Death to the Imperium (Imperium Cicernus)

by James McGovern

  “How long’s your sentence?” Glitz said.

  Doland tapped his fingers on the table. “Five years. What about you?”

  “Same. Five years.” Glitz nodded. “Five stinking years on the most miserable planet in the Universe…”

  He stared at the board, formulating his next move. Eventually, he decided which piece to pick up.

  “Bad idea.”

  Glitz and Doland turned to face the man that had spoken. He had dark hair and his brown eyes were intense and cold. His pronounced nose gave him the aspect of watchful bird of prey.

  “What’s a bad idea?” Glitz said.

  “You were thinking about moving your bishop to D4. But look—” The man pointed at square F5. “—that would allow this man to take your bishop. He could then move his queen to D3, which would be checkmate.”

  Glitz examined the board. The man was right; he hadn’t noticed the knight at F5. He turned to the newcomer. “How did you know I was going to move my bishop?”

  The man shrugged. “I find most ordinary minds easy to predict.” Without another word, he walked away from the table in search of something more diverting than interfering with chess games.

  When Glitz and Doland were nearing the end of their game, an electronic bell began to sound through the ship. They heard a voice over the intercom, explaining that it was mealtime. The metal canteen door slid open with the whirr of a motor, and the prisoners made their way eagerly through it. The canteen was very small, but large enough to seat all of the fifty or so prisoners. Unsurprisingly, the guards didn’t show up for the meal. Glitz guessed that they had their own dining area. A robot armed with a shocker was apparently in charge of the canteen. It was an old X-90 model—roughly humanoid in shape but with clearly robotic features and an immovable neck.

  “Form an orderly queue,” the robot ordered, its synthetic voice reverberating through the canteen. Glitz hated robots, especially when they were carrying weapons that could send over 1,000 volts at a current of 0.2 amps through your body.

  Glitz lined up behind an obese prisoner, who was carrying two meal trays. The man pressed the button on the food machine twice, collecting two meals. He turned around with an angry face, as if daring someone to question his right to have twice as much food as everyone else.

  “You on a diet?” Glitz said, who could never resist starting an argument.

  “What?” the man said fiercely.

  Glitz shrugged. “Just thought you must be on a diet, that’s all.”

  The fat man glanced at his two trays, looking slightly confused. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “No,” Glitz said sincerely. “It’s just that I’d always thought whales ate a million calories a day. So I figured you must be on a diet.”

  The robot’s fight detection circuits perceived the signs of a possible brawl and it edged closer, wielding the shocker eagerly. But, luckily for Glitz, the man didn’t understand the joke, and simply glared at him before walking away. Glitz stared at the choices on the machine, trying to decide which option to choose.

  There were three buttons, which had changeable labels with pencil writing. Today’s choices read CHEESEBURGER, CURRY and VEGETARIAN. A decade of ferrying spices for the East Galaxy Company had made Glitz loath spicy food, and the third option sounded suspiciously vague. He wondered how many convicted criminals were vegetarians. Not many, he would guess. He opted for the cheeseburger. He pressed the switch and a burger appeared on a paper plate, along with a side of fries.

  He glanced around the canteen, where the seats were filling up fast, looking for somewhere to sit. At the far end, the man who had interrupted his chess game was sitting alone at a table. Glitz made his way over to him and sat down.

  “Hi,” Glitz said.

  The man said nothing. He had also ordered a burger, and he was eating it slowly with an air of being deep in thought. Glitz frowned and started to eat his own meal, noticing that Tekka was wearing a large golden ring with a blue stone. The burger was, surprisingly, not bad. There was a good helping of meat inside it and the bread was fresh. Again, although Glitz was grateful for the humane treatment, he was conscious that conditions on Malus would seem even worse by comparison.

  “Tekka,” the man said finally, after finishing his burger.

  “Glitz.” He paused. “What did you do to end up here?”

  “I committed a crime,” Tekka said simply.

  “Yeah, but what crime?”

  Tekka didn’t reply; he just stared darkly into space. Glitz shrugged and continued to eat his food. Doland sat down at the table, carrying a plate of curry.

  “It was fraud,” Doland said, grinning. He pointed to a bearded man standing at the food vendor. “I’ve just been talking to your friend Marc.”

  “He’s not my friend. I only told him what I did so he would leave me alone.”

  “Yeah, well… anyway, he told me about your little plan, you know, the one to steal five billion credits from Central.”

  According to old, unverifiable documents, digital cryptography-based currencies had existed as early as eight thousand years ago, including the mythical Bitcoin. During the early years of the Imperium, many similar currencies had come into general use, such as the stupidly-named Coincoin, which used a proof-of-work mechanism to generate coins. The currency fell into disrepute when it was discovered that the processing power used to “mine” the coins had been used to crack the security of several key Imperial computer systems. Around two thousand years ago, the Imperium had switched from using paper-based fiat currencies to a universal centralised cryptocurrency system, the “coin” of which was known simply as the credit. Some people still used secret alternative currencies for illegal transactions and money laundering, but the only official currency was the credit, regulated by the Imperial Central Bank.

  “Five billion credits?” Glitz said, impressed. That amount would be enough to buy a small island on the planet Eden.

  Tekka nodded, but did not reply.

  “He’s a mathematical genius, so Marc says,” Doland went on. “Graduated from Homeworld University, too.”

  Glitz stared into Tekka’s cold eyes. Homeworld University? He was obviously no ordinary criminal. What made a man like him turn rogue? Why would someone with brains—and all the opportunities in life—turn to crime?

  “Can you two be trusted?” Tekka said suddenly.

  Doland looked up from his plate of curry, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. Can I trust you?”

  “Trust us for what?”

  Tekka placed his fingertips together, and lowered his voice. “I assume that neither of you wants to go to Malus. We have all heard the stories. I for one am not at all keen on going. I believe I may have a viable escape plan, but I need to know whether I can trust you.”

  Doland and Glitz glanced at each other, and nodded at Tekka.

  “Excellent,” Tekka said. “Like Doland said, I have considerable expertise when it comes to—”

  “Hang on,” Doland said. “How do you know my name?”

  “I made a point of memorising the flight manifest,” Tekka said, pulling out a folded piece of paper. It was a print-out of all of the convicts’ names, along with thumbnail snapshots of their faces.

  “A manifest?” Glitz said. “Where the hell did you get that?”

  Tekka smiled coldly. “All of the vidscreens on the floor are connected to computers. Of course, all of their functions are locked down except video playback. But I asked the computer very nicely.”

  “So what’s your plan?” Glitz said quietly.

  Chapter Two

  Tekka glanced around to make sure they were not being overheard. Then he began to explain his plan in a quiet voice. When he had finished, both Doland and Glitz were a little in awe of the man. Doland was right. He was a genius. But Glitz found one element of the plan troubling.

  “Not this ship.”

  “What?” Tekka said, his eyes narrowing
slightly.

  “Not this ship. The Commander has been good to us. It wouldn’t be right to do it to him.”

  “Oh, come on,” Doland said. “We’re being taken to the worst planet in the galaxy. We’re going to be slaves for five years. This isn’t the time for caring about other people.”

  Glitz wouldn’t be persuaded. He turned to Tekka. “Look, there’s no reason why your plan couldn’t work with another ship, right? When will the next prison ship arrive on Malus?”

  “In about a month, I expect.”

  “A month!” Doland said. “You want us to be stuck on Malus for a month?”

  “It’s better than five years,” Glitz replied.

  Tekka paused, stroking his left palm with the fingertips of his right hand. “If the plan is to work, it requires three people. If Glitz is determined not to harm the commander of this ship, it seems we have no choice but to make planetfall and wait for the next ship.”

  Doland grimaced, but he knew that Tekka was right. Without all three of them, the plan would be much more likely to fail. “All right,” he said. “I’m in.”

  “Why us?” Glitz said. “I mean, your plan needs three people, but why choose me and Doland?”

  “Truthfully, there is no particular reason. I need two people to help me escape. I don’t care who those two people are. You were the two people that happened to sit down next to me.”

  Glitz nodded slowly. In that case, he was very glad that he had chosen to sit with Tekka. The rest of the journey to Malus went by quite uneventfully. A few prisoners became restless and started to fight, but these confrontations were quickly broken apart by the other convicts. Nobody wanted to have stricter measures imposed upon them. They ate five more meals in the canteen, and slept twice in the prisoners’ quarters. The guards only appeared occasionally to check that everything was running smoothly, and no one even saw the Commander again until they finally reached the planet. Around forty-eight hours into the flight, he appeared on the floor with a small group of guards.

  “We’ll be arriving on Malus shortly, gentlemen,” Commander Rica said. “Thank you for conducting yourselves so graciously, and I hope that your stay on Malus won’t be overly unpleasant.” He knew there wasn’t much hope of that. The Commander was a man of dangerous tastes, and there were many illegal pleasures that he denied himself, purely so that he would never end up on Malus.

  “It’s been nice,” Glitz said loudly. “I’ll fly with you again some time.”

  The prisoners all laughed, and the Commander smiled and left the floor. Glitz had, of course, been joking, but the journey had actually given him a deep respect for the man. So many weak-minded people tried to gain respect through violence and anger. It was refreshing to see someone who expressed their authority in a reasonable way.

  The ship touched down on the planet Malus.

  Narko, the pimpled guard, smiled nastily at Glitz as the ship’s main door slid open. The guards escorted the prisoners off the ship, where they were taken into custody by another lot of guards. They were wearing their handcuffs again, which they had been made to reattach before the ship’s landing.

  Glitz glanced up at the sky. It was permanently dark on Malus, because it was a planet on the edge of the Talos system. The light from the central sun barely reached Malus; it was only warm enough to sustain life because of thermoactive rocks close to the planet’s surface. Volcanoes were one of the main causes of death on Malus, next to overwork. The Imperium was notoriously tough on all prisoners—again, unless they were from the aristocracy—holding the view that the worse the prison, the stronger the deterrent. Glitz didn’t think that prisoners should get off without punishment, but five years of hard labour seemed a little extreme for his crime.

  The guards began to lead them towards the main prison site, which was where the convicts would be sleeping and eating for the duration of their sentences.

  “You didn’t tell me what you did,” Doland said, who was standing behind Glitz.

  “Smuggling.” Glitz frowned at the imposing volcanoes. He could swear that some of them were spewing black smoke. “I was in charge of a freighter for the East Galaxy Company, but the pay was bad. I boosted my salary by smuggling weapons in a secret compartment inside the ship.”

  Doland looked impressed. “Yeah? How’d you get caught?”

  “Just a routine inspection, or so I thought.” Glitz grinned. Although he hated the fact that he had been caught, he couldn’t deny that it made a good story. “I was carrying an official load of turmeric and moonspice, as well as a few kilos of black market tobacco that I picked up from a guy on Zita-4. I was taking the leaf to Paradise to sell. When I was boarded by Imperial troops, I figured it was nothing to worry about. I’d been boarded before, but they hadn’t found anything. But it turns out the leaf wasn’t just duty-free—it was stolen. Even worse, the stupid bastard had robbed an Interstellar Courier to get it.”

  “So they found the stuff?”

  Glitz nodded. “They went all out. Practically took the ship apart. I got five years, but the other guy was executed.”

  Doland breathed out slowly. “You were lucky then, in a way.”

  “Lucky?” Glitz poked his finger into Doland’s chest. “I’m stuck on a prison planet for five years with nobody for company but you and that guy—” Glitz pointed to Tekka, who was standing nearby. “—and he doesn’t even like me.”

  “Don’t be too heartbroken,” Tekka said. “I don’t like anyone.”

  “Yeah, well…” Doland lowered his voice. “We still have our plan…”

  Glitz glanced around at the forbidding planet, at the rocks and strange-looking birds wheeling through the sky. Now that he was actually there, Tekka’s plan didn’t seem quite so likely. He knew that no one had ever escaped from Malus before.

  The prisoners walked, handcuffed, towards the main prison, with uniformed guards marching in front of and behind them. The air was filled with noxious smoke, and the ground was covered in black dust—the prisoners’ feet kicked up dirt clouds that blackened their convict uniforms.

  Eventually, they reached the main prison. It was a large silver dome that was composed of triangular shapes arranged in a tessellated pattern. Glitz entered with the other prisoners, flanked by Doland and Tekka. He wanted to make sure that he stayed close to Tekka over the next few weeks; the man was his only chance of getting off the stinking rock.

  “My name is Mr. Quex,” a bald man said, stepping in front of the prisoners. He was carrying a large black staff with a tapered handle. Although it was black, it looked suspiciously like a shocker. “I’m the officer in charge of this prison. Let me be very clear. I don’t tolerate bad behaviour. If any one of you jokers steps out of line, they’ll be treated with the greatest serevity.”

  “You mean ‘severity’, right?” one of the prisoners said. He was a thin man with a permanent grin.

  The officer’s face reddened, and he stepped over to the man, his pig-like eyes bulging from his head. “Silence!” he said.

  “That’s better,” the prisoner said. “Maybe you should just stick to two-syllable words in future.”

  The prisoners laughed, and Mr. Quex looked like he was about to explode. He touched the man with the end of his staff, who felt an excruciating pain surge through his limbs. The prisoner cried out in agony, and Mr. Quex withdrew the staff. The pain ceased.

  “Let that be a lesson to you all,” Mr. Quex said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate insol… insolence.”

  All of the prisoners were weary and ill-tempered; they had last slept nearly twelve hours ago, and they were all ready to go to bed.

  “You will be sent to your cells in alphabetical order,” the prison officer said. “As soon as I read your name, two of the prison guards will escort you to your cell.” He brought up a list on his tablet. “Alph, Tonek.”

  Tonek Alph, a tough-looking man virtually covered in tattoos, stepped forward. Two even tougher-looking prison guards escorted him out towards his cel
l.

  “Bane, Rog.”

  Rog Bane was next to be taken to his cell, followed by Bergson, Cap, Christoph, Doland, Edgewood, Fhali and Haaj.

  “Glitz, Harlan.”

  Glitz strolled forwards and peered at the two guards. “You sure these guys know where they’re going?”

  Mr. Quex showed his teeth. “Follow!”

  Grinning, Glitz followed the guards; they led him through the prison, opened a metal sliding door using a wall panel, and pushed him into his cell. The room was tiny and grey. It had no windows, and no furniture except a bed. And a toilet, if that counts as furniture. At least it was clean. The whole room smelled comfortingly sterile, like a hospital room. The room was cramped and unpleasant, and would certainly be a nightmare come true for anyone suffering from claustrophobia. But at least it was safe. You didn’t have to spend every night looking behind your back. Glitz knocked on the metal cell wall, and someone knocked back. The sound was very muffled.

  “Attention all prisoners.” Glitz frowned. The tinny, metallic voice was coming from a hidden speaker somewhere in the cell. “The time is 6:48. Work will begin in twelve minutes. Please make sure you are dressed in your work clothes. New convicts will find their work suits beneath their beds.”

  “For the love of space!” Glitz shouted. “I haven’t slept for twelve hours!”

  The message began to repeat again. “Attention all prisoners. The time is 6:49…”

  Scowling, Glitz reached under his hard bed and felt around for his work suit. His fingers brushed against a clear plasthyne bag, and he pulled it out. Inside there was an orange bodysuit that was made of some sort of tough artificial material, probably PalTex. He stripped to his underwear and stowed his prison uniform under the bed, struggling into the orange suit. The material was rough and scratchy, like tarpaulin, against his skin, and his shoulders and neck began to ache.

  “Work will begin in eight minutes.”

  Glitz sat on his bed and waited. He didn’t know how the whole thing worked. Obviously, there was no way out of his cell, so all he could do was sit and wait. He wouldn’t have got dressed at all in protest, but he didn’t want to be taken outside wearing non-protective clothing.