“We have Mr. Dennler, Ma’am,” Parnell reported.
“Excellent. Nice work, everybody.”
A Tale Of Three Governors
Pearson
Provincial Governor Vincent Pearson had been keeping a close eye on events. He had gotten a heads up call from an informant earlier, and could now see the APCs gathering at the other end of the Stolits Mall. He called in his personal secretary.
“Matthew, it’s time.”
“Yes, sir. We’re all set.”
Pearson looked out the window of his office as the APCs started moving down the mall.
“Sorry, Your Majesty. But I have an urgent appointment elsewhere.”
He and Quincy headed for the shuttle hangar behind the building.
Ann Turley’s APC-CV accompanied the APCs of Third and Fourth Company down Stolits Mall. The Planetary Governor’s Residence and the Provincial Governor’s Residence were both on the mall, on opposite sides facing each other, to either side of the capitol building.
“Who do we go after first, Ma’am? Knowlton or Pearson?”
The Comm Center broke in before she could answer.
“Ma’am, we have a runner. Governor Pearson is boarding a shuttle behind the Provincial Governor’s Residence.”
“Thanks, Comm. Keep an eye on him.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Turley placed a VR call to Fleet Admiral Mikhail Kotov, Commanding officer of Earth Sector space forces. He was located on Imperial Fleet Base Moria, in Pannia Sector. It was early evening at IFB Moria. Turley used one of her avatars from being president of Julian, not her avatar in uniform, which uniform was two ranks lower than Kotov’s.
“Yes, Governor Turley.”
“Good evening, Admiral. I have a fugitive from Imperial justice trying for space. I’ve tagged him on your system map. This shuttle and any ship with which it docks are not to be allowed into hyperspace. You are authorized to use deadly force, including the destruction of any such ships, to prevent transition to hyperspace and to effect the capture of Provincial Governor Pearson.”
“Understood, Governor Turley.”
Turley switched back to her command channel.
“I guess it’s Mr. Knowlton, Sergeant Major.”
Knowlton
Of Mosin, who had been confident in his superiors to protect him, Dennler, who had a bug-out plan but had not moved quickly enough, and Pearson, who saw the crisis coming and got away, Knowlton was most like Dennler. He had a plan, but it took more time to implement than he had.
Knowlton was still getting ready to leave when he got a call from Ann Turley. She gave it emergency status, and it burned through his privacy settings.
“Knowlton.”
“Good evening, Governor Knowlton. Earth Sector Governor Turley here. The Emperor requests and requires that you come with me.”
“Sector Governor? Since when?”
“Since about an hour ago, Mr. Knowlton. Apparently the Emperor was dissatisfied with Mr. Gerber’s performance. At least, that’s what His Majesty told me when I talked to him earlier.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then we’ll have to come in and get you, Mr. Knowlton.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Turley cut to her command channel.
“He thinks I’m bluffing, Sergeant Major. Do you think it’s time for a demonstration of some sort?”
“You mean a reckless and wanton act of destruction, Ma’am?”
Turley grinned.
“Something like that, Sergeant Major.”
“Well, we are Marines, Ma’am. And I got a question, what’s that big ugly thing out in front of the building?”
“The statue? I think that’s a statue of Governor Knowlton, Sergeant Major. Some sort of local custom, to have the statue of the current governor in front of the governor’s residence.”
“But isn’t that statue wrong now, Ma’am? I mean, isn’t he the former planetary governor?”
“Why, I believe you’re right, Sergeant Major. Do you think the statue should be removed?”
“Clearly, Ma’am, as it now runs against local custom. It could take quite a while to get that sort of thing corrected, but I think we could effect its removal lots quicker than some guys with a crane.”
“Wait for the signal, Sergeant Major.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Turley switched back to the channel with Knowlton.
“You might want to look out your front windows, Mr. Knowlton.”
“Yeah, so you got a bunch of armored cars with popguns on them. So what? You don’t even know where in the building I am.”
Turley gave Kearsarge the signal in VR. The front osmium drivers of all eighteen APCs fired one shot each at various portions of the poured epoxycrete statue. Even epoxycrete couldn’t withstand an assault like that, and the statue shattered and crumbled. It seemed to almost melt, as the shards flowed down and out around its pedestal.
Then all eighteen osmium drivers traversed and elevated until they pointed into the darkened window behind which Knowlton stood well back out of sight.
“On the contrary, Mr. Knowlton. I know exactly where you are. Turning off your VR doesn’t stop Imperial Marine sensors. You need a VR suppressor to do that.”
Finding himself staring down the barrels of eighteen osmium drivers, which had just utterly smashed a three-times-life-size epoxycrete statue of himself, was too much for Knowlton. His shoulders sagged.
“Very well, Governor Turley. I surrender.”
“You have ten minutes to come out, Mr. Knowlton. After which time, we come in after you.”
When Knowlton was aboard the Third Platoon command APC, Turley addressed her command channel.
“All right, everybody. We’ve done what we can for tonight. Let’s head back to the barn.”
It would take more than two hours to get back to IFB Dalnimir, by which time it would be after four o’clock.
Turley continued to monitor the Imperial Navy command channel during the trip.
Pearson
The general quarters alarm sounded in deployment buildings on Imperial Fleet bases on sector and provincial capitals throughout the Empire. Crews dropped what they were doing and ran for their bunks, where they VRed into their ships over zero-time-lag QE radio. These were the crews of the ships in Dalnimir space, the Empire having shifted to remotely-crewed vessels at the beginning of the Sintar/Alliance War.
“All right. What have we got?” Fleet Admiral Mikhail Kotov asked his chief of staff on his virtual flag bridge.
“The shuttle we’re tracking is here, Sir,” Admiral Robert MacNaughton said. “They’re apparently making for this vessel.”
“And that vessel’s status?”
“It’s a yacht, Sir. She’s bringing her bottle up to pressure.”
“Planning on going somewhere, huh?” Kotov asked. “Let’s deploy around the hypergates. Let’s say a division of light cruisers on each gate. They should load tubes.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As a provincial capital, Dalnimir had two of the massive hypergates. They allowed ships to enter hyperspace without each ship needing a hyperspace generator, which was a big, expensive, and power-hungry accessory. Without the hypergates, the yacht couldn’t get into hyperspace.
Kotov watched a division of light cruisers from the closest formations set out for each of the hypergates at ten gravities. An Imperial light cruiser was more like a traditional destroyer in overall mass, but it mounted a light cruiser’s gun. Without a crew aboard, they could accelerate quickly, at a rate that had increased steadily over the last forty years. Where six gravities had once been the maximum, ten gravities was now routine.
“Bob, let’s warn that ship not to dock with that shuttle.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Load tubes? You think we’re really gonna shoot at somebody, Chief?”
“Dunno, Dietrich. It would be kinda weird, huh? I been in the Navy twenty years, and I ain’t
never shot at nobody.”
“Yeah, just target practice. That’s it.”
“Well, just treat it like it’s target practice, and make sure you hit the damn target.”
`”You got it, Chief.”
“No response from the yacht, Sir.”
“I wonder what they think they’re going to do. They can’t get into hyperspace unless we let them.”
Kotov stared at his tactical display for several minutes.
“That yacht doesn’t have a hyperspace generator, does it, Bob?”
“No, Sir. We checked. No mention in the registry, and the power levels we see coming up won’t power one.”
“OK. Well, let’s get a division of light cruisers heading in their direction just in case. Out-system from them. Box ‘em in.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Get on board. Come on, let’s go. Strap in.”
“Is the timer set?”
“Yes. We’ve got five minutes.”
“Excellent. OK, cut us loose from the yacht.”
“The shuttle has separated, Sir,” the fleet tactical officer, Captain Bethany Whiting, said.
“Now what’s she going to do?” Kotov asked.
“The yacht is thrusting now, Sir. Apparently making for the number-two hypergate. Making one-point-five gravities.”
“Fast little ship. Are we still hailing her?” Kotov asked.
“Yes, Sir,” MacNaughton said. “No response.”
“A suicide run at the hypergate? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe they think we won’t fire on them, Sir.”
“That is an error in judgment. Stand by to fire.”
“It’ll be a little while, Sir. Estimating arrival at the hypergate in about an hour.”
“I still don’t get it, Bob. What’s their game?”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“Excuse me, Sir,” Whiting said. “Look at the shuttle. She looked like she was returning planetside, but she’s not. She’s making for another ship that was lying along her planetside vector.”
“Status on that ship?”
“It’s another yacht, Sir. A big one. Her bottle’s already up to pressure. And she mounts a hyperspace generator.”
“On a yacht?” MacNaughton asked.
“Some of them do,” Kotov said, “especially the older ones in the former DP. Their hypergates could get busy, and rich people don’t like to wait.”
“Sir, her observed mass doesn’t match her registry. She could mount box launchers.”
“Gonna shoot her way out?” MacNaughton asked.
“Could be. It’s not going to work though. We’ve got her covered out-system.”
Kotov thought about it, observing his tactical display.
“Assume this is our primary target, Bob. Make sure we have all her exit routes covered. Move people around to get some depth on her. I don’t want to disappoint Governor Turley.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Actually, make those reinforcements look like they’re going to cover the first yacht, not the second, if you can. Maybe have some of them building velocity behind the planet. Let’s play a little switcheroo ourselves.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The small yacht continued to accelerate toward Dalnimir’s number-two hypergate, despite multiple warnings to stop. It started evasive maneuvers as it got closer to the hypergate and the light cruisers standing patrol on it.
“You are cleared to fire.”
“All right, Dietrich. Take your shot. Make it a good one.”
“Target lock. Firing one. Missile away.”
Two of the light cruisers on patrol faced in each direction at each of the two Dalnimir hypergates. The two light cruisers facing the approaching small yacht fired. The missiles shot out of the impellers moving fast, lit off their drives, and accelerated at fifteen gravities. They both impacted the small yacht, and the ten-megaton warheads ensured no debris survived that was large enough to damage the hypergate structure.
“OK, Bob. Now let’s have everybody turn and pretend the party’s over and we’re all going home.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“They bought it. Look at their vectors.”
“Yeah. It looks like. Let’s just sit here for a while and then mosey on out. You know. Ho-hum, no big deal.”
“Sir, that large yacht just started accelerating out of orbit,” Whiting said.
“Is she headed for one of the hypergates?”
“No, Sir. She’s making for the third planet. She’s filed a spacing plan that lists ‘sightseeing’ as her purpose.”
“Does that spacing plan just happen to cross the hyperspace limit?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Warn her to stand down and resume orbit, Comm.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Fifteen minutes passed while the large yacht continued to accelerate.
“Any response to our warnings, Comm?”
“No, Sir.”
“Sir, she’s just gone to one-point-five gravities,” Whiting said. “Making now directly for the limit.”
“Intercept and take her out, Bob.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Four Imperial Navy battleships came out from behind the planet. They were already going fast and accelerating hard, making ten gravities. They ranged the large yacht and fired one missile each. The missiles gained additional velocity from the large battleship impellers, lit off their drives, and accelerated at fifteen gravities toward the small ship.
“Sir, they’re trying to cast their hypergate,” Whiting said.
“Are they outside the hyperspace limit?”
“No, Sir. Not by quite a bit.”
“The hyperspace limit has a lot of safety margin, Sir,” MacNaughton said. “They might make it.”
“I wouldn’t want to try it that far short even with a military-grade generator, Bob. I think they’re asking for trouble.”
The large yacht spun up its hypergate, pulled it over itself, and broke up.
“Turley here.”
“Admiral Kotov here, Governor Turley. Your fugitive refused to be detained and has perished in the breakup of his ship.”
“Yes, Admiral Kotov. I was watching your command channel and tactical plot. Nicely done, especially catching them playing the old shell game.”
“Thank you, Governor Turley. Any other work for us today?”
“Yes, Admiral Kotov. Shut us down. The whole sector. No hyperspace transitions. We need to keep all the rats from scattering until we can get a complete arrest list together. No passenger ships. No commercial ships. No private vessels. You have authority to use any means necessary.”
“People are going to want to know how long that will last, Governor Turley.”
“Let’s say twenty-four hours, Admiral. I think that’s about all it will take to have an arrest list together we can scan passengers against. But right now it’s oh-four-hundred here, and we’re all running on empty. I will advise further in eight to ten hours.”
“Very well, Governor Turley. Kotov out.”
Gerber
Earth Sector Governor Bartholomew Gerber also had informants on Dalnimir. In all four provincial governments in Earth Sector, actually. He had been getting updates on what was going on on Dalnimir.
It seemed the game was up.
Gerber sighed. It had been fun while it lasted.
Gerber also had a bug-out plan, although a different one than Dennler, Knowlton, or Pearson. He was not at all in doubt as to the Empire’s ability to track someone down when the Emperor himself was calling the shots, which was clearly the case here. He had also reviewed Ann Turley’s record, and independently came to the same conclusion as Timothy Dennler and Vincent Pearson.
Gerber poured himself a glass of his favorite cognac. At five hundred credits a bottle, it was well out of reach for most of the Empire’s citizens. He took his glass out on the balcony, with the splendid view of Paris in springtime. It was mid-afternoon, and it could hardly be mo
re beautiful.
He sat back in his favorite chair, sipping his cognac, just enjoying the day. After half an hour, he pulled a pulse injector out of his pocket and injected his arm.
Yes, there were worse things than dying in one’s sleep. Dying during interrogation by the Imperial Guard was one of them.
He took another sip of cognac, and raised his glass to toast Paris. He set the glass down on the side table, and dozed off in his chair.
Five minutes later, he was dead.
Taking Power
The column of APCs rolled through the gates of IFB Dalnimir at half past four in the morning. Turley had held their speed back to the base to forty miles per hour to minimize the risk of accidents, given how tired everybody was from the long day and the stress of operations.
“I’ve arranged temporary housing for you in flag row, Ma’am,” Lieutenant Vincennes said.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“And Major Parnell detached a platoon from Third Company to pick up your things at the hotel, Ma’am. They’ve packed you and Mr. Gulliver up and have caught up with us during the drive.”
“Better and better. Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Turley thought about her forearm rigs, in her personal effects box in one of the stow compartments of the APC-CV. Her guns, though, would be at the police station, in an evidence locker.
“Sergeant Major, I have two personal firearms that were taken as evidence by the Stolits PD during my arrest. They’re probably in an evidence room or something. Can you get some people to go over to Stolits PD and pick them up? Maybe a couple of big fellows, with some stripes, so they don’t get any pushback.”
“Yes, Ma’am, though I don’t think we’re going to get any pushback from Stolits PD at the moment. They could always mention they could come back with APCs if that would make things easier.”
“Major Parnell, the battalion has the day off. Ask the colonel to assign someone else to the battalion’s duties today.”
EMPIRE: Investigation Page 13