by Eric Thomson
“I suppose I should thank you for saving Jonas.” DeCarde gave Marta a grudging look.
“Gwenneth deserves your thanks more than I. She successfully shut Stearn down. Without her, I could not have saved the president.”
“Should I lay on a state funeral for Gwenneth?”
Marta tilted her head to one side while examining DeCarde for any trace of mockery. When she saw none, she shook her head.
“Thank you, but no. Gwenneth wouldn’t want anything more than a modest service in the abbey’s chapter house, followed by the burial of her ashes in our cemetery, especially after what happened. We Brethren must pull back from secular practices and concerns.”
“Yes, you do. I don’t want to hear anything more about Lindisfarne Brethren or friars sticking their noses into politics. Gwenneth erred in tolerating them.”
“She had little choice at the time. But after yesterday’s events, I can do what’s needed without opposition. The Brethren are in shock, and many fear you might unleash the sort of pogrom Admiral Zahar encouraged.”
“I won’t lie, Abbess. The avenger buried deep inside me likes the idea, so I’m glad your people are feeling a bit of fear. May it bring humility to those who forgot their purpose is serving the Almighty and the community instead of their ambitions.”
“Breaking ground for the new Isolde Priory will do wonders to remind them.”
“If they accept you as their leader.”
“None dare challenge my assumption of power after what happened. I set the vote for next week, and it’s a foregone conclusion. I will chart a new course for the Brethren, one that takes the Order back to its roots.”
“Why do I sense a Furie of ancient myth stirring in you?”
A sardonic smile tugged at Marta’s lips.
“Because in another life you would be one of us. The ability to read people will stand you in good stead as president. But that wasn’t your question. Yes, there is a Furie in me, an Erinye which has remained silent since the rebels on Mykonos overthrew imperial rule and executed the father of my children. That Furie has been biding her time for a quarter-century. Gwenneth was a good abbess, but one wedded to the past. She couldn’t envisage the changes needed, let alone force them through in the face of Brethren who forgot the Order’s true purpose. I see that now, and it took Stearn’s transgressions to open my eyes. I intend to reform the Order as atonement for my part in enabling Stearn and that will take my inner Furie’s full strength.”
“In that case, I wish you luck, Abbess.”
“Thank you, but if it’s the Almighty’s will that I succeed, luck won’t be necessary.”
“And if your plans don’t line up with the Almighty’s?”
“Then, I will find another way. The Almighty does not close a door without opening a window. But I feel the path I’m contemplating is the right one. Lyonesse consciously rejected the spiritual and physical trappings of the empire so it could look toward the future. The Order must sever its connection with the past as well, or we will become worse than irrelevant.”
“And what is worse than irrelevant? Or should I not ask?”
“We become a threat to the republic.”
DeCarde smirked. “Finally, something we can agree on.”
— 50 —
“You’re looking well, sir.” Brigid DeCarde smiled at Jonas Morane as she climbed out of the staff car that brought her from Government House to Vanquish Bay. She was traveling without a retinue, not even Commander Lutzow, and her close protection team had joined Morane’s in watching over his estate the moment her aircar crossed its perimeter.
“Looks can be deceiving and don’t call me sir. I think we presidents can use our first names in public as well as in private, protocol be damned. Congratulations, by the way. I remember you weren’t keen to take the job, but the senate chose wisely.”
She made a distinctly unpresidential face. “Thanks, I think.”
Morane gestured at the gaping front door to his house, where Emma Reyes waited.
“Please come in. It’s been too long.”
“You missed a lot during your enforced timeout.”
“Apparently.” Morane and Reyes led her to the solarium, where a tray with drinks waited. “I’m still catching up. I understand your nomination to the presidency went unchallenged.”
DeCarde sat in what was once Gwenneth’s favorite chair and accepted a chilled glass of white wine.
“Viktor Arko couldn’t drop his candidacy fast enough, seeing as how he was tainted by association with Stearn, the friar-assassin. And with Charis dead, that left the acting incumbent once most senate challengers financed by Hecht and his cronies either dropped out or lost their bids. Say what you like about Arko, he’s a shrewd operator who knows when to fold his cards.” She took an appreciative sip. “It seems that I am, in the opinion of certain political analysts, what is known as the steady hand on the tiller steering our ship of state.”
“And those analysts aren’t wrong. You’d have been my personal pick if it weren’t for my conviction an outgoing president shouldn’t put forward the name of his or her successor even indirectly, despite Elenia Yakin’s discrete lobbying on my behalf. I’m not surprised Viktor backed away. He and I may not agree on much, but he has good instincts, the sort that keep him out of trouble both politically and personally. I may even go so far as crediting him with a personal sense of honor.”
“Not me, but that’s beside the point. I doubt he’ll seek public office again. And how are you feeling?”
Morane took a sip from his glass and shrugged.
“Physically, I’m fine, though I need to rebuild my muscle mass after so long in a hospital bed. Emma’s making sure I exercise religiously for at least two hours every day. She installed a gym in one of the empty bedrooms and asked the groundskeeping staff to cut a running path along the bay.”
He fell silent, as if searching for words.
“But there’s an emptiness inside me, a chunk of myself missing. I still have my memories and my emotions, and my thought patterns seem intact, yet I feel like a shadow of who I once was. Sister Amelia tells me that in time, the emptiness will fill up as I keep on living, and my soul finds renewed purpose. It won’t be the same, but I’ll no longer qualify as the hollow man. She’s quite the mind-meddler herself, our Amelia. I doubt I’d have recovered this much without her help. We had long discussions about her part in the Stearn Roget saga, and she now sees matters the same way as Marta.”
He gave DeCarde a crooked grin.
“Yes, I realize you trust them even less now that Marta revealed their innermost secrets, but keep in mind Stearn was an anomaly, one which will not repeat itself. The Order has been instrumental in helping us build a resilient Lyonesse in a galaxy gone mad. We mustn’t let one deranged friar destroy everything.”
“Oh, I understand that. We need them just as they need us. But no more picking up wild talents in ruined star systems and unleashing their pent-up abilities.”
“That lesson will become part of the Order’s Rule, believe me. Emma and I spent a few evenings here watching the sunset with Marta, discussing the future since my release from the hospital. She has a clear vision of what the Order should be and the will to make it happen. Mind you, we won’t be leaving this branch of the wormhole network in our lifetimes or even our children’s lifetimes, what with the Barbarian Plague ravaging humanity.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. That ship full of undamaged bodies killed by the pathogen rather than our gunfire is giving the university’s researchers, including some damn good Order of the Void virologists, undreamed of insight into the plague. They figure the virus is probably close to burning itself out if it hasn’t already. Biowarfare agents by their very nature shouldn’t be persistent, otherwise what’s the use, right? Turns out, we’ve been overestimating the time the virus remains live. The various intrusions weren’t from the same outbreak but different ones. That last bunch was infected long after the first one appeared
at Outer Picket. Besides, chances are good infected barbarians didn’t spread the plague beyond the Coalsack. They only came to Lyonesse in such numbers because we’re the last bastion of civilization for hundreds of light-years.”
“What about an antiviral?”
“That’s the wonderful news. They figure another two to three months, although there’s no way of testing it on anything more than lab-grown human tissue. So even if it proves effective under those circumstances, we can’t change our policy on incoming starships.”
DeCarde sipped her wine, eyes on the shimmering waters of the bay.
“Now that you’re officially an elder statesman, can I ask you for a few favors?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Since I don’t trust the Order of the Void, will you be my intermediary with Abbess Marta?”
“Certainly, though since she’s withdrawn the Order from the Estates-General and every other secular body not concerned with medicine, psychology, religious matters, or teaching, you won’t see or speak with her much in any case. She plans on returning the Brethren to their monastic roots and undoing centuries of increasingly secular involvement in human affairs.”
Morane paused for a few seconds.
“I don’t think I ever told you, but long ago, when Marta first arrived on Lyonesse, Gwenneth told me she would play a big role in Lyonesse’s future. That she might be charged with protecting the spark that saves humanity from eternal darkness. Maybe we’re witnessing Gwenneth’s prophecy come to life.”
He shrugged again.
“I was never one for mysticism, but I must confess there’s something about our new Summus Abbatissa that transcends what most of us consider normal. You said a few favors. What else?”
“The Lyonesse Defense Force Command and Staff College. Will you become its first chancellor?”
Morane gave her a surprised look.
“You’re not putting a flag or general officer in charge?”
“I’ve decided I will reserve the position for retired flag or general officers. More stability, less internal politics. You’ll be reporting to a board of governors named by the Defense Secretary and appointed by yours truly. The Chief of the Defense Staff has the final say on curriculum, the appointment of uniformed staff members, and the budget, but the chancellor can appeal decisions with which he disagrees.”
“I accept, but you already figured I would.”
“Jonas Morane spending his days gardening or playing the boulevardier in downtown Lannion simply doesn’t compute. The first intake is in three months; the facilities are almost built; Defense Secretary Bryner has a list of proposed civilian and military staff waiting for your approval, and Adrienne Barca signed off on the curriculum you proposed last year.”
“Reginus Bryner came out of retirement? I’m impressed by your powers of persuasion.”
“Don’t be. He wanted the job but wouldn’t say anything while I had it.”
“That’s our Reginus.” Morane raised his glass. “I can’t believe I didn’t do so yet, but I propose a toast to President Brigid DeCarde. The republic is in good hands.”
“Hear, hear.” Emma Reyes imitated him. “To our president.”
They took a sip, then she said, “I’d like to propose the next toast to a friend whose absence leaves both of us feeling hollow. I know Jonas misses Gwenneth something fierce, though he won’t admit it. We both do. She was a steadfast friend.”
Morane nodded.
“Aye, from the moment she first boarded Vanquish.”
DeCarde raised her glass.
“To Gwenneth. I’m sure the Almighty took good care of her soul.”
“To Gwenneth.”
Reyes and Morane raised their glasses as well, and DeCarde could have sworn she saw a bit of moisture in the corners of Morane’s eyes.
“Finally, to the Republic of Lyonesse,” he said. “Long may she shine as a beacon for humanity’s rebirth.”
Ashes of Empire continues with
Imperial Echoes
About the Author
Eric Thomson is the pen name of a retired Canadian soldier with thirty-one years of service, both in the Regular Army and the Army Reserve. He spent his Regular Army career in the Infantry and his Reserve service in the Armoured Corps. He worked as an information technology specialist for several years before retiring to become a full-time author.
Eric has been a voracious reader of science fiction, military fiction, and history all his life. Several years ago, he put fingers to keyboard and started writing his own military sci-fi, with a definite space opera slant, using many of his own experiences as a soldier for inspiration.
When he is not writing fiction, Eric indulges in his other passions: photography, hiking, and scuba diving, all of which he shares with his wife.
Join Eric Thomson at http://www.thomsonfiction.ca/
Where you will find news about upcoming books and more information about the universe in which his heroes fight for humanity’s survival.
Read his blog at https://ericthomsonblog.wordpress.com
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Also by Eric Thomson
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No Honor in Death (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 1)
The Path of Duty (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 2)
Like Stars in Heaven (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 3)
Victory’s Bright Dawn (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 4)
Without Mercy (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 5)
When the Guns Roar (Siobhan Dunmoore Book 6)
Decker’s War
Death Comes But Once (Decker’s War Book 1)
Cold Comfort (Decker’s War Book 2)
Fatal Blade (Decker’s War Book 3)
Howling Stars (Decker’s War Book 4)
Black Sword (Decker’s War Book 5)
No Remorse (Decker’s War Book 6)
Hard Strike (Decker’s War Book 7)
Commonwealth Constabulary Casefiles
The Warrior’s Knife (Casefile #1)
Ashes of Empire
Imperial Sunset (Ashes of Empire #1)
Imperial Twilight (Ashes of Empire #2)
Ghost Squadron
We Dare (Ghost Squadron No. 1)
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