Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  “What about the other two? We each take a pair?” Renlinger asked once they were out in the humid evening air.

  “I don’t like splitting up, but perhaps this once it might be worthwhile. You take Apostolos, and I’ll take Downes.” Markov’s leisurely pace faltered for a moment. “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Tall, dark, and handsome party wearing a centurion’s diamonds over by the Government House gate, talking to the sentry. Looks like a duty officer doing her rounds. Keep walking, Ty, and don’t stare.”

  Moments later, the woman climbed into a defense force staff car idling at the barrier. It slipped aside soundlessly and the car, wearing nothing more than a double-headed condor, crossed swords and anchor insignia instead of a registration plate, turned left on the quasi-deserted boulevard and headed north, toward Lannion Base.

  “Talk to me, Jay,” Renlinger said in an urgent whisper, sensing his winger’s agitation as they walked away in the other direction with the languor of gourmets who overate.

  “I could swear that was Adrienne Barca. We were together in the 2nd of the 21st long before she took a commission. We knew each other pretty well.”

  “So? You didn’t show signs of heartburn when we studied the organization chart and saw a Centurion Barca, 21st Pathfinder Regiment, on the roster.”

  “I wasn’t looking for old friends, Ty. Adrienne and me, it was long ago, and she’s not the only Barca in the Corps, so I didn’t make the connection. If I’m right and that was Adri, she can’t see me up close. Otherwise, we’re fucked because she’ll ask questions I can’t answer. They called her many things over the years, but stupid wasn’t one of them. And she has a memory for faces like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Intrigued by Markov’s urgent tone, Renlinger asked, “How close were you two?”

  “What business is it of yours?” She snapped.

  Renlinger held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “Whoa, Jay. No need to rip my face off. Take a deep breath and relax. I’m just asking because if it’s been a long time, why should Barca see through your disguise.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “I suppose you’ll bug me until I tell you.” When Renlinger gave her a happy nod in an attempt to defuse the tension, Markov sighed. “Adrienne knows where I’m ticklish, and vice versa. Good enough?”

  “So you fooled around. What’s the problem?”

  She took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know why I’m sensitive about it. Maybe because of the way our relationship ended. Sorry I turned snarly on you, but seeing her again, here, spooked me. After the shit of the last eighteen months, all those regiments decimated if not wiped out and the empire gone to shit, I never figured to find Adri Barca here, where they sent us to search for a stolen starship.”

  “You going to tell Kamaal about her?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  **

  Bouras clapped Markov on the shoulder after she told him about seeing Adrienne Barca at the Government House front gate.

  “Don’t worry about it, Jay. The chances of you bumping into her are pretty damn low. And if you do, make like she’s a total stranger. This is a big galaxy. Lots of complete strangers resemble each other in one way or another because of common ancestors in the distant past.”

  “They’re called phenotypes,” Cerys Orobio offered.

  “Sure. Whatever.” Bouras nodded agreeably. “Let’s listen to Severin Downes, Brady Apostolos, and their dinner companions. If they’re breaking bread with this Rorik Hecht character, it could be educational. Well done on finding where those former stasis stiffs live, by the way. We may need to visit one of them at some point.”

  The four operatives settled into the ancient, sagging easy chairs surrounding their apartment’s living room table. Renting temporary lodgings by the week, dingy as they were instead of using one of the city’s hotels turned out to have more advantages than just saving money. Chief among them was the other tenants in the rundown, ten unit building, subscribing to the credo of don’t ask, don’t tell.

  It meant no one paid the operatives any undue attention. And since, unlike a hotel, the apartment’s owners didn’t offer cleaning services, it was easier to keep clear of surveillance devices and set telltales to detect intrusions.

  Markov placed her sensor on the table and tapped its controls. A small holographic projection of the dinner party appeared above it.

  “I think you recognize the people around the table, other than Speaker Hecht’s partner.”

  When her colleagues nodded, she said, “Sit back and enjoy. This will be a long night.”

  After a few minutes, Bouras groaned.

  “I was hoping to never hear that damn Wyvern drawl again. I don’t know which of them annoys me the most.”

  Renlinger shrugged.

  “Downes by a nose, though the other three are no better.”

  “Seems like the locals are onto a good idea, abolishing the nobility.”

  “Don’t mention that to anyone at home, boss. Otherwise, our next mission might be to find Tortuga Station, and who knows if that place even exists.”

  A few minutes later, Bouras held up a hand.

  “Pause the recording, Jay. Did this Hecht guy just mention something called a knowledge vault?”

  Orobio nodded.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “What the fuck is that?” Renlinger gave Bouras a puzzled glance.

  “If we keep listening instead of yakking, we might find out,” Markov replied in a biting tone.

  Two hours later, Bouras suppressed a mighty yawn and stretched his arms over his head.

  “Let’s leave the rest for tomorrow. I think we heard the juicy parts, anyway.”

  “But we’re still no wiser on this knowledge vault, except Hecht wants to take control of it away from the military and the Order of the Void,” Renlinger said.

  “Not quite.” Markov climbed to her feet and paced around the room. “I’d say Hecht was feeling out Downes and Apostolos to see if they’d help him do just that. I got the idea those two are the top dogs among the exiled lordlings and can make the other stasis stiffs march in step. Downes seems to have a hate-on for the military. He practically quivered with anger every time Admiral Morane’s name came up.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. That’s when his accent became really hard to stomach.”

  Markov stopped in front of Bouras.

  “What’s next? We know Tanith landed here. The proof is in that recording. Do we find every other passenger, in case the bosses are looking for a specific stiff but won’t or can’t tell us the name, then bugger off? Or do we try to find out what this knowledge vault does when it’s at home? If the star system’s top politician is making like there’s a power struggle over it, to the point of enlisting people pissed off at the Lyonesse government for stripping them of their titles, we probably should investigate.”

  “You could call your old girlfriend and ask her,” Orobio suggested, winking at Markov. “If the military controls this vault, she’ll know about it. A bit of pillow talk, a tickle or two, and we can write up the mission report.”

  Markov gave her the rigid digit salute, then groaned when she saw the thoughtful expression on Bouras’ face.

  “No, Kamaal. Not now, not ever.”

  “Let’s not be too hasty. I know Cerys meant it as a tasteless joke, but she might be onto something.”

  “I got a better idea,” Markov replied. “They said the Void Brethren were working with the university on this knowledge vault. How about we snoop around the hallowed halls of learning? Civilians are a lot more likely to let secrets slip than a veteran Pathfinder centurion who probably remembers why we weren’t on speaking terms when I left the 2nd of the 21st.”

  Bouras remained silent for a moment, then he came to a decision.

  “We work both angles of the mission so we don’t miss something important. Admiral
Zahar isn’t exactly a forgiving guy. Jay, you and Ty will visit the university tomorrow. Cerys and I will tail Severin Downes and see if he can lead us to more of his friends. That way, he won’t wonder why the cute couple he saw at Tristan’s Table keeps showing up wherever he goes — in case the constipated asshole accent masks a keen sense of observation.”

  — 33 —

  Yotai

  Marta swept into the briefing room with stately grace, seeming to float above the polished marble floor as if on an antigrav cushion. As always a silent, yet watchful Heloise trailed her. Everyone rose, the military officers coming to attention.

  “Regent, Admiral,” she nodded at Custis and Zahar, standing side by side on the other side of the oval table. “I understand we received news from Admiral Manard at Isabella.”

  She slipped into her chair, the signal for everyone else to do likewise. Heloise took her place beside the principal aides along the wall. By unspoken accord, the officers who attended Custis and Zahar left her the senior position, conscious the lady-in-waiting to the future empress outranked them. Their deference, grudging as it was, privately amused Heloise since they didn’t know what she really was.

  “We have, Your Imperial Highness,” Custis replied. He turned to Zahar. “Go ahead, Admiral.”

  “Protecting Isabella against the incursion of a battle group from Dendera’s Retribution Fleet did not go as well as we hoped.”

  A sardonic smile briefly tugged at Marta’s lips.

  “Retribution Fleet, Admiral?”

  “Apparently, that is what Dendera calls the formation engaged in destroying everyone who resists her rule. We took it from an intelligence intercept.”

  “Thank you. Please continue.”

  “Rear Admiral Manard used a retrograde maneuver after ambushing the enemy battle group as they emerged from FTL at Isabella’s hyperlimit. Do you know what that is, Your Highness?” When Marta shook her head, Zahar said, “In short, it means Manard placed himself between the enemy and Isabella, withdrawing as they advanced, so he could keep engaging until they either break off or are neutralized.”

  “Or the enemy destroys Manard’s ships.”

  “Just so. Retrograde maneuvers can devastate opposing forces if they’re of equal strength since they remain in constant contact. In this case, Manard lost over half of his ships before the imperial commander decided he no longer had the strength or the appetite to continue and fled. But not before firing off a swarm of kinetic strikers from just beyond the orbit of Isabella’s outer moon. Manard’s ships and the orbital defense platforms destroyed many, with the ground-based aerospace systems taking most of the rest, but enough got through to cause, at a conservative estimate, almost fifty thousand civilian casualties.

  “While Isabella’s capital took the brunt of the strike, one projectile punched through the main orbital station, killing almost two-thirds of the skeleton staff aboard. Fortunately, the star system government evacuated it twelve hours earlier. The station will need significant repairs before we can once again use it as a transshipment facility for cargo and passengers.

  “In total, the enemy killed three thousand, two hundred and fifteen naval personnel. We won’t get a final tally of civilian casualties for a while because the strikers vaporized anyone near ground zero. The imperial battle group lost two-thirds of its ships with an estimated five to six thousand lives.”

  “More souls sacrificed on the altar of human greed and vanity for the sake of power,” Marta murmured to herself, appalled as much by Zahar’s report as by his clinical tone.

  “Highness?” Custis gave her a questioning glance.

  “Our species may have conquered the stars, but beneath the shiny veneer of a high-tech civilization, we’re still the same fratricidal savages as our distant ancestors who roamed the plains of prehistoric Earth, unredeemed and perhaps unredeemable.”

  “And that’s why we must hasten the rebirth of a just empire, capable of protecting its citizens from Dendera’s apocalyptic nightmare.”

  “Are our forces strong enough to keep stopping this Retribution Fleet until it leaves the Coalsack Sector alone, Admiral?”

  To his credit, Zahar grimaced as he shook his head.

  “Since we can’t tell when and where they might appear with enough lead time to muster our strength, imperial battle groups can more easily achieve local superiority for brief periods. And that is all they need since they aim to devastate a star system rather than retake it. And they appear to be showing a degree of fanaticism never seen before. Admiral Manard said his opposite number kept on coming long after naval doctrine would have dictated he break off the engagement and flee. I reviewed the battle logs and agree.”

  “So the Retribution Fleet can destroy us piecemeal unless we concentrate our forces in a few core systems where they’ll be strong enough to deal with incursions.”

  Zahar’s sour expression grew.

  “In a nutshell, yes. Eventually, they’ll run out of ships and crews through sheer attrition with the overly aggressive tactics Manard witnessed, but we’ll run out faster. Our population base is smaller than the Wyvern Sector’s, and our orbital yards can’t produce capital ships at anywhere near the same rate as theirs.”

  “And offering resistance whenever they give a star system an ultimatum merely jacks up the death count, not to mention the destruction of critical infrastructure.”

  “An accurate assessment, Highness.”

  “Then our only choice is to not play Dendera’s game, gentlemen.”

  “What do you mean?” Custis asked.

  “If we cannot protect a star system from Retribution Fleet attacks without suffering unacceptable losses, we should withdraw from that system militarily but still keep political control in some manner. If and when imperial ships appear, the local government will surrender and declare its loyalty to Empress Dendera.”

  A vague air of surprise spread across Custis’ patrician features.

  “You’re saying we shouldn’t try to defend what’s ours unless we establish overwhelming superiority?”

  “It’s better than picking a fight that can only end with unacceptable casualties. I’d rather see our people keep their critical infrastructure along with their lives. Dendera wants her admirals to salt the ground at the first sign of resistance. Let’s not give them that pleasure, especially if they’ve become increasingly fanaticized. They wish to make a desert and call it peace. We want our peace to flourish.”

  “You realize what an order to surrender at the first sight of imperial warships will do for morale across the sector, Highness. The people threw off Dendera’s chains. Asking them to submit meekly will not go over well.”

  “Leaving aside the fact that many, perhaps even a plurality, would have remained loyal given a choice, only the living can experience morale issues, Regent. I’d rather see my citizens unhappy but alive. We can cheer anyone up once the danger has passed. Resurrection, on the other hand, is beyond our capacity, unless you recently gained godlike powers. And you seem no holier than when we first met at court long ago.”

  Though she couldn’t see Heloise, since the Sister of the Void sat behind her, Marta nonetheless fancied she could feel her smile of approval.

  “Granted, Highness. Life is always preferable. Admiral Zahar and I shall take your suggestion under advisement and discuss the matter.”

  “You will do more than that, Regent.”

  Marta’s soft tone didn’t make her words less of a royal command. On the contrary. In the ensuing pause, most around the table and sitting against the walls were forced to reconsider whether Regent Custis was in control of the proto-empire’s destiny.

  “I would like to see a plan by the end of this week to consolidate our forces in formations capable of chasing off Retribution Fleet battle groups without suffering undue losses. Once we know which star systems will form our hardened core, we can decide how to exert political control over the rest while Dendera exhausts
her resources.”

  An embarrassed silence fell over the briefing room. Marta knew the flag officers present, Zahar chief among them, were aware Custis wanted a figurehead empress, one whose role as military commander-in-chief would be limited to ceremonial functions, leaving important decisions to her regent.

  Yet now he’d presented Marta as the future sovereign, silencing her voice in public fora was no longer an option. Whether they approved of her taking an active role remained unanswered, though based on the general atmosphere and the surreptitious glances around the table Marta sensed many of them thought her point was valid. Dendera’s admirals might no longer care whether they lived or died, provided they pleased their empress, but the officers of the 16th Fleet didn't hold the same opinion.

  “As you command,” Zahar finally replied, bowing his head in submission. Custis, jaw muscles working as he digested Marta’s orders, remained silent. “Would Your Highness agree to minimal forces, perhaps a few patrol vessels remaining in each border star system to act as tripwires, withdrawing the moment they make out the enemy’s strength and intentions?”

  “I would, Admiral. So long as their presence, be it ever so brief once Retribution Fleet starships arrive, doesn’t provoke Dendera’s mad admirals into declaring those star systems in rebellion against the Crown and imposing a Carthaginian peace. You may even keep control over planetary ground forces — reinforce them if necessary, as you did on Mykonos, so long as they vanish into the hills once the government surrenders and submits.”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you wish to discuss anything else, Regent?”

  “No, Your Highness,” Custis said, facial expression and voice once more under control after being forced to back down by a willful figurehead ruler who’d just demonstrated she was anything but.

  **