The Empire of Ruin

by Robert I. Katz

  Arcturus frowned. “That does seem trivial, frankly.”

  “My father thought so, as well…but it wasn’t trivial to Beethoven and Mozart and Hosukawa and Terence Chang.”

  “Are you as good as they were?”

  “Probably not but I’d like to try.”

  “So, why don’t you?”

  “Someday, if I live through this, I will. In the meantime, I owe Michael Glover a debt and I plan on paying it.” He shrugged. “When my father dies, and may that day never come, I’ll be the Duke of Norlin. I intend to abdicate. My brother likes the politics. I don’t. He’ll be happy to cede me my share of the estate for a promise to vanish and not come back.”

  Arcturus sat back in his seat and nodded. “Did you know that Richard Salazar has returned?”

  “No.”

  “Richard Salazar had a very good looking, very young blonde in his employ, also a very good looking brunette and an equally good looking redhead. The redhead and the blond have left him. It seems that they’ve acquired boyfriends and are pursuing new opportunities. The redhead plans to get married.”

  Surprising. The same as Davida Emerson and Egidia Colbert…so, on second thought, maybe not surprising after all. “Not slaves, then.”

  “No. And another surprising bit of news; a representative of the Royal Bank of the Khanate Protectorate has arrived on Dancy. Have you heard of the Khanate Protectorate?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “A small association of five worlds. Very rich, very civilized. They don’t wish to subject themselves to the will of the Imperator but are registered as official allies. We have excellent relations with the Khanate Protectorate.” Arcturus grinned. “We wondered where the Comte de Sevigny got his money from. It seems that the Royal Bank has been loaning it to him. Sevigny has fallen short on the payments. They are here to re-possess his ship.”

  “So, he’s innocent, too…”

  Arcturus frowned. “Oh, I would hardly think him innocent. At the least, he’s guilty of debauchery, stupidity and squandering the family fortune, but it does appear that he, along with Richard Salazar and Davida Emerson, is not a part of any criminal network. It’s seeming more and more likely that the large majority of the Adventurers’ Club are exactly what they seem.”

  “We know Devlin is dirty. Also, Solomon Towne.”

  “They may be the only ones left. We’ve eliminated a lot of suspects and this business with Lydia Prescott Jones and Timothy Rice leads me to think that we’re getting close to solving the puzzle. I just wonder how close we can get before all hell breaks loose.”

  “Good question,” Richard said. “Hopefully, Michael Glover, or even Andrew Sloane have come up with some answers.”

  Arcturus sipped his beer, cracked open another crawfish. “Let’s hope so.”

  Chapter 32

  Two days later, the London settled down at her old berth at the port of Terra Nova. Michael felt an unexpected surge of relief, along with a touch of dismay. Since when did this place get to feel like home? Always something to be said for great weather, warm, sandy beaches and good food, of course. He wasn’t always too crazy about the company but then, nothing in life was perfect.

  His accumulated messages were routine: a few invitations to parties, a request from Devlin to call him as soon as he returned and one from Arcturus asking for a meeting. Since whatever he told Devlin might depend on what Arcturus had to say, he responded to Arcturus first.

  Arcturus seemed happy to see him. He had already ordered food and a pitcher of beer by the time Michael arrived and was shown to Arcturus’ table overlooking the beach.

  “I met your young comrade here the other day,” Arcturus said.

  “Richard?” Michael had already received a long report from Richard Norlin regarding his activities. It seems that his current assignment, surprisingly, agreed with him.

  Arcturus nodded. “An interesting young man.” Arcturus smiled. “I offered him a job.”

  Michael frowned, then thought about that for a moment, then shrugged. “Did he take it?”

  “No. He feels obligated to remain with you, at least for the moment. Ultimately, he intends to become a musician.”

  “He’s already a musician.” The shrimp were particularly good, Michael remembered. He spooned a generous portion onto his plate, splashed on some hot sauce and a squeeze of lemon, contemplated the pickled krill and decided that might be a bridge too far.

  “Is he any good?”

  “He’s fantastic.”

  Arcturus raised an eyebrow. For some reason, he seemed a bit surprised to hear this. “Well,” he said, “has he been in contact since your return?”

  “He left me a report. We haven’t spoken.”

  “Then you know that Timothy Rice has been found and then lost.”

  Michael took a moment to savor the moment, before it all changed: the blue sky, the golden sand far below, the silent, almost dream-like wake of a motorboat speeding across the bay, the crispy skin and salt tang of a perfect fried potato on his tongue and then he sighed. “I think I know where we can find him,” he said.

  Concordia was an industrialized world only a few light years from Reliance and Dancy. It had been settled early in the original diaspora, as mankind was just beginning to spread out into the galaxy from the home world. The planet had an even mix of temperate and tropical climates, seas deep and rich enough for tremendous schools of fish and enough arable land to support a large and growing population. Concordia was relatively self-sufficient from shortly after its settlement and the economy had never relied upon either tourism or trade, and so came through the interregnum in better shape than most other worlds. Concordia had nearly six thousand years of known history and was proud of its place as one of the fifty most important worlds in both the First and Second Empires.

  Seville, however, was a relatively undistinguished city on the shores of a placid sea. A peaceful, pleasant place to live and raise a family with little of note to attract a visitor, but the Cathedral of the Cognoscenti was located on a grassy park near the center of town. Unlike the cathedral at Alesandra, the cathedral at Seville was not empty. A figure of a priest, tall, shaven, slightly plump, wearing a miter and cassock, clutching the same sort of curved staff that the priest at Alesandra had carried, hovered over the lectern. Eight people sat in the pews as the Priest delivered a sermon.

  Nothing too radical in the sermon, Michael thought. It centered on the sanctity of the soul, the nature of the eternal spirit and the necessity of submitting oneself to the will of the Lord despite the impossibility of ever truly knowing His wishes or understanding His actions. The eight people (all elderly, Michael noted) sitting in the pews seemed to pay devout attention to the Priest’s words. The sermon ended and all eight lined up to speak to the hologram. Michael couldn’t hear what was being said, but finally they left, smiling and in good spirits, and then the Priest turned toward Michael and his crew. “Welcome,” he said.

  “Might we speak with you, privately?” Michael asked.

  The Priest gave him a keen glance and then smiled at the rest of them. “Certainly,” he said. “Let’s go to my office.”

  High overhead, a starship drifted silently upward on its AG and vanished into the distance. Below them on the beach, two people, a man and a woman walked together, holding hands. Enjoy the moment, Michael thought, because nothing lasts forever. “I asked you once if you trusted your people,” Michael said to Arcturus.

  “That is true,” Arcturus said. “You did.”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Didn’t I?” Arcturus frowned. “I suppose that’s because I’m not sure.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Michael looked at the food on the table but suddenly had no appetite. “Why is that?”

  “No good reason.” Arcturus stolidly chewed on a shrimp. “Professional paranoia, I suppose. There are always competing interests.” He gave a rueful smile that turned into a grimace. “My people are smart, tough
, supremely competent and dedicated, but exactly what is it that they’re dedicated to? We only know what they say but are they telling us the truth?” He spread his hands to the side and let them fall.

  Michael nodded. He knew exactly what Arcturus meant. The First Empire hadn’t needed to worry about spies or traitors, not after the first thousand years or so. The punishments for treason were unthinkable, and anyway, there was no other organization, no human organization at any rate, that could pose a legitimate threat, nothing for a traitor to fight for that wouldn’t result in almost immediate discovery and execution. Oh, there were a few small organizations dedicated to opposing some obscure policy or another, but none of these were a danger to the Empire. Now? The Imperium was the most immediate threat (that they knew of) but space was wide. There were over a thousand human settled worlds outside the borders of the current Empire, many of which could afford to purchase, or at least try to purchase, a traitor’s loyalty.

  Arcturus had a tough job. Sidelong glances, offhand comments, chance encounters, plans or missions that had not quite worked out the way they were supposed to…who knew? Coincidence or treason? And the best traitors (or the worst) are the ones you would never expect to betray you. Michael knew this. Arcturus must have known it, too.

  “You’ve read my report,” Michael said.

  “Of course.”

  “I left a few things out.” He grimaced. “I wasn’t sure who would read it.”

  Arcturus beer momentarily paused on the way to his lips. “Oh?”

  The privacy screen had been up from the moment Michael sat down. It was invisible from the inside but reflected a featureless surface from the outside. Bull by the horns. “After we left Gallilee for the second time, we took a detour to Concordia. Have you heard of it?”

  Arcturus nodded. “A planet. Nothing special.”

  “The Cognoscenti have a cathedral on Concordia. Have you ever heard of the Cognoscenti?”

  “Yes,” Arcturus said. “A rather obscure organization.” He frowned. “Not very important.” He examined Michael’s blandly smiling face and sighed. “I imagine that you’re about to tell me that we were wrong.”

  Michael laughed softly. “Yes. It turns out that the Cognoscenti is very important, indeed. The cathedral on Concordia is the closest one to both Reliance and Dancy. It seemed like a good place for me to start. As it turned out, I didn’t have to go any further.”

  Arcturus raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Their Priests seem to all be AI’s who were formerly human, or at least the two that I’ve encountered were. The Cognoscenti is a very old organization and they think in the very long term. They plan on surviving, just as they are, until the end of the Universe, when they believe (well, hope, rather) that God will re-appear and redeem mankind. The Cognoscenti maintain close contact with the ghost worlds, which they believe will also survive until that far distant time.”

  Arcturus blinked.

  “Didn’t know that, did you?”

  “No,” Arcturus said.

  “This Priest had an interesting story to tell me. It seems that a little more than fifty years ago, a man walked into the cathedral. He was a former intelligence officer who had left the military because his family requested that he return home. This family had once been exceedingly wealthy but had fallen on hard times.

  “While in the military, the grandfather of a close friend of this man, passed away. It was a natural death, old age, but the two soldiers were friends. They had each spent time with the other’s family and they both attended the funeral. At the funeral, displayed next to the body, was a holoscreen attached to a self-contained databank. The dead man’s image was displayed in the holoscreen, politely greeting the guests and thanking them for coming. It wasn’t what we traditionally think of as a funeral, more of a celebration, marking the deceased’s entry into the next phase of his life.

  “They were, and remain to this day, an old Cognoscenti family, you see, and they followed the old customs of their faith. As he was dying, the old man’s memories, his personality, perhaps even his soul, if you believe in the soul,”—Michael shrugged—“his awareness, at least, was transferred into the databank, to live forever, or so they hoped. A datamorph.” Michael paused and re-filled his glass with beer. “Our soldier was intrigued by all of this. He had questions. He filed away the answers and over the next year or so, he thought about what he had seen. When he left the military, he went to the Cathedral on Concordia.

  “Can you guess what he did there?”

  “Why guess, since you’re about to tell me?”

  Michael laughed softly. “The family business was shipping but the business had fallen on hard times. Complacent management, new competition…one by one, their contracts expired and were, for whatever reason, either not renewed or renewed at less favorable terms.

  “The ghost worlds, unknown to the Empire, are not quite as self-sufficient as has always been believed. They need resources, raw materials at least, to support their infrastructure. For centuries, the Cognoscenti have helped the ghost worlds to supply these needs but the Cognoscenti is not as prosperous an organization as it used to be. This young man offered them a business arrangement.” Michael grinned. “His name was Johnathan Prescott Jones.”

  Arcturus blinked at him. He frowned down at the table and sat still for a long moment then he took a deep breath. “You’ve done very well,” Arcturus said.

  “Yes,” Michael said. “I have.”

  Arcturus rose to his feet. “Let me talk to a few people. Keep this quiet for now.”

  “Certainly, but don’t you want to know the name of the friend?”

  Arcturus raised an eyebrow. Wordlessly, he sat back down.

  Michael smiled. “Devlin,” he said.

  No half-way measures here, Michael thought. Arcturus was through playing around. And the question that Michael had asked him—whether he trusted his own people—was answered. He didn’t.

  For two days, the London’s drones hovered over Prescott House. Arcturus went about his usual business. The agents of naval intelligence did whatever they usually did, none the wiser. On the surface, nothing was happening. Nothing had changed. For two days, Michael, Anson and the crew observed the comings and goings of the men and women of the Prescott organization.

  “Nothing,” Anson said. Their drones could hover. They could observe. The microdrones could not get through. The place was fully shielded, just like the estate of Lydia Prescott Jones.

  Arcturus frowned. “Not surprising.” He sat back for a moment, thinking. “No point in waiting any longer,” he said. Their target was Johnathan Prescott Jones. He had been seen entering the building a few hours before, along with his personal Security.

  “No,” Michael said.

  Ten Illyrians, plus all ten marines donned their armor. Silently, the London floated down toward Prescott House, focused all of its formidable lasers and fired. The screens surrounding Prescott House were the best available but they were designed to keep out unwanted intruders, not military fire. Instantly, they flared and went down. The marines and the Illyrians, along with Matthew, Marissa, Curly and Rosanna, by now fully trained and integrated into an efficient fighting force, floated down and landed on the topmost balcony of the enormous building. Their helmet screens contained detailed maps and all of them knew their assignments. They kicked in the doors, charged inside and separated…and found nothing but a building full of bewildered, frightened executives. They met no resistance. Johnathan Prescott Jones was gone.

  Two hours later, they knew how but they didn’t know where.

  “A central stairway led down to an escape tunnel in the basement. The tunnel went North but they had explosives planted to cover their retreat. The tunnel is collapsed.” Dustin Nye shook his head. “No way to tell how far it went or where it exits.”

  “North…” Michael muttered. The heart of Terra Nova led to the North.

  “He could be anywhere,” Arcturus said. “He owns ne
arly a hundred ships, that we know of. He could own a hundred more under false registry.”

  “Or he could still be on Dancy,” Anson said, “holed up somewhere.”

  “This is true,” Arcturus said, and shook his head.

  They were luckier with Devlin. He had been awakened from a sound sleep, hustled out of his estate in restraints and brought to Security headquarters under heavy guard. His lawyers arrived almost immediately but were presented with an Imperial writ, about which they grumbled but could no nothing.

  “Cuts through the bullshit,” Anson remarked.

  “Doesn’t it?” Arcturus smile was gleeful.

  Michael, however, had his doubts. They had followed the trail as carefully as they could, doing their best not to tip off the enemy but now their hand was played, having arrested what appeared to be one of the heads of the organization but still having no idea how deeply the conspiracy had burrowed into the fabric of the Empire. The enemy now knew that their presence, if not their identity nor their plans, was no longer a secret.

  Arcturus listened to Michael’s concerns, nodded his head but was un-swayed. “I understand. You have a point, but here’s another point: every day, every year, the Imperium worms its way in further. We could spend another twenty years gathering intelligence and by the end of it, how much weaker would we be? How much of what we think is ours will they own?”

  Arcturus wasn’t wrong, of course. No way of knowing which course of action might, in the end, yield better results. Too late for regrets now, though. They were committed.

  Michael scratched his head. For much of his career, he had been a tactics guy, charged with carrying out the strategies designed by others far above him in the hierarchy. He knew how to take orders and he knew how to carry them out. He had expressed his concerns and there seemed no point in expressing them again. His conscience was clear.

  “Romulus,” he sub-vocalized.

  “Yes?”