Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  “Lady Marta.” Danton gave her a polite nod when she stopped in the middle of the room and looked around as if he were not present. “Thank you for accepting my invitation without causing a fuss. Now who is this woman, and where are Sigrid and Stefan?”

  Norum’s cold stare finally settled on her husband’s murderer.

  “Where my children are is none of your concern, Jorge. Neither you nor I will ever see them again, though I expect they’re about as safe as possible on Mykonos these days, especially with your incompetent thugs running the show. And this is Heloise, my lady-in-waiting.”

  Danton’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  “I don’t recall you ever taking a personal assistant, Lady Marta. When did you hire her?”

  “That is also none of your concern. I decided the circumstances called for a companion sworn to me. Where I go, Heloise goes, end of story. Now why did you send your rabid curs to fetch me, and why such concern for my welfare?”

  Danton raised a thick hand to rub his chin as he considered her. Marta noticed the gleam of a governor general’s large gold ring on his thumb — her late husband’s property.

  “Grand Duke Devy Custis, who now rules the Coalsack, commanded me to find you and send you to Yotai unharmed.”

  An air of disdain settled over Marta’s tired face.

  “What does that overweening sociopath want with me? Or did he not share the reason with his oversized lapdog? Tell me, Jorge, how long do you expect to keep your own head on your shoulders with someone like Custis as ruler of this sector? I can’t see him trusting a former Imperial Guards officer who forsook his oath to seize absolute power on Mykonos for himself. You should expect a battle group from the 16th Fleet to appear in orbit any day now, escorting Devy’s own choice of governor general. If you’re lucky, Custis might exile you to Parth instead of pronouncing a death sentence.”

  Danton waved her words away with a dismissive hand gesture.

  “Doubtful. Admiral Zahar backed me when I triggered the rebellion on Mykonos, and he’s not a man who’ll allow anyone to double-cross those who served him well.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Why does Custis want me on Yotai?”

  “He didn’t say, but I can guess. Can you?” A sly smile tugged at his thick lips.

  “I’m not interested in playing forty questions. Humor me.”

  Danton turned to the senior of the two aides, a colonel Norum couldn’t remember seeing before today.

  “I’ll speak with Lady Marta in private now, Axel. Please leave us.”

  When the colonel, trailed by his junior, closed the reception room door behind them, Danton sat back and said, “It’s simple, Milady. Emperor Kal IV’s blood flows in your veins via your mother’s branch of the family tree.”

  “So?”

  “You still can’t see it?”

  “I can see many things, but I want to hear what fevered dreams your diseased brain can produce.”

  “Grand Duke Custis plans on raising a new imperial flag over the Coalsack Sector as a prelude to reuniting human worlds under a fresh crown. And to do so, he needs a figurehead sovereign with a legitimate connection to an imperial bloodline, no matter how tenuous, such as the descendant of Kal IV.”

  “Nonsense. Devy can play emperor among the ashes as much as he wants without a puppet empress to give himself legitimacy.”

  “Only if he keeps his ambitions confined to the Coalsack. Convincing other sector viceroys to acknowledge Yotai as the imperial capital will be easier under a sovereign who can not only trace her bloodline back to the last of the legitimate emperors but isn’t tainted by Dendera’s lunacy.”

  Norum rolled her eyes.

  “Speaking of lunacy. Does little Devy believe he can put out the fires Dendera started and glue the shattered pieces of her realm together again? He’ll be lucky to keep the Coalsack intact. Human history is replete with examples proving that once an empire begins to crumble, it can’t be saved, especially after outlasting its natural lifespan by a wide margin, like ours.”

  Danton seemed taken aback by the venomous scorn in her voice.

  “I don’t know his intentions, Milady and was merely theorizing based on the available evidence.”

  She scoffed.

  “Perhaps. I wouldn’t put it past Devy Custis to confuse his fantasies with reality. Since he can’t marry into the Ruggero bloodline, why not set up a rival court, complete with a new empress to claim Dendera’s crown? I suppose watching him try will keep me amused until the scheme comes crashing down around his ears, along with what remains of centralized government in this part of the galaxy. When do Heloise and I leave for Yotai?”

  As he visibly hesitated before answering, an evil smile pulled up the corners of Marta’s mouth.

  “Oh, dear. Are you thinking of stealing Devy’s plan for galactic domination and becoming the Coalsack Sector’s regent with me as your figurehead empress?”

  The flash of anger in Danton’s eyes confirmed Marta’s suspicions, and her smile turned to derisive laughter.

  “Don’t even think about it, Jorge. You’d need Admiral Zahar’s backing, and he’s more likely to make himself regent of Devy’s stillborn second empire than let you become his lord and master. To him, you’re nothing more than a crude, but useful tool.

  “Besides, where Devy might have the faintest of chances to succeed if the Almighty, fate, and every god in the galaxy smile on him, you have no chance whatsoever. Oh, don’t worry, Devy need not find out about our conversation. As you indicated, this is speculation. Of course, a promise you won’t hunt for my children and their protectors will go a long way to ensuring my silence. Better yet, consider them dead and buried. But it would be in your interest to send us on our way as soon as possible, lest Devy suspect you might hold me back for nefarious reasons.”

  Danton’s jaw muscles worked for a few moments as he chewed on his anger at being found out so quickly. Thank the Almighty he’d sent his aides out of the room. Otherwise, one or both of them might get the bright idea of telling Harvey Marat, who’d delight in proving his loyalty to Custis by seizing power and executing his predecessor.

  “I’d like to do so, but Grand Duke Custis specified he would send a ship once I informed him of your detention. You’ll be my guests until it arrives, which could take a week or more if the 16th Fleet’s Yotai battle group is otherwise occupied. In the meantime, my junior aide will take you to the guest quarters where you’ll stay under guard.”

  “No need for that preening popinjay to bestir himself, Jorge. I know the way. If you haven’t emptied out the residence’s wine cellar yet, would you be a dear and tell one of your flunkies to bring us a bottle of the Stark Castle fifty-five with our lunch? I think after this morning’s events, Heloise and I deserve to put on a decent buzz.”

  She gave Danton a mocking bow before turning away and leaving the reception room, Sister Heloise in tow, without waiting for a response, let alone his permission.

  “Wow,” Marta said in a soft voice once they were in the guest suite. “I can’t recall the last time my mouth ran away from me like that. It was — exhilarating is the right word, I think.”

  “And entertaining.” Heloise gave her a weak smile.

  “Though I’d gladly slit his throat with a knife instead of using mere insults to wound his pride. And yes, before you say it, I’m aware our every word is being recorded for Danton’s benefit. I don’t mind letting him know how I feel.”

  “I was not about to remonstrate with you, Milady. And since Jorge Danton’s days are numbered, it doesn’t matter in the slightest,” the sister said over her shoulder as she examined the suite’s amenities.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The shadow of death is already reaching for his soul. He’ll not see another summer solstice.” Heloise paused before adding, “Nor will those surrounding him.”

  A shiver ran up Marta’s spine, triggered in part by the contr
adiction between Heloise’s prophetic words and her matter-of-fact tone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Precisely what I said. Don’t ask me to explain because I cannot, but I know Mykonos’ tribulations are only beginning, and when they end, little will remain.”

  The grim finality of Heloise’s words stilled any further questions. Instead, Marta asked, “Could my lady-in-waiting perhaps draw me a bath? I haven’t washed in so long, I’m not sure what cleanliness feels like anymore.”

  “Of course.”

  — 17 —

  Lyonesse

  “Good morning.”

  Governor Yakin swept into the conference room with her usual energetic grace and settled into the carved, throne-like chair at the head of the table.

  “You’ll be pleased to know I just signed off on the legislation creating the Lyonesse Defense Force and approved the Colonial Council’s nomination of our first chief of staff. That was quick work, everyone. It shows how much we can do if we’re of one mind.”

  She smiled at Morane.

  “Congratulations on your appointment. Are you sure you don’t want to be titled captain general?”

  He inclined his head respectfully.

  “No, Your Excellency.”

  “Rear admiral it is, then.”

  “I was thinking commodore would be high enough, considering the size of our armed services, Madame.”

  Yakin gave him a mock frown.

  “Herewith an impromptu executive order for you, Admiral. No more arguments about your rank. I am now the commander-in-chief, and even if the title is mostly ceremonial, I expect a certain amount of deference on your part.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew something. “Hold out your hand.”

  Morane complied, and Yakin dropped a rear admiral’s two stars into his palm.

  “I suppose we should have done this more formally, but since you’ve been an admiral in everything but name since before your arrival here…”

  “Thank you.” Morane removed the gold captain’s bars from his battledress collar, tucked them in a pocket, and replaced them with the twin silver stars as if such a promotion was an everyday event. “Would now be the right time to ask that you preside over the Lyonesse Defense Force’s official stand up ceremonies at Base Lannion?”

  “It would, and I accept with great pleasure. Shall I find a suitable uniform to wear?”

  “If Your Excellency so wishes. I’m sure we can fabricate something to your specifications. With a vice admiral’s three stars and a viceregal representative’s gold cords, I should think.” Morane turned to Hecht and Logran. “You are, of course, invited as our principal guests of honor, gentlemen.”

  The speaker beamed at him, though his joviality didn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes.

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  Logran, on the other hand, gave Morane a silent, grudging nod, arms crossed, proof he still smarted at losing the argument on civilian control of the armed services.

  “Unless you’d like to discuss other items related to these matters, Admiral, we should go on with the day’s business.”

  “Certainly, Madame. I have nothing else.”

  Yakin turned her gaze on the increasingly ill-tempered chief administrator.

  “The floor is yours.”

  Logran straightened in his chair and gave Morane a squint promising trouble.

  “Thank you, Your Excellency. It pains me to bring up a matter concerning the political prisoners.”

  “I hope you’re about to tell us the courts voided their convictions and the social service agencies stand ready to integrate them into the community, Gus,” Morane said. “We can’t keep them penned up for much longer, never mind the strain on defense force resources when we should be rebuilding.”

  Logran pointedly ignored his intervention.

  “Madame, when we approved our chief of the defense staff’s plan to resettle the politicals in colonial militia training installations, we weren’t informed conditions would almost resemble those of concentration camps.”

  “No one thought they’d live in the lap of luxury, Gus, but concentration camps? That’s more than a little dramatic.” Morane shook his head. “Our own troops spend several weeks per year in those installations, and as free citizens of Lyonesse, they’re hardly the sort to accept mistreatment without saying a word. Besides, it’s only until your folks sort things out and we can set them loose. It’s not like they’re being worked to death.”

  “Why you think we have a problem on our hands?” Hecht asked.

  “Because of the appalling conditions in those camps, Rorik. My office has received complaints from the politicals accusing Admiral Morane of neglecting their welfare, abusing their rights, and generally treating them without compassion or consideration.”

  “In the space of a few days? They’re quick to complain.” Hecht shook his head, eyes aimed at the ceiling, as if beseeching the universe for sanity. “But then, they’re pampered Wyvern nobles and not frontier colonists like the rest of us.”

  Yakin raised a restraining hand to forestall any further back and forth.

  “Could the chief administrator’s allegations contain a hint of truth, Admiral?”

  “Certainly not, Madame.”

  Morane repressed an urge to give Logran the stink eye. He could well imagine who made the complaints, and how they filtered up to the chief administrator’s people.

  “The politicals live in the same conditions as our defense force members when they’re occupying the training camps, and are fed the same rations, courtesy of the Colonial Administration. We also added amenities the troops don’t enjoy such as entertainment suites, book repositories, expanded sports facilities and more, as well as spiritual support courtesy of the Void Brethren. The troopers assigned to provide security treat the politicals with the same respect and consideration they show any citizen of Lyonesse.

  “Are they as comfortable as if they were in their fine mansions on Wyvern? No, but we’re not talking prison camp hardship, let alone what they’d be enduring on Parth if it weren’t for my battle group. Perhaps what the detainees find objectionable is the fact we’re making them take care of their own food preparation, cleaning, and other domestic duties rather than turn my soldiers into servants.”

  Hecht let out a bark of derisive laughter.

  “Figures.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Morane continued, “is how word reached Gus’ office, and from whom. The detainees are supposed to stay incommunicado until we regularize their status.”

  When Logran didn’t respond right away, Yakin cocked a carefully sculpted eyebrow at her chief administrator.

  “Would you care to explain?”

  “The most serious complaint came from Severin Count Downes of Hallibrank, but there were others, from other camps. The how is through employees of the Department of Government Services working for the defense force as maintenance staff. Count Hallibrank’s complaints, in particular, came to me via a sanitation engineer at the Caffrey Training Camp who noted the prisoners’ plight and did the right thing by informing his superiors.”

  Morane couldn’t entirely hide an air of profound irritation at hearing Downes’ name.

  “I’d say it’s more likely Downes somehow impressed your sanitation engineer with his noble rank and promised him or her future preferment once he gains a position suitable for a count in our society. The engineer in question is to be removed from Camp Caffrey, Gus. At once. And never be employed to support the defense force again. The same applies to anyone else agitating on the politicals’ behalf.”

  Logran glared at Morane.

  “That’s not your decision to make, Admiral. You uniformed people may be answerable to the council, but civilian personnel still belong to my administration.”

  “Very well. As chief of the defense staff, I’m ending our contracts with the Department of Government Services effective midnight tod
ay. I will not allow dissemblers, climbers, and assorted lackeys who suck up to dishonest, arrogant, high-born sociopaths like Downes on any military installation. We will see to our needs. I’m confident many private businesses would be glad to offer the necessary services.”

  A dismissive sneer twisted Logran’s face.

  “And pay for them how? Your budget covers only military salaries and expenses.”

  “Perhaps the council will vote an amendment to our respective budgets and give me the funds you’ll no longer need now that the maintenance and support of military installations is my direct responsibility.”

  Logran turned to Yakin. “Governor!”

  “Admiral Morane is within his rights,” she said in a soft tone.

  “But Count Severin was the secretary to the imperial chamberlain,” Logran protested. “Surely we should investigate his complaints, rather than punish people who felt they were doing their duty as compassionate, law-abiding citizens.”

  Yakin didn’t raise her voice, though her face hardened enough to show Logran was treading on dangerous ground.

  “Severin Downes was an acquaintance of my husband. They were members of the same social circles on Wyvern, circles I didn’t care to join. He is anything but honest and upstanding, Chief Administrator, like many of the so-called noble born. I can well believe he and others are trying to manipulate easily impressed Lyonesse citizens with promises of future consideration once they regain their rightful places.”

  “Could I make a suggestion, Madame?” Morane asked, as much to diffuse the sudden spike of tension in the room as to avoid offending Logran any further.

  “Go ahead, Admiral.”

  “We four should conduct an impromptu inspection of the Caffrey Training Camp and see for ourselves that the conditions, while austere, are humane and in keeping with the politicals’ status as detainees waiting for the courts to process their release. We could leave now in one of your aircars, so our chief administrator can’t accuse the defense force of covering up misdeeds.”