Imperial Night

by Eric Thomson

  IMPERIAL

  NIGHT

  Ashes of Empire #3

  ERIC THOMSON

  Imperial Night

  Copyright 2020 Eric Thomson

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living, or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published in Canada

  By Sanddiver Books Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-989314-26-5

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Imperial Night (Ashes of Empire, #3)

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  About the Author

  Also by Eric Thomson

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  PART I – INTO DARKNESS

  — 1 —

  A random psychic signal, faint but unmistakable, pierced the veil of Sister Katarin’s evening meditation and shattered her serenity. An SOS beacon here? The Void Ships had not rescued any Brethren in well over ten years.

  When Dawn Hunter passed through the Yotai system five months earlier, headed for the Wyvern Sector on a mission to recover technology that survived the empire’s collapse, she hadn’t picked up anything. It was, without a doubt, newly activated. But the signal seemed more than slightly incoherent, in a manner Katarin couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps the mind powering it didn’t belong to a trained member of the Order. Wild talents weren’t unusual. In fact, they were appearing more often than before, as if birthed by the apocalyptic end of humanity’s first interstellar empire.

  But a wild talent in possession of a Void beacon? Only sisters and those few friars with a strong enough talent carried the amulet-like brain wave amplifiers. She opened her eyes and glanced at the tiny cabin’s display, where a countdown timer showed the minutes left until Dawn Hunter jumped to hyperspace on a course for Wormhole Yotai Four, the first of six wormhole transits still separating them from home. Twenty-five minutes. She reached out and touched the communicator pinned to her black, loose, single-piece garment.

  “Katarin to the captain.”

  A few seconds later, a male voice replied.

  “Kuusisten here, Sister. What’s up?”

  “I’m receiving a Void rescue beacon signal from Yotai.”

  Lieutenant Commander Alwin Kuusisten didn’t immediately reply. When he spoke, it was to ask, “Are you sure?”

  “The signal is not particularly intelligible, which makes me believe someone probably found a beacon without knowing what it was, but it’s real. And since none of the off-world habitats survived the Retribution Fleet’s scouring, it can only originate from the planet.”

  “Are you telling me we should visit Yotai instead of jumping directly for Wormhole Four?”

  Katarin released her legs from the lotus position and stood in a fluid movement that belied her years. Like most Sisters of the Void with a powerful talent, what the more mystical among them called an open third eye, she seemed ageless. The coppery red hair framing her round face remained untouched by gray, though the deepening laugh lines on either side of her snub nose and the crow’s feet radiating from the corners of her green eyes marked the passage of time.

  Over two decades had passed since she first stepped aboard the former imperial starship Vanquish at Captain Jonas Morane’s invitation after she and the other survivors of the Yotai Abbey massacre joined his crusade to save a spark of advanced civilization on a distant human colony.

  “If you consider the risk acceptable.”

  Katarin was Dawn Hunter’s chaplain and counselor, making her the senior member of the Order aboard. She and three other sisters were auxiliaries holding temporary naval warrants and worked alongside a crew drawn from the Lyonesse Navy. As such, she could only recommend, not issue orders.

  Originally owned by the Order of the Void, which used them for commerce, transport, and during the empire’s collapse, rescue, Dawn Hunter and the rest of the Galactic Dawn fleet now served as reconnaissance and salvage vessels in the Lyonesse Navy. The republic’s handful of irreplaceable warships rarely left the Lyonesse wormhole branch nowadays since their sole mission was protecting the planet and its irreplaceable Knowledge Vault.

  “Yotai hasn’t been a risky proposition in over twenty years, Sister, and we’re in no big hurry. I’ll ask navigation to update the plot. We should reach its hyperlimit in twelve to fourteen hours. If you’re still getting the signal once we come out of FTL, I’ll see that we pinpoint its location and send a shuttle.”

  “Thank you, Captain. The Almighty wouldn’t place this across our path without reason. I’d rather investigate than spend the rest of my life wondering whether we left one of ours behind.”

  “You and me both. Was there anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Kuusisten, out.”

  Katarin embarked on her usual post-meditation yoga exercises — stretching muscles, loosening joints, and probing her body for signs of weakness or developing health problems. A challenge in her small cabin, but she used the lack of space as an inspiration for unorthodox movements.

  Besides, going through the daily routine helped calm a mind seeking plausible answers for the sudden appearance of a Void beacon on Yotai where there was none five months earlier. Dawn Seeker had rescued the last beacon holder on that benighted planet shortly before the Retribution Fleet ended Grand Duke Custis’ dreams of a second empire with a devastating orbital strike.

  If they found a member of the Order, or even a wild talent strong enough to activate the beacon, this voyage would end on a high note after an otherwise unremarkable cruise that had taken them within four wormhole transits of the former imperial capital, Wyvern. They’d recovered some manufacturing machinery, though whether the engineers on Lyonesse could put it to use expanding the star system’s industrial base was questionable.

  Almost a quarter-century after the last imperial strike groups ravaged rebellious planets, much of the advanced infrastructure in star systems beyond the surviving core around Wyvern had crumbled or simply vanished. Lyonesse wasn’t the only world with starships on the hunt for salvage. However, it was probably the only one intent on building an industrial base advanced enough to support thirty-sixth-century technology. />
  Katarin was working through the last exercise of her routine when her cabin door chimed.

  “You may enter,” she said without interrupting her motions.

  The door slid aside to reveal a young woman clad in the same type of loose, black one-piece garment as Katarin. In her early thirties, with bobbed blonde hair, elfin features and intense blue eyes, Sister Amelia was a graduate of the abbey’s training program on her first Void Ship cruise. She politely bowed her head without crossing the threshold, in deference to her superior’s tiny personal space.

  “I felt a strange sensation moments ago, Sister. It reminded me of the Order’s rescue beacon we were taught to identify, but also seemed quite different.”

  “Well done, Amelia. Yes, that was a beacon. Faint, rather incoherent, but unmistakable. Did Cory and Milene pick it up?” Katarin finished the movement, joined her hands in front of her face, and bowed to end the exercise period.

  “No, Sister.”

  Her answer didn’t surprise Katarin. Amelia was one of the stronger talents and trained by Sister Marta, who opened her third eye, while her two cabin mates were older, with less sensitivity, though she couldn’t fault their abilities as healers. At this distance, the beacon wouldn’t register with them.

  “Captain Kuusisten is taking the ship to Yotai so we may investigate and perhaps save one of ours, trained or not.”

  “Why did we not sense the signal when we came through on our way out?”

  “A good question. We won’t know until we meet the person presently holding that beacon, but there are many plausible answers. Give me examples, Amelia.” Though the young woman’s formal training period ended well before Dawn Hunter left Lyonesse, Katarin never missed a chance to further her education. Amelia was a crew member for this voyage as part of her ongoing development before she chose a path among the many open to someone with her abilities.

  “A ship carrying one of us, Brethren or wild talent, arrived on Yotai in the last five months.” Katarin gave her an encouraging nod. “Or someone with the talent, either trained or wild, found a beacon that escaped the Yotai Abbey’s destruction while scavenging through the ruins of Lena. It is unlikely any Brethren survived both Admiral Zahar’s purge and the Retribution Fleet only to stay in hiding for so long.”

  Though Amelia was born on Lyonesse within weeks of Grand Duke Custis’ rebellion against Empress Dendera and this was her first venture into the wider galaxy, she’d been taught the Order’s history, especially the bloody parts. She knew about Pendrick Zahar, now long dead, proscribing the Void and ordering the murder of every sister and friar in the Coalsack Sector. Katarin was among the few who escaped.

  They’d been heading for the Order’s motherhouse on Lindisfarne aboard Dawn Trader when Captain Morane saved them from pirates. Once Morane convinced them their chances of reaching the distant planet via warring star systems was virtually nil, they’d joined his crusade.

  “Any more examples?”

  Amelia thought for a moment, then shook her head.

  “No, Sister. Those cover the possibilities.”

  “Very well. Please inform Cory and Milene. When Dawn Hunter emerges at Yotai’s hyperlimit tomorrow, and we get a better sense of the one transmitting, we will continue this conversation.”

  “Yes, Sister.”

  “You may go.”

  Shortly after the ship went FTL, Katarin made her way to the mess compartment for the evening meal. Although Dawn Hunter was a naval vessel, rather than refit her to build separate messes for the officers, non-commissioned officers and ratings, the Navy decided everyone would eat together.

  Considering the size of a Void Ship’s complement, it struck most as a sensible decision at the time. Now, over two decades later, no one questioned the arrangements, although many of those transferring from warship duty to one of the Void Ships found the contrast in atmosphere a tad startling.

  As was her habit, Katarin sat with whoever was present after picking up a tray of food from the buffet. Tonight, it was the turn of Dawn Hunter’s ordinary and able spacers from the beta watch, currently off duty. Those on the alpha watch would come in one-by-one, eat, and return to their posts while the gamma watch crew members were fast asleep in their bunks.

  “Hey, Sister. We understand you picked up a signal from Yotai,” Able Spacer Barrand said by way of greeting as Katarin put down her tray and dropped into the single vacant chair surrounding that table.

  “It could be someone belonging to our Order, Arils,” she replied in a pleasant tone, smiling at him. “Captain Kuusisten is taking the ship past Yotai for a closer look-see. If I’m right, we might take on a passenger.”

  “Been a long time since any Void Ship picked up a sister or friar,” Ordinary Spacer Yera Carp said. “It’s strange you should hear a beacon now.”

  “The Almighty moves in mysterious ways.”

  Barrand chuckled. “Don’t we know it?”

  Katarin took a bite of the chicken curry — reconstituted, after this long in space — and chewed on it while a pensive expression crossed her face. The crew members, who recognized her moods by now, steered the conversation in a different direction. She was grateful for their attempt at distracting her, but the nagging sense of strangeness she’d first felt about the beacon grew with each passing hour, and her night proved to be less than restful.

  The next morning, a subdued Katarin joined Captain Kuusisten in Dawn Trader’s bridge a few minutes before they were due to drop out of hyperspace and silently took a seat at an unoccupied console.

  “Sister.” Kuusisten glanced at her over his shoulder. “I trust you’re well.”

  “As always, Captain. But I confess to trepidation at finally discovering who is holding an Order of the Void rescue beacon in her hands after this long.”

  “You and me both.”

  The first officer’s voice over the public address system cut off her reply.

  “All hands prepare for transition to normal space in one minute.”

  A klaxon blaring three times followed the announcement sixty seconds later. Then, Katarin’s innards tried to escape while the colors of the rainbow twisted into psychedelic shapes before her eyes. After a few heartbeats, the emergence nausea dissipated, and she heard Kuusisten interrogate the sensor technician.

  But before her brain could interpret the petty officer’s words, she picked up the signal again. This time it was much stronger. Almost too strong, considering they were still several hundred thousand kilometers from Yotai, and in a flash, she understood why the mind behind it seemed virtually incoherent.

  “Captain, we must find whoever has that beacon,” Katarin said in a gentle tone.

  “Is it a Sister of the Void?”

  “No. A wild talent, but not one who can become a sister.”

  — 2 —

  “Well, well, well. Look who finally stopped by for a visit.” Lieutenant General (retired) Brigid DeCarde, the Lyonesse Defense Secretary, dropped into a chair across from Jonas Morane.

  The latter, who’d been staring into a half-full beer mug, raised his seamed, angular face and smiled at her.

  “Emma’s attending one of those endless academic cocktail parties I studiously avoid, and I figured it was time I showed my face in the only place where I’m not automatically fawned over by obsequious ass kissers.” He made a hand gesture as if to indicate the main room of the Lannion Base Officer’s Mess. “You’re the first soul brave enough to approach me uninvited.”

  DeCarde, a tall, fit, square-faced woman in her early sixties with deep blue eyes and short sandy hair, snorted.

  “That’s because I know you’re only human, like the rest of us, and not a god come down from the heavens so he could save humanity. Why Emma remains active in academic circles years after resigning as Education Secretary is beyond me.”

  Morane ran splayed fingers through his stiff, silver-tinged black hair, as he often did while thinking, then shrugged.

  “I can’t figure it out ei
ther. But Emma has enough energy for both of us and still terrifies the university’s board of trustees and most of the deans, which helps keep their worst instincts in check. Are you staying for supper?”

  She nodded. “I’m meeting Adrienne so we can discuss a few matters where the walls don’t sprout ears the moment we look secretive. By the way, where are your bodyguards? Don’t tell me you ditched them.”

  “That would be impossible, even for me.” Morane nodded toward a taciturn, square-jawed man with short dark hair and a muscular build a few tables over. “Warrant Officer Madden is taking one for the team. The others are next door in the Sergeants’ and Petty Officers’ Mess, eating their evening meal. It’s only because we’re deep inside Lannion Base that they’re leaving me under Madden’s sole protection. You know how those Pathfinders can be.”

  “Good. Otherwise, I’d be ordering Adrienne to convene a court-martial for dereliction of duty.” Movement by the door caught her eye. “And there she is. How about you join us? We can always use the wisdom of Lyonesse’s foremost statesman.”

  “I’d rather not intrude on a conversation between my Defense Secretary and the Chief of the Defense Staff. I’m sure I can find a few old shipmates with whom to break bread.”

  “Nonsense, Jonas. Adrienne will insist. Having you among us informally is a genuine treat. Let’s ask her.”

  A slender, olive-skinned woman, also in her early sixties, wearing a black Lyonesse Ground Forces uniform with the three stars of a lieutenant general on her collar, took a chair at Morane’s table. She studied him with watchful dark eyes for a few seconds.

  “Glad you’re in the mess enjoying life as a mere mortal for a change, sir.” Lieutenant General Adrienne Barca possessed an almost hypnotic, low-pitched, husky voice. “And what did you wish to ask me?”

  “Jonas is avoiding one of Emma’s cocktail parties and decided he would hang out with the unwashed masses he once led instead of sitting alone in that mansion he calls home, waiting for one of us to beg for his wisdom, permission, or signature.”

  Barca chuckled.

  “Some things never change. Brigid and I were planning on supper in the private lounge so we can discuss a few things where the bureaucrats won’t overhear. Please join us. It’s been too long since we last enjoyed each other’s company in an informal setting.”