Imperium Chronicles Box Set

by W. H. Mitchell

  All four, dressed in amber robes, walked the path up to the main gate where an Erudite official greeted them and asked for their invitation. The Erudite flag, a simple blue ring against a white background, flapped in the evening breeze above him. The Prior produced the invitation and handed it to the official who bowed and led them to the courtyard inside. Other guests, not more than twenty in total, had already arrived and were circulating through the open space around the central tree. The Abbot stopped to take in the foliage, noting it had been meticulously pruned, perhaps excessively so. On the Dahl home planet, Gwlad Ard’un, they had genetically altered their trees to be in perpetual bloom like an endless Spring. The Abbot favored that over whatever torturous grooming they were doing to this poor specimen.

  “They’ve invited the Sarkan,” the Prior whispered into the Abbot’s ear.

  “Here?” he replied, casting a glance around. In one corner, a group of three stood away from the others. Like the Dahl, they had pointed ears, but their skin was a bright red and their eyes a golden yellow. A branch of the same race, they spoke the same native language, but their political views could not have been more different. Whereas the Dahl had allied themselves with the humans of the Imperium, the Sarkan viewed humans with distrust, saving an equal disdain for their ancient brethren who befriended them. The Sarkan also viewed the Dahls’ unwavering obsession with gathering knowledge as a distraction from far loftier goals like conquering the galaxy. The Sarkan’s own alliance with the Magna Supremacy, the sworn enemy of the Imperium, made their presence even more curious, the Abbot thought.

  “I suppose the Erudites have their reasons,” he told the Prior.

  The party of Dharmesh monks wound their way to where the Erudite ambassador was standing.

  “So nice of you to come,” Ambassador Abaru said.

  “I was pleasantly surprised to receive your invitation,” the Abbot replied. “This is certainly a singular and, I must say, rare honor.”

  Erudites lacked much in the way of a mouth to smile, but the Abbot thought the envoy was at least making an effort to.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m aware my people are not well known for having gatherings such as this. At least not for outsiders — I mean, non-Erudites.”

  A wry smile wrinkled the Abbot’s face.

  “Indeed,” he said and then frowned. “However, I am also surprised, unpleasantly I might add, that a Sarkan delegation appears to be here.”

  “No offense was intended,” Abaru replied, “but I have invited several parties tonight.”

  “Which brings me to my next question,” the Abbot said. “Why are we here?”

  When Ta Demona and Rowan Ramus arrived at the Erudite embassy, they were not wearing the same fashionable dress and tuxedo as at the Fat Cat Casino. They were dressed more conservatively, Demona in a simple black gown with a veil covering her respirator and Ramus in a traditional long tunic of red and black. Ramus even removed his earrings, although it almost killed him to do so.

  Reaching the gate, Ramus presented the invitation to the Erudite official. The blue face of the omicron betrayed no emotion, but Ramus was still nervous, not sure if he could trust the forged documentation.

  “Mister Gambhir and guest from Gwlad Ard’un,” the Erudite said. “Most of the other guests have already arrived.”

  Ramus motioned toward Demona. “Sorry, this one took forever to get dressed...”

  Demona’s blue eyes became slits while she dug her nails into Ramus’ arm. The Erudite again showed no emotion, ushering them through the gate.

  “Was that really necessary?” Demona asked once they were inside.

  “No, but I enjoyed it,” Ramus replied.

  In the courtyard, the Wanderer’s captain admired the central tree while Demona scanned the guests with her mind.

  “Curious,” she said. “Nobody seems sure why they’re here.”

  “What about the ambassador?”

  “Also curious,” she went on, “he seems to be shielding his thoughts. I can’t read them.”

  “Isn’t that going to make our job a little difficult?” Ramus grumbled.

  “I just need to get closer. Come on.”

  Wading through the guests, Demona and Ramus rounded the tree in a counterclockwise circuit, maneuvering ever nearer to the Erudite ambassador on the other side. They passed faces, most of them Dahl, but also a few Sarkan and even a Sylva or two. None seemed terribly interested in either of them.

  “Do you recognize any of these people?” Demona asked, nodding at strangers.

  “Nope,” Ramus remarked.

  “Any of them likely to recognize you?”

  “One of the advantages of being an exile,” Ramus explained, “is becoming a Forgotten. Any memories of me have been erased from their minds.”

  “Even the Sarkan?”

  “No, but they’re a bunch of dicks and I don’t fraternize with dicks.”

  Demona grinned. “Perhaps I should feel flattered.”

  “Don’t be,” Ramus said. “You’re awful in your own special way.”

  A group of Dharmesh monks were crowded in front of the Erudite ambassador. One of the monks, the Abbot, was speaking to the ambassador, blocking the way. Demona could still not read the Erudite’s mind, although she felt a unified sense of annoyance from those around him. If she could get just a little closer...

  Ambassador Abaru raised his hand abruptly, drawing the attention of the other guests and, perhaps not coincidentally, quieting the Abbot who was still speaking.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Abaru said, “let’s adjourn to the library. There’s much to discuss.”

  He turned and strolled toward a doorway leading deeper into the embassy proper. The guests murmured in a general buzz of excitement and followed, carrying Demona and Ramus along with them like leaves on a river.

  Against his better judgment, the Abbot of the Dharmesh Monastery had not left yet. Even without reading the Erudite ambassador’s mind, which was against the laws and traditions of his people, the Abbot was skeptical of whatever he was proposing. People without pointed ears, or any ears for that matter, couldn’t be trusted.

  The embassy library had a high ceiling with bookcases reaching all the way to the top. The Abbot admired the sheer number of books, each made from real paper, but he assumed the Erudites also had the contents backed up electronically somewhere. The Dharmesh Monastery used a liquid computer called the Pool of Memory, a bucket of which could hold more information than all of the books in this library combined. The old monk felt pity for the Erudites, seeking knowledge but lacking the storage capacity to hold it.

  Sad, really, he thought.

  The rest of the library was taken up by uncomfortable-looking chairs and couches with a few tables on which books were laying unattended. It was surprisingly open, the Abbot concluded, with the bookcases set into the walls instead of freestanding in the center. The guests had ample room to mingle while the ambassador and his staff assembled on one end.

  When he was ready, Ambassador Abaru again raised his three-fingered hand and the others quieted out of respect.

  “Thank you again for coming,” he said. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

  Get on with it then, the Abbot thought.

  “My people are a contrast,” the ambassador began. “We seek knowledge about the worlds around us but keep the people of those worlds at arm’s length. The Erudites have a long history of perfection, starting with our children and continuing with our society. We have often viewed other cultures with distrust, as if their impurity could somehow sully ours...”

  The Prior whispered in the Abbot’s ear. “Is he trying to insult us?”

  “Shush,” the elder monk replied.

  “But I believe this was wrong,” Abaru continued. “Our suspicions have hampered our studies, preventing us from expanding our knowledge and our abilities.”

  “What kind of abilities?” the Abbot asked, drawing stares from the other guests.
<
br />   “I’m glad you asked,” Abaru said, nodding. “Everyone here shares a common characteristic. We are all blessed with the psionic arts.”

  The Abbot gave a sideways glance at the Sarkan delegation. “Some of us more than others...”

  “Shut up, collaborator!” one of the Sarkan shouted back.

  “If you can’t beat them, join them,” the Abbot replied calmly. “We have better things to do than fighting.”

  “Please,” Abaru said. “I realize there are conflicts among you, but there are many things in common as well. Together you are strong, are you not?”

  The guests grumbled in low tones without consensus. Several crossed their arms and frowned or shook their heads.

  “What I propose,” the ambassador said, “is an alliance of sorts. As species with psi powers, we should combine our knowledge and our skills so that we can all benefit from them...”

  “He’s lying,” Demona hissed at Ramus, her blue eyes blazing with cold fire.

  “What?” Ramus replied, turning his head toward her while keeping one eye on the Erudite ambassador a few feet away. “He sounds reasonable enough.”

  The Abbot, ignoring scowls from the Sarkan, spoke up, “What do you intend to do with this knowledge, Ambassador?”

  “To improve my people,” Abaru said. “The Dahl have studied psionics for thousands of years. The Erudites could only benefit from such learning. In return, we could share our knowledge as well.”

  The Abbot gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

  “My people, and my Monastery in particular,” he replied, “do not share our knowledge so easily. The arts we teach are for the Dahl, not ones like yourself.”

  This time a Sarkan laughed with scorn. “You seem perfectly willing to share with the humans!”

  “It’s true that we have shared our wisdom,” the Abbot retorted, “but never our psionics. Such abilities are too destructive for humanity, considering their proclivities...”

  “Then you should be fighting them too, not collaborating!” the Sarkan shouted.

  “That is not the Dahlvish way...” the old monk replied.

  “There is no need to fight among ourselves,” Ambassador Abaru said. “Nothing is gained by arguing. We can work together—”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” the Abbot said, motioning to the others in his group. “Thank you for your hospitality, but we must return to the Monastery.”

  Sweeping their golden robes behind them, the Dharmesh monks headed toward the library exit and the courtyard beyond. The remaining guests, speaking in loud tones among themselves, seemed eager to leave as well.

  “Please,” the ambassador said. “Perhaps we can still come to a consensus...”

  Ramus raised his voice above the clamor of the others leaving, so Demona could hear.

  “Well, that went badly,” he said, nearly shouting. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “He knew it would fail,” she replied.

  “Who?”

  “The ambassador.”

  “Then why go to the trouble?” Ramus asked.

  Before Demona could answer, several of the Erudites appeared between them and the departing crowd, blocking Ramus and Demona from leaving.

  “Ambassador Abaru wishes an audience,” one of the Erudites said.

  “Sorry,” Demona replied, “we must be going...”

  The tattoos beneath Ramus’ sleeves began glowing, the sensation like hot oil across his skin. The material of his sleeves ripped, thick fur poking through the tears. Everyone, including Ramus, was silent as they watched the nails of his fingers turning into claws.

  “No, Ramus!” Demona said, but the Wanderer’s captain returned her gaze with shock.

  “I’m not doing it!” Ramus shouted before his mouth filled with fangs.

  Ambassador Abaru parted the other Erudites, taking his place in front of them. “He’s under my control.”

  Ramus growled at Demona, flexing his claws threateningly.

  “Of course, I would have preferred to control both of you,” Abaru said to Demona, “but it appears you’ve had some mechanical augmentations that prevent me...”

  “Why are you doing this?” Demona asked.

  “I felt you probing my thoughts,” Abaru replied. “We Erudites have complete mastery of our bodies, including our minds. Your intrusion was as unmistakable as it was unwanted. In some ways, you’re nothing but a thief, breaking into my head and stealing what is rightfully mine.”

  Demona smirked. “Stealing secrets is what I do for a living.”

  The Ambassador shook his head. “But I’m afraid not for much longer...”

  Ramus watched the scene unfold like a bystander. The movement of his limbs, a thing he normally took for granted, was no longer under his control. He struggled against it, concentrating on each muscle in his arms and legs, but he had become nothing more than a marionette with someone else holding the strings.

  Ramus roared and lunged toward Demona who dove to the side, rolling out of the monster’s way.

  Turning around, Ramus made another charge.

  Her hands crackling with energy, Demona stood her ground and opened her mouth. From within, a horde of insects came pouring out like water from a fire hose. The rush of flying bugs struck Ramus in the chest, knocking him backwards off his feet.

  Ramus felt the pain of hitting the floor, but a voice in his mind was screaming to get up. He strained to stay down, but he had no choice. His claws scraped against the white marble as he scrambled to his feet.

  The insects, which had been swarming moments before, faded away into nothing, evaporating into thin air. Demona changed the position of her arms. Wisps of shadowy darkness, sprouting from her palms, darted across the room like black ribbons of miasma. They curled around the Erudites, entwining their bodies.

  Screams erupted behind Ramus but he couldn’t turn his head to see. Without warning, he once again fell to the ground, but this time stayed down. Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, Ramus felt the paralysis of his body finally easing.

  He rolled to his side. Opposite of Demona, where the Erudites had been standing, shapes were lying sprawled on the floor. Although their clothing was intact, their blue skin had turned a sickly gray with lesions covering most of it. Each body — dead, Ramus hoped — lay in a greenish-yellow puddle of fluid.

  He didn’t see the ambassador, or whatever was left of him.

  “He ran off,” Demona said, reading his mind. “But I left him with something to remember me by...”

  When Demona and Ramus returned to Solan’s hideout, he listened intently to what they had discovered.

  “The Erudites are obsessed with perfection,” Solan said after they finished. “I’m sure whatever disfigurement you gave the ambassador will ruin his career.”

  “Nobody’s perfect,” Demona remarked wryly.

  “Well, not anymore...” Solan replied.

  Ramus, restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, crossed his arms. “Are we done here?”

  “Why don’t you stick around?” Solan said. “It’ll be like old times.”

  Demona gave the Wanderer’s captain a sideways glance, waiting for his reply.

  “No,” Ramus said.

  “The old times weren’t that bad, were they?” Demona asked.

  Ramus, who had already changed back into his regular clothes, pulled a set of earrings out of a pocket and began inserting them back into his ears.

  “Times change,” he said. “People do too.”

  Demona’s eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting to the tapestries hanging in the room.

  “Alright, Rowan,” Solan said. “You’re free to go, but I’ll be sure to let you know when I need you again.”

  “Don’t make a habit of it,” Ramus replied. He walked away, disappearing down the hall toward the alley entrance.

  “You should probably go too,” Solan told Demona. “The client is arriving soon and I’d rather meet him alone.”

  Still
scowling, she nodded and left by a different way than Ramus. Alone, Solan smiled like a cat with a canary.

  A half hour later, the hidden doorway from the alley opened and someone came slowly down the corridor into the main room.

  Solan was waiting.

  “So nice to see you again,” he said.

  In his amber robes, the Abbot of the Dharmesh Monastery stood alone and with a frown.

  “You made it quite clear I had to appear in person,” the elderly monk replied.

  “Well, considering the delicacy of the information you had us acquire, I felt it only fitting.”

  “I’m told there was an altercation after I left?”

  “Yes, but nothing my people couldn’t handle,” Solan said.

  “I hope the incident won’t become a problem,” the Abbot replied grimly.

  “I doubt the Erudites will raise a fuss. Of course, you could have simply gathered the information yourself.”

  The Abbot lowered his eyes. “You know my people wouldn’t allow that. Reading minds is strictly prohibited.”

  “And yet,” Solan said, raising his eyebrows, “you’re perfectly willing to hire us to do it.”

  “We do what we must—”

  “Especially if it means avoiding getting your fingers dirty...”

  The Abbot’s expression grew even darker. “Do you have something for me or not?”

  “Indeed I do!” Solan said. “It appears Ambassador Abaru wasn’t being entirely truthful.”

  “I expected as much.”

  “In fact, his proposal of an alliance was a ruse to gain your trust,” Solan went on. “The Erudites have been perfecting their powers of mind control and they intended to use it against you and the others.”

  “To what end?”

  “For power, mostly,” Solan said, “but also to gain knowledge. My agent saw a strong desire in the ambassador’s thoughts concerning the Pool of Memory at the Dharmesh Monastery. He would have sucked it dry of whatever he could learn from it.”

  The monk’s face turned more thoughtful than angry. “That would have been a disaster.”