The Last Stand

by Jay Allan

  Andi felt a wave of excitement. She’d hoped Sy would be able to do something, but she was always cautious about her expectations. “That’s amazing, Sy. Thank you so much for all your efforts. What were you able to decode so far?”

  “Well, Andi…it seems the Highborn were known in imperial times. It’s all pretty incredible, really…”

  Andros Estate

  Planet Samara

  Tirion Vega System

  Year 11,687 IR (Imperial Reckoning)

  Year 47 BC (Before the Cataclysm) by Confederation Calendar

  370 Years Ago

  “My grandfather was the first to truly recognize the rot, the decay, that has infected the empire…or at least, he was the first to do something about it. We all see it, we have long known the vitality that led our forefathers to achieve all they did has been bred out. Our people were once heroes, men and women who took to the stars, who fought and bled, and forged an empire. Today they are listless and unfocused, and untold billions look only to the imperial support that sustains their meager existences. But even that is in peril. A treasury once filled by expansion, conquest, and industry, is now dry and empty. And the descendants of those who built all we revere spend their time on pointless amusements and petty squabbles over superficial nonsense. With each passing generation, fewer and fewer of our people know how to do anything useful. They consume, but they do not produce, and the empire declines.” The man standing in front of the small assemblage was tall, and he was clad in the shimmering silky material then in fashion among the empire’s elites. His coat seemed to constantly change colors, as the slightest shift in angle to the light sources altered the reflective image.

  “We all know of the empire’s problems, Andros. Indeed, I struggle to keep my own estates running at even half of the productivity my grandfather was able to extract. The empire is clearly in decline, perhaps approaching a grave state of decay. But the problem is not to identify the crisis. It is to determine what is to be done about it.”

  “You are correct Belthas, truly. And thus was the question my father asked himself more than three decades ago. Unlike so many among our once vibrant nobility, he was determined to do something to arrest the decline, no to reverse it. He even obtained imperial support for his efforts, and a classification order from the emperor himself to maintain secrecy and to avoid interference. Though, I daresay, the reports to the throne were…edited…somewhat, to avoid harmful political interference.”

  The men and women gathered in the room, fourteen of the highest-ranking nobles of the empire, stared right at Andros. He had captured their curiosity, if not yet their support, though more than a few seemed a bit on edge at his talk of withholding information from imperial oversight.

  It was time, a moment he’d been preparing his entire life to face.

  He waited a moment before continuing. It was a turning point, perhaps the most dangerous step since his late grandfather had first told him of the great effort, and set him on an unalterable course to save the empire…from itself.

  He pressed a small button on the table, and a moment later, a figure stepped into the room. He appeared to be human at first, but then, as he stepped into the light, it became clear he was somehow…different. He was taller than any human being, certainly, over two and a half meters. He was bipedal, and the most obvious difference from human norms was his size. He was muscular, and his eyes almost glowed with a vibrant blue-gray color, utterly different in some seemingly unfathomable way from anything those present had ever seen.

  Finally, the man who had spoken previously turned his eyes from the new arrival to his host. “Who is this, Andros? And, perhaps more importantly, what is he?”

  Andros looked out over the assembled group of nobles, and he smiled.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Ellerax, of the Highborn.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Citadel

  Planet Calpharon (Hegemonic Capital)

  Sigma Nordlin IV

  Year of Renewal 268 (323 AC)

  “Thank you for coming, Tyler.” Chronos stood just inside the door. The silo, and that was the best word Barron could come up with to describe the strange cylindrical structure, was impressive. But he suspected he was seeing only the smallest part of what Chronos was about to show him.

  “Of course, Chronos. I am always available when you need me.” There was still an air of discomfort between the two former enemies, but they’d been doing all they could to overcome it. The deliberate use of first names was part of that, but so far, at least as far as Barron was concerned, it just felt stilted and uncomfortable.

  “Well, I do have a legitimate purpose for meeting with you, but it joins nicely with a chance to show you a place we call the Citadel. It is mostly underground, of course, built nearly a century ago, when the Hegemony seemed less secure than…it did until recently.” Barron caught the hitch in Chronos’ speech. There was no doubt the Masters had become accustomed to feeling a sense of security in the vast interstellar polity they’d created, but the very fact that Barron was there with his forces, helping to prepare a last ditch effort to defend the capital, was definitive evidence that, whatever kind of golden age the Hegemony had experienced, it was over.

  “I will be most curious to see it.” Barron didn’t really care that much. He’d seen the ratholes political leaders had built for themselves before, and he found the whole thing distasteful. If such a place truly became useful, it would probably mean that he, and all his spacers—and Chronos and Ilius, too, unless he’d badly misread them—would be already dead in the fighting. He was ready to die for what he believed in, to save his people, for those he loved…but not so much to buy time for political leaders to scramble to some refuge.

  “No, you won’t.” Chronos looked concerned, as though he’d allowed less politic words escape from his lips, but Barron settled the Hegemony Master’s concerns almost immediately.

  He did that by laughing.

  “I’m afraid you’re right, Chronos. I’m less than fascinated by where those who don’t fight will be hiding while the rest of us are dying.”

  Chronos laughed in his own turn. “We agree on that, Tyler…for the most part. Though, there are those I would see safe while we fight, and no doubt there are those back on the Rim you would not have exposed to danger.” Barron didn’t reply, he just nodded. He’d been miserable without Andi, without a chance to see his daughter, but there was cause there for gratitude, as well. As much as he wanted to see them both, he would rather have them home, as safe as they could be.

  He’d spent an enormous amount of time and effort during past confrontations, trying—almost always unsuccessfully—to keep Andi out of danger. She was a challenging woman to love, but of course, if she’d been anything different, she wouldn’t have affected him as she had.

  “Still, Tyler…if it helps your morale to consider this, if we are defeated, the Council members and others who take refuge down here will likely be dragged out of their refuge by the invading enemy…or simply incinerated in place. The specifications of this structure boast that it can survive a surface attack even with antimatter weapons, but that won’t be of any help if the planet has fallen and the victorious invaders are here sending burrowing bunker busters against the place.”

  “There is no safety for anyone, none save victory.” Barron had spoken variations of the same thing many times before, and as much as any single sentence, it encapsulated his core view. He’d retreated at times to fight another day, of course, but he never fooled himself when there was an enemy or a danger that had to be faced.

  “No, there is not. But I asked you here for more than simply to show off my people’s finest—what do you call such things, rathole?”

  “Yes, rathole. And my people are quite good at building them, as well.” A few seconds later: “Something else?”

  “Yes…I have a project underway, and I have placed the prime movers, along with their immense databases, in this facility. It serves all of us to
keep them as safe as possible.”

  Barron’s eyes widened. “You have piqued my interest.”

  “Then come with me, and we will satisfy your newfound curiosity.” Chronos gestured for Barron to follow, and the two men, each accompanied by two guards, a pair of Bryan Rogan’s veteran Marines in Barron’s case, entered a large elevator. The escorts had been mandated by the respective governmental authorities, though Barron was sure Chronos didn’t like it any more than he did. The Council could argue with Chronos with all the apparent gusto the Senate was capable of directing at Barron himself, but it was clear that both assemblages of political leaders were too scared at the threat of the Highborn to risk their top commanders…or to fire them.

  What do they think, the two of us are going to fight it out on the way down if we don’t have minders?

  Barron stood quietly, even as the car continued to drop. The rolling in his stomach told him the elevator was far from slow, and the time the descent took suggested wherever they were headed was many kilometers below the surface. He was impressed. Whatever kind of refuge the Hegemony Council had built for itself, it had clearly spared no expense. Barron was no engineer, but he knew excavation got very expensive when it was tens of thousands of meters below the surface.

  Finally, the car came to a stop, and the doors opened. The room beyond was large, much bigger than Barron had expected. It was plush, too, looking more like the entry to a luxury hotel or opulent office building than a glorified bomb shelter.

  “Very nice.”

  “It is a grotesque display of misused resources, which is how you really feel. I am afraid my people are less different than I might have hoped in that regard. Those in charge, who sit in the halls of power, want not only personal safety, they want luxury. But, please, let us continue. I am anxious for you to meet Professor Ellia.” The two moved swiftly down a wide corridor until Chronos stopped in front of a large double door. He tapped the panel next to the entry, and the hatch slid open.

  “Professor, I trust you are well. I have brought someone to see you. This is Tyler Barron, the supreme commander of the Rim forces. I would like you to update him on your work, and its status. Please, tell him anything you would me.”

  Barron noted Chronos’s words, and his initial cynical thought that such a statement could have been well staged gave way almost immediately to belief. Barron was far from sure he could tell if Chronos was lying, but he was ready to bet on his analysis just then, and on his comrade’s sincerity.

  “Admiral Barron, it is a great pleasure to meet you. I am Ellia. I am, was at least, before this project consumed by every waking moment—and more than a few of my dreams as well—the director of the Capital University.”

  The woman speaking, and who had turned toward Barron, looked very young to be so accomplished an academic. Then, after a few more seconds, he realized that she was older than he’d thought at first. She was simply very well-preserved. Barron disliked the Hegemony’s system of genetic hierarchy, but he couldn’t argue that, superficially at least, the Masters did tend to look stronger and healthier—and to age more slowly—than any population he’d seen elsewhere.

  “Professor, the pleasure is mine.”

  ‘Please, call me Ellia. I can assure you, Admiral, I did not support the war against your people. I understand the Council’s motivations, and certainly believe that almost anything could be justified to prevent a recurrence of the immense death and suffering that followed the empire’s fall. But my life’s work has taught me, more than anything, that we do not know as much as we think we do. About the nations on the Rim…and about our current enemy.”

  Barron’s interest was inflamed by her last comment. “Please continue, Ellia. And, I am Tyler.”

  The woman nodded. “Thank you, Tyler. Well, where to begin…” She turned and glanced down at her workstation. “Number Eight—Master Chronos—assigned me with the task of implementing a comprehensive search of all Hegemonic records of the empire, and of imperial times, looking for any indications of encounters with our current, and heretofore mysterious, enemy.”

  Barron turned and looked over at Chronos. He cursed himself for not thinking of that very thing. He knew almost nothing about the Highborn, about what they were or where they had come from, but suddenly, checking to see if the empire had ever encountered them seemed like a glaringly obvious course of action. He would send back a request to the Senate to do just that as soon as he returned to Dauntless.

  “Would I be skipping too far ahead to ask if you have discovered anything?”

  “Certainly not, Adm…Tyler. What question could be more crucial right now? But my answer may seem elusive. Simply put, I believe we have indeed found mentions of them, but as yet, no real data, certainly not of their origin.”

  Barron looked at Chronos again, and then back to Ellia. “You mean the empire encountered the Highborn? Were they defeated by imperial forces? Was there conflict?” Barron could feel the questions forcing their way to his lips almost faster than he could utter them. “Did the imperial military have tactics for facing the threat?”

  “I am sorry, Tyler. I know how desperately we need those answers, but as yet, I do not have them. The scarcity of references to the Highborn suggests that any data existing about them was highly classified. It was only last week that my team was able to decisively ascertain that there were, in fact, references that likely referred to our present enemy. Much of what we found was in an obscure dialect of Old Imperial. I’m afraid the translations are extremely slow, and perhaps not entirely accurate. But I believe I can say with some degree of confidence that the empire was aware of the threat. I am hopeful we will eventually find additional data, perhaps even regarding the defensive measures taken at the time.”

  “I understand the difficulty of your work, Ellia, but we probably have very little time. ‘Eventually’ may be far too late.” Barron’s mind was just where he knew Ellia’s was, and Chronos’s too. Did the Highborn play a role in the final imperial decline?

  In the Cataclysm?

  “I know, Tyler, I know. We are doing everything possible to accelerate our efforts. I wish I could tell you more, even give you an estimate on when we may have further information. All I can say right now is that the imperial name for the enemy was similar to our own. They were called the ‘Highborn’ then as well, and we have also found references to something slightly different, a term we have translated as meaning, ‘Firstborn,’ though we have no information regarding whether the two are the same, or what differences there may be between them.”

  “Were they an enemy? Did the empire fight them? Or were they at peace back in imperial times?” Barron knew Ellia didn’t have the answers, but the questions came out again anyway.

  “We will endeavor to find out. All we have been able to determine is that, while it appears there was some kind of strife related to the Highborn, it does not appear the empire was at full-scale war with some alien enemy. We have a fair quantity of preserved military records and communications, and there is no evidence of any significant external conflict, no real warfare at all until the beginnings of the Great Death. There was considerable unrest in the decades before the collapse accelerated, and the empire responded with increasingly harsh reprisals, but nothing more, at least not that we’ve been able to discern. We have almost nothing from the subsequent time, the final two or three decades of the empire, the period we call the Great Death, and you the Cataclysm.”

  Barron shook his head. He’d found it difficult enough to accept that the Hegemony had encountered some hostile and previously unknown alien race. It made more sense that the empire had encountered the enemy first, but then the question was, why had there been no war? The Highborn seemed inveterately hostile, ignoring all communications efforts. Was the empire simply too powerful to attack, even in its waning years? Or was there something he and his allies just didn’t know?

  “Ellia, I am going to issue orders to my staff to provide you with every bit of data we have
on the old empire. Some of our people specialized in exploring the imperial ruins in the space between the Hegemony and the Rim, an area of space we call, the ‘Badlands.’” Barron felt a wave of sadness. Andi had been one of the elite of that group, a legendary Badlands explorer, if one who’d bent the rules on more than a few occasions. He’d ached enough missing her, but now he realized she might be a major asset to the war effort, and for once without diving headlong into a half-suicidal battle of some kind. He couldn’t imagine what Ellia could do with Andi’s stories, and with whatever scraps of imperial artifacts she’d kept hidden over the years. He’d never really discussed it with her, but while he knew she’d sold most of what her people had found, he suspected she still had a stash or two hidden somewhere.

  “That would be greatly appreciated, Tyler. We have a considerable database of imperial dialects, history, and scientific documentation. I mean no disrespect to your people on the Rim, but it is very likely we will be able to learn more from such artifacts and information.”

  “No offense taken, Ellia. Sadly, my people have only expressed interest in items that offered short term technological gain. I’m ashamed to say, there has been little interest on the Rim for uncovering imperial history and lore. It has always been surprising to me how little interest most people have in where they came from.” Barron felt very much like the Rim barbarian many of those in the Hegemony no doubt still considered him. His life had been mostly occupied with training and conflict, but, though his spacers had fought for worlds and territory, there had been little enough effort to gather knowledge for its own sake.