Imperial Echoes

by Eric Thomson

  Fenrir chuckled.

  “Aren’t religions based on interpreting that which is undecipherable?”

  “Certainly. Humans crave comforting beliefs, whether they acknowledge it, even those who reject any form of religious faith for whatever reason. The latter simply find something else, political ideology or a militant if not zealous opposition to all religions being the most common substitutes.”

  “Funny. I neither believe in an Almighty nor politics or opposition to religion. Where does that leave me?”

  A knowing smile lit up Rianne’s face.

  “With a plurality of human beings, those who’ve not yet examined themselves or won’t do so lest it upsets long-held preconceptions.”

  “And what if I told you my fundamental belief is in profit?”

  “Then I’d say you were both lying to and cheating yourself.” She turned her eyes back on the vast, submerged starship hull and reached out. “This is definitely a tomb.”

  “One of those interactions, Sister?”

  She looked at him once more.

  “Yes. I daresay this planet is littered with places where souls were seared by the Retribution Fleet, like so many other worlds once teeming with human beings.”

  **

  “Found it,” Repulse’s navigator announced when Captain Park answered his communicator.

  “Are you sure?”

  “A sweet little pea-like ball of blue and white hanging in this star’s habitable zone. Ten and a half hours FTL to its hyperlimit. I’ve advised the flag CIC and synced the task force for hyperspace at the commodore’s command.”

  “Well done.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Park, out.”

  He finished reading Chapter Ten of Rutan’s History of the Great Scouring, a not quite Hegemony-approved tome, but one the current government hadn’t yet suppressed, then placed his reader on the side table and let out a sigh. Once Task Force Kruzenshtern entered Hatshepsut orbit, events might no longer be under their control.

  — 24 —

  ––––––––

  Aswan Trader rounded one last headland the following morning, and Mazaber, the leading city-state on Aksum’s east coast, appeared before the Brethren’s eyes. A sprawling port stuck on a narrow strip of flat ground between the shoreline and a curtain of craggy, volcanic hills, it sat across a broad bay opposite the ruins of the Mazaber that existed before the Great Scouring.

  Dozens of ships either sat at anchor or were tied up alongside rickety, partially rotten wooden piers jutting out into the muddy water. Most were single-masted, with a few two-masted schooners among them, but none matched Aswan Trader for sheer size, even though the smallest faster-than-light starship in the Lyonesse Navy would dwarf her.

  As they neared, the Brethren could make out more detail and what they saw left them wondering. The one and two-story buildings, for there were none taller, seemed only a step above wood and stone shantytown shacks, a far cry from Thebes’ solid architecture with its clean lines. Where the latter seemed poised on the verge of progress, Mazaber gave off the appearance of ongoing decay which would soon see it slip further down the civilizational ladder.

  “Doesn’t look too impressive, right?” Fenrir asked as if he’d read Rianne’s mind. “Wait until you’re ashore. It gets worse. I wouldn’t live here, and neither would any of my sailors, but they offer good barter items for the things we bring — precious metals, imperial artifacts, cured and preserved meats we can’t obtain at home, grains, and wine. Surprisingly good stuff.”

  “Will you dock?”

  “And pay their extortionate fees when I’m not carrying much as cargo? No. We’ll anchor away from the rest and go ashore by boat.”

  “Why well away?” Horam asked.

  “Discourages the bumboats and lets us see and hear thugs coming if they have a mind to plunder my ship. The Saqqarans aren’t the only pirates in this part of the world. A few of those at anchor out there are merely part-time merchants who do more or less honest work when there’s no easy Theban prey around.” Fenrir spat over the rail. “Tried me once, they did. I made them understand Aswan Trader has teeth.”

  “I gather there’s no government authority around here with the job of preventing piracy?”

  A bitter laugh.

  “There’s no real government, period. Mazaber is run by the strongest criminal boss in the region, just like the other cities on Aksum’s coasts. The Almighty only knows what happens inland because none of us do. The way I hear it, the moment the boss running things shows weakness, it’s a free for all until the next boss takes charge. Can’t rightly say it’s any worse than our system. We both throw out the bastards when their corruption becomes too noticeable. Around here, they simply make sure the former rulers can’t stage a comeback.” Fenrir ran an extended index finger across his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get the sails furled just about now. I’d rather glide to our anchorage instead of using the engine because saving fuel can save lives. Sure, there’s plenty available here, but it’s muck that’ll gum up our engines and no mistake. Stinks like a fish that’s been dead two weeks.”

  Standing on one side, out of the sailors’ way, the Brethren watched as the remaining spread was hauled in and furled, leaving Aswan Trader to shed her forward momentum until the shore no longer seemed to move by. At a shout from Fenrir, one of the bow anchors splashed into the water. A few tense moments passed as they waited for confirmation it had set correctly. The ship gently turned toward the mouth of the river entering Mazaber Bay beyond the town, pushed by the current into the same orientation as the other vessels. Then, all apparent movement ceased.

  “Anchor set, Captain,” the first officer called from his post by the anchor chains.

  “Place the ship at harbor stations and prepare the launch.” Fenrir rejoined the Brethren aft of the binnacle. “I trust you’ll be armed because my people and I certainly will. Mazaber’s current boss knows mugging traders is bad for business and thus bad for tax collection. But his uniformed goons sometimes keep their eyes closed in return for a cut of the take.”

  Horam let out an indelicate snort.

  “How charming.”

  “It’s that kind of place, Friar. I’m glad the Republic of Thebes is an island group in the middle of the ocean, more or less inaccessible to the Aksumites. With their sort as neighbors, we wouldn’t be rebuilding industrial society. There’s a reason the Sterling engine isn’t in widespread use, for example. Whenever we sell any around here, those engines are quickly stolen and eventually end up in the hands of a thug who can’t figure out how they work and who ends up dismantling them for scrap metal.”

  He nodded at the Stirling engine-equipped launch, stowed on the deck, amidships. There, sailors were busily rigging the necessary tackles to hoist it overboard.

  “Another thing you should know. We never leave our boats at the dock or pulled up on shore. My men will drop us off, then head out into deeper water and wait or return to the ship, depending on how the coxswain feels. A little beauty like our launch is just too tempting for a pirate who dreams of closing in on his prey independent of the wind.” He turned and stared at the town and its dilapidated port. “You can be certain there are dozens of eyes watching us right now, wondering whether they can squeeze an extra few percent out of a rich, arrogant Theban or whether they can send a flotilla of boats in the middle of the night and help themselves.”

  Fenrir glanced back at them.

  “Yes, my friends. This is a place the Almighty forgot. If your intention is sending a mission to civilize them, take a battalion of Lyonesse troopers with you, men like Friar Horam, who can kill pirates with a railgun at half a kilometer.”

  The latter scoffed.

  “It would hardly take a battalion. A company, maybe, and of trained Friars, no more. It’ll be a while before my old comrades show up to knock sense into the primitives.”<
br />
  “But they will show up.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes, eventually,” Rianne replied in a resigned tone.

  “Good. Hatshepsut won’t be fit for galactic life until Aksum learns the basics of civilized behavior.”

  Fenrir let his eye roam over his ship before watching the launch as his men gently swayed it over the port side rail and lowered it on Aswan Trader’s lee side, one sailor holding the bow rope and one the stern. Shortly after the launch vanished, a faint puff of smoke shot up from where she was last seen as her engine lit.

  “If you’re not ready to go ashore yet, may I suggest you prepare now and don’t forget personal weapons?”

  **

  “Colonel, Sister, thank you for joining us.”

  Watanabe, sitting at the head of the conference room’s oval table, waved at two empty chairs on his right when Torma and Ardrix entered. Repulse’s captain sat on the commodore’s left while holographic representations of the task force’s remaining captains, as well as the senior Ground Forces officer, Major Enzo Vinh, C Company, 1st Special Forces Regiment, took up the remaining spaces. Lieutenant Commander Yee, the cruiser’s combat systems officer, stood by the wall-sized screen covering the forward bulkhead, waiting patiently to begin his briefing. When the Commission officers were seated, Watanabe nodded at Yee.

  “Please go ahead, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The primary display came to life with the image of a planet mostly covered by water. “This is Hatshepsut. What you’re seeing is a composite of the ongoing scans performed by Task Force Kruzenshtern’s five ships and what’s in the historical database.”

  Torma and Ardrix exchanged a brief glance. Watanabe’s people weren’t wasting any time, considering the task force entered orbit only a few hours earlier.

  “The roundish continent almost entirely in the northern hemisphere is called Sylt, where most of the planet’s major settlements, including its capital, flourished back during imperial times. Our first orbital run shows nothing where cities once stood and no lights indicating human presence. The second continent, spread across the equator, is Aksum, where our target lies. Nothing remains of the major cities there either, but we can see settlements that aren’t in the historical records.” Yee turned his eyes on Torma. “For instance, the port your prisoner named as Mazaber sits across a broad bay from the long-vanished original city of the same name.”

  “Besides those two continents, we’ve identified several dense island groups.” Pointers appeared on the display. “The Saqqara Islands are here, off Aksum’s east coast. They once boasted several smaller settlements, which vanished with no visible replacements. The Western Isles, off Sylt’s west coast, also appear depopulated. The biggest by square kilometers of surface, at the center of the planet’s largest ocean, are the Theban Islands.

  “Interestingly, they not only bear few visible scars, but the current settlements appear to be thriving. Where the historical records show minor fishing villages, we now see rather large towns, each with its own port and plenty of sailing vessels. The other major groups, the Hades Islands and the Lost Islands, never had a permanent human presence, which hasn’t changed.

  “As you can see, the ice caps are rather small, meaning the planet could be almost at the end of an ice age or beginning one. I suspect that if Hatshepsut’s ice caps were like Wyvern’s or Dordogne’s, many, if not most of those islands would be mountain tops of small continents or single large islands, and the barrier islands around Aksum and Sylt part of their respective parent landmasses. That is the high-level overview. Did you want me to focus on something specific at this point, Commodore?”

  Watanabe turned toward Torma. “It’s your mission, Colonel.”

  “Understood, sir. With your permission, I’d like to focus visuals on Mazaber and the surroundings, so we can find the landing zone Jan Keter used, as well as the best route into town. I’m also curious about the Theban archipelago. If its development seems so different from the rest of the planet, we should investigate why.”

  “You’re thinking outside intervention?”

  “It is one possibility, sir. Due to the apparent lack of industrialization on Hatshepsut, the items we seized surely weren’t manufactured in this star system. And that means someone other than Keter landed here in the recent past. Perhaps near Mazaber as well, but if our initial scans are correct and that isolated island group is prospering compared with other settlements, then it merits examining.”

  Watanabe nodded. “Anomalies attract attention.”

  “That’s pretty much the core tenet of investigative procedures, sir. Besides, if I were looking for a secure foothold on a primitive world, nothing beats islands far from major landmasses.”

  “Then I think everyone here will pay closer attention to our anomalies, Colonel,” the commodore replied in a dry yet amused tone. “Very well. Mazaber and Thebes will be the focus of our scans. Any thoughts about a landing party?”

  “Sister Ardrix and I, along with Jan Keter, of course. And anyone you’d like to name, sir. Based on Keter’s description of conditions in the Mazaber area, a troop of Special Forces soldiers should suffice. One or two teams will go with us. The rest will serve as force protection around our landing site. But I’ll leave the final decision to their commanding officer.” He nodded at the hologram of the Ground Forces commander.

  “I’d prefer two troops in two shuttles, sir,” the latter responded. “No one has ever complained of excessive protection, just as no one ever survived to complain about insufficient security in a potentially dangerous area.”

  “Point taken. Two troops it is.”

  “Then I’d like us ready for departure once we know all we can learn about Mazaber.”

  “Which won’t take much longer, Colonel,” Commander Yee said.

  Watanabe stood.

  “Then I’ll leave you to it. Colonel Torma, I’d like a back brief once you’ve settled on a course of action everyone agrees with.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With that, the commodore swept out of the conference room.

  — 25 —

  ––––––––

  Mazaber stank. Badly. Even the gentle offshore breeze helping propel Aswan Trader’s motor launch toward the shingle beach couldn’t keep a nauseating symphony composed of rotting seaweed, dead fish, animal and human feces, and much more from reaching the Brethrens’ nostrils. Alcide and Lilith, raised in a city that never entirely lost basic sanitation, grimaced in horror.

  “The Almighty must have forgotten this spot,” the latter said in a hoarse voice, struggling to keep the miasma from polluting her airways.

  Horam gave Lilith an amused smile.

  “The Almighty forgets nothing. Those who live here, on the other hand, forgot more than simply basic technology, it seems.”

  Alcide turned to Rianne with an imploring air.

  “On the day Prioress Hermina decides who will set up a new priory here, please let my name be at the bottom of the list.”

  “Your name will be where the Almighty wills it. Besides, in ten minutes, you won’t notice the aroma anymore. It’s amazing how humans can become inured to the worst things.”

  Horam clapped the younger man on the shoulder.

  “Especially those who benefit from our sort of training, right?”

  Before Alcide could reply, Fenrir asked, “Do you mind risking wet feet? Only, I’m looking at the pier, and I don’t like the greedy little bastards ogling us as if we were a Sunday ham. It’s harder to swarm us from the beach, and the launch will be away much faster.”

  Rianne gave him a shrug.

  “Whatever you think is best, though I sense no danger.”

  “The beach it is then.” Fenrir turned to his coxswain and gestured at a clear patch of shale a hundred meters east of the piers. “That should do.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”
<
br />   The small crowd that worried Fenrir began moving toward the beach when it became clear the launch would ground itself there. However, by the time it backed away from the murky shallows, having disgorged the Brethren, Fenrir, and two armed sailors with no more than damp shoe soles, the locals were still a good fifty meters distant. Once they noticed the seven newcomers were visibly armed, the group dispersed back into dark alleys between the waterfront godowns and taverns.

  What little the Brethren glimpsed of them spoke of poverty and malnutrition — ragged clothes, bare feet, spindly limbs, matted hair. They could have been any age beneath the grime.

  “Local urchins?” Horam asked.

  “Don’t let their small stature fool you, Friar. Those are vicious, albeit stunted adolescents and young adults, the result of awful food, worse hygiene, and either absent or uncaring parents. Allow them within arm’s reach, and those shoulder bags of yours would be gone, cut off.”

  “Unfortunate children with no real chance at a decent life,” Rianne said.

  “Save your compassion for those they prey on, Sister. Maybe in a few years, or more likely decades, your Order can rescue the ones who remain after you’ve established a priory and convinced what passes for the local government it should cooperate with you rather than bleed you dry. But the current set of thugs in charge are more likely to enslave those they catch and shoot those they can’t. The ones who end up as forced labor merely take longer to die.”