Death to the Imperium (Imperium Cicernus Book 2)
James McGovern
http://www.jamesmcgovern.co.uk
http://www.facebook.com/McGovernWriter
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Cover Blurb
In the far future, the galaxy is dominated by the Imperium, a galactic empire that encompasses a million planets. The Imperium has enjoyed relative peace for centuries, but now war is looming.
A massive, unidentified ship is orbiting a mysterious planet called Chaos in the outer reaches of the Paradonian Sector. Its purpose is unknown, but its actions can only be seen as hostile. The Imperial Navy fears the possibility of a rebellion.
Harlan Glitz, a convicted smuggler, is offered the chance of a full pardon. To earn his pardon, he must travel to the planet Chaos and find out the intentions of the alien ship. He is accompanied by his fellow convicts Tekka and Doland, as well as the beautiful but imperious Captain Alyce Wickham.
The unlikely crew travel to the Paradonian Sector in a ship salvaged from a scrapyard planet, seeking to discover the truth about the planet Chaos. But even a tough criminal like Harlan Glitz is unprepared for the terrible secret that the planet holds...
[This is a standalone novel in the Imperium Cicernus shared universe. Death to the Imperium is set approximately 300 years prior to On The Imperium’s Secret Service. Like all my books, it is DRM-Free.]
Author’s Note
As I am an author from the UK, what appear to be spelling or grammar errors may actually be British variations. If you enjoyed the book, feel free to join my Facebook page. Also, all reviews on Amazon are greatly appreciated.
I am indebted to Christopher Nuttall both for allowing me to write a novel in his Imperium Cicernus series, and for carefully editing the text to improve continuity.
If you aren’t already familiar with the idea, the Imperium Cicernus universe was originated in Chris’s book On The Imperium’s Secret Service, and authors are invited to submit proposals for further books in the series. These books are not collaborations; rather, they are simply set in the same universe. Death to the Imperium is a standalone adventure set roughly 300 years before the first book.
If you are a Kindle author interested in writing for the series, the best place to start would be the discussion forum on Chris’s website (www.chrishanger.net).
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Prologue
Badlands
Paradonian Sector
The young Lieutenant approached the Captain of the ship and saluted. “We’re approaching the planet Chaos now, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
The Captain stood up and approached the main scanner. The Churchill was an auxiliary warship, significantly smaller than the Imperial superdreadnoughts that he was used to. The ship was designed to supplement the larger Navy crafts, and it was chosen for this particular assignment because it was fast and inconspicuous. The brief was simple: the Navy had become aware of an unidentifiable ship in orbit around a planet called Chaos, which was located in the Paradonian Sector. Ten years previously, a scientist working for the Navy had invented a system called MARS, which stood for “Multiple Area Response System”. The system consisted of thousands of small drones, which roamed the entire galaxy systematically, detecting any unusual occurrences or possible signs of hostility. The discovery of the strange ship had alarmed the Navy—the planet Chaos was a known wasteland planet, with no desirable natural resources.
The Admiralty Board had come up with several possibilities for the ship’s presence. One option was that an unauthorised terraforming process was taking place on the planet. Another possibility was that a rebellion was forming. Admiral Blaize, one of the key commanders in the Navy, had argued that they should send a fleet of ships to neutralise the threat, but the rest of the Board had argued for more furtive tactics. Although the ship was unregistered, and of an unknown origin, there might be an innocent explanation. After all, it was not in the vicinity of any Imperial base or outpost. If the ship did contain rebels, the Navy wanted to gather as much information as possible before destroying it. In the end, it was decided that a Navy officer would take a single ship to the area to discover the truth, and make a full report to the Admiralty Board.
Now the ship was approaching the planet around which the ship was in orbit. Captain Blane walked over to the wide range scanner and looked at one of the display screens. The ship was almost the size of two Imperial superdreadnoughts. The planet of origin of the craft could not be determined.
“Possibly not human, then,” Captain Blane said, swallowing.
“Captain, you might want to take a look at this,” Lieutenant Ava said.
The ship was now in visual range. The Captain peered at the main scanner. It certainly wasn’t an Imperial or trade ship. The planet it was orbiting was dark and sinister-looking; a fiery seam ran through the centre. Captain Blane’s brief had suggested that there was nothing there of any importance. So why was the ship so interested in it? Before the Captain could begin to think properly about any of these questions, there was a loud crash, and the deck of the Churchill shuddered.
“Enemy fire!” the Lieutenant shouted.
“General quarters!” the Captain cried.
The crew jumped to battle stations, preparing to fire on the enemy ship. Captain Blane had been prepared for a fight—Naval commanders always had to be—but he hadn’t expected one. The mission was supposed to have been a peaceful one; they were to make contact with the mysterious ship and find out their intentions. It seemed it had been a foolish idea to send only one ship; in fact, he had argued against the idea originally. But most of the admirals had gotten their positions because of their aristocratic connections, and many of them didn’t have very sound judgement.
“Concentrate fire!” Captain Blane said. “Antimatter cannons and phase torpedoes—fire!”
One thing was clear in the Captain’s mind. The ship had malevolent intentions. Whatever it was doing orbiting the mysterious planet, it wasn’t something good. You didn’t just start shooting at an unknown ship unless you had something to hide. Another crash rocked the ship. The Captain glanced at one of the screens; they were too close to the planet to make a phase jump. The operator manning the antimatter cannons checked the console; the weapon was fully charged. He slammed his hand down—
—but it never touched the launch button. A white stream of… something shot out from the enemy ship, perhaps some kind of vastly improved plasma bolt. The last thing the crew saw was a blinding light. Captain Blane didn’t feel his life flash before his eyes, like the old cliché. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all.
The world simply stopped.
Chapter One
Interstellar Shipyard
Terminal Island
Varon
Harlan Glitz scowled at the guards as he was pushed forwards by the steady flow of prisoners. Glitz was a tall man of around forty, with a tangle of
brown hair, a thick growth of stubble, and a muscular chest. The prisoners were all handcuffed, and he knew it was futile to attempt to escape. A single prod with a shocker, one of the guards’ electric cattle prods, was enough to make you comply. Glitz wondered vaguely why convicts always seemed to be men. In the group of criminals being led inside the ship, there wasn’t a single woman. Glitz nearly tripped on the entrance ramp as he went inside the ship. It was a standard Imperial prison ship, with conditions worse than those in a 4th class spaceliner.
Once the prisoners were all aboard the ship, the ramp was quickly raised, and the ship sealed. Prison ships in the Imperium had a somewhat unusual layout: the entrance led on to a large open space, almost like a warehouse, which was called the floor. The floor led on to several other parts of the ship, including the canteen, the living quarters, the flight deck and the officers’ lounge. Prisoners were generally confined to the floor, the canteen, and the living quarters. The floor was usually where prisoners would be forced to perform menial tasks. In this ship, however, the floor was filled with tables, vidscreens, and even a gravity-ball net. It was presumably some kind of cruel trick to give the prisoners a false sense of security.
“Next stop, hell,” Glitz muttered.
“Shut it!” one of the guards yelled. He was a thin man with pimples.
“You’re young for a guard,” Glitz said. “Shouldn’t you still be in school, kid?”
“How dare you!”
“That’s enough,” the Commander said, and Glitz continued to grin at the guard. The guard began to redden with annoyance.
“Sir,” the young guard protested, pointing at Glitz. “He’s still smiling at me. Can’t you make him stop?”
“Grow up, Narko,” the Commander said. He turned to face the assembled band of convicts. They were all dressed in regulation prisoner uniforms, which were grey bodysuits bearing a circular badge with the letters “P.I.” The letters stood for “Property of the Imperium”. Once someone was successfully convicted of a felony—unless they were an aristocrat, of course—they became legally owned by the Imperium until they had finished the period of their sentence.
“Now, my name is Commander Halland Rica. You will find that I am a fair and just man, but that I can also be ruthless if you get on the wrong side of me. If you all behave like civilised people, we can look forward to a pleasant journey. If not, you will spend the trip in irons.”
Yeah, Glitz thought. Pleasant, that’s funny. It was well known that prison ships were anything but pleasant. Often, prisoners were forced to work in the engine room, which could be extremely hazardous.
“Providing there is no trouble,” Commander Rica went on, “you will not be forced to do any kind of work, and you can simply relax during the flight. Space knows you will be worked to death once you finally reach the planet. You will notice that the floor has been laid out with several diversions, which are provided for your entertainment.”
Some of the men exchanged disbelieving glances. Glitz wondered if it was a trick. He knew that Imperial prison officers were often callous and cruel.
“That’s all,” Commander Rica said. “I’m going to deactivate your handcuffs now, and I expect you all to be on your best behaviour for the duration of the flight.” The Commander had the air of a schoolteacher addressing a class of wayward children. He activated a switch, and all of the handcuffs clicked open. The men stretched their arms and wrists gratefully.
“We make planetfall in approximately one hundred hours,” the Commander said. He turned to his guards, and nodded. “Good work. I suggest we retire to the officers’ lounge and get ourselves a large brandy.”
To Glitz’s astonishment, every single one of the guards filed out of the floor, following Commander Rica to the officers’ lounge. It had to be some sort of joke. It was a total contravention of Imperial regulations to leave a ship of prisoners unattended. Glitz knew this well, because he had once read the entire Imperial Military Handbook. When he was sixteen, he had been a cadet in the Imperial Army, before being unceremoniously discharged for a romantic liaison with an older female officer. Romantic relationships were strictly forbidden between members of the armed forces. It had completely ruined his life, but somehow he still didn’t regret it.
With the roar of engines, the ship began to rise into the air. Glitz glanced around at the occupants of the ship. Another man might have been intimidated by being in a room full of prisoners with no official authority present, but Glitz wasn’t the kind of man to be easily intimidated. He wasn’t particularly large, but he wasn’t weak either, and he had picked up a few tricks in his years of being a spice trader for the East Galaxy Company. Most people didn’t realize how tough it was to pilot a freighter, but there was always some bastard that wanted to steal your cargo.
The prisoners all seemed slightly dazed. It appeared that, now they had been given a measure of freedom, they didn’t really know what to do with it. A more inexperienced person in a position of authority—like the guard with the pimples, for example—would seek to harshly dominate the prisoners to quash any possible stirrings of mutiny. But Commander Rica had spent too many years of his life in the company of criminals, and he knew better. Discipline was important, but providing the men behaved themselves there was no need to grind them down. He had been in charge of prison runs from Varon to Malus for nearly five years, and he had turned down two promotions during that time. He had no pressing desire for more power. All Commander Rica wanted was an easy life, and a regular pay check.
On a longer journey, giving prisoners such a large amount of freedom might have been a bad idea. But the trips to Malus were so short it would have been senseless to expect a rebellion. As Rica had predicted, the prisoners did not use their surprising liberty to start any big fights or to attempt to take control of the ship. They knew escape was impossible, and so a revolt would only have the effect of bringing punishment upon themselves. As the guards sat with Rica, sipping brandy, the prisoners began to settle down and entertain themselves.
Glitz realised after a few minutes that Rica had actually been serious—they actually were going to be treated like guests. He was grateful, but at the same time he was conscious that it would make their time on Malus seem even more terrible. Conditions on the planet were reportedly atrocious.
“Want to play me?”
Glitz looked up. A skinny man was pointing towards a chess board. He nodded. “OK.”
The two men sat down at the table. It was a real chess board with metal pieces, and Glitz thought it looked quite old-fashioned. He wasn’t really a chess player anyway, but the last time he had played it was with a holographic board.
“I’ll be whites,” the man said.
The newcomer had white hair and small dark eyes, and a sort of nervous energy. Glitz guessed that he was in his early thirties.
“What’s your name?” Glitz said.
“Doland. Raja Doland.”
“You a Proteist, Doland?”
Religion was frowned upon by the Imperium, as the Senate disliked any other organisation that could hold power over people. Religions could become a conflicting source of loyalty; this would be especially problematic if there was ever a disagreement between the Imperium and a church. The official religion of the galaxy was formerly Monarchism, a kind of emperor worship, but it no longer had a statutory place in society, and it was hardly ever practised—largely because the Senate discouraged it. The last thing they wanted was for the people to be loyally devoted to the Emperor. Inhabitants of several planets in the Imperium adhered to a religion called Proteism. It was a curious amalgamation of a few old religions, including Planetiatry and Hullism, and it boasted many celebrity members. It was perhaps most famous for its peculiar belief system, holding that the only way to attain salvation was to engage in sexual encounters with complete strangers.
“Why? Do I look like a Proteist?”
Glitz pointed at his hand. “Your ring.”
“Oh, right.” Doland glanced d
own at the ring on his index finger. Prisoners were allowed to keep one item of jewellery if it had sentimental value. It was engraved with a purple eye, which was one of the symbols of Proteism. “No, ha, this isn’t sentimental. I just told them that. I just found this in the street. I thought I could use it as a knuckleduster if someone attacked me in here.”
Looking around, Doland felt that depictions of convicts in popular vidfilms had been greatly exaggerated. When the guards had all left the floor, he had felt an overpowering wave of terror. But no one had tried to beat him up or do something worse… yet.
Glitz nodded at Doland. “Your move.”
Doland moved one of his pawns two spaces forward. He had never been very good at chess, but it was useful for passing the time. Doland was just grateful that he didn’t have to work in the engine room, and like the other prisoners he was determined to obey the rules so he could keep his surprising measure of liberty.
“So what you in for?” Glitz said, moving one of his pieces.
“Voting fraud.” Doland sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I live on Opus, and we use a computerised system for voting in our regional leaders. Each person of legal voting age is sent a transmitter with two buttons, one for each Regional Governor. The two candidates were Jog Rasputt and Charl Hens. Now Jog’s a nasty piece of work. He’s been involved in more scandals than a tabloid news feed. But for some reason the people of our region always vote him in. On voting day I was especially fed up, so I took my wife’s transmitter and voted for Charl.”
“So you had two votes?”
Doland nodded.
“How did they find out?”
“The bitch told them. She would have voted for Charl anyway, of course—she voted for him in the last election. But she’d been looking for an excuse to inform on me anyway. Got another man waiting in the wings, I reckon.”
Glitz felt a strange mixture of pity and amusement. He felt sorry for Doland, but at the same time he couldn’t help finding it slightly funny that his wife had managed to get him exiled to Malus.
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