The False Admiral

by Sean Danker

  The black ground was cracked and jagged, the mist emanating from the rifts and chasms that pocked the planet’s surface.

  It wasn’t clear if the mist was vaguely luminescent, or if the light of the three feeble suns and the dozen or so moons was just bright enough to cause the green glow on this side of the planet.

  If this system had a name, I didn’t know what it was—but it was odd. Even with three suns, this planet still managed to have a dark side. That took finesse.

  I was glad we’d landed on this side.

  The stars did not move. Only the passing spires confirmed we were in motion.

  I didn’t care for it much. I preferred green grass and blue skies. Most terraformed worlds, especially Evagardian ones, were ultimately molded after Old Earth. Major cities would use light-enhancing fields to emulate the light and color temperature of Earth’s sun. Common plants would be genetically engineered to survive new ecosystems, and introduced to create the illusion of evolutionary familiarity.

  That would never happen with this planet. There was nothing down there but cold black rock. Crystals. Mist. You couldn’t even land a ship on it safely. There was no future here.

  I wanted a warm afternoon, a cool breeze, and a grassy hillside to lie on.

  I’d spent a lot of time in my garden during the war. As much as I could spare. It had been a massive, decadently indulgent garden—but not such a convincing one that I could truly forget I was on a space station.

  And with the war on, going planet side was no longer so effortless. In fact, during the war it had been a hassle to go anywhere. Every government on alert, every spaceport on edge, every defensive agency watchful for spies. Travel, particularly to worlds with strategic value, had become an ordeal.

  It was only slightly better with the cease-fire in place. If the Empress was able to finalize the Commonwealth’s surrender, and drive a satisfactory peace treaty, maybe things would go back to normal. But the peace talks were still weeks away.

  Not that there was any red tape to limit travel on this planet.

  I watched the distance and power readouts for a moment, then made myself look away. No sense agonizing over those. All we could do was try to be ready. I hoped the crawler was snug on the roof of the flyer. We would need it sooner than I liked.

  For the moment we could rest. I just had to try to keep my mind off my withdrawal. How long had it been since we came out of our sleepers? I hadn’t kept track. It would’ve been nice to get out of my EV suit, but I’d just have to put it on again, and we hadn’t brought anything else to wear.

  Even all of that tumbling about and crawling around on the surface had barely marred the shiny white material. Evagardian technology was in a league of its own. I thought about what our experience on the freighter would have been like if we’d been forced to use Commonwealth pressure suits. Or worse, tech suits. This technology might have made the difference.

  I smiled and watched it all flow by.

  It was a dreadful planet, but there was a dark majesty to the spires and the deep shadows and the mist. It was hypnotic.

  “Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Deilani was still wearing that glassy look. She was in unfamiliar territory.

  “I am perfectly fine, Admiral.”

  I believed her. Or I believed that Deilani was as perfectly fine as the situation allowed. It was easy to get caught up in the triumph of our narrow escape and forget that our future was still uncertain. Were there enough power and air to get us where we were going? If so, what waited for us there?

  Those questions rested uncomfortably at the back of every mind on the flyer.

  The linear nature of our predicament, our lack of choices—it took some of the pressure off me. It was a shame about the trainees; this was no way to start a career in the glorious Imperial Service, clawing for survival on the surface of some worthless planet so far from civilization that nine-tenths of the galaxy would never even know it existed.

  A struggle like this challenged the aesthetics of Evagardian thought, a way of thinking so deeply bred into these three that by now it was beyond changing.

  Deilani had inadvertently revealed to me enough about her background that I could forgive her excessive vigilance.

  Cohengard was more a ruin than a city. Not physically, of course. Mentally. Emotionally. Socially.

  The wreckage that was left of the city was not a blemish for the Empress—more like a badge of honor. There had been a misguided, idealistic uprising. These things happened from time to time in the Empire. As progressive and admired as Evagard was, at the end of the day, behind all its layers and illusions of freedom and democratic process, there would always be the Empress.

  People could get elected, they could bring about change, and they could achieve power. They could influence the Empire.

  But the Empress could always undo their work, if she chose. Her word was still law. It was absolute.

  There would always be a small segment of the population that didn’t care for that.

  Normally anti-Empress sentiment was harmless, ironically protected by the Empress’ own laws concerning freedom of expression. But occasionally things got nasty, as they had in Cohengard. That particular movement had gained enough momentum that the Empress had to step in.

  She issued a warning. The warning was seen as an ultimatum, a perfect example of the totalitarianism that these people found so objectionable. They didn’t listen.

  So the Empress struck them down mercilessly, killing some, punishing many, and wreaking havoc in what had been at the time a gem of her continually growing Empire.

  The city was still recovering, even now. Things were more or less rebuilt, but there was no erasing the resentment. There was no poverty there—not true poverty, because that did not exist for subjects of the Empress—but Cohengard was not where you wanted to be born.

  Most Evagardians took pride in their Empress’ handling of the matter, but for the survivors and descendants, there was nothing but shame.

  It was difficult for a native of Cohengard to gain citizenship; it was difficult for a native of Cohengard to do much of anything because of the stigma.

  Deilani had fought for what little she had, and here she found me, a guy claiming a rank that I obviously had not earned. And there was Salmagard, who had likely been offered every opportunity from birth. Salmagard had never had to fight for anything.

  So under the circumstances, I could overlook Deilani’s ire.

  Cohengard was still the home of the main body of imperials involved in the allegedly peaceful anti-Empress movement. It was easy for Cohengardian youths to get sucked into that morass of anger and self-pity because of the disadvantages that could come of being born there. It was hard for them to get apprenticeships, and there were fewer prestigious schools because of the location, which meant fewer slots offering good prospects.

  In other parts of the Empire, young people worried about how they were going to excel. They wondered how they would distinguish themselves, prove that they were capable of great things in the hopes of having some value assigned to their genes. To gain that affirmation from society that they were contributors instead of parasites. To show that they deserved everything the Empress offered, that they were not the recipients of charity.

  That was a steep hill to climb, even without a handicap. For someone born in Cohengard, it was more like a mountain. A lot of people saw that mountain and chose not to try.

  But Deilani hadn’t taken that route. She’d entered the Service and given her life to the Empress.

  She had chosen to accept her situation.

  Salmagard was no different. Her situation wasn’t the same as Deilani’s, but her acceptance was. Though she was a low-level aristocrat, socially she was the giantess to Deilani’s tadpole. Both of them were, in their own ways, bearing it gracefully, in true Evagardian fashion.

 
Both of them were following the current, in their own way.

  But Deilani would always have to swim harder.

  Salmagard hadn’t joined the Service to prove something. She’d just done it for the advantage it would bring to her family. She had still been required to show her aptitudes and prove her ability to serve, but the opportunity to do so had been handed to her.

  Deilani resented that, but those feelings were tempered with puzzlement and respect. Deilani couldn’t understand someone of Salmagard’s birth being in negotiations, and she certainly couldn’t find fault with it.

  Even with Cohengard weighing her down, Deilani must have reached the front of the pack, because none but the best would be assigned to the Julian. The flagship would be a showcase of the Empire’s finest men and women.

  But mortal peril had finally let her look past all that. I hoped that would hold true until we got where we were going. Then all I’d have to worry about was the fact that she was convinced I was her enemy.

  My arm still hurt from throwing it around that landing strut. I kneaded it irritably.

  Nils cleared his throat behind us. “Er, Admiral, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, Ensign?” I asked, still massaging my arm. I was a little high on our narrow escape. It must’ve shown, because Nils was giving me a funny look.

  “Well, sir—it’s been a while since we’ve eaten, and I’ve got the combiner working. If you’d like something,” he added.

  Deilani and I exchanged a startled glance. “You brought a combiner?” she asked him, incredulous.

  “It was only one extra trip, ma’am.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

  Deilani buried her face in her hands. I wasn’t surprised that Nils had risked some of our precious time in the hopes of having a proper meal. It was a little appalling, though. I got up and patted him on the shoulder. “Well-done, Ensign. Full marks.”

  We went back into the passenger area, where Salmagard was waiting with the combiner, which was perched on a seat and strapped in. So that was how they’d secured everything; I hadn’t even looked when I’d been desperately trying to get aboard. These three were starting to grow on me.

  “I only brought one bag of gel, but that should be at least one entrée apiece,” Nils was saying.

  I admired the little setup: neat wiring connected the device to a power cell that had been appropriated from . . . something in this craft. I wasn’t sure what. I decided not to worry about it. Nils was gently feeding the bag of protein gel into the combiner. “Er,” he said, eyes flicking between me and Deilani. The ranking officer, or the lady officer first? He settled on Deilani.

  “Lieutenant,” he said, poising his hands over the controls.

  He didn’t believe I was a real admiral. How could he? I couldn’t hold that against him. If the time came when this had to be dealt with, he’d probably side with Deilani. As he should.

  I’d worry about it then.

  The lieutenant had her chin on her hands. She gazed at the combiner, expressionless.

  “Can it do a spicy cohen? Like, toasted? Pork?”

  I blinked. That was unexpected. The dish wasn’t unique to her birthplace, but it was noted there. The sort of food that betrayed her humble origins completely.

  She would never have asked for it in front of other members of the Service, never admitted to sentiment or a taste for something so crude and lowbrow. Salmagard showed no sign of surprise. Nils did, but he managed not to say anything.

  I was shocked, but not in a good way; rather, it was a sinking feeling.

  There had to be plenty of properly Evagardian dishes that Deilani liked—why expose herself to ask for a taste of home now?

  Because she seriously believed this was her last meal. Whatever the request did for her image would be short-lived. The implications weren’t lost on anyone, but subconsciously we’d all been thinking it. That was probably Nils’ motivation for going out of his way to lug this combiner aboard. He didn’t want the last thing he ever tasted to be imperial survival rations.

  He dutifully called up the menu, searched, and punched in the codes for Deilani’s request.

  It was a novel sort of dish. Thin slices of protein, flavored after the flesh of certain Earth mammals, along with more slices flavored as particular bits of vegetable matter and sauces, and all of it between two slabs of products derived from wheat. It was a dish commonly associated with Cohengard’s sustenance culture, because people living in sustenance housing ate almost exclusively from combiners.

  The device produced the components, and Deilani assembled them in a businesslike fashion. She looked at the finished product in her hands with faraway eyes.

  Nils turned to me.

  “I’ll have what she’s having.” He looked at me as though I was insane, but I didn’t give a punch line, so he repeated the code.

  “The same,” Salmagard said.

  Scowling, Nils delivered, then called up simulated marbled beef cutlets with Frontier-style fermented natural cabbage and sweet oyster sauce. A combiner couldn’t really do a meal like that justice, but at least he was making an effort. I let him borrow my knife, but he had to break off the lid of the pod storing the O2 masks to use as a plate.

  This food wasn’t what they were serving in the crystal ballrooms of the galaxy, but it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it tasted good because it wasn’t a calorie bar, or because of all that had happened. Whatever the reason, I felt like we’d earned it.

  Salmagard seemed placid and neutral. Deilani was distant. Nils was actually paying attention to what he was eating, seemingly amazed to find himself enjoying it.

  It was surreal. It was also a little somber. I was just glad I wasn’t eating my last meal alone.

  “Looks like we’ve got a bit left,” Nils said, checking the combiner. “Dessert?”

  “Have at it,” I said, getting to my feet.

  “Sir, I’ll check on the oxygen conversion right after. Sir.”

  “I know you will. Thanks.” I went back to the cockpit. There was no sense brooding; we’d already thrown the dice. There wouldn’t be time to rest when we were on the surface, so I’d rest while I could.

  The readouts on the console looked fine. The planet and stars were still spectacular, but unchanged. The shaking in my hands had come back, and my body was starting to ache. I had to conserve energy. I closed my eyes and settled back, wondering if this would be my last nap. If so, it had better be a good one.

  * * *

  The carbon shielding shattered like glass.

  The massive cruiser punched through the armored plates as if they weren’t even there. The impact was deafening, even from so far away. The forty-five-hundred-meter vessel was out of control, smashing effortlessly through the city. Buildings and towers were brushed aside like kilometer-high blades of grass, breaking apart and toppling in the distance. Glittering structures disintegrated by the dozen. Flyers veered, little more than points of light trying to avoid the destruction.

  The ship crashed through tier after tier of raised highways and elevated train routes, sending it all spiraling away, pulled toward the breach.

  Blue and green flames flashed around the cruiser’s hull as coolant was burned off. The station was depressurizing, and the people and debris were like fine dust caught in the wind. Klaxons tried and failed to wail over the din. The ship reached the superstructure, crashing through and folding in on itself. The entire station shook violently, and the deck rushed up to greet me.

  I woke when Salmagard came into the cockpit. A glance at the controls told me we had traveled some distance, but that I couldn’t have slept for more than a couple hours. I didn’t feel great, but I knew immediately that this was the home stretch. If I slept again, it wouldn’t be here.

  I took a deep breath and looked over at Salmagard. She had perched in the copilot’s chair and was admiring the view. Her expression re
minded me of Deilani’s when she’d been looking at the food from her home.

  I straightened, and she glanced over at me. I waved off her apology before she could voice it.

  “I’ve been to a lot of places,” I said, joining her in watching the mist flow beneath us. “But never anywhere like this.”

  “They’re breathtaking,” she said, eyeing the largest spire yet as we passed it.

  “Do they remind you of home?” Some of the tallest buildings in the Empire were on Old Earth, after all.

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing like this.”

  Salmagard wanted to tell me something. I couldn’t guess what it could be, though. There wasn’t much to talk about. The way ahead was anything but clear, but all we could do was walk forward.

  Some sort of confession? Or maybe she was finally letting her curiosity get the best of her.

  “You never did tell me how they convinced you to enter the Service,” I prompted, glancing back into the passenger area. There wasn’t a sound apart from the mild hum of the flyer. Nils and Deilani were probably taking this opportunity the same way I had. Smart.

  I expected her to look at me, but instead she just sat back and closed her eyes. I took a hasty mental snapshot of her profile against the stars, then made myself focus.

  “I come from a humble family,” I told her.

  She looked at me in surprise.

  “So I don’t know what it’s like for someone like you,” I went on. “I guess you were obligated to take the Service route, since they’d already set it up for you. But you still didn’t have to, did you? They couldn’t force you.”

  She took that in, staring at me intently.

  “The responsibilities of the first daughter have not changed in a long time,” Salmagard said.

  “Let’s see,” I said, rubbing my chin. “Your bloodline’s tiered, so I assume you’re valued enough for an arranged marriage?”