Heirs of Empire fe-3

by David Weber

She ambled across the parking lot to the pedestrian belt serving the enormous, brightly-lit Memorial complex. She was uneasy at the thought of meeting in the very heart of Shepard Center, but she supposed it made sense. Who in his right mind would expect a pair of traitors to make contact here?

  She stepped off the belt into the people flowing past the fifty-meter obsidian needle of the Cenotaph and the endless rows of names etched into its unadorned battle steel plinth. Those names listed every individual known to have fallen in the millennia-long battle against Anu, and even Hilgemann wasn’t quite immune to the hush about her. But time was short, and she worked her way briskly through the fringes of the throng.

  Another, even quieter crowd surrounded the broken eighty-thousand-ton hull that shared the Memorial with the Cenotaph. The sublight battleship Nergal remained where Fleet Captain Robbins had landed her, resting on her belly and ruined landing legs, preserved exactly as her final battle had left her. She’d been decontaminated; that was all, and crippled missile launchers and energy weapons hung like broken teeth from her twisted flanks. How she’d survived was more than Hilgemann could guess, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it had taken to bring that wreck home and land her under her own power.

  She turned away after a moment, walking to the service exit she’d been told to use. It was unlocked as promised, and she slipped through it into the equipment storage room and closed the door behind her.

  “Well,” she said a bit tartly, looking around at the deserted machinery, “I must say this has all the proper conspiratorial ambience!”

  “Perhaps.” The man who’d summoned her stepped out of the shadows with a thin smile. “On the other hand, we can’t risk meeting very often … and we certainly can’t do it in public, now can we?”

  “I feel like an idiot.” She touched the brunette wig which hid her golden hair, then looked down at her plain, cheap clothing and shuddered.

  “Better a live idiot than a dead traitor,” he replied, and she snorted.

  “All right. I’m here. What’s so important?”

  “Several things. First, I’ve confirmed that they know they didn’t get all of Anu’s people.” Francine looked up sharply and received another thin smile. “Obviously they don’t know who they didn’t get, or we wouldn’t be having this melodramatic conversation.”

  “No, I suppose we wouldn’t. What else?”

  “This.” A data chip was handed over. “That little item is too important to trust to our usual pipeline.”

  “Oh?” She looked down at it curiously.

  “Indeed. It’s a copy of the plans for Marshal Tsien’s newest toy: a gravitonic warhead powerful enough to take out an entire planet.”

  Francine’s hand clenched on the chip, and her eyes widened.

  “His Majesty,” the man said with a soft chuckle, “has decided against building it, but I’m more progressive.”

  “Why? To threaten to blow ourselves up if they ID us?”

  “I doubt that bluff would fly, but there are other ways it might be useful. For now, I just want the hardware handy if we need it.”

  “All right.” She shrugged. “I assume you can get us any military components we need?”

  “Perhaps. If so, we’ll handle that through the regular channels. In the meantime, how are your action groups coming along?”

  “Quite nicely, actually.” Hilgemann’s smile was unpleasant. “In fact, their training’s developing their paranoia even further, and keeping them on a leash isn’t the easiest thing in the world. It may be necessary to give them the odd mission to work off some of their … enthusiasm. Is that a problem?”

  “No, I can pick a few targets. You’re certain they don’t know about you?”

  “They’re too well compartmented for that,” she said confidently.

  “Good. I’ll select a few operations that’ll cost them some casualties, then. Nothing like providing a few martyrs for the cause.”

  “Don’t get too fancy,” she cautioned. “If they lose too many they’re likely to get a bit hard to control.”

  “Understood. Then I suppose that’s about it … except that you’ll want to get your next pastoral letter ready.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. His Majesty’s decided to bite the bullet and begin enlisting Narhani in the military.” Hilgemann nodded, eyes suddenly thoughtful, and he smiled. “Exactly. We’ll want something restrained for open distribution—an injunction to pray that His Majesty hasn’t made a mistake, perhaps—but a little furnace-fanning among the more hardcore is in order, I believe.”

  “No problem,” the bishop said with an equally thin smile.

  “I’ll be going, then. Wait fifteen minutes before you leave.”

  “Of course.” She was a bit nettled, though she didn’t let it show. Did he think she’d lasted this long without learning her trade?

  The door closed behind him, and she sat on a floor cleaner, lips pursed, considering how best to fill her pen with properly diffident vitriol, while the hand in her pocket squeezed the data chip that could kill a world.

  Chapter Five

  Sean MacIntyre landed neatly in the clearing and killed the power.

  “Nice one, Sean,” Tamman said from the copilot’s seat. “Almost as nice as I could’ve done.”

  “Yeah? Which one of us took the top off that sequoia last month?”

  “Wasn’t the pilot’s fault,” Tamman replied loftily. “You were navigating, if I recall.”

  “He couldn’t have been; you got home,” a female voice said.

  Tamman smirked, and Sean raised his eyes to the heavens in a plea for strength. Then he punched Tamman’s shoulder, and the female voice groaned behind them as they grappled. “They’re at it again, Sandy!”

  “Too much testosterone, Harry.” The younger voice dripped sympathy. “Their poor, primitive male brains are awash in the stuff.”

  Tamman and Sean paused in silent agreement, then turned towards the passenger compartment with vengeful intent, but their purposeful progress came to an abrupt end as Sean ran full tilt into a large, solid object and oofed.

  “Damn it, Brashan!” he complained, rubbing the prominent nose he’d inherited from his father to check for damage.

  “I’m simply opening the hatch, Sean,” a mechanically produced voice replied. “It’s not my fault you don’t watch where you’re going.”

  “Some navigator!” Harriet sniffed.

  “Fortunately for a certain loudmouthed snot,” Tamman observed, “she’s a princess, so I can’t paddle her fanny the way she deserves.”

  “Don’t you just wish you could get your hands on my fanny, you lech!”

  “Don’t worry, Tam,” Sean said darkly. “I’ll be happy to deputize. As soon—” he added “—as a certain oversized polo pony gets out of my way!”

  “Oooh, protect me, Brashan!” Harriet cried, and the Narhani laughed and stood aside, blocking off the cockpit as the hatch opened. The girls scampered out, and Galahad’s litter-mate Gawain followed, raised muzzle already scenting the rich jungle air.

  “Traitor!” Sean kicked his friend—which hurt his toe far more than his target. Brashan was only ten Terran years old, six years younger than Sean, but he was already sufficiently mature for full enhancement. The augmentation biotechnics provided was proportional to a being’s natural strength and toughness, and the heavy-grav Narhani were very, very tough by human standards.

  “Nonsense. Simply a more mature individual striving to protect you from your own impetuosity,” Brashan returned, and trotted down the ramp.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sean snorted as he and Tamman followed.

  It was noon, local time, and Bia blazed directly overhead. Birhat lay almost a light-minute further from its G0 primary than Earth lay from Sol, but they were almost exactly on the equator, and the air was hot and still. The high, shrill piping of Birhat’s equivalent of birds drifted down, and a bat-winged pseudodactyl drifted high overhead.

  Sean and Tamman
paused to check their grav rifles. Without full enhancement, neither could handle a full-sized energy gun, but their present weapons were little heavier than Terran sporting rifles. The twenty-round magazines held three-millimeter darts of superdense chemical explosive, and the rifles fired them with a velocity of over five thousand meters per second. Which meant they had enough punch to take out a pre-Imperial tank … or the larger denizens of Birhat’s ecosystem.

  “Looks good here.” Sean’s crispness was far removed from his earlier playfulness, and Tamman nodded to confirm his own weapon’s readiness. Then they turned towards the others, and Sean made a face. Sandy was already perched in her favorite spot astride Brashan’s powerful back.

  He supposed it made sense, even if she did look insufferably smug, for something had gone astray in Sandra MacMahan’s genes. Neither of her parents were midgets, yet she barely topped a hundred and forty centimeters. If she hadn’t had Hector MacMahan’s eyes and Ninhursag’s cheekbones, Sean would have suspected she was a changeling from his mother’s bedtime stories. Of course, she wasn’t quite fifteen, but Harriet had shot up to almost one-eighty by the time she was that age.

  Not, he thought darkly, that Sandy let her small size slow her down. She was so far out ahead scholastically it wasn’t funny, but the thing he really hated was that whenever they got into an argument she was invariably right. Like that molycirc problem. He’d been positive the failure was in the basic matrix, but, nooooo. She’d insisted a power surge had bridged the alpha block, and damned if she hadn’t been right … again. It was maddening.

  At least he had a good sixty centimeters on her, he thought moodily.

  He and Tamman caught up with the others, and he tapped the grav pistol at Harriet’s side pointedly. She made a face but drew it and checked its readiness. Sandy—of course—had already checked hers.

  “Which way, Sean?” Brashan asked, and Sean paused to orient his built-in inertial guidance system to the observations he’d made on the way in.

  “About five klicks at oh-two-twenty,” he announced.

  “Couldn’t you set down any closer?” Harriet demanded, and he shrugged.

  “Sure. But we’re talking about tyranotops. You really want one of them stepping on the flyer? It might get sort of broken around the edges.”

  “True,” she admitted, and drew her bush knife as they approached the towering creepers and ferns fringing the clearing.

  As always, she and Sean took point, followed by Tamman, while a wide-ranging Gawain burrowed through the undergrowth and Brashan covered the rear. Sean was well aware Brashan was the real reason his mother and father raised no demur to the twins’ excursions. Even a tyranotops—that fearsome creature which resembled nothing so much as a mating of a Terran triceratops and tyrannosaurus—would find a fully enhanced Narhani a handful, and Brashan carried a heavy energy gun, as well. As baby-sitters went, Narhani took some beating, which suited Sean and his friends just fine. Birhat was ever so much more interesting than Earth, and Brashan meant they could roam it at will.

  Odd birds and beasts fluttered and rumbled in the underbrush, starting up in occasional panic as Gawain flushed them, and many of them were species no one else had yet seen. That was one of the things they loved about Birhat. The old Imperial capital had reverted to its second childhood after the bio-weapon hit, for the toxin hadn’t been able to reach the sealed, protected ecosystems of the Imperial family’s extraplanetary zoos. By the time failing environmental equipment finally released the inhabitants of over a dozen different oxy-nitrogen planets, the weapon itself had died, and forty-odd thousand years of subsequent natural selection had produced a biosystem that was a naturalist’s opium dream.

  For all intents and purposes, Birhat was a virgin planet, and it was all theirs. Well, theirs and three-quarters of a billion other people’s, but that left lots of empty space, since most of the Bia System’s steadily growing population was concentrated in and around the new capital or out in the system’s enormous spaceborne industrial complexes, working like demons to resurrect the Empire. And, of course, at the moment they were in the middle of the Sean Andrew MacIntyre Continental Nature Preserve the Crown had established to honor Sean’s uncle, who’d died fighting Anu’s mutineers.

  Not that they’d have such freedom much longer. Sean had been vested with the first official sign of his status as Heir last year when he was presented to Mother, for under the Great Charter Mother passed on the acceptability of the Heir’s intellect and psych-profile. He’d been accepted, and the subliminal challenge-response patterns and implant codes which identified him as Heir had been implanted, but it had been the scariest moment of his life—and a clear sign that adulthood was coming closer.

  There were signs for his friends, as well. All of them were headed for Battle Fleet—they’d known that for years—but they were getting close to meeting the Academy’s entry requirements. Another year, possibly two, Sean estimated, until their free time evaporated.

  But for now the day was young, the pride of tyranotops they’d come to see awaited them, and he intended to enjoy himself to the full.

  * * *

  A cool breeze flowed over the balcony, for it was summer in Birhat’s northern hemisphere, and Colin had switched off the force fields which walled the balcony against the elements at need.

  The city of Phoenix lay before him in the night, the serpentine curve of the River Nikkan sparkling far below, and Tsien Tao-ling’s engineering crews had done well by Birhat’s settlers. Phoenix was the product of a gravitonic civilization, and its towers soared even above the mighty near-sequoias about them, but the Palace was the tallest spire of all. Perhaps some thought that was to reflect its inhabitants’ rank, but the real reason was practicality. True, the imperial family had luxurious personal quarters, but that was almost a side effect of the Imperium’s administrative needs. Even a structure as vast as the Palace was badly overcrowded by functionaries and bureaucrats, though the new Annex going up next door would help … for a while.

  He sighed and slid an arm about Jiltanith, and silken hair brushed his cheek as she leaned against him. He kissed the top of her head, then swept his telescopic eyes over the city, enjoying the jeweled interplay of lights and the magical wash of shifting moonlight. The complex pattern never ceased to delight him, for he’d grown up with but a single moon.

  He raised his gaze to the heavens, and the stars were hard to see. The gleaming disk of Mother’s fortress hull hung almost directly overhead, and over fifty huge planetoids dotted the night sky beyond her. They were much farther out (the comings and goings of that many “moons” would play merry hell with Birhat’s tides), but the sunlight reflected from their hulls gilded the Fifth Imperium’s capital in bronze and ebony. And on the farside of the planet from Mother—indeed, just about directly over the spot where his children were even now observing their tyranotops—hung another vast sphere named Dahak.

  “God, ’Tanni,” he murmured, “look at that.”

  “Aye.” She squeezed him gently. ” ’Tis like unto God’s own gem box.”

  “It really is,” he agreed softly. “Sort of makes it all seem worthwhile, doesn’t it?” She nodded against his shoulder, and he sighed, looking back up at the distant planetoids once more. “Of course, looking at all this also tends to make me think about how much we still have to do.”

  “Mayhap, my love. Yet have we done all Fate hath called us to thus far. I misdoubt not we’ll do all else when time demands.”

  “Yeah.” He inhaled deeply, savoring the night, and pressed his cheek against her hair in deep, happy contentment.

  “How’re the kids coming along, Dahak?”

  “I regret to report that Sean has just tripped Harriet into a particularly muddy stream. Otherwise, things are proceeding to plan. Analysis of Harriet’s personality suggests she will attain revenge shortly.”

  “Damn right,” Colin agreed, and Jiltanith’s laugh gurgled in his ear.

  “Thou’rt worse by far th
an thy offspring, Colin MacIntyre!”

  “Nah, just older and deeper in sin.” He chuckled. “God, I’m glad they’re growing up like normal kids!”

  ” ‘Normal,’ thou sayest? My love, the Furies themselves scarce could wreak the havoc those twain do leave strewn in their wake!”

  “I know. Ain’t it great?” Bio-enhanced fingers pinched his ribs like a steel vise and he yelped. “Just think what royal pains in the ass they could have turned into,” he said, rubbing his side.

  “Aye, there’s that,” Jiltanith said more seriously, “and ’twas thou didst save them from it.”

  “You had a hand in it, too.”

  “Oh, aye, there’s truth in that, but thou’rt the one who taught them warmth, my Colin. I love them well, and that they know wi’out doubt, but life hath not fitted me o’er well to nourish younglings.”

  “You did good, anyway,” Colin said. “Actually, it looks like we make a pretty good team.”

  “Indeed, ’Tanni,” Dahak added. “Left to his own devices, Colin would undoubtedly have—I believe the proper term is ‘spoiled them rotten.’ ”

  “Oh, I would, would I? Well, mister energy-state smarty pants, who was smart enough to suggest finding them something to do besides sitting around sucking on silver spoons?”

  “It was you,” Dahak replied with a soft, electronic chuckle. “A fact which, I must confess, continues to surprise me.” Colin muttered something rude, and Jiltanith giggled. “Actually,” the computer went on, “it was an excellent idea, Colin. One which should have occurred to me.”

  “Oh, it probably would’ve come to you eventually. But unless something goes wrong in a big way, ’Tanni and I are gonna be around for centuries, and a professional crown prince could get mighty bored in that much time. Besides, we’re young enough it’s unlikely Sean will outlive us by more than a century or so. It’d be a dead waste of his life to wait that long for such a brief reign.”

  “Indeed. The classic example from your own recent history would, of course, be that of Queen Victoria and Edward VII. The tragic waste of Edward’s potential did great disservice to his country, and—”