Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  “The locals not only made us for a recon team,” Orobio replied, “but somehow figured out what your real identity is if they’re sending an old girlfriend to check.”’

  Bouras shook his head.

  “Maybe we’re making a lot out of nothing, guys.”

  “That’s not what my gut tells me, Kamaal.”

  “Your gut is doing backflips because of the fond memories,” Orobio said, winking.

  Markov glanced out at the street again.

  “They left.”

  “Scan for a replacement team. If you don’t spot one, then we’re getting worked up about nothing. Watchers would know by now we go out to eat in the evening and wouldn’t assume we don’t need a tail because we’re staying in until tomorrow.”

  “Nothing obvious,” she said after a few minutes. “But that could mean squat. We’d better check our sixes on the way to the restaurant.”

  “And if we spot another set of familiar faces, then what?” Renlinger asked. “We invite them up for a drink and a chat?”

  “Find a way to let them know we’re neither blind nor stupid.”

  Orobio held up a hand.

  “Hush.”

  “What?”

  “Listen.”

  A distant, almost imperceptible rumble reached their ears.

  “Starship on final approach,” Renlinger said in a whisper. “Why didn’t we know one was landing today? The spaceport would have received a warning from the wormhole terminus as early as last night.”

  “Because none of us checked the arrivals board. We decided to leave on the next ship only ten minutes ago, remember?” Orobio turned to Bouras. “We take this one, boss?”

  “If there’s room. Contact the spaceport now and try to reserve a four bunk cabin.”

  **

  Barca’s communicator buzzed for attention. She fished it from her pocket and glanced at the display.

  Targets booked a berth on the incoming ship.

  The recon team, which might or might not include Krystal Sandt, were leaving before she had a chance to study them up close.

  “What’s up, Centurion?” The Rifle Regiment reserve private, a nineteen-year-old student at Lyonesse University who moonlighted as a surveillance operative, asked.

  “Looks like our targets found what they were looking for, or noticed we were watching and got spooked. They’re lifting on the tub that just landed.”

  A disgusted grimace appeared.

  “Shit. Begging your pardon, sir.”

  “No reflection on you or your mates, Loukas. We play this out and wave goodbye.”

  “Why don’t we take them in and find out for who they’re working?”

  “No legal grounds. And here I thought you were studying law.”

  “That’s Naioth — Private Virk. I’m a civil engineering major.”

  “Right. Practicality above all, eh?” Barca gave him a friendly smile to take any sting out of her words.

  “I guess. What’s the plan?”

  Barca took a deep breath and looked down at the rental apartment building from her aerie at the top of the Haven Shipping Company’s warehouse, one block away.

  “They still need to pass through emigration control at the spaceport.”

  She called up the arrivals and departures schedule on her communicator’s display. Ekosia was lifting in three hours — just enough time to offload another batch of migrants and take on a bit of cargo.

  “And that won’t be long now. I can do this myself, but you’re welcome to tag along.”

  “If you don’t mind, Centurion, I’d rather see this through to the end. I was one of the first tagged with watching them.”

  Barca clapped Loukas on the shoulder.

  “That’s the attitude I like from an engineer. The ones who don’t see things through usually end up building crap capable of killing people. Come on.”

  “What happens when we see them at the spaceport?” Loukas asked, following Barca down the metal stairs to where an unmarked, dusty old staff car waited, hidden from curious eyes.

  “If Jaimee Markov is the person I used to know way back when, I’ll see if we can have a quiet talk. Otherwise, since none of them committed a crime on Lyonesse, they’re free to go.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Once at the spaceport, Barca identified herself to the senior immigration officer on duty and arranged to have Markov pulled aside when she passed through departure control. One of his people would bring her to an examination room unless Barca waved them off.

  Then, she and Loukas took a seat near the gate where they could watch without being seen and waited. Less than an hour later, the regular bus between downtown Lannion and the terminal disgorged the foursome, each carrying a travel bag. They seemed preternaturally alert to their surroundings, as if suspecting, with good reason, they might be under surveillance.

  Barca studied the black-haired woman who called herself Markov, and within a heartbeat, she knew it was Krystal. People age, their appearance may change, they might even modify it, but the eyes never lied, nor did a person’s unconscious gestures. Both were as achingly familiar to Barca as her own. No need to wave off the immigration officers. She watched as they entered the departure control area before heading to the interview suite, Loukas in tow.

  The senior officer, waiting by the door to the suite’s observation room, said, “They gave us a bit of lip, but she came in the end.” He patted the holstered needler on his hip. “The threat of arrest two hours before your ship leaves is a good incentive to cooperate. You want to examine our guest before speaking with her?”

  “Yeah.”

  The observation room’s door swept open at the officer’s gesture. “Take your time. I’ll hang around in the corridor with Private Loukas.”

  “Thanks.”

  Once inside, Barca examined Markov via the video pickup. She appeared composed, but there was an edginess to her movements as she slowly paced back and forth, ignoring the metal table and chairs in the center of the room. Now that Barca could see the woman up close, her conviction it was Krystal only deepened. Yet she hesitated at the thought of going next door to confront her in person.

  Their acrimonious parting might have happened many years ago, on a world several hundred light years away, but a surge of anguish born from long-suppressed feelings made it seem like yesterday. Perhaps it would be easier if she simply told the immigration officer to release Krystal without a word of explanation.

  Once she boarded Ekosia, chances were excellent their paths would never cross again in this life. But tempting as it was to avoid dealing with her emotions, Adrienne Barca was a Marine, a Pathfinder, someone who’d seen death up close more often than she cared to remember. Duty came before everything.

  She took a deep, calming breath, then reached for the connecting door, knowing the next few minutes could reopen painful wounds. Yet with the empire imploding, this might well be her last chance to say all the things she’d been holding in for so long.

  Jaimee Markov, born Krystal Sandt, abruptly stopped pacing as the door opened with the soft whine of infrequently used machinery and turned toward it. She unconsciously adopted the parade rest position, feet apart, hands joined in the small of her back.

  When their eyes met, Barca felt a jolt of electricity run through her body until it reached every single nerve ending. Blood pulsed in her ears with the insistent ringing of a kettledrum while her skin tingled.

  “Hello, Krystal. How are you?”

  — 37 —

  “My name is Jaimee Markov. Why am I being detained?”

  “There’s no use pretending, Krystal. You felt the same thing I did just now when we looked into each other’s eyes. Don’t deny it. I could tell.”

  Sandt crossed her arms in a defensive gesture and leaned against the wall at her back.

  “Fine. What do you want, Centurion Barca? Unless you have grounds for arrest, I’m being detained w
ithout cause. There’s a bunk waiting for me on that starship.”

  “What do I want? Come on, Krys, you show up on the planet where I’ve made my forever home, a place at the ass end of the galaxy, and you expect me not to reach out? The way things are nowadays, once you leave, that’s it. I’ll never get a chance to make things right, or at least say I’m sorry.”

  Sandt scoffed. “And you waited until the last second? Why even bother.”

  “I only saw your picture at this morning’s briefing, Krys. Until then, you and your friends were nothing more than visitors of interest. But the moment Jaimee Markov’s face appeared on that screen, I knew it was you. Some things are seared in your soul forever.”

  A faint sneer curled up Sandt’s lip.

  “Visitors of interest? How fucking quaint. What does that mean?”

  “Only refugees fleeing barbarian raids and merchants looking to sell us stuff they figure we can’t fabricate ourselves come here nowadays. It makes tourists, even if they’re pretending to be commercial representatives, unusual enough to watch. Then you sniffed around the university library and certain former members of the imperial court exiled by Dendera whom we saved from a worse fate on Parth. Anyone with more than two brain cells will want to know what you’re doing here.”

  “So? Isn’t Lyonesse a free world, as in if you don’t break the law or trespass, you’re free to do whatever you want?”

  Barca smiled.

  “Not entirely. We’re pretty careful with potential threats, seeing as how we’d rather not go down the toilet like so many star systems have since the rebellion started. That’s the whole point of what we’re doing here. Survive with our civilization intact, so humanity’s entire history isn’t lost forever.”

  “Ah, yes. That collapse bullshit. What do they call it? The long night of barbarism.” Sandt smirked. “I’m not buying what you folks are selling.”

  “I saw it with my own eyes, Krys. The 6th of the 21st almost died on Coraline trying to prop up the imperial governor general. A few hours after Admiral Morane picked us up on his way here, Coraline was getting its ass bombed back to the Stone Age.”

  Barca drew a thumbnail sketch of their trek through a frontier abandoned by the navy and ravaged by reivers.

  “You passed through Arietis on your way here and noticed it’s no longer under imperial protection, right? A wormhole junction with six termini abandoned just like that. It means the 16th Fleet also cut star systems connecting to Arietis loose except maybe for Micarat. If that’s bullshit, then I don’t want to see what you consider a dire situation.”

  “We still hold Micarat,” Sandt said before she could stop herself.

  “Good to know, in case we send out for a few crates of Glen Arcturus. Who is this we, Krys? Are you part of Admiral Zahar’s mob?” When Sandt gave her a stubborn glare instead of answering, Barca let out a sigh. “How about we restart this conversation? Hello, Krys, how are you? You’re looking well. Believe it or not, I’ve missed you.”

  After a moment of silence, Sandt snapped, “What do you want?”

  Her overt hostility twisted Barca’s gut into a knotted mess.

  “I want to tell you how sorry I am that we couldn’t part as friends. When I saw your picture this morning, I realized my feelings for you still run deep and that this was probably our last chance to say goodbye. If you work for Zahar or whoever holds Yotai and the surrounding star systems, your home is at least five unprotected wormhole transits from here. Before long the only ships roaming the Arietis branch of the network will be those of barbarian raiders. Lyonesse is about to be cut off from the rest of humanity. You won’t come back, and I won’t be able to leave, even if I didn’t swear to defend this place.” When Sandt kept her gaze stubbornly on the floor instead of replying to Barca’s impassioned entreaty, the latter whispered, “Please look at me, Krys.”

  “Do you know how bad it hurt when you put your precious Pathfinder career ahead of me? We could have transferred to a line unit together, but no, it was special operations and nothing else for you, even if it meant spending half your life on offworld missions. But I got over it — over you. The 55th is a good outfit with some of the best Marines I know. I even made command sergeant and assistant regimental intelligence officer before the rebellion broke out.”

  Sandt looked up at Barca with defiant eyes, but the moisture in their corners told a different story.

  “How did you fare during the fighting on Yotai? The Void Brethren who escaped Zahar’s massacre told us hair-raising stories.”

  “I — we did okay. Sure it was a bloody mess, but once we killed off most of the senior officers in the 19th Guards Division, the rest surrendered pretty quickly. A lot of them signed up with us as recruits. Probably figured joining the winners was the best way to survive. It was worse on places like Mykonos and Ariel, where the Imperial Guards outnumbered Marines.”

  “The Coalsack seems to have escaped the worst of it so far, from what we saw. But it won’t last.”

  “Your collapse fairy tale again?” Krystal Sandt essayed a small, albeit sardonic grin. “We’ll be fine. Grand Duke Custis is consolidating the sector. Once we’re strong again, watch out. We might even reclaim Lyonesse.”

  Barca shook her head.

  “No. It could take a few years, but my admiral is right. The slide won’t stop until humanity hits rock bottom and billions more die. How many Coalsack Sector star system governors general told Zahar to stuff it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Zahar killed Viceroy Joback and told Wyvern to fuck off. How many did the same to him or Custis? It’s a disease, Krys, one that won’t stop until the host dies.” She hesitated as a reckless hope surged through her veins. “Stay here. Let the others go back and report. Stay here with me. We can finally do what you wanted and serve in a line regiment together. There’s nothing but death waiting for you on Yotai.”

  Soft laughter escaped Sandt’s lips. At first, it sounded dismissive but then took on a hysterical edge. Barca feared she was losing what little rapport she’d made.

  “Now you want me to stay? Too little, too late, lover. Much too late. Perhaps I won’t ever come back to this quaint backwater star system, but if I do, it’ll be with the 161st Marine Division to reclaim Lyonesse for the Coalsack Sector. Your knowledge vault scheme? Pathetic. The empire might be finished, but civilization is doing just fine in our corner of the galaxy, thank you very much. There will be no long night of barbarism. Not while we — my mates and I — do our duty. Now let me go. You’ve said your piece, and if it means anything, I no longer hate you as I did then, but I’m not sure indifference is an improvement. As they say, it’s the opposite of love. But if you want my forgiveness, you have it. Now let me go.”

  Barca inclined her head in defeat.

  “Should you ever need a safe harbor and can find your way back here, I will greet you with open arms. And if I’m no longer among the living, my comrades will do so.”

  Sandt let out what sounded like a faint sob as she inhaled.

  “And my comrades are waiting for me, Adri. You’ve always been big on loyalty. I gave mine to the 55th long ago, and more recently to those three social menaces waiting out there who’ve become my only family. I’m sure you understand. What you and I had is part of our past, and it has to stay that way, especially now we’re headed for radically different futures. You left the Marine Corps along with the rest of the 6th Battalion, 21st Imperial Pathfinder Regiment and became an officer of Lyonesse so you can protect this knowledge vault. I stayed in the Corps to fight for something I believe will be the heart of the next empire, despite your admiral’s visions of disaster. We’re on divergent paths.”

  “Fair enough. My offer stands. You and yours can claim shelter here.” Barca hesitated. “What will you tell your superiors about Lyonesse?”

  “The truth. Even if I wanted to withhold information, there are four of us, and we will each be debriefed separately.”<
br />
  “If I ask what that truth is, will you answer?”

  Sandt locked eyes with Barca before nodding.

  “Yes. For old times’ sake. And for reaching out to say farewell. The four of us are a covert recon team. I’m the only Marine. Kamaal Bouras is a two-and-a-half striper from naval intelligence while Orobio and Renlinger are chief petty officers. Our mission was finding the Imperial Prison Ship Tanith. The ship — not a specific stasis stiff. The orders came with a list of the prisoners aboard. We traced Tanith to Lyonesse and found many of its passengers, though not all of them, living freely here. The ship itself appears to have vanished.”

  “Tanith’s fate is no great secret. Since we couldn’t make repairs without risking a major antimatter explosion, we scuttled it into the sun. What else will you tell your superiors?”

  “That Lyonesse made a unilateral declaration of independence and intends to chart its own course, separate from that of the empire. Our report will also detail what we found out about your knowledge vault project and your military forces, and the fact you’re taking in refugees from Arietis.” Sandt gave Barca a half shrug. “Everything comes from open sources, by the way. We’re a recon team rather than spies. And until something changes drastically, we’re still fundamentally on the same side, you and us.”

  “I hope so unless your superiors take violent exception to our UDI. But since at least four star systems between here and Micarat are no longer under the 16th Fleet’s control, we shouldn’t look like a threat. Not with our small navy.”

  “Don’t worry. The 16th took a beating during the rebellion. I don’t think either Admiral Zahar or Grand Duke Custis will risk the defense of our border systems to send an expeditionary force here. Dendera’s fleets are far from finished, and in time, the barbarians will become bolder and more aggressive, especially if they sense weakness.”

  “Spoken like a true battlefield intelligence analyst. But be honest, Krys. Do you believe Yotai can make itself the center of a reborn empire? Or are Custis and Zahar pissing into the wind?”