Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “Repeat, please. Who is off course?”

  Philo’s mind went blank with terror. They’ll blame me! “Markelos, “ he whispered. It’s my fault. Another voice interrupted. “This is Orbital Defense

  Station Seven. Traffic Control, do you have a malfunction? We’ve got an incoming vessel on our screens. Is this a malfunction?”

  Philo gaped, refusing to-believe. Frozen, he watchedas Markelos continued to angle toward the planet and the military base below. Marteen ripped him aside and began to shout instructions into the net.

  On his knees, Philo clambered up just in time to see the deadly lance of light arrow down.

  Dressed in armor, helmet at hand in case of decompression, Mac stood at the side of Rysta’s command chair on Gyton’s bridge. Each second passed like the judgment of the Rotted Gods. Each beat of his heart saw Markelos increase the radius of its curve toward the planet, Gyton tucked neatly under the violent flare of the freighter’s reaction mass.

  The pilot lay under the worry-cap, oblivious to his actual surroundings, manipulating the delicate control needed to execute the maneuver while comm-relayed instructions ran to the Sassan freighter’s vacant bridge. Markelos responded by tightening the bounce-back collars, increasing the thrust as the giant ship accelerated for the planet.

  Mass cubed with velocity. How long did they have until brilliant violet blaster fire sought their vector? Each surging beat of Mac’s heart meant that much more space crossed, and it increased exponentially.

  “Weapons Comm!” Rysta barked. “Activate your systems and arm the torpedoes.”

  “Activated and armed,” the Weapons First sang out.

  Mac could hear Gyton creak as the ship’s attitude changed and bulkheads compressed under acceleration. Come on, baby, get us through this.

  Mac’s gaze remained fixed on the forward monitor where it showed Markelos and Gyton arcing over the planet. His mouth had gone maddeningly dry, his tongue like a piece of felt.

  “Markelos!” a frantic voice came in over comm. “You are off course! Correct! Correct immediately! If you do not, you must destroy yourself. Repeat: correct immediately. If not, you must auto-destruct! Do you hear? Correct course or auto-destruct. If you do not, you will be destroyed from the ground. Respond! Respond! “

  “Well, we made it farther than I thought we would,” Rysta muttered. “Thought they’d be on us the moment we dropped the shuttle and changed vector. Guess the Sassans aren’t any brighter than we are. “They hire too many bureaucrats,” Mac told her. “Besides, only a fool would try a stunt like this. Anyone with sense would have brought a whole fleet with them. It says so in the Holy Gawdamn Book.”

  “You don’t have much use for the manual, do you?”

  “Not a lick—except for one thing. The enemy still reads it and believes it.”

  “Two minutes to breakout,” the Comm First called. Two minutes. Mac tried to swallow again, his heart racing. After those two minutes, Markelos would be beyond the intercept angle for the space-based batteries. They’d be shooting down, hitting dirt and mauling both the planet and the military base they were supposed to protect. Seconds crept past.

  “How long to charge their guns?” Mac asked. Rysta, remarkably calm given their circumstance, shrugged. “Five, ten minutes at the most. That’s assuming they had to power up the entire system.”

  “One minute,” the Comm First called.

  “Five minutes?” Mac glanced hopefully at the monitor.

  “Markelos! Markelos!” the frantic Sassan voice called. “You are in violation of traffic control regulations!”

  “No joke!” Rysta crowed.

  Markelos, you must auto-destruct now! This is your last chance! If you do not, you will be destroyed! Answer please!”

  “Do you think they’ve figured it out yet?” “Naw,” Rysta waved nonchalantly.

  “Only a lunatic would try something like this. You told me yourself.”

  “Markelos! In the name of Divine Sassa! Answer me!”

  “Sounds a little frantic, doesn’t he?” Rysta took a deep breath. “Prepare for breakout. Weapons? Status?” “Ready!”

  “On my mark,” Rysta cried. “Five, four, three, two, one. Mark!”

  “Mark!” repeated the Comm First.

  Mac braced himself as Gyton changed vector, slipping down under Markelos. For the first time, he could see the planet rushing straight toward them. A red dot surrounded a cluster of white structures that seemed to drift slowly over the planet’s surface.

  “Weapons, do you have your target?” Rysta asked. “Affirmative, Commander. We have target acquisition. Locked and armed.”

  “Fire at will.” “Firing!” Gyton shivered as the torpedoes released. Streaks of reaction sent lances of blinding white light across the monitor as Rysta ordered, “Comm! Get us out of here! “

  The first threads of violet light glittered up from the orbiting stations below. Mac grabbed the rail on the side of Rysta’s command chair as Gyton bent her path away from the course she’d been following.

  The warping strands of blaster fire from below slipped helplessly past as Gyton curved away. Mac stood rooted, open mouthed, as he watched the struggling Sassans try to target Markelos as their comm compensated for Doppler and velocity. One beam caught the freighter’s bow, and blew it apart, the concussion shifting the heavy vessel’s vector out of the deadly beam.

  “Rotted Gods,” someone whispered as all eyes followed Markelos’ plunge.

  Flashes strobed blindingly on the monitor as Gyton’s torpedoes slammed into the Sassan fleet where it hung in orbit, and the defensive fire went dead.

  “They can’t stop her now,” Rysta said soberly. “We’ve got Orbital trying to track us!” the Weapons First cried.

  “Evasive maneuvers!” Rysta snapped. “Comm, get to it!”

  “Affirmative. Mac couldn’t tear his gaze from the telemetered monitor where Markelos began to leave a fiery streak as she encountered atmosphere. The hypnotic event unfolded before him in slow motion as the image wavered and flickered as a result of atmospheric interference, EMP from the fission destruction of the Sassan fleet, and increasing distance. Like a searing lance, Markelos slammed into the unresisting mass of Imperial Sassa. A high-speed projectile created the same reaction in,sheet steel. A sinuous, off-color vapor trail remained to mark the ship’s path. The crater widened as soil and rock slipped up in a bowl around the center of impact. Then, as the edges settled in a widened ring, a gout of violent material erupted in a volcanic explosion. The Sassan installation had vanished in the cataclysm. Like a pebble thrown into a pond, ground roll spread in ripples that slowly faded across the mottled surface of the planet. A plume of dust and fire mushroomed out over the impact site while roiling white clouds formed along the expanding peripheries of the shock wave.

  “Enemy fire has ceased, Commander,” the Weapons First cried. “Their targeting detectors have ceased to coordinate!”

  “Rotted Gods,” Rysta mumbled in wonder. “We might make it out of this alive after all! Pilot, lay in the course to get us out of here. Take us by as many Orbital Defense platforms as you can. The more we knock out, the fewer we have to deal with when we come back. “

  “Affirmative,” the pilot called through his speakers. “All hands, prepare for high g acceleration. Repeat, prepare for forty gravity acceleration. Stow all loose items. “

  A klaxon wailed as Mac backed to the padded seats in the rear of the bridge and strapped himself in. His eyes remained glued to the monitor and the roiling wound inflicted upon Imperial Sassa. “Oh, Sink, we’ve condemned ourselves. All those people dead, just like that.”

  And more to come, he reminded himself grimly.

  The comm buzzed beside Staffa’s head. He instinctively rolled off his sleeping platform, the rising illumination from the room lights making him squint. He dropped into the chair before his desk and accessed the comm. To his surprise, Myles Roma stared out at him.

  “Myles? I thought visua
l was too risky? What’s happened? You look ashen.”

  “We’ve found your infamous Gyton, Lord Commander. I warned them both ... Sassa and Iban. They were polite, told me to mind my own business and not to meddle in their affairs. Now, affairs have come home to reside. And we may all pay before this is over. “

  “What’s happened, Myles?”

  Roma pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to press sense into his sinuses. “A matter of hours ago, Qyton slipped in under cover of one of our freighters. They evidently piloted the freighter out of the traffic pattern and right into the center of the military com plex at Mikay. The entire base is gone. The fleet that was outfitting in orbit ... blasted to junk. Our Orbital Defense network is down-possibly dead. Two of our platforms were blown apart like rotten melons as Gyton began its boost outsystem. From their vector, they may take another two out before they escape. “

  Staffa slammed his fist to the desk. “By the quanta, this changes everything. “

  Myles stared at him through dull eyes. “Lord Commander, no matter what you might think of His Holiness, you’re our only hope. You know what this means. Twenty-two of our finest warships are gone. The remainder of the fleet is spread over the rest of the empire. If Fist strikes now, nothing . . . nothing will survive.” Myles lowered his head despairingly. “What condition is your computer system in?”

  The Legate spread his hands wide. “Fine so far, but the rest of the planet is reporting tectonic disturbances along the major plates. We haven’t been able to assess the climatic, implications yet, and probably won’t be able to for another couple of days.”

  “But your comm system still appears to be unaffected?”

  “So far. If we have a major quake here, well, the rooms are cushioned, but who knows.”

  Staffa steepled his fingers. “Keep your line open, Myles. I want someone in touch with my comm continuously. In the meantime, tell your fat emperor that we’ll protect him-and his empire. But, Myles, no matter what you have to do, keep that computer system intact!”

  “No matter what?”

  “Every human being in Free Space, including myself, is depending on you, Myles. We may need to tap that system as soon as four weeks from now.”

  “Assuming Gyton hasn’t killed us all, it will be ready. “

  After Staffa broke the connection, he stood, walking into his shower and triggering the hot water to cascade over his scarred skin. He leaned his head against the wall, braced his legs, and stood in the steam, trying to think, to anticipate which move to make next. Another pebble had been dropped into the battered basket. How many more would it take before the bottom ripped out and all was lost?

  Vet Hamlin grimaced as he took his security uniform from the locker. He pulled the tunic over his head and ruffled his hair back into presentable shape with his fingers. This had turned into a very long day. Not only had Sinklar Fist, the military governor, shown up during the middle of his last watch, but Anatolia had left in Fist’s company-and never returned.

  Fascinating as that had been, Professor Adam had been unimpressed-especially by her absence. “And I always cover for her,” Vet mumbled as he pulled his tunic straight. In this case, he’d run Adam’s slides and input the data Anatolia should have been inputting. This put him that much farther behind on his own project-which he couldn’t make up for for another two days since he had to man the security desk for the next two nights. When he’d called Marka, she hadn’t been the slightest bit impressed, either.

  “Ana, you’re going to owe me one for this.” But that was all right. Outside of the bluster, he didn’t really mind. Anatolia was his best friend-perhaps even more so than Marka.

  Vet checked his appearance, squared his shoulders so the shoulder boards sat right, and made sure he didn’t have any remains of dinner stuck in his teeth. Then he walked over to the comm rack and reached for one of the communications devices.

  “Vet?” Bokken’s soft voice called.

  Hamlin turned, hand half-extended to the rack. “Yes, sir?”

  Bokken, big and fleshy, his hair closely cropped to his bullet head stood in the doorway. A fatherly smile dominated his heavy-jowled face, but it didn’t extend to his hard black eyes. “These gentlemen would like you to accompany them downtown. It’s nothing to worry about, and you will be paid your usual wage.”

  “What about?” Vet craned his neck to see the two nondescript young men who stood behind Bokken’s thick body. They were conservatively dressed in brown suits. One sported close-cropped blond hair, the other had a long face and black hair.

  “That will be for you to find out. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. Just accompany them downtown and supply them with the information they need and you’ll probably be home within a couple of hours. “

  “Well, I... Yes, sir. You’re the boss. If it’s all right with you, it’s fine with me. Do you want me to go in uniform, or should I change back to my street clothes?”

  “The uniform will be fine.” Bokken spoke smoothly, gesturing Vet out of the dressing room. As Vet stepped past Bokken, he caught the odor of a delicate male perfume.

  The two young men took positions to either side of him. Vet nodded at them amiably.

  “ This way, Mr. Hamlin. We won’t take very long, and we apologize for the inconvenience,” the blond said.

  “ Oh, it’s no trouble at all. I just ... well, where are we going? What can I help you with?”

  “Our superiors will discuss that with you in a very short while. “

  Vet accompanied the two men to the lift, then up to the roof landing. There he stepped into a waiting aircar, the young men seating themselves to either side. The aircar followed the traffic lanes reserved for official use. Vet noticed that his heartbeat had increased and his throat had gone dry. Don’t be foolish, he told himself, this isn’t anything to worry about.

  The aircar dipped suddenly, dropping toward a plain, square building. Vet tensed still more as he recognized their destination: the Ministry of Internal Security. He glanced uneasily at his silent companions, who sat stiffly beside him, staring straight ahead.

  The aircar dropped to ground level, slowing as it

  entered a security portal, drifted down a long tunnel, and settled easily to the pad. The canopy lifted, and Vet stepped out into a musty-smelling concrete tunnel. Men and women stood with legs spread, arms crossed, watching him. They wore trim black uniforms and looked like the sort of people who wouldn’t put up with nonsense.

  “Listen,” Vet asked anxiously, “are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

  “This way, please.” An arm pointed to the door. Vet tried to swallow, and made a loud gulping sound. His legs had gone shaky as he took a deep breath and walked through the heavy security door and past the black-clothed guards, Inside, he passed another security desk, aware that the woman who sat there had him on camera and security scan as well.

  “Place your hand on the pad,” the woman at the desk told him.

  Vet jerked a nod and set his hand on the warm surface, aware that it coded his body chemistry and dermatoglyphics. Another monitor that he could barely see from his angle had zoomed in on his eyes, recording his iris characteristics.

  “This way. “

  The young men led him to a lift, each carefully positioned slightly behind him. The lift opened and Vet fidgeted as they dropped for what seemed like a long time.

  He emerged into an austere, gray-walled room with a single bench.

  “Remove your clothing, please.” Vet gaped. “Remove my. . - .”

  “Now, please.” The blond young man gave him a deadly stare.

  Vet shivered openly now, wishing he could escape to the bathroom and relieve the building pressure he felt. With shaking fingers, he began to pull his uniform off, draping it neatly on the bench. When he finally stood naked and vulnerable before them, he realized how chilly the floor was against his bare feet. Couldn’t they raise the temperature?

  “This way,” came the laconi
c command.

  Vet walked through a featureless square door and into a small concrete room. A single chair rested in the middle. Vet glanced -around, seeing the rows of monitoring equipment that lined the angles of the ceiling.

  “Be seated, please.”

  Vet tried to keep his teeth from clicking as he settled into the cold chair, his skin crawling at the touch. With oiled precision, the men bound his wrists to the arms of the chair and then knelt to do his ankles.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Vet protested. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”

  The men continued to work silently, placing monitors over his heart, on the sides of his head, and along the inside of his thighs. When they’d finished, they soundlessly left the room.

  Vet fought the white fear that cramped his gut and left him shaking uncontrollably. He closed his eyes, trying to disbelieve. This isn’t happening. Not to me. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

  “No,” a gentle contralto agreed.

  Vet blinked his eyes open and stared. She was beautiful, dressed in formfitting black that accentuated her perfect body. Her thick raven hair shone in the bright light from above. To his horror, she inspected him, a slight smile on her lips as she peered at his shrunken genitals.

  “Wh ... What do you ... want with me?” “Family man,” she told him confidently. “Wife’s name, Marka. You have a new baby ... three months old. You really want to see them again, don’t you?”

  Vet managed to nod, knowing his voice would fail him.

  She walked up to him, inserting a tube into his mouth. “You will drink this. Don’t worry, it’s only a drug, something we call Mytol.”

  Vet choked on the warm liquid, swallowing the sweet fruity mixture.

  When he’d finished, her warm hands grabbed either side of his face, forcing him to look into her eyes, and she smiled again-a predator hovering over its prey. “Now, Vet Hamlin, you will tell me everything you know about Anatolia Daviura.”

  He frowned, a fuzzy sensation settling in his thoughts. “Anatolia?”