The Empire of Ruin

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The Empire of Ruin Page 19

by Robert I. Katz

“Make sure we’re ready to go, just in case.”

  “We are always ready to go. You know that.”

  Michael did, but somehow, it soothed him to hear Romulus say it. He gave Arcturus a pained smile. “Well, then,” he said, “let’s see how deep a hole we’ve dug for ourselves.”

  Chapter 33

  Devlin sat at a table, surrounded by four large men in armor. Completely unnecessary, of course, but the mechanized armor did tend to keep a prisoner off balance, particularly the helmets, which reflected back nothing but the prisoner’s grim, sweating face from the anonymous, polished optics.

  Devlin, however, despite his grim face, was not exactly sweating. On the contrary, his expression hovered somewhere between angry and bored. Michael, observing through the screen, didn’t think it was an act. Lord Benedict Devlin had been rich and privileged for many years. Maybe he was delusional but somehow, Michael doubted it, and that worried him.

  Arcturus, at least as experienced at the game of manipulation and deceit as Michael, must have shared Michael’s concerns but his face showed nothing but satisfaction as he walked into the room, nodded at the soldiers and sat down opposite Devlin.

  “Why am I here?” Devlin said.

  Arcturus raised a skeptical brow. “Treason,” he said bluntly.

  Devlin appeared at least equally skeptical. He blew his breath out in a faint, disdainful snorts and sat back in his seat, arms folded against his chest.

  “Luciano Barrad,” Arcturus said, “is working for me.”

  Boom. Apparently, the Luciano Barrad identity was expendable. May he rest in peace. Michael couldn’t say he was sorry. He was getting a little bored of the dissolute playboy persona.

  At that, Devlin frowned.

  “Nothing to say?” Arcturus gave him a moment, then continued. “We know all about your family’s association with the Cognoscenti and your own collusion with the Imperium. If it was only a medium sized star empire exhibiting behavior counter to our own values, of which there is sadly quite a bit in the known and unknown galaxy, we could have dealt with the situation through the usual diplomacy, which of course would include a threat of economic sanctions and perhaps the merest hint regarding use of military force, somewhere far down the road.

  “The current situation will not allow such gentle, time-honored methods. It is already much too late for that. To put it bluntly, the Imperium poses an immediate threat to the Second Empire’s existence. We’re not going to tolerate that threat. We can’t afford to.

  “If you don’t cooperate, we will confiscate your property and either execute you or consign you to a dungeon so deep that you will never again see the light of day. Quite frankly, such cooperation is your only hope.”

  Devlin puffed up his cheeks. He did not look particularly impressed. “What’s in it for me?”

  Arcturus wrinkled his nose. He looked vaguely disgusted. “You will be fined a considerable amount and will be given a pro forma sentence—five years or so. It will be made known that you have cooperated with the forces of his Imperial Majesty. Once released, you will retain the majority of your property and resources and can do what you like with them but make no mistake, you will be under surveillance for the rest of your life. Further collusion with the enemies of the Second Empire will not be forgiven.”

  Devlin tapped his fingertips together under his chin. “Pretty much what I expected,” he said and gave Arcturus a tight grin. “You need me.”

  Arcturus shrugged. “We can use you. There’s a considerable difference.”

  “So, then,” Devlin said. “Allow me access to my lawyers and put it in writing.” He grinned. “Ave, Imperator.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Quite a tangled web,” Arcturus said.

  Michael grunted. Devlin had apparently told them all he knew. Unfortunately, this was considerably less than they had hoped or expected. Though he was able to sketch in the broad outlines of what was going on, too many of the details were still unknown. “It may not be possible to understand it all, not exactly.”

  Fifth Columns were almost as old as government itself. The ideal revolution consisted of a hierarchy of small cells, the fewer members in a cell, the better, with each cell unknown to all the others. The Imperium had pursued a diffuse, decentralized strategy, one layer upon another, held together only by the source of its funding and guidance from somewhere (but where, exactly?) high above. Somebody, of course, knew all the cells in a localized area; it would have been impossible to coordinate the activities of the Revolution if that had not been the case. Somebody higher up in the food chain presumably knew all the cells on the continent, and someone even higher, on the entire world. Maybe some person or persons high up in the Central Intelligence Division of the Imperium could identify all the cells on all the worlds, or perhaps this information was only contained somewhere on a computer…or perhaps not.

  So how did they fight it?

  The surest way to kill a snake was to cut off the head.

  Devlin, it turned out, was not the head. Devlin’s role, along with that of Solomon Towne, was restricted to arranging shipments between the ghost worlds, Gallilee (plus a few other low-tech worlds where life was cheap), and the worlds of the Imperium. Devlin received his orders (If you could call them orders, more like cordial requests between two old friends) from Johnathan Prescott Jones.

  Arcturus’ lip curled. Devlin had done it for money. It was as simple as that. Devlin was not a dissolute playboy. Devlin had not squandered the family fortune. Devlin was already rich. He didn’t need more money, but the habit of making money, once it wormed its way into a man’s psyche, was addictive, to some men at least. Devlin was one of them. It didn’t matter how much money he had. He wanted more.

  And where was Johnathan Prescott Jones? Devlin had no idea.

  Chapter 34

  Three coordinated explosions boomed out over the city of Terra Nova early the next morning. It would be too much to say that Michael had been expecting it to happen but he was certainly not surprised. The secret, after all, was no longer a secret. Devlin, and Johnathan Prescott Jones as well, had too many men in their employ who had too much to hide and too much to lose.

  Devlin’s psyche had been plumbed to the very depths of Imperial science. The process of stripping away a man’s mind was tedious but in its essence, simple. The cruder (older) devices read heartbeat, saliva and skin secretions, plus the levels of epinephrine and endorphins in the blood, plugged the results into an algorithm and produced a probability graph of what was actually going through the subject’s mind. From the point of view of Security, the required conclusion was simple: was he telling the truth or was he lying? Not too hard to fool such devices, if you knew what you were doing. The more sophisticated, modern methods placed sensors in the brain and directly translated neural activity. A well-trained agent had sub-personalities in place, theoretically capable of misleading these techniques, that could be psychometrically induced but the process of implanting such personalities required long, hard training to integrate. There might be a few such agents on Dancy, but most of the enemy forces would be simple men and women who had decided to betray the Empire for money. These might not know much but once caught, they wouldn’t be able to keep any secrets.

  Devlin had given them a list but just to be safe, everyone in his employ (and there were hundreds) had been rounded up. There was no way to keep it all quiet, though Security had done its best. No doubt at least a few of those remaining were moles, left in place to later report on what had happened.

  Most likely, those who had left were expecting a brief flurry of concern on the part of the authorities before things returned to normal, but perhaps they suspected that this time, things had gone too far and normal, for them at least, was not going to return. In that case, the ones left behind would have to be sacrificed, which implied that they didn’t know very much. An ignorant traitor, however, could still cause damage. Intelligence had no choice but to try to root them all out, futile as tha
t effort probably was.

  Twenty-three of Devlin’s men had vanished, in addition to those of Prescott Jones. Some were supposedly elsewhere on business. A few were traveling off-world and might even be innocent and legitimate. It didn’t matter. Security had rounded up whoever could be reached and the rest had scattered, as had Solomon Towne and fifteen men and women in his employ.

  The explosions rocked the city. Each was at least two kilometers from the nearest government office, all in shopping districts filled with tourists. Within minutes, Michael was looking at the screens. Gloriosa’s door opened. She yawned, rubbed her eyes and said, “What’s happening?”

  “Explosions,” Michael said.

  She frowned. “This is bad.” She went back into her room and closed the door.

  Reports came in immediately. Thirty dead at one location, twenty-six at another. The last had been centered on a department store that was not yet open for business. Five employees had died, eight others were injured. Ambulances and police were racing to all three scenes.

  Curly and Rosanna, dressed for battle, came into the lounge. Gloriosa, Anson, Frankie and the others soon followed. All of them stared at the screens. None of them said a word.

  “Call Arcturus?” Anson said.

  “He’s probably got more important things on his mind.”

  But less than a minute later, Arcturus called them. “Be ready to take off,” he said. “I doubt that three explosions will be the end of it.”

  They were always ready to take off, so that was not an issue. Michael nodded. “Anything we can do?”

  Arcturus sighed. “Too soon to say.” The screen went blank.

  “This can’t be the end of it,” Anson said. “There’s got to be a reason.”

  Michael said nothing and continued to monitor the situation. Arcturus called back two hours later. He looked sick. “We have a situation,” he said. He seemed reluctant to say anything more. Finally, he sighed. “Do you have drones over the city?”

  “Of course,” Michael said.

  “Focus on the government complex.”

  Oh, shit, Michael thought. In the distance, the Parliament building stood tall next to the Governor’s Palace and the even larger official estate of the Prime Minister. Behind, looming over them all, stood the Winter Palace of the Imperator. Michael scanned carefully. The activity seemed routine. Guards patrolled the grounds and were stationed at each entrance. All gates to the complex were closed, not surprising, considering the unrest in the city.

  “Nothing seems unusual,” Michael said. “What’s wrong?”

  “All communications from inside the complex have been cut.”

  Michael pondered that for a moment. “There are guards,” Michael said. “I can see them.”

  “Fewer than normal. During an emergency, there should be at least twice as many. We can see their faces. Very few of them are genuine. Those few are presumably traitors. We don’t know who the rest of them are.”

  What a fuck-up. Michael shook his head. “If they want to cause the maximum amount of damage, all they have to do is blow the place up.”

  “We don’t know their end-game. They probably will blow the place up but in the meantime, I suspect that they’ll put on a show. They’ll let the world know what they’ve done. They’ll parade their hostages in front of the cameras, make demands and pretend to negotiate. They’ll rub all our faces in the fact that the Empire, with all of its resources and all of its power, is not just vulnerable but helpless.

  “Then they’ll blow the place up.”

  “Makes sense,” Michael said. “What do you want from me?”

  “Help.”

  “What makes you think I can?”

  Arcturus gave a rueful grin. “Maybe you can’t but other than storming the complex, I’ve got nothing left.”

  “Let me think about it,” Michael said. “Call back in ten minutes.”

  “Think fast,” Arcturus said.

  The news media, unaware that anything else was going on, were still focused on the bombings, apparently a convenient diversion. Make a lot of noise, kill a few civilians, reduce some buildings to rubble and most of the police and security personnel in the city would be hurrying to the sites of the chaos. Meanwhile, kidnap the government. Slick.

  Parliament had been considering a minor funding request from the Interior Department. It wasn’t a particularly important bill but still, more than half of the MP’s were present for the debate, including the Prime Minister. The Imperator was in his palace on old Earth, thank God, but his youngest son, Prince Nikolai, his wife and his three children, were in the Winter Palace on Dancy. Plenty of hostages were available. Oh, yes…

  Johnathan Prescott Jones’ military records were sealed, which actually told them quite a bit about the man’s training and qualifications while telling them nothing at all regarding the actual work that he had done. Arcturus, presumably, could enlighten them. No proof that Prescott Jones was even involved, of course. He could be on the other side of the galaxy by now.

  “Romulus?” Michael said.

  “It’s ready,” Romulus said.

  There had been approximately two hundred Security personnel in the government complex. No way of knowing how many of these were still alive nor how many of the enemy forces now infested the complex.

  Michael looked at the eighty-seven men and women in armor, which included all the Illyrians and the marines, plus Anson, Michael and his entire crew. Jeremy, Lynette and the former slaves had been left behind. They were willing to fight but none of them knew how. They were standing in a large, underground room, beneath the run-down building where Anson and Michael had first met with Arcturus. “This is it?” Michael said. He had been hoping for considerably more.

  “I guarantee that there are no traitors in this group,” Arcturus said. “I personally selected and recruited every one of them. These people are intelligent, motivated and physically perfect. The government paid for their education and training. Every one of them has been investigated back to the age of five and all of them have been through neural probing. You asked if I trusted my men? These are the ones I trust.”

  It would have to do.

  “So,” Michael said, “how much do you know about the physics of slipspace?”

  “Nothing,” Arcturus said. “I get on a ship. It reaches its destination. I get off. What happens in between is a matter for the scientists and the navigators.”

  “Watch.” Michael held up a small metallic box and pressed a button. The box began to glow. “Slipspace, what the ancients sometimes called hyperspace, was the first artificial cosmos. Slipspace slides along the interstices of the Universe but is outside of it.

  “It has been known for thousands of years that at the quantum level, the observation of a process can change the outcome of that process. It has been theorized that without observation, the Universe could not exist in its current form, that the Universe has been designed, if you will, not only for life, but by life. The First Empire, in its final days, was exploring the ramifications of this idea. They created a pocket Universe, a stable variation of slipspace, accessed through an installation on Chronos.”

  A blue ring of light appeared around the box in Michael’s hand. The ring grew. It moved away as it enlarged until it reached a diameter of nearly two meters, filled with blue light. It rotated, hovering perhaps ten centimeters above the ground, and faced Michael, now a perfect blue circle standing on edge.

  One man, dressed in red armor, standing on the other side of the circle, said, “What are you talking about? I don’t see anything happening.”

  “What do you see?” Michael said.

  “Just you.”

  “Come here.”

  The soldier hesitated, then walked toward Michael. He walked straight through the circle, seeming to be completely unaware of it, then turned. He blinked. “That’s weird,” he said.

  “It doesn’t exist from that side; only from here.”

  A few of them shuffled
their feet. Nobody spoke.

  “Who wants to be first?” Michael said.

  Gloriosa squared her tiny shoulders, stood as tall as she was able and said, “I shall go.” She stepped through the circle and vanished. Frankie gave Michael a grin and followed, then Curly and Rosanna, then Marissa, Matthew and Richard. The soldier in red armor shrugged and stepped through. All the rest followed.

  Michael went through last and found himself floating in what appeared to be a tunnel of clear space. His crew and Arcturus’ men huddled together in the center. Above their heads and below their feet, perhaps five meters up and to either side, the space was foggy and swirled with tiny multi-colored lights. “Inflation is already over,” Michael said. “What you see above and to either side is quantum foam, filled with matter/anti-matter interactions.” He grinned. “Or so it’s been explained to me. Keep your shields up. The radiation levels in here are fierce.

  “Almost in the first instant of its existence, our own Universe expanded faster than the speed of light, but then the expansion slowed, the rate of slowing determined by what Einstein referred to as the ‘cosmological constant.’ Matter coalesced. Stars and galaxies formed over millions of years, but that won’t happen here. This Universe is too small. Its cosmological constant is almost non-existent. The only thing keeping it stable is the energy that was fed into it at its formation. Once we’re done with it, it’s going to collapse.

  “But here’s the key point for us; you can go somewhere in one Universe and exit somewhere else in another.”

  Michael tapped his jets and pushed his way into the forefront of the crowd. “Come on,” he said, and started off down the tunnel. The rest followed. “Stay in the center,” Michael said, “where it’s stable. Outside of the clear area, time and space are chaotic. They merge into an infinite number of possibilities. If you go too far, you’ll be reduced into your constituent sub-atomic particles. I don’t think you would enjoy that.”

  It was quiet. The ever-present hum of the net and the datasphere was missing. They were completely isolated. Michael’s internal server fed information into his brain but the information had been programmed before entering this space, based upon Romulus’ calculations. If those calculations turned out to be incorrect, then a whole range of bad things could happen, from arriving somewhere unexpected to disappearing in a storm of cosmic rays as the tiny pocket universe exhausted its energy and vanished.

 

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