Imperial Night

by Eric Thomson

  “In an ugly way, if Standfast’s mind-meddler is right.”

  “Be glad those mind-meddlers are aboard our starships. They’re the only ones who can tell us about intangibles such as the agony those infected suffer near the end. Every bit of data on this damned plague is invaluable.”

  She gave him a grudging look.

  “I’ll concede the point. But I still don’t like the increased interest a few of them show in matters beyond the abbey walls.”

  “I may have mentioned this before — the Brethren are full citizens of the republic with just as many rights and responsibilities as you and I. Even Gwenneth can’t order them to stay away from secular affairs. The Void just isn’t that sort of monastic order.”

  **

  “I still can’t believe it.” Gwenneth dropped into the ground car’s driver seat, waited for Marta to join her, then closed the side doors and fed power to the wheels. “Why would Stearn head for Government House? There are twelve presumptive plague ships inbound.”

  “In his dissociated state, he believes it’s a sham cooked up by Jonas Morane to cancel the elections and make himself president for life under a state of interminable martial law.”

  “How does this even make sense?”

  “It doesn’t, in our world. But in his...” Marta glanced through the side window at the ripening fields surrounding the only home she’d known for more than a third of her life. “He stripped Loxias of everything but his last breath. Stearn is no longer someone we can understand by our own lights. I blame myself for not seeing his slow march toward the edge of the abyss.”

  “Self-blame is an indulgence none of us can afford at the best of times, as a wise person once said,” Gwenneth replied in a dry tone. “Our friends in the Republic’s Defense Force would say we fucked up, you and I.”

  Marta inclined her head respectfully.

  “A fair assessment. Seled’s destruction was mercifully quick. Stearn’s might yet wreak havoc on everything we hold dear.”

  “And in a time of crisis.”

  The car’s communication system came to life.

  “Abbess, this is Landry. We traced Stearn’s car to the residence of Vice President Sandino on the escarpment.”

  Gwenneth and Marta glanced at each other.

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s what the global tracking system says. It’s still there.”

  Gwenneth nodded. “Take out the lawful successor who supports her president’s policies, before removing the principal.”

  “Abbess.” Landry’s voice came over the communicator again. “The infirmary just called. Loxias died a few minutes ago.”

  “Damn.” Marta struck her thigh with a clenched fist. “This is on me.”

  “On both of us. You know, if both Jonas and Charis die in office, Brigid DeCarde becomes president, and she’s no great friend of the Order.”

  “Stearn isn’t aware of that. Why should he?” Marta grimaced. “DeCarde keeps her feelings well hidden. You only know because of Jonas Morane and I because of you.”

  “It’s worse. Brigid DeCarde is one of those rare people who can detect mind-meddling. I believe the ability has run in her family since before the birth of the empire. She somehow sensed Stearn brushing her mind several weeks ago. Jonas warned me.”

  “And you didn’t think it might be a splendid idea if you mentioned this?”

  “You were in the Windies.”

  Marta gave her superior a harsh glare. Gwenneth ignored it as she steered their car toward the escarpment, and Vice President Sandino’s home. They encountered no checkpoints, nor did they see any police or military personnel as they skirted Lannion’s northern edge.

  Streets were eerily empty, though both sisters sensed human minds behind the polarized residence and office windows, many of them fearful. Everyone on Lyonesse understood the day would eventually come when desperate reivers with jury-rigged antimatter containment units bypassed the wormhole branch entirely to reach the last star system in the Coalsack Sector with a functioning high tech civilization.

  Gwenneth always marveled at the sumptuous estates overlooking Lannion. They made Jonas Morane’s comfortable home seem positively modest by comparison. To a mansion, they were metal-topped and clad in laser-cut granite blocks of various hues. Built so they could resist even the fiercest storm sweeping inland from the Middle Sea, they sat at the heart of park-like properties surrounded by fences that were both ornamental and provided security. Sandino’s home was no exception, though hers was more securely guarded than the rest.

  Both Sisters of the Void were therefore surprised when they found the front gate wide open with no sign of the police officers who protected the republic’s vice president from what were mostly harmless citizens fixated on one issue or another. Sandino wasn’t popular enough to attract more dangerous admirers or detractors.

  The car used by Stearn sat abandoned in the curved driveway, across from the open front door, along with two prone, uniformed men who looked like they collapsed in mid-stride.

  “Are they—” Gwenneth abruptly cut power to her car’s wheels and opened both driver and passenger side doors.

  Marta reached out with her mind. “They’re unconscious but otherwise unharmed.”

  “Thank the Almighty for small mercies.”

  They climbed out of their seats, and while Gwenneth knelt beside the officers to check their vitals, Marta took the front steps two at a time with a surge of energy born from desperation. But she already knew her deepest fears would be confirmed. And they were.

  She found Charis Sandino sprawled on her back across the marble-floored foyer, dead. A quick touch with her mind’s tendrils confirmed the vice president’s life essence was gone after being blasted to shreds by Stearn’s unhinged assault. Though Sandino’s brain would show no physical damage, Marta saw nothing but ashes. Her former student had murdered another human being using the abilities she’d unleashed.

  “Is she dead?”

  Marta whirled around to face Gwenneth.

  “Yes. Stearn murdered her, just as he murdered Loxias. Another death stemming from my actions.”

  “Where is Stearn?”

  “Not here. He did the deed, abandoned the abbey car, and left, probably in the security detail’s vehicle. He could be at Government House by now.”

  “So should we, though I daresay, he won’t get in quite as easily.”

  As they hurried back to their car, Marta asked, “Should we call Jonas and warn him?”

  “Of what? A demented friar who can kill with his thoughts? Either he’ll ask how much gin we’ve been drinking or realize we are worse mind-meddlers than Brigid DeCarde imagines. I can live with the first outcome, which wouldn’t help in this situation. The Order, on the other hand, can’t live with the second one.” As soon as they settled in and the doors closed, Gwenneth gunned the car’s drive train. “Stopping that demented friar before he harms anyone else is our job, and ours alone. Let’s pray we won’t be too late, for everyone’s sakes.”

  — 47 —

  “Sir.” Commander James Lutzow, Morane’s naval aide, stuck his head into the war room. “There’s a Friar Stearn at the main gate. He claims he carries a personal message for your ears only from Abbess Gwenneth, something she couldn’t discuss over a comlink.”

  “Very well.” Morane climbed to his feet, imitated by DeCarde. “There’s no point in remaining here anyhow. Those ghost ships won’t pass the outer moon’s orbit. I’ll lift martial law the moment I hear from the operations center that all save the one we’re keeping for study are destroyed.”

  “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll stay here and watch the intercept until it’s over.”

  “Of course.” He gestured at DeCarde’s chair with an air of mock irritation. “And what did I tell you about standing just because I get up?”

  “That there’s a time and a place. Since it’s just the two of us, this is neither the time nor the place,” she replied with a sardonic grin
.

  “Why is it you know the lesson but never apply what you’ve learned?”

  DeCarde shrugged. “Search me, Mister President.”

  He glowered at her. “Stubborn Pathfinder.”

  “Stubbornness is a professional requirement in my former branch of the service.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it stubbornness. Talk to you later, Brigid.”

  She watched Morane follow his aide out of the war room, then turned her attention back on the live feed from Vanquish’s CIC.

  As Morane climbed the stairs, a vague unease came over him. Why would Gwenneth send a messenger now, during the long-feared intrusion? And why send Loxias’ right-hand man instead of her own trusted assistant, Landry? There was something uncanny about Stearns and his mysterious history before Dawn Hunter rescued him on Yotai, not to mention his increasingly overt involvement in the current electoral race.

  He stopped on the main floor landing.

  “Jim, please take Friar Stearn to the waiting room and tell him I’ll be along just as soon as I deal with a few urgent matters. Offer him a cup of tea or a glass of water. Something doesn’t seem right about this, and I want to speak with Gwenneth before meeting him.”

  “Shall I alert the protective detail?”

  “Yes. They should make sure Stearn stays put until I clear this with the abbey.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Lutzow headed for the front hall while Morane entered his office. Once there, he called up the waiting room video feed, then opened a link with Gwenneth’s office. To his surprise, a visibly stricken Landry answered.

  “Mister President.”

  “Good afternoon, Landry. Is the abbess available?”

  “No, sir. May I be of help?”

  Morane was taken aback by Landry’s strained tone.

  “Perhaps. Friar Stearn just showed up at Government House claiming he carries a message for my eyes only from Gwenneth, something she can’t discuss over a comlink.”

  Landry’s eyes widened.

  “Under no circumstances should you be in Stearn’s presence, sir.”

  Morane glanced up at the video display and saw the friar enter Government House’s waiting room under the steely gaze of two Pathfinder sergeants in civilian clothes that didn’t quite hide their sidearms.

  “Why?”

  Landry hesitated for what seemed like an eternity while he mentally parsed possible answers. Finally, he said, “We suspect Friar Stearn assaulted Friar Loxias.”

  Morane frowned as he tilted his head to one side.

  “What happened? Is Loxias okay?”

  “He died in the abbey infirmary a few minutes ago. We don’t know what happened or how. Gwenneth and Marta are out looking for Stearn.”

  “I won’t even ask why they’re disobeying a shelter in place order and violating martial law. How is it the Lannion Police aren’t dealing with your wayward friar? If he killed Loxias, then it’s murder and not something internal to the Order.”

  A pained expression spread across Landry’s plain features.

  “Sir, it would be best if you ask Gwenneth when she reaches Government House, which shouldn’t be long now.”

  Suspicion reared its ugly head, and Morane’s frown deepened.

  “Why are Gwenneth and Marta usurping the role of the police during a lockdown, Landry? What is the Order hiding, and why is Stearn here?”

  “I’m truly sorry, sir, but I can’t answer your questions.”

  Morane knew the friar wouldn’t speak without Gwenneth’s permission, no matter what, so he dropped the matter, asking instead, “Should I ask my close protection people to detain Stearn until the abbess and Marta arrive? He’s in the Government House waiting room right now. My aide told him I was dealing with several emergencies and would receive him the moment I’m free.”

  “No, sir. Please do nothing of the sort.” The vehemence in Landry’s voice surprised Morane. “He would react violently if faced with perceived threats. Lives could be lost. Keep up the pretense you’re busy and contain him in the waiting room until Gwenneth arrives. And by everything holy, please stay away.”

  Gwenneth didn’t surround herself with fools, and Landry was no exception. Though still young compared to most friars, many of whom came from other abbeys long ago during the empire’s fall or had crewed the Void Ships before the Order turned them over to the Navy, he knew Gwenneth’s mind better than anyone besides Morane. If Landry felt justified in telling the President of the Republic of Lyonesse he should treat Stearn as a walking piece of unexploded ordnance, then there were good reasons.

  “I shall follow your advice and wait for Gwenneth, Friar. My close protection detail will make sure Stearn enjoys tea and scones in the waiting room.”

  “If I may offer a piece of advice, sir, withdraw your people from the room itself. Let them guard the doors from the outside. What Stearn cannot see, he cannot harm.”

  Morane gave Landry a tight nod, then touched the screen embedded in his desktop. “Jim, the protection detail will guard our visitor from outside the waiting room, and please warn the main gate that if Sisters Gwenneth and Marta show up, they should be brought in without delay.”

  Moments later, he heard, “Roger that, sir.”

  Shortly after that, both Pathfinders left the waiting room, each closing one of the two doors behind him. Stearn was now alone in a space reinforced so it would prevent anyone from penetrating deeper into Government House by sheer physical force. Of course, no one bearing weapons of any sort was allowed in, period.

  A faint air of relief momentarily relaxed Landry’s features.

  “Thank you for listening, Mister President. I’ll try to contact Gwenneth and find out where they are.”

  “You do that. Morane, out.”

  The president’s eyes rested on the display showing Government House’s waiting room once more. A visibly agitated Stearn paced back and forth, eyes never resting on a single spot for more than a heartbeat. The friar’s demeanor seemed so utterly devoid of a normal Void Brethren’s serenity that Morane felt a chill run up his spine. Something was utterly wrong.

  Then, Stearn stopped in front of Morane’s lifelike formal portrait hanging over the waiting room’s fireplace. It depicted him wearing the commander-in-chief’s dress uniform complete with the cuff stripes of a four-star admiral and a golden Vanger’s Condor with crossed swords and anchor insignia adorning the sky blue beret on his head. Stearn’s earlier agitation vanished so completely, Morane wondered whether he’d fallen into a trance while studying the painting. It was a good portrait, but one whose time in the waiting room was ending, along with Morane’s second and final term as president. Once his replacement was sworn into office, it would join Elenia Yakin’s in the main corridor bisecting Government House.

  Without warning, a migraine unlike any other struck Morane, and he let out a grunt of pain as his eyes slammed shut. But rather than the pulsing agony he’d experienced many years earlier, this assault on his nervous system remained steady. Nausea a hundred times worse than that which accompanied the transition to and from hyperspace or the one associated with a wormhole transition, threatened to choke him, and he was barely conscious by the time he stabbed the call screen embedded in the presidential desktop.

  When Commander Lutzow burst through the office door, alarmed by the voiceless signal, he found Morane slumped in his chair, unconscious.

  **

  “There’s what looks suspiciously like an unmarked police car, just like the one Stearn took from Vice President Sandino’s guard detail.” Marta pointed at a dark, low-slung skimmer sitting on the curb a few meters from the main entrance to Government House.

  A low groan escaped Gwenneth's throat.

  “Let us pray we’re not too late.” The car’s communicator buzzed at that moment. “What?”

  “Landry here, Abbess. I just spoke with President Morane. Stearn is at Government House, claiming he carries a message from you. Fortunately, the president
called to confirm. I told him Stearn assaulted Loxias, causing his death, and should be considered dangerous.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Marta said as Gwenneth pulled the car up to the closed gate where an armed soldier from the Lyonesse Rifle Regiment waited. “Stearn murdered Vice President Sandino and injured her close protection team.”

  “Good heavens! Fortunately, at my urging, President Morane is holding Stearn in the locked waiting room with guards outside each door, pending your arrival.”

  The soldier at the gate took one glance through the side window and gestured at an unseen comrade. The gate slid aside, and the man ushered them in with a wave of the hand, after which he snapped to attention and saluted.

  “How close is the waiting room to Morane’s office?” Marta asked.

  Gwenneth, intent on reaching the front steps as fast as possible, kept her eyes on the driveway.

  “Why?”

  “I fear Stearn is one of those who can project over short distances, even without a direct line of sight. He merely needs a focus for his thoughts.”

  Gwenneth let out a soft moan.

  “There’s a life-sized portrait of Jonas in the waiting room, and it’s a mere dozen meters from his office. What did we unleash?”

  “The same thing we freed in our younger sisters with no ill effects, but we didn’t know Stearn carried darkness deep within. He may not have known about it himself.”

  The car came to a jerky stop at the foot of the stairs, where, in better times, a pair of ceremonial guards stood, dressed in rifle green dress uniforms. Both sisters climbed out with alacrity when the driver and passenger doors opened. An alarm bell reached their ears the moment they entered Government House. The sergeant standing guard by the waiting room’s entrance seemed to vibrate with repressed tension.

  “What’s happening?” Gwenneth asked.

  “No idea, Sister, but it can’t be good. That’s the signal something happened to the president. Commander Lutzow should be with him.”