EMPIRE: Resurgence

by Richard F. Weyand

“Ian Walsh is another matter entirely. He stands accused of no crime, and he will be released to the custody of his sister in Galway City after five weeks transit. You are to go back to Galway, departing no later than one week from today.”

  Ryan’s head spun.

  “I don’t understand, Milady.”

  “You, Mr. Walsh, are free to go. Colonel Ryan has been executed for treason. We will never see him again. Do you understand me?”

  The light began to dawn.

  “Yes, Milady. I understand.”

  “Colonel Ryan’s retirement benefits are gone. His health benefits are gone. His name will go down as a traitor to the Empire.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  “My understanding is that Colonel Ryan left his savings and personal effects to you, Mr. Walsh. Those funds have been transferred to an account in the Imperial Bank in your name.”

  That was gracious, considering.

  “Thank you, Milady.”

  “When you log into VR, you will also find that your VR name is Ian Walsh. It will stay that way, Mr. Walsh.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  “One final note, Mr. Walsh. Lieutenant Thomas Walsh Doolan’s funeral is Saturday at ten. Your sister can send you the details.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  Burke nodded and stood. Ryan stood as well.

  “Milady?”

  “Yes, Mr. Walsh.”

  “Thank you, Milady.”

  “Thank your nephew, Mr. Walsh. He bought your life with his own. I cannot in good conscience execute you when I am not going to execute your sister. Any further resistance to the Empire, however, will be dealt with most harshly. Ask your sister about that as well.”

  Burke turned and walked out of the room. The Imperial Guardsmen followed her. Then an Imperial Guard officer came into the room with another Guardsman carrying a box. He set the box down on the table, then removed the shackles from Ryan’s ankles.

  “You’re to get dressed, Mr. Walsh. You will then be released. When you get a hotel room for the remainder of your stay on Center, you should let us know where, and we will send you Colonel Ryan’s personal effects.”

  They left the room, and Ryan took off his prison jumpsuit and dressed in the civvies he was wearing when he was arrested. The Imperial Guard officer came back after several minutes. He led Walsh out of the Imperial Research Building, and onto the people mover to the Imperial Park West entrance to Imperial Park.

  “Good day, Mr. Walsh,” the Guardsman said.

  Ryan walked out through the smoked-glass sliding doors into the arcade-level of Imperial Park West.

  The weather in Imperial City was beautiful on Saturday, and there was a suitable spot out over deep ocean for the burial. Travis Geary was nervous when he checked into the VR channel for the funeral service early, but everything was in order.

  A large lawn stretched out behind the seawall that bounded the beach on this side. The surf was mild, and the ocean beyond was calm. There were rows of white folding chairs set up on the lawn. The number of chairs would grow to accommodate the crowd.

  Off to one side, seven Napoleonic twelve-pounders pointed out to sea. They were actually on Palace Mall, in front of the Imperial Palace, and pointed down the Mall. They were manned by gunnery crews of the Imperial Guard, with three Imperial Guard officers.

  People began to arrive, popping into existence in the chairs. Academy cadets were in the back rows, all appearing in uniform. The family appeared in the front rows. As the seating arrangement grew, the Academy cadets and their chairs were pushed back by the software running the channel, reserving the front rows for family.

  Geary noticed Maire Kerrigan arrive, in the front row. With a start, he also noticed Colonel Ryan. When he consulted names in an overlay, though, Ryan was tagged as ‘Ian Walsh’. He sat next to his sister in the front row.

  Edward Moody appeared, and spoke at the lectern set up in front of the crowd.

  “The Emperor and Empress have instructed me to ask you, when they arrive, to please remain seated.”

  There was a buzz of conversation about that. It was not quite unheard of for the Emperor and Empress to attend a funeral – some people remembered the Emperor Trajan and Empress Amanda had attended the funeral of Otto Stauss three centuries back – but it was exceedingly rare.

  The Catholic chaplain from the Imperial Marine Academy Center appeared, seated in a chair to one side of the lectern and facing it. Like most people in Connacht Sector, Sean Boyle had been Catholic, and Geary had made sure to include the Catholic chaplain in the planning.

  The Emperor and Empress appeared in chairs alongside the chaplain, facing the cannons, with the crowd to their right and the ocean to their left. They were both dressed in somber business suits.

  As the time approached, an Imperial Marines assault shuttle approached, coming toward the shore from out over the ocean. Hanging from it was the encasement containing the mortal remains of Lieutenant Doolan. It stopped about a hundred yards off shore from the point of view of the funeral party in VR, though it was thousands of miles out to sea. The shuttle descended until the encasement almost touched the water.

  At that point, the chaplain stood and walked to the lectern.

  "We gather here to commend our brother Thomas Walsh Doolan to God our Father and to commit his body to the sea. In the spirit of faith in the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, let us offer our prayers for Thomas.

  "O God, by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest, bless this grave, and send your holy angel to watch over it. As we bury here the body of our brother Thomas, deliver his soul from every bond of sin, that he may rejoice in you with your saints forever.

  “We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen."

  The chaplain turned to look out to sea, and the assault shuttle released the encasement. The body of Thomas Walsh Doolan fell the few feet to the water and disappeared beneath the slight swell.

  The chaplain walked back to his chair. The Emperor and Empress rose, the Emperor motioning everyone to remain seated. They walked up to the lectern.

  “Thomas Walsh Doolan honored us with his service,” Burke said. “May he rest in peace.”

  Burke signaled to the Imperial Guard officers at the cannons. The senior officer nodded to one of the junior officers.

  “READY. LOAD.”

  Imperial Guardsmen loaded their cannons with powder bags only and tamped them down.

  “READY. FIRE.”

  One cannon fired.

  “Round one.”

  “FIRE.”

  The next cannon in the row fired.

  “Round Two.”

  “FIRE.”

  The third cannon fired

  “Round Three.”

  As each cannon was fired, its crew swabbed it and reloaded it. As each cannon was fired, the senior officer counted the round, then the junior officer ordered the next firing. Three times they ran down the row of seven cannon.

  When the salute was completed, the other junior officer raised his trumpet and played Taps, an ancient salute to the honored dead that had been carried out into space by the military of just about every space nation, and retained by the Empire. The mournful salute echoed across the Palace Mall, it’s echoes picked up in the live feed to the funeral’s VR channel.

  The Emperor and Empress bowed to the crowd, then dropped from the channel. The Imperial Marine assault shuttle, which had hovered over the spot of Boyle’s interment, turned around and headed away from the funeral. The chaplain came forward to give his condolences to the family, and people began dropping from the channel.

  Sean Boyle’s funeral was over.

  Several minutes after Travis Geary dropped from the channel, he got a mail with an Imperial header.

  To: Brigade Commander Travis Geary, IMAC

  From: Arsinoe, Imp.

  Subject: Funeral

  Nicely done, Brigade Commander. Thank you.

  Families Meeting

  It was Tuesday after the fun
eral, two weeks after the museum incident and a week after Medusa, the day nothing happened, that the heads of the major families met in council. Antonio Sciacca was still their chairman, and had been through the buildup to Medusa, which had been his idea.

  They met in the VR simulation of a conference room as before. They would all be there. Sciacca, Maire Kerrigan, Karl Weibel, Arthur Kunstler, Nikos Mantzaris, Oksana Durov, Jost Auer and Bertram Corbyn.

  “Milady Empress, it’s time. They’re setting up the conference,” Lina Schneider told Burke.

  It was a bit after two in the afternoon Tuesday in Imperial City.

  “Excellent.”

  Schneider pushed her the pointer for the management channel the NOC had piggy-backed onto the VR channel. Burke sent the pointer on to Ardmore.

  “Do you also have that VR ID and location for me, Ms. Schneider?” Burke asked.

  “Yes, Milady.”

  Schneider pushed her the information.

  Burke and Ardmore entered the management channel and joined the meeting just as the last arrivals were showing up.

  They could see and hear everything that went on, but none of the other attendees could see them in the management channel.

  Burke also sent a message to General Destin.

  On Imperial Fleet Base Verona, a ready crew ran for their aircraft, an Imperial Marine attack ship. The ship had already been pre-flighted when this crew came on shift, so they climbed straight into the cockpit and secured their harnesses. The pilot spooled up the engines and the little ship leaped off the pad.

  “All right,” Antonio Sciacca said. “Let’s get started.”

  The side conversations died, and everyone quieted down.

  “I guess the first order of business is to discuss what happened,” Sciacca said.

  “Nothing happened,” Mantzaris said. “We were all waiting for it, and nothing.”

  “Instead, the Empire rounded up all of our agents, including the deeply hidden ones,” Durov said.

  “Yes, in retrospect it was a mistake to send the warning message,” Sciacca said. “We all agreed to send it – I’m not pointing fingers – but clearly the Empire was paying attention and tracked the message.”

  “Can they even do that?” Auer asked.

  “Clearly they can. Some of those deep operatives hadn’t had any direct contact in years, but they rounded them all up within hours of the message.”

  “Is that how the plan failed?” Mantzaris asked. “Did they pick up the key operator and keep him from doing his job?”

  “They could have interrogated the people they picked up and found out the plan that way,” Weibel said.

  “I don’t think so,” Sciacca said. “The details were only known to the people who needed them, and then only the part they needed. And the QE link to the device went down at the other end within a few hours of the Medusa message being transmitted. I don’t think there was time to do interrogations and piece it together.”

  Kerrigan had been silent through all of this, but she spoke up now.

  “The Empress invited me to meet with her last Monday.”

  “She did? Did you go?” Sciacca asked.

  “Yes. She expressed to me her condolences on the death of my grandson Tommy. He apparently died putting out the fires that resulted from their disarming the device.”

  “Fires? Why would there be fires?” Durov asked.

  “I looked into it, and apparently one way to disarm such a device is to blow it up,” Kerrigan said. “That is, to set off an explosion such that it destroys the detonator of the device before it can detonate the weapon. That would start fires, and it would also spread chemical poisons and radioactive materials around the area.”

  “That would defeat the interlocks,” Sciacca said. “They wouldn’t have time to act before the explosion destroyed them.”

  “Exactly,” Kerrigan said.

  “And your grandson died fighting the fires?” Durov asked.

  “Yes. The Empire has treated him like a hero. They gave him the Galaxy Cross for valor and something called the Gratitude of the Throne. They also gave him his commission and invited him to the Imperial Guard. Posthumously.”

  “I didn’t know any of this,” Sciacca said.

  “Not only that,” Kerrigan said. “Their Majesties attended his funeral Saturday. It was in VR, because he was buried at sea. He had to be, because his body was so full of poisonous and radioactive chemicals.”

  Kerrigan choked on this last, but she got it out.

  “Their Majesties attended?” Weibel asked. “Have they ever done that before?”

  “It happened once before,” Kerrigan said. “I looked it up. The Emperor Trajan and Empress Amanda attended the funeral of Otto Stauss three hundred years ago.”

  “Not three of my favorite people,” Sciacca said, and several people chuckled.

  “I’m more interested in the meeting with the Empress. Did she say anything else?” Auer asked.

  “Oh, yes. Her Majesty told me that, if we didn’t stop plotting against the Throne, the Empire would hunt down and kill every single descendant of the hundred and eleven people executed by Trajan.”

  “Psh. They can’t do that,” Sciacca said. “It’s probably a billion people by now.”

  “She’s aware of that,” Kerrigan said. “She said they would put DNA sniffers in public spaces throughout the Empire to find them. And she said she would offer a million-credit bounty on every one of them.”

  “That would be a quadrillion credits,” Weibel said.

  “She said it would be worth forty cents per person to the people of the Empire to be rid of us.”

  “This is all nonsense,” Sciacca said. “Bluster, nothing more. We just need to pull back and start over, is all. We’ve done it before.”

  “To what end, Antonio?” Kerrigan asked. “Can you rule an empire? Or you, Karl? Any of you? Yes, our distant ancestors ruled the Democracy of Planets from behind the scenes, but we have no such experience. And none of our families have for a dozen generations or more. What we know now is business.

  “And our businesses have done well within the Empire. Very well. We built back from the financial devastation of our ancestors betting the farm on their stupid scheme in the markets. Truth be told, they weren’t much better at ruling. The DP was a shadow of the commercial powerhouse it is now. People are better fed, better educated, live longer lives, and are happier now under the Empire than they ever were under our ancestors.

  “Getting beat in the war is the best thing that ever happened to the people of the DP.”

  “What?” Durov asked.

  “Look it up. It’s true,” Kerrigan said.

  “You’re upset about the death of your grandson, Maire,” Sciacca said. “That’s understandable. But let’s not forget our purpose. We need to pull back, and try again, that’s all.”

  The Empress Arsinoe appeared at one end of the conference table, the open end opposite the chair. Her avatar was seated on the Throne, on a riser that put her a head taller than everyone else there. She was dressed as at the coronation, in the sheer chiffon caftan, with the Star of Humanity on her forehead and the crown jewels across her chest. She and the Throne were in sunlight, as they would be in the Throne Room at noon, and she glowed in the relative gloom of the conference room.

  “Shit!” someone said.

  “Jesus!” said another.

  Many tried to drop out of VR, out of the meeting, but their VR controls were gone. They were trapped with the Empress.

  “You do realize I’m aware of what you’re up to,” Burke said. “Of all your various plots and machinations. Congratulations. You have succeeded in drawing the attention of the Throne. And the Throne is not amused.”

  People tried to stand, but could not get out of their chairs, tried to speak, but could not make any sound. They were face to face with the Empress of all humanity, and she did not look pleased with her mortal subjects.

  “Ms. Kerrigan is correct. We have
decided the toleration of your pranks is no longer in the best interests of the people of the Empire, and we are going to put a stop to them, one way or the other. You each have a choice. You can swear oath to the Throne, and control every member of your family – turn away from this madness – or I will proscribe you and all your family.

  “I will pay a bounty of one million Imperial credits for the death of every member of your families. Man, woman, and child. We will make free DNA sniffers available, to be stationed throughout the Empire and the five independent star nations, to detect them. And the people of the Empire will hunt every one of them down, every member of your family, and exterminate them like vermin.

  “That is your choice.”

  Burke had been moving her gaze around the table, a gaze under which the attendees squirmed. She now turned her attention to Antonio Sciacca.

  “As for you, Mr. Sciacca. I am especially displeased with you for your part in this latest incident. You have singled yourself out for special treatment.”

  Burke had been sitting with her arms laid out along the arms of the Throne, her hands hanging over the ends. She now lifted one arm slowly and pointed at Sciacca.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Sciacca.”

  Sciacca looked right and left, terrified, but there was no escape. Burke snapped her fingers, and he disappeared.

  The attendees all gaped at the empty spot where Sciacca’s avatar had been, then turned back to the Empress. Burke put her arm back down on the arm of the Throne.

  “Let me be the first to offer my condolences on the death of your chairman. Perhaps his successor will be less objectionable to the Throne.”

  She looked back and forth across the attendees, who cowered before her, then her gaze stopped on Kerrigan.

  “Ms. Kerrigan, perhaps you can recommend your recent reading materials to your colleagues. It may help them come to a decision.

  “As for the rest of you, and all the family heads, I expect an answer from each of you within the fortnight. Choose wisely.”

  And with that, the Empress and the Throne disappeared.

  “Now do you see what I mean?” Kerrigan asked and pointed to where Burke had sat. “That is the ruler of an Empire.”