EMPIRE: Resistance

by Richard F. Weyand

  She turned to Ardmore.

  “I like this, Sire. I like it a lot.”

  Ardmore nodded, then turned to Becker.

  “Do you suggest we condone murder then, Mr. Becker.”

  Becker thought about it. He could see the problem, but....

  “Make the possession of a VR transmitter with the special murder codes a capital crime, Sire. Then they are merely carrying out Imperial edict.”

  Ardmore nodded.

  “That could work,” Burke said. “It would also encourage people to turn those damn boxes in when they find them. Very good, Mr. Becker.”

  “Very well, Mr. Becker. Anything else for us today?”

  “No, Sire. Not at the moment.”

  “Let us know if you have other thoughts on the subject, Mr. Becker.”

  Ardmore cut the connection.

  Confrontation

  Alfred Rottenburg, the thirteenth great-grandson of Albert Rottenburg – King Albert VI of the Rim – received a mail message directly from Their Majesties, the Emperor and Empress. Strange times, indeed. He read the message again:

  To:Sector Governors

  Descendants of Alliance Rulers

  From: Ptolemy and Arsinoe, Imp.

  cc: Imperial Police Sector Directors

  Subject: WARNING!

  Paul Bowdoin, the senior descendant of Phalia’s Queen Anne III, was murdered this week by his aide, Peter Hillier, using a transmitter that commanded Mr. Bowdoin’s premium health maintenance nanites to kill him. He was not wearing an active VR suppressor.

  This aide had the ability to create multiple VR identities because he had special VR nanites from his time in the Imperial Police. Once his VR ID was scanned, four VR IDs were found. The aide was actually Dieter Geller, a member of the Sciacca and Geller families of the former Democracy of Planets.

  We warn you to be cautious. Scanning of the VR IDs of your senior aides may be prudent. Found in Mr. Geller’s apartment within Queen Anne’s Palace in Cologne, the capital of Phalia, was a transmitter programmed to send the nanite murder commands. See picture attached.

  We have issued an Imperial Decree making the possession of these devices a capital crime. If you find such a device in the possession of one of your aides, we are asking you to turn the device and the offender over to Imperial Police.

  The use of deadly force in detaining these criminals is authorized.

  So his distant cousin Paul had been murdered. That didn’t really surprise him. Paul had had a tendency to shoot his mouth off, and some of the people they had allied themselves with had no sense of humor about some things.

  And Paul had apparently not been using a VR suppressor. That’s what Their Majesties’ letter said, anyway. Rottenburg usually used one – was using one now, in fact – but not quite always. He still used VR once in a while. He had thought what were the odds someone would try to kill him in that way in the small percentage of time he wasn’t under the suppressor. But if they had someone on his staff, it wouldn’t be random. He could time his attempt for when he knew Rottenburg was vulnerable.

  Still, though it wasn’t surprising to Rottenburg someone had killed Bowdoin, Rottenburg was surprised and disturbed to find out their ‘friends’ had put a spy – a potential assassin – on Bowdoin’s staff. The implications were obvious. If one, why not all? And if so, who was it on his own staff?

  More to the point, who could he trust absolutely? He needed someone with whom he could confront potential people, scan their VR IDs, find the joker in the deck. Carefully now. Who did he trust? Really trust?

  Rottenburg decided the best bet was two of the guards, Sheridan and Horner. They had grown up together, been neighbors as kids, and they both corroborated that. So unless someone put two people on his staff, it was unlikely to be one of them. He called for them to come to his office.

  He didn’t use VR to do it.

  They showed up in a few minutes.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Sheridan, as the senior, said.

  “I want you to scan each other’s VR IDs,” Rottenburg said.

  They looked at each other, and both shrugged.

  “Of course, Sire.”

  As Sheridan got his VR ID scanner out, he fumbled it and dropped it on the floor. He bent down to pick it up and when he straightened back up there was a small automatic pistol in his hand.

  Rottenburg, though not expecting either of these two would be the spy, had been watching for any problem. The attempt at distraction was one ploy. Rottenburg’s pistol, which had been in his hand between his leg and the arm of the chair, was already up and on target. He shot Sheridan three times in the center of the chest. Sheridan got off one wild shot into the floor and was still trying to get his pistol up. Rottenburg shot him three more times before he went down.

  Horner stood there dumbfounded.

  “Scan his VR ID, Horner. Quickly.”

  “Uh, yes, Sire.”

  Horner knelt down and scanned the dying Sheridan.

  “Sire, he’s got five VR IDs.”

  “Push them to me.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  The five VR IDs popped into Rottenburg’s inbound queue. Rottenburg aimed his pistol at Holden.

  “Now, Mr. Holden, would you care to explain the fabrication that the two of you grew up together?”

  “It seemed harmless enough, Sire. When he started here, he asked me to introduce him as an old friend so the guys would accept him more quickly. You know. ‘I want you to meet my old buddy.’ He seemed like a nice guy. I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Did he pay you to do that, Holden?”

  “No, Sire. That would have told me something was up.”

  Rottenburg nodded. Holden was a good man, but too trusting. A disadvantage in a bodyguard, to be sure.

  “All right, Holden. That is all.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Holden left. Other staff were gathering in the hall, responding to the sound of gunfire, but not wanting to get too close.

  “Mr. Stemp,” Rottenburg said.

  The butler came forward and stood in the doorway.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Call Sector Director Botsis of the Imperial Police. Tell him we’ve found one of the spies Their Majesties warned us about. Tell him the fellow is dead. The Imperial Police should bring an ambulance to transport the body to the morgue.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Imperial Police Sector Director Petros Botsis did not normally accept calls from the public, but he took the call from Ewald Stemp because the call request included ‘murder at the king’s palace’ as the subject line.

  Botsis had seen the message from Their Majesties this morning, but he thought it unlikely anything like that would happen here. Alfred Rottenburg was currently more of a museum curator than anything. He didn’t dress up and play the king and all that nonsense the way Paul Bowdoin had, though he understood the staff insisted on calling him Your Highness and Sire, at least within the palace.

  Rottenburg was a social fixture around town and Botsis had met him several times at various events. As a young man, Rottenburg had gone out into the western colonies and made his money on land speculation and investment in colony-based businesses. He was not a pouf like Bowdoin, but someone to be taken seriously. That he had apparently gotten the drop on the spy on his staff was not surprising to Botsis. It was more to be expected.

  Given the implications ran all the way to the Imperial Palace, Botsis sent Senior Inspector Hasan Makkar on the assignment. He made sure to let Makkar know there should be a transmitter that had to be picked up, forwarding Their Majesties’ message.

  Makkar took two junior detectives, a couple of patrolmen, and a forensic team with him to the palace of the former kings of the Rim. The forensic team van was followed by the ambulance.

  It wasn’t very far from Imperial Police Headquarters Kaukana to the palace. The capital city of Keskus had been laid out around the palace, and the government buildings were cl
ustered around it on one side and the downtown on the other.

  Senior Inspector Makkar and his team was greeted at the door by the butler.

  “Come in, Inspector. I’m Stemp, the butler. His Highness is waiting for you.”

  Stemp led Makkar and his team down the main corridor into the palace. The palace had been meticulously maintained by Rottenburg, in the style of four centuries ago. They departed the main hallway down a side corridor, through double doors into another hallway, then to an office door. The door stood open.

  Makkar stopped in the doorway. Rottenburg sat in an occasional chair facing the door. There was an automatic pistol on the table to his right. On the floor between them lay the body of a man in house uniform.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” Rottenburg said.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rottenburg. I’m Senior Inspector Makkar, Imperial Police.”

  “Nothing has been moved, Inspector Makkar. I myself have sat here since the incident, awaiting your arrival.”

  “Excellent.”

  Makkar turned to the forensic team lead.

  “Untouched scene, including the principals. Do your stuff. I’ll wait.”

  The scanners, as always, went first, then the rest of the team followed them into the room. It was about half an hour before the team lead reported to Makkar.

  “The guard has been dead about seventy-five minutes now. Six entry wounds in the chest with super-expanders. No over-penetration. All six should still be in the body. There was a firearm under the body, a small semi-automatic pistol. It has been recently fired, probably just once. The magazine is two short of capacity, and there is one round in the chamber. There was also a VR ID scanner under the body.

  “The semi-automatic pistol on the table has been recently fired multiple times. The magazine is loaded with super-expanders, and is seven short of capacity. There is a cartridge in the chamber. Seven shell casings were found on the floor, six from Mr. Rottenburg’s gun and one from the guard’s gun. There is a bullet lodged in the wooden floor. We’ve extracted it for forensic matching, but it entered from an angle that indicates it was from the guard’s gun.

  “There are powder traces on Mr. Rottenburg’s right hand, his right sleeve, his lap, and the arm of the chair, indicating he shot from a sitting position in that chair. There is a heavy powder residue on the floor, indicating multiple shots, from approximately his natural right hand position to the body. There is also a light powder residue from the likely position of the guard when standing to the bullet lodged in the floor. There are no other powder traces on the floor.

  “That’s all we have, Inspector. Very clean. Straightforward.”

  “Thank you. And you’re done with the scene?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re going to bag the body for the morgue now.”

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  Makkar walked into the room.

  “You can get up now, Mr. Rottenburg. Thank you for preserving the scene for us.”

  Rottenburg got up and shook Makkar’s hand.

  “No problem, Inspector Makkar.”

  Rottenburg looked to where they were bagging the body.

  “Disturbing business,” Rottenburg said.

  “I take it you confronted him and he drew his pistol on you, Mr. Rottenburg.”

  “More or less. Did you see the message from Their Majesties this morning?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rottenburg. I did. Did you find a transmitter?”

  “We didn’t check, Inspector. I left that for you. I placed a guard on the door of his room so it wouldn’t be disturbed.”

  Makkar nodded to one of the junior detectives and she left with the two patrolmen.

  “So what happened here, Mr. Rottenburg?”

  “I got the message from Their Majesties and thought, OK, who would it not be? I needed some assistance in checking the staff, you see? So I called in Mr. Sheridan there and Mr. Horner, because it was known they grew up together. I figured it wouldn’t be two people, and they both said they were friends when they were kids. Nevertheless, I was careful, and held my pistol between my leg and the arm of the chair.

  “They both came in, and I asked them to scan each other’s VR IDs, to see if either of them had multiple VR IDs. Sheridan fumbled his scanner getting it out of his pocket and dropped it on the floor. Well, that’s a pretty old trick, to get people looking where you want them to look. When he straightened up, he had his pistol in his hand and I shot him. Three times, then three times more when he didn’t go down. He got one shot off, but it was a wild shot. And that’s pretty much it.

  “Mr. Horner is available for you to talk to as well. I have him waiting in the staff cafeteria.”

  Makkar nodded to the remaining detective, and he left.

  “Oh, and I have the VR IDs from Mr. Sheridan for you, Inspector Makkar.”

  Makkar broadcast an address and Rottenburg pushed him the five IDs Horner had scanned from Sheridan.

  The first detective returned with the two patrolmen. She had a box Makkar recognized from Their Majesties’ message in an evidence bag.

  “Found this hidden in the room the butler said was Sheridan’s, Inspector. There was a guard on the door. He said his instructions were to let no one in who wasn’t Imperial Police. Required I show him a badge, sir.”

  “Very good, Detective. Thank you.”

  Makkar turned to Rottenburg.

  “Well, I think that ties it all up, Mr. Rottenburg. I’ll be in touch if I have any other questions.”

  “Thank you, Inspector Makkar.”

  Makkar picked up his other junior detective on the way out. Holder’s account squared with Rottenburg’s. There were no inconsistencies.

  Makkar prepared and filed his report. It was pretty cut and dried. It included the five VR IDs Sheridan scanned with.

  Ardmore and Burke were back in the viewing room with Darden and Schneider. It was mid afternoon of the day they sent out the warning message first thing in the morning.

  “That was quick,” Ardmore said.

  “Yes, Sire,” Schneider said. “The first one came in from Kaukana, but we’re getting more now. The Kaukana case is illustrative.”

  Schneider nodded to Darden.

  “The first thing we did, Your Majesties, is run all five IDs past the descendant family trees. Mr. James Sheridan is actually Seamus Kerrigan, a first cousin twice removed of Maire Walsh Kerrigan, and a descendant of Sean Robert Walsh, executed in 10GE by the Emperor Trajan. Maire Kerrigan is the current head of the Walsh family, based on Galway in the Connacht Sector of the old Democracy of Planets. The other four IDs don’t map into the descendant family trees.”

  “We ran all five IDs against the alias bank account listing, as well as check the bank account of Seamus Kerrigan, Sire,” Schneider said. “He is being paid in his own name as a corporate investigator by Galway Interstellar Holdings. James Sheridan was being paid by Mr. Rottenburg for his work as a guard at the old king’s palace on Kaukana. And one other alias account in his VR ID of Jane Meridan was being paid by the Barry Lincoln alias account.”

  “Was Seamus Kerrigan also in the Imperial Police?” Burke asked.

  “Yes, Milady,” Darden answered. “Eight years. Then he left to go into private industry.”

  “Have you found out how many of the descendants in your family trees have been in the Imperial Police, Ms. Darden?” Ardmore asked.

  “Yes, Sire. Now, first, we need to consider how many people should be in the Imperial Police if the distributions were random. With two and a half billion Imperial Police across the entire Empire, that’s one in a million people. With nearly a billion currently living descendants in our family trees, there are about five hundred million in the current generation. That’s one in five million people in the Empire. So the overlap, if it’s random, should be about one in five trillion people. With two and a half quadrillion people in the Empire, that means there should be five hundred of the current generation in the Imperial Police.

  “What we
find is that closer to ten thousand of the current generation of the descendants are in the Imperial Police or were in the Imperial Police at one time. There could be several reasons why the distribution is not random, like economic class, location, whether it’s a sector or provincial capital, and the like.”

  “Or it could be that we’ve trained and equipped ten thousand operatives for our enemies,” Burke said.

  “Yes, Milady. We’re currently trying to track all those people down, especially the ones that left the Imperial Police after shorter-than-usual careers. They’re proving elusive, however. Most are not currently living under their original names.”

  “What about the Imperial Marines and the Imperial Navy, Ms. Darden?”

  “We’re seeing a similar pattern there, Sire. The descendants of the royal and plutocratic families are more likely, not less, to go into Imperial service, at least for a little while.”

  “What a mess,” Burke said.

  “What about the Palace staff, Ms. Darden?” Ardmore asked.

  “The numbers there are much smaller, Sire. We would expect the random odds against any of the descendants to be on the Palace staff to be about one in two hundred. That’s two-hundred-to-one odds against there being any on the Palace staff. In fact, we found two.”

  “Which the odds are forty-thousand-to-one against it being random.”

  “Yes, Sire. General Hargreaves has picked them up and the Imperial Guard is questioning them now.”

  “And those are just the ones acting under their real names,” Burke said.

  “That’s correct, Milady. They are both related to the original family through matrilineal descent, so their last names don’t match any of those executed by the Emperor Trajan. If we hadn’t plotted the family tree, we would never have found them even under their actual names.”

  After the briefing, Ardmore called General Hargreaves.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “General Hargreaves, you are questioning the two staff members who are descended from the conspiracy of 10 GE?”