Glass Empires

by Various

  His father often quoted dialogue from an old 2-D film that they watched together many times on their long cargo runs, “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Mayweather wasn’t sure he particularly agreed with that advice, and it certainly wasn’t his rationale for keeping Reed on board. The major was here so that Mayweather could put an end to their rivalry once and for all. Now that Defiant was finally being sent on assignments that would take them out of Earth orbit, there would be many opportunities to send Reed on off-ship missions, some of which would be more dangerous than the major anticipated. Once Mayweather found a suitable replacement, he would dispatch Reed without hesitation.

  “Sergeant McCain upheld the finest traditions of the Empire,” the captain said. “I want a proper ceremony with full military honors. There will be a memorial service at nineteen-hundred this evening. I expect the ship’s entire security contingent to be on hand.”

  Offering a succinct nod, Reed replied, “Aye, Captain.” He nodded toward the lifeless body of Sergeant Haffley. “And him?”

  “Put him out the airlock.”

  “Drop out of warp. Go to impulse power.”

  Seated at the center of Defiant’s bridge, Mayweather felt a momentary adjustment in the inertial dampers as the warp engines disengaged and the vessel transitioned into normal space. On the main viewscreen, elongated streaks of light receded to distant points in space, partically obscured by the dense field of asteroids and debris drifting ahead of the ship. Defiant had arrived in the Devolin system.

  On the viewscreen, Mayweather could make out two flickering points of cool blue light—a pair of main sequence stars at the center of this somewhat inaccurately named trinary system. The third member of the trinary was no longer luminous in wave-lengths that humans could see—a half million years ago, it collapsed and formed what was now a class-four black hole. At close range, radiation from the singularity would overwhelm even Defiant’s deflector screens and kill Mayweather’s entire crew. They were safe so long as they maintained a minimum distance of ninety million kilometers.

  “We’re at the outer boundary of the system,” reported Ensign Zona, the Orion woman seated at the station in front of the captain. “Thirty million kilometers to the perimeter of the debris field.” The words themselves were soft and sultry—much like the ensign herself, as Mayweather recalled from a previous evening rendezvous.

  Rank hath its privileges.

  Standing at the science station on the upper deck to Mayweather’s right, Major Reed bent over the hooded viewer, analyzing the telemetry being fed to him from Defiant’s array of sensors. “The assault fleet has dropped out of warp behind us, Captain,” he reported.

  Six ships, Mayweather thought. Not a very intimidating assault fleet. These six vessels were all the Empress would spare—the rest of the fleet was spread thin across Alpha and Beta quadrants, tasked with protecting the Sol system and the major Terran colonies. At the tactical briefing, Mayweather had been told he could expect to find the bulk of the rebels’ Suurok- and Kumari-class ships drifting among these asteroids—most of those ships were believed to be undergoing repairs and were not battle-worthy. If Shran’s informants were wrong, and the rebels are at combat stations, waiting for them…

  We may find out if this crate is as “indestructible” as Imperial propaganda claims.

  “Go to yellow alert,” Mayweather ordered. “Shields up and weapons on hot standby. Helm, set a course for the coordinates Shran gave us.” It was time to verify the reliability of the general’s informants.

  Zona’s attention was divided between her console and the viewscreen, which now filled with thousands of tumbling, mountain-sized rocks. “It’s going to get a little dicey in there, sir.”

  Mayweather looked to Reed. “Anything on sensors?”

  Without turning away from his console, the major shook his head. “Many of the asteroids on the periphery are composed of phyllisite ore—it’s scattering our sensors.”

  “Options?”

  “The debris thins out closer to the stars. I should be able to scan the entire system if we move in, say, another twelve million kilometers.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend that, Captain.” Zona said, looking toward Reed. “At that range, solar radiation will significantly compromise our shields.”

  “A little bit of sunburn never killed anyone,” Reed playfully shot back at her.

  Mayweather thumbed the intraship comm button on his armrest. “Radiation exposure protocols, all decks.” Weakened shields also meant Defiant would be vulnerable if the rebels were waiting for them in there.

  “Slow to one-quarter, Ensign.”

  The minutes passed uneasily as the ship moved deeper into the field. As Mayweather watched his crew go about their assigned tasks, he found himself momentarily forgetting about the deadly radiation, and rebel ships hiding behind asteroids. For a few precious moments, the captain was distracted by the pleasant, almost mesmerizing sounds of his bridge—the beeping and whirring of relays, capacitors, and automatic scanners. It was an electronic symphony that the captain tended to think of as his personal background arrangement.

  “Debris field is clearing,” Zona said, snapping Mayweather out of his reverie.

  “Long-range sensors are online.” The major peered into his viewer, making adjustments to the selection lever.

  “Major,” Mayweather said, growing impatient.

  Reed finally looked up from his scanners, the color having drained from the part of his face Mayweather could see.

  “There’s nothing here, Captain. Nothing at all.”

  Son of a bitch. “You’re certain?”

  “No ships—no bases—no artificial constructs of any kind.”

  How could we have trusted him?

  “Could Shran’s informants have been wrong?” Zona asked.

  Mayweather’s abdomen went cold. “We’ve been betrayed.”

  “Captain…?”

  Mayweather practically leaped from his chair, fighting the urge to take control of the helm. “Set a course for Earth, maximum warp!”

  “Our fleet won’t be able to keep up with us—” Zona protested.

  “To hell with them. Warp factor eight, now!”

  Zona relayed the captain’s orders to her controls and Defiant lurched hard, accelerating at full impulse along the Z-axis relative to the ecliptic. A moment later, the ship cleared the debris field and plunged into subspace.

  Mayweather cursed himself for not comprehending it sooner. Shran had given them exactly what they wanted—the rebel fleet, gathered in a single location, defenseless. On a platter. The moment they had been waiting for.

  They had believed it because they wanted it to be true.

  “How long to Sector 001?” Mayweather asked tightly.

  Zona checked the astrogator display. “If we can maintain this speed…” she hesitated. “Eighteen hours.”

  Might as well be a million years.

  Earth, the planet of his birth, the heart of the Terran Empire, waited…undefended and alone.

  7

  G et down!”

  Her ears still ringing from the explosion tearing through the hull of the shuttle she had just vacated, Hoshi heard the warning the instant before a large hand gripped her shoulder and forced her to the ground. She felt the sensation of displaced air as something flew past her head and landed somewhere on the sidewalk behind her. It was answered by the deafening whine of a phase pistol, and the Empress caught sight of the orange energy beam overhead.

  I brought this on myself!

  The thought taunted her as she crouched on the ground, the palms of her hands digging into the loose rock and other debris littering the otherwise-smooth cobblestones on the outer wall of Kyoto Palace.

  “This way, Your Majesty,” Solomon Carpenter said, the bodyguard pulling her to her feet while at the same time aiming his phase pistol at the unruly mob of perhaps twenty people who were approaching along the graded path that served as an entrance t
o the palace grounds. Her trusted guardian guided her across the stone path, passing a spot where a section of the palace’s perimeter wall had collapsed. Other members of her security detail—one human and two Andorians—stood watch near the breach, each of them carrying pulse rifles and occasionally firing the weapons through the ragged hole into the city street that lay beyond.

  Using his body to shield the Empress, Carpenter’s attention was focused on the gap in the wall as they moved past, his phase pistol ready to answer any threat. He saw the next attack even before the guards at the wall did; another protestor attempting to leap through the jagged opening, his face a mask of hatred as he wielded a large machete. Carpenter did not hesitate, firing his weapon at the attacker and dropping him to the stone floor of the palace courtyard.

  Beyond the wall, Hoshi heard the cries and shouts of her enraged and terrified subjects. Through the breach she could make out the wasteland of rubble and smoking craters that had been the city’s business district. To her left was the smoking pile of debris that was all that remained of the Shishinden—the ceremonial hall in which she had held her coronation. One of her favorite places on the palace grounds, it now lay in ruin, like much of her capital.

  A large piece of rock or brick sailed through the opening in the wall and struck one of the Andorian guards in the head. He fell backward, stumbling over loose debris scattered behind him and crashing in a heap to the ground. Cobalt blood ran from his temple, and Hoshi saw that his right antenna was now broken. None of that mattered, the Empress realized, as she saw the guard’s open, fixed eyes.

  In response, the two remaining guards opened fire, their weapons screaming as they poured a hailstorm of energy into the crowd. A half dozen were struck down, but there were ten times as many to take their places.

  “Set to stun!” Hoshi ordered.

  “We can’t hold them back!” shouted the remaining Andorian.

  These people have lost everything, she thought. And it’s my fault.

  She knew that the scene here was no different than the ones she had witnessed—either in person or via satellite communications feeds—at numerous locations around the world. The attacks had been devastating, coming without forewarning and far too fast for any appreciable defenses to be brought to bear. Defiant, still racing back from the Devolin system, had transmitted desperate alerts to Earth that came too late. Rebel ships, nearly two dozen of them, had emerged from warp space dangerously close to the planet, unleashing a series of fierce coordinated strikes. Eventually, the Terran defenses responded and destroyed all but one of the invading vessels. By then the damage was done—cities had fallen, millions of her subjects were dead.

  And I let it happen.

  Kyoto was hit hard, but had been spared a direct bombardment. Other cities had been less fortunate. Overriding the protests from her security detail, Hoshi had emerged from her underground bunker and traveled by shuttle to the scenes of the worst of the devastation. She had hoped her presence would be a source of comfort, but in every devastated city she visited—Chicago, Mumbai, Paris, Beijing, Rio de Janeiro—the shock and grief of the survivors quickly turned to outrage when she appeared. It had taken several days, but even the citizens of her birth city were now turning against her.

  Hoshi heard the engines of an approaching ship. She turned as a second transport descended toward them—a replacement for her personal shuttle, now a heap of smoking, twisted metal. The craft passed low over the perimeter wall on the western edge of the palace grounds, drawing small arms fire from the angry crowd. This craft was better armored—it absorbed the damage, pivoting on its axis as it settled roughly on the landing pad.

  “We have to go, Your Majesty!” Carpenter said, gripping her again by her upper arm and pulling her to her feet. Using his own body as a shield, he led the Empress across the courtyard. A trio of Andorians emerged from the transport, taking up defensive positions near the nose of the craft. To her right Hoshi saw the figures of at least a dozen rioters scaling the high perimeter wall, and the Andorians wasted no time opening fire.

  Something tore into the cobblestones at Hoshi’s feet, slowing her and Carpenter’s progress. The bodyguard whirled to his right in time to see a lone figure brandishing an antique firearm. He dropped to one knee and aimed his phase pistol at the attacker, felling him with a single shot.

  “Get aboard!” Hoshi heeded Carpenter’s instructions and closed the remaining distance to the transport’s entry ramp. An instant later he boarded the craft, followed almost as quickly by the trio of Andorian security officers. Carpenter reached with his free hand to slap a control set into the bulkhead near the entrance, cycling the hatch shut.

  “Get us out of here!” he shouted.

  Collapsing into a jumpseat in the craft’s passenger compartment, Hoshi gulped air, gripping the armrests of her seat and feeling the deck shift beneath her feet as they rose from the landing pad. She lifted her head, locking eyes with Carpenter.

  “You saved my life,” she said between breaths. “A couple of times.”

  The bodyguard nodded as he holstered his phase pistol. “It is my honor to serve, Your Majesty.” She caught the hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

  He loves me, that’s why he saved me. Hoshi had avoided any further intimate encounters with Carpenter since her marriage, but the separation had not been easy for her. She had genuinely cared for few men—there was Maximilian, certainly—but no one else recently. There was much she needed to tell Carpenter, but this was not the time or the place.

  Her attention was caught by movement coming from the transport’s cabin. She was startled to see Shran walking toward her.

  “Your Majesty, I’m relieved beyond words.” As the general moved to embrace her, Hoshi jumped out of her seat and slapped him hard across the face.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “It’s good to see you as well,” he replied dryly. Shran removed a leather glove and wiped the warm cerulean blood from the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been attending to our defenses. I’m pleased to report the rebels have been repelled.”

  Hoshi indicated a small viewport—dark columns of smoke hung in the air over the capital. “Look out that window and tell me how ‘pleased’ you are.”

  “I think it would be premature to assign blame until a full inquiry is complete.”

  For the Empress, there was no need for an inquiry. “This is your doing! Millions of Terrans are dead because of the strategy you proposed.”

  “With all due respect, my beloved, let’s not forget that you left Earth defenseless by ordering Defiant to proceed to the Devolin system.”

  So that’s how we’re going to play it, Hoshi thought. She felt for her hip instinctively, reaching for her ceremonial dagger. That’s when she realized she must have lost it when she fled the palace. If that blade was in her hand right now, she would plunge it into Shran’s chest.

  “We must not second-guess ourselves,” he pressed on. “What’s done is done. All that matters now is your safety.”

  “My safety is the least of our problems.”

  “The citizens of Earth are calling for blood. They’re demanding that someone take responsibility for this disaster.”

  Hoshi put aside her anger for a moment, long enough to realize he was right. “I’ll address the people tonight,” she said. “The command council will step down immediately. If they won’t go voluntarily, they’ll be shot.”

  “I think not.”

  Her forehead burned hot with rage. “What did you say?”

  “How can I put down the rebellion if I’m deprived of my most trusted and loyal officers?” Hoshi had allowed Shran to appoint Andorian Guardsmen to some of the highest positions in Starfleet. She had hoped this would demonstrate to the Andorian people that they were now the equal of Terrans. It was clear she had made a terrible miscalculation.

  “The rebels will be punished—we should not take out our frustrations on our own people. Soon, we will give the publi
c a victory to celebrate, and their anger will pass. In the meantime, it would be best if we…reduced your profile.”

  She could feel everything slipping away from her now. Aside from Carpenter, no human guards were aboard the transport. “I’m not going into hiding,” she said defiantly.

  “I’m merely proposing a short-term remedy—it’s too dangerous for you to remain on Earth.”

  That’s his plan—exile.

  “You knew this attack was coming. You told the rebels Defiant had left orbit.”

  That insufferable smile of his again. Shran raised his palms, as if making a peace offering. “You’re angry—I understand.” His tone turned threatening. “I urge you, my beloved, don’t do something that both of us will regret.”

  “Mister Carpenter.” Her bodyguard stepped forward. “My husband is under arrest. Lock him in the aft compartment.”

  Before Carpenter could even acknowledge her command, a bright blue bolt of energy slammed into his chest, punching a hole straight through his torso. The scent of burned muscle and bone stung Hoshi’s eyes. Her bodyguard was dead before he collapsed on the deck.

  Enraged, she threw herself at Shran, lashing out toward his face, but he caught her in mid-strike. The three Andorians took flanking positions around their commander. He held Hoshi’s wrists, immoblizing her. Unable to lay a finger on him, she spat in his eye.

  Two of the guards pulled the Empress off Shran, holding her. He wiped the spittle from his face. Then, he reached out and grabbed her by the throat. She gasped as her windpipe constricted, painfully.

  “You’re dead,” she hissed at him.

  His eyebrow arching in almost Vulcan fashion, he shook his head. “Your reign is over, Your Majesty.”

  He tightened his grip, nearly lifting Hoshi off her feet. She grasped at his gloved hand, choking. After an agonizing moment, Shran finally shoved her into one of the jumpseats.