative. He had seriously considered requesting the immediate surrender of the Imperium to the forces of the Second Empire but in the end, he had reluctantly decided that it would be wiser to allow the enemy to declare its intentions. He would be high-minded and diplomatic, interested in trade and good relations. Who knew? It might even work.

  Probably not, though.

  “It’s hard to believe that no Imperial ship has ever strayed this far,” Anson had said.

  “I think we can assume that any such vessels were prevented from leaving.”

  “If they attacked a navy ship, then it was an act of war,” Anson mused.

  Michael shrugged. “If we’re right, they’ve already done far worse.”

  “But we know the merchants have found them. We’re here, after all.”

  “Those aren’t merchants; they’re pirates—slave ships, just like us. I think we can assume that if any legitimate merchant vessel from the Second Empire somehow found its way to the Imperium, its crew was either killed or sold into slavery.” He grinned. “Again, assuming that we’re correct about their goals and intentions.”

  “And yet here we are,” Anson said morosely, “about to beard the lion in his den.”

  “Well, yes,” Michael said.

  Anson sighed. “I hope this works.”

  They had been given landing coordinates and the big ship settled softly down in the indicated spot, well away from all other vessels. Plenty of room for Imperium forces to fire on them without causing any ancillary damage, Michael thought. Admiral Danforth arrived a few minutes later, along with a well-dressed, very sharp eyed man who introduced himself as Grieg Larsen, Speaker for the Dunbar Senate. Michael, Anson and a marine honor guard met them on the flight deck, where they were surrounded by twenty small gunboats lined up like shining, black wasps.

  “Gentlemen,” Michael said, “welcome aboard.”

  They introduced themselves, Danforth and Larsen looking moodily at the small, deadly gunboats. “Please come this way.” Michael conducted the little party to a conference room off the flight deck, where a buffet table had already been set up. The four marines arranged themselves around the corners of the room and stood at attention. “Can we offer you some hospitality?” Michael said.

  Larsen declined. Danforth said, “Maybe some coffee,” and poured himself a cup.

  “It’s good coffee,” Michael said, “I requisition it myself.” Michael fixed a sandwich for himself, added a green salad and a pickled tomato to the plate. “Please sit,” he said, and took the chair at the head of the table.

  Danforth and Larsen both sat and looked at Michael, who raised an eyebrow then grinned and bit into his sandwich. Finally, Larsen cleared his throat. “You have a formidable vessel,” he said.

  Michael smiled. “Indeed.”

  Danforth and Larsen glanced at each other. Larsen said, “So, who exactly are you, and why are you here?”

  “Direct,” Michael said. “I like that. It prevents misunderstandings.” He pushed his plate to the side and leaned forward. “My ship is a contact vessel of the Imperial Navy of the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind.” Sort of the truth, Michael reflected. “It is Imperial policy to re-establish contact with all the human and allied worlds of the prior Empire. Ultimately, we hope to re-create the First Empire anew, in all its magnificent glory.”

  Michael raised an eyebrow and glanced around the table. When he received no response, he went on. “According to our records, your world, Dunbar-7 was settled by European descended refugees from the cometary disaster that rendered the world of New Holland uninhabitable. This was in Imperial year 3256.”

  Danforth nodded. “That was a long time ago. Now, we are a member of the Imperium, and have been so for over seven hundred years.”

  “The Imperium…” Michael said.

  “Your Second Empire is not the only heir to the Imperial manse. Our claim is at least as legitimate as yours,” Larsen said.

  Michael waved his hand, as if dismissing Larsen’s comment. “We have of course accessed your local web. The Imperium comprises somewhat more than fifty star systems in the Messier-67 cluster. Is that correct?”

  “It is,” Danforth said.

  “Then to carry the analogy a bit further, the demise of the First Empire left many orphans in its wake. We believe that the Second Interstellar Empire of Mankind is now the largest, and possibly the most technologically advanced as well, but we do not regard this status as conveying any right to impose our will on the others. Our intentions are entirely peaceful. We would prefer to have good relations with them all.”

  Danforth sat unmoving, his face grim. Larsen seemed eager. Good and peaceful relations with an advanced star-empire represented an opportunity not to be sneered at…or they should, in a rational universe. Michael smiled to himself. Danforth, he thought, knew the truth. Larsen did not. Dunbar was an important world with a large population, a trading center, but it was not the
center of the Imperium. It was not the Capital, a large, temperate world named Justice-7, nearly eight light-years away. An Admiral, even one on the periphery of the political universe, would presumably be informed, at least in general terms, of future plans and contingencies. A representative of the local planetary government, like Larsen, probably would not.

  “This is wonderful,” Larsen said. “Our own ships have travelled widely but we’ve only begun to explore outside of our own domain.”

  “Really?” Michael blinked at him. “Seven hundred years ago, your domain consisted of a mere eight worlds. Now it is approaching sixty. One cannot annex new territory without exploring it.”

  “True. We have historically considered the entire Messier-67 star cluster to be our immediate realm. During the time of the First Empire, the cluster was a self-governing province, one of many.”

  Michael nodded. Messier-67 comprised over five hundred stars, approximately one hundred of which were yellow dwarves similar to Sol. “Well, then, what would you suggest? Should we go on to your capital world?”

  “That would be wise,” Larsen said. “Nobody on Dunbar has authority to establish formal relations with an unknown polity.”

  “Admiral, is this your advice as well?”

  The Admiral cleared his throat, appearing to consider the question. “I suppose so,” he finally said.

  “Well,”—Michael sat back and rubbed his hands together—“then that is what we shall do. You have no objection, I assume, to our spending a few days here? My crew would appreciate some shore leave on a civilized world. We’ve been cooped up for too long.”

  “No,” Larsen said with a smile. “Certainly not.”

  Chapter 29

  “This man, Luciano Barrad?” Prime Minister Ahmed Khoory sat next to Arcturus in a virtual simulation of a grassy mountainside meadow overlooking a green, forested valley. It was one of the Prime Minister’s favorite simulations. He was particularly fond of the giant, multi-colored parrots that circled high overhead.

  “Luciano Barrad is his cover,” Arcturus said. “His real name is Michael Glover, or so he says.”

  The Prime Minister looked down his long nose at Arcturus. Arcturus yawned.

  “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him. That’s unusual.”

  Arcturus looked suspiciously at one parrot that seemed to be spending a lot of time directly over Arcturus. A large glob of simulated bird shit on his own virtual lap would be more life-like than he preferred.

  “He’s an intriguing fellow.”

  “How so?”

  “He came out of nowhere with a ship unlike any in the Imperial Navy. He carries himself very much like a military man. He’s aware of everything around him. He catalogues his environment as if evaluating it for threats. He moves carefully, as if the world is fragile and he might inadvertently damage it.”

  The Prime Minister blinked at him. “He sounds like you and your agents.”

  Arcturus laughed softly. “When we discovered the murdered bodies of Lydia Prescott Jones’ security, he ordered me to find Lynette Chapman and Jeremy Baylor and to bring them to him, unharmed. He was quite peremptory.”

  “Ordered you,” the Prime Minister said. “He ordered you?”

  “I don’t think he was quite aware that he was doing it. It was almost unconscious. The situation demanded a response and he responded, but I think that Michael Glover, sometime long ago, was very used to giving orders.”

  “You’re saying that he is more than he appears.”

  “Oh, yes,” Arcturus said. “I think it’s safe to say that Michael Glover is much more than he appears.”

  “Good that he’s on our side, then, eh?” The Prime Minister smiled.

  Arcturus held his hand out and moved it from side to side. “So far, he hasn’t betrayed us.”

  “You will slit his throat if it becomes necessary,” the Prime Minister said. It wasn’t a question.

  Arcturus nodded. “Of course.”

  “Let’s hope that it doesn’t.”

  “No,” Arcturus agreed. “Let’s hope that it doesn’t.” Above his head, the parrot cawed loudly. It sounded suspiciously like laughter. Arcturus eyed the bird carefully as it wheeled in place and flew away.

  The citizens of the Imperium were used to tourists from other worlds. They were not used to members of foreign military powers parading around one of their major cities in full uniform, gawking at the sights.

  “How do you like it, here?”

  Curly tried manfully to ignore the microphone in his face and the camera drone hovering over his shoulder. He smiled at the reporter. “Beautiful city. One of the nicest we’ve been to.”

  The reporter’s face immediately perked up. “How many worlds have you been to?”

  Curly shrugged. “Dozens. We’re an explorer ship. We seek out new life and new civilizations. We go where no one else has gone before, boldly, I might add. It’s a big Universe, out there. Space is the final frontier, you know?”

  “I’ve heard that,” the reporter said.

  “Well, then.” Curly nodded modestly.

  The reporter turned to Rosanna, looking almost trim in her black and silver uniform. “Do you have anything to say to the people of Dunbar?”

  She gave the reporter a dazzling smile. “Only that we come in peace for the good of all mankind.”

  “Right, then,” the reporter said. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. Enjoy yourselves.”

  Curly and Rosanna gave the camera big smiles and little waves and walked off down the street. The reporter also smiled at the camera. “In other news…”

  “That went well enough,” Anson said.

  “Simple and to the point,” Michael said. “Curly and Rosanna are not dummies.”

  Anson frowned, perhaps reluctant to accept this conclusion. “How long do you think before things change?”

  “Right now, we’re media darlings. Give it a day or so before they turn on us.”

  It was less than a day.

  “Certain aspects of your society concern us,” Gloriosa hesitantly said.

  “How so?” the reporter asked.

  “There seems to be a lot of…” Frankie’s voice trailed off. She looked around, almost embarrassed, then leaned forward and whispered into the reporter’s ear, “…I guess the word would be compulsion. Some of your people, they don’t seem to be, well, uh, allowed to make decisions for themselves….” The microphone of course caught every word.

  The reporter glanced around, bewildered. “How do you mean?”

  Frankie cleared her throat. Gloriosa frowned. Both of them seemed reluctant to continue. The reporter waited, expectant. Finally, Frankie whispered again, “We’ve heard rumors that your society has legalized slavery…”

  The reporter blinked. “Of course. The lower orders need to be taken care of and given guidance and direction. They’re happier that way; and criminals must be punished. They are made to serve the common good. How else can a rational society be organized?”

  Frankie and Gloriosa looked at each other, their eyes wide. Finally, Gloriosa frowned at the camera. “We don’t have slaves,” she said, her beautiful face earnest and frowning. “We don’t allow slavery. Freedom is the common heritage of mankind.”

  The reporter stared at them. They stared back. After a few seconds, the camera cut to the reporter’s face. “In other news…”

  “That should pretty much do it,” Michael said. “Time for some shit to hit the fan.”

  “Now we’ll see,” Anson said.

  Lynette and Jeremy turned away from the screen. “Bastards,” Jeremy said. Marissa, silently watching, nodded.

  Anson shrugged. “Different worlds, different customs.”

  Lynette gave him a scathing look. “Fuck you,” Jeremy said.

  Anson frowned. “They’re not our customs but it’s the way they’ve always done things, here. You should try to see it from their point of view.”

  Michael spoke up before J
eremy could respond. “We can argue moral relativism all day, but the Second Empire is not going to tolerate this particular custom, not for long.”

  “Well, no,” Anson said.

  Michael looked at Jeremy. “Save your anger for the enemy.”

  Jeremy smiled thinly and gave a little sniff. “What enemy? I thought we came in peace for the good of all mankind.”

  “I don’t think the Imperium is going to feel that way.” Michael laughed softly. “Not for long.”

  They had briefly discussed attempting the same strategy that they had used in the Diamond Empire: find a surrogate, make a deal, give him or her superior technology and let events take their course. This was a bigger Empire, more scientifically advanced, but the situation was obviously similar. It might have worked. In the end, they decided that time would not allow it. The Imperium had, if their suspicions were correct, already infiltrated the Second Interstellar Empire. Their two empires, all unknown to the citizens of either one, were already effectively at war. The Imperium had to be dealt with before the Second Empire collapsed from within.

  The next day, Matthew Oliver and two of the marines were attacked by an angry mob. It started in a bar, where the three were loudly insulting the barbaric nature of their host world and Empire. Five guys drinking together in a corner of the dimly lit room decided to take offense. They jumped Matthew and the marines. When it was over, the bar was a wrecked mess, three of their assailants were unconscious, one with a fractured skull, and one marine had a broken arm.

  All three were briefly detained by the local police but after Michael put in a call to Grieg Larsen, they were let go with a warning.

  The next day, it was Michael’s turn. He and Frankie had just left the Dunbar branch of the Imperial Museum. Michael had thought the place might give some insight into the evolution of the Imperium from a respected branch of the First Empire into the expansionist, reactionary organization that it currently seemed to be. He didn’t get much insight. A history of battles won and lost, a recitation of great men and great deeds, the slow plunge into the darkness of the Interregnum and the slow crawl back to so-called civilization and Empire…all of it essentially similar to the history of a hundred other worlds and groupings of worlds.