“If I may interject, Gentlemen,” came the voice of Vimes from the room, “Patrick, you have yet to meet Christine. She is a singularly robust and self-assured woman who, if I am any judge, will cope very well with being told the truth. Her reaction might surprise you. Alexander, you know she suspects not all is as it seems with you, don’t you,” he said as a statement rather than a question.
Alexander stood stock still, collecting his thoughts. “Let me think. This is all so sudden. A short while ago I thought I would be dead or dying in a burning fighter, now I have to decide the fate of an Empire and my wife. For pity’s sake, let me think.”
With that, Alexander walked back to the viewscreen, which jumped to a closer view of the two bombers and escort of fighters, now closing in on the coastline of England and safety. His mind was still in turmoil. “What to do, what to do,” played over and over in his mind like a stuck gramophone needle, interspersed with images of his family in happier times, then another of Christine and Bill and finally of this yacht flying over to Berlin and vapourising the German High Command, ending the conflict at a stroke and safeguarding the people of England who he’d come to admire. Although his ancestor's non-interference doctrine didn’t technically apply here, he was reluctant to do anything to change the natural order of things, especially as eventually he would no doubt be sending one of his own children here in the fullness of time.
He turned around to face Patrick, decision made, and began giving him his instructions, “She’s not going to thank me for putting her through it, but this is what we are going to do…”
Scene 29. What goes around…Planet Wayland, present day
“About time. I was wondering when you would get around to remembering me, Patrick,” responded Vimes as he took the urgent call from the Duke, “but I suppose you have had your hands full. Any longer and I would have had to contact you.”
“Alright Vimes, I’m getting old and forgetful, but in my defence, someone’s just tried to drop a fifty-thousand-ton freighter on my head,” Patrick replied, not in the mood for what passed as Vimes’ humour. “Were the signals true? Are Alexander and Christine dead or are they safe?”
“There has been an assassination attempt on Christine at the Palace but with a little help from myself, she is completely safe and the Marines’s were able to keep the resulting fighting confined to the buildings. As to Alexander, Duke Frederick claims both he and Adam were killed fighting pirates in DU-499. However, we both know better than most what resources Alexander has to fall back on and as Adam is undergoing his “training” somewhere safe, we should take such claims with a great deal of scepticism. My avatars in the rebel-controlled Sectors have been cut off and if communication isn’t restored within a month, will degrade to a point where all their higher functions will cease, at which point they have standing instructions to terminate themselves, assuming they haven’t already been destroyed as a precautionary measure by the rebels. I think it’s safe to assume the rebellion has taken a firm hold in these Sectors and the nobility compromised or in league with the plotters. From the intelligence I was able to glean before losing contact, it was obvious Duke Frederick was either behind this or is high up in the rebel hierarchy. What’s happening poses a grave threat, especially as he has brought in outside help.
Patrick picked up on Vimes’s reluctance to be more specific about Adam’s whereabouts and didn’t press further, inferring from this that Alexander had sent him to Earth instead of into the Imperial Navy.
Vimes continued, “I have contacted my avatar on Capital who will pass on to Christine news you are safe, once she has brought Adam back early from training. Despite my assurances, she is worried about Alexander and, like any mother, wants to make sure her son is safe.”
“What do you want me to do, Vimes, other than what I’ve already begun putting in place?” Patrick asked, sending over a complete update of what he had already instructed.
“Nothing immediate, Patrick,” replied Vimes, scanning the transmitted details in an instant, “although I believe you may well be going to pay the Felidae a visit at some point, so make preparations ready to hand control of the Sector over to your son, once we get news about Alexander or you receive specific instructions from Christine.”
The old Duke’s tactical brain was as sharp as ever and he immediately understood the implications. He nodded in agreement, “Good thinking. Securing our borders will allow me to divert more ships away from protecting the border systems and key areas to taking the offensive to the rebels. Christine will no doubt be heading any delegation. Vimes, please confirm to me the moment you hear any news on Alexander.”
“Consider it done, Patrick. I will relay everything relevant to you as it comes to me. It will be good working closely with you again after so many years, albeit the circumstances could have been better. Good day to you,” and with that, Vimes cut the connection, leaving the Duke to run through with Carmen what needed to be done in preparation and to go over the details Vimes had sent over.
Much later, in his suite of private rooms located deep underground and safe from all but an attack from a planet-killer, Patrick had spent hours pouring over the details provided by Vimes. His current partner had gone to bed an hour previously, leaving him alone to pour over the details provided of the surprisingly simple tactics used by the rebels. Before Vimes lost contact with his avatars, a pattern had begun to emerge. Jump Point destabilising devices had been brought to almost every system which had remained loyal, triggered at almost the same time by a prearranged signal, effectively cutting those planets and Sectors off from each other and the wider Empire. None of the rebel-held systems had been affected, allowing them to remain in contact with each other and move ships and material to any pockets of resistance. Infiltration of the Jump Stations, Orbital defence platforms and the Imperial Civil Service had obviously been underway for some time, along with media and news sources. On a prearranged signal, those not part of the conspiracy were either murdered or imprisoned.
Although details were sketchy at this point, Frederick had involved other human and alien Empires into the rebellion, allowing their ships access to Imperial Jump Points. He would probably use them as expendable shock troops, no doubt with the idea of letting them weaken themselves so as to make them more vulnerable when he inevitably double-crossed them once he had consolidated his hold on the Empire. If not for the secret communication device, none of this information would have been available and the loyalists would have been at even more of a disadvantage than they already were. Surreptitiously, through his control over all the information sources, in the first few hours of the rebellion, Vimes and his avatars were able to make sure enough information got through to frame a proper military response and understand most of what was happening. Unfortunately, one of the rebels first acts had been to shut down all of the Imperial bureaucracy on the planets they held, including the Central Banks where the Vimes avatars were located as part of the Empire-wide financial and information nexus, effectively cutting Vimes off from all sources of information. As Vimes had intimated earlier, Christine had decided to visit the Felidae Empress and had requested he accompany her in his role as Head of Sector tw0.
Patrick sat back in his chair and stretched, closing down the immersive display with a thought, before standing up and walking around, trying to loosen some of the tension which had built up in his shoulders. He toyed with the idea of calling for a masseuse but dismissed it, not wanting to wake anyone up at such a late hour, instead opting for a hot bath. By the time he’d removed his clothes and walked to the bathroom, the large sunken pool had been filled and the perfumed water was steaming gently. He stepped in, wincing a little as the hot water hit his cold feet. He gingerly lowered himself in, then relaxed and lay back, his head resting on the padded sides and the rest of his body fully submerged. Patrick let out a sigh of contentment, feeling the hot water begin to soothe away a little of the day’s tensions, as he let his mind wander over what was left to do. Vimes ha
d been keeping him advised of developments across the parts of the Empire that had remained loyal. Civil unrest had been kept to a minimum by manipulating information sources, allowing the full extent of the rebellion to be released in a controlled manner. Manufacturing plants were already being partially turned over to the production of war materials and orbiting shipyards were now working around the clock to complete vessels already under construction. Jump Stations were on full alert and reinforcements were being sent to reinforce them against attack.
Nearer to home, the ship which had tried to flee Wayland just after the attack had been seized, but as he had suspected, it had self-destructed once the military search androids had entered the airlock, taking all of the crew with it, so he was no nearer to finding out who, if anyone, they had been working with on Wayland itself. Patrick knew there must be hidden spies or double agents that hadn’t yet revealed themselves or were working behind the scenes, so at some point expected another attack from within. Officials were being investigated by the Imperial Intelligence Service, their finances, and associations being checked and double checked for any signs that might have been compromised by the rebels, but to no avail. This made Patrick nervous, for he wasn’t naive enough to believe his planet was totally free of the rebel taint and it worried him that for a number of people, his trust would have been misplaced.
To Patrick’s surprise, he realised he’d been in the bath for an hour, the water’s temperature having been maintained by Carmen so he wouldn’t chill. He lifted a hand from the water and looked at it, examining his skin, wrinkled from water absorption. He got up, careful not to slip and stepped out, wrapping himself in a soft, white bathrobe which had been left ready for him atop a stack of deep, cotton towels. Padding over to the mirrored wall which housed a large marble sink, he cleaned his teeth and headed off towards his nearby bedroom to sleep, but not before giving Carmen instructions as to who would be allowed to disturb him and under what circumstances, gratefully slipping between the covers and falling away instantly. Lights in the suites began switching off and several servitors quietly rose out of the floor, heading towards the bath for tidying and cleaning, then vanished as silently as they had appeared once their work was done.
The next morning, after an undisturbed nights sleep, Patrick was eating a solitary breakfast, having arranged for Carmen to cancel all non-essential meetings for the foreseeable future. Earlier, while he’d slept, Collinson had left a message that he would be joining once Carmen had advised him Patrick was free. While Patrick ate, attentive staff watched carefully, removing used cutlery and dishes when it was obvious he was finished.
The door signalled Collinson’s arrival and moments later he heard a knock, then the young man walked in, nodding a greeting instead of saluting, for he knew Patrick preferred informality in his private quarters. Patrick beckoned him over, indicating for him to sit in the empty chair opposite his. Collinson’s preferences were well known to the Palace staff, so a large cup of strong, black coffee appeared and was set in front of him, the servant vanishing as quickly as he had appeared.
“That will be all, thank you,” Patrick told his staff, releasing them so he and Collinson could talk through matters in private. They filed silently out, the last one nodding at his Duke before closing the door behind him, leaving the two men alone.
Patrick looked across the table at his aide thinking how tired he looked. “Have you had much sleep or anything to eat, Collinson?” he enquired, gesturing with his left hand towards the food on the table, indicating Collinson should help himself to anything he fancied and not stand on ceremony.
“No thank you, Sir, I’m not hungry and no, I didn’t sleep very well either.” Collinson looked across the table, “I have to admire your ability to not let anything bother you,” he replied, admiringly.
Patrick looked up from his food, “Don’t be fooled, I’m no less concerned than anyone else but like all old campaigners, I try never to miss a meal or sleep, as you never know when you’re going to get the chance again. Are you ready to report?”
“Yes Sir,” and with that, Collinson began to update Patrick with how the Officers and staff were reacting to the crisis, providing him for the next thirty minutes with candid insights into their behaviour under pressure, information the Duke couldn’t get for himself. Briefing over, Patrick instructed Collinson to get his personal things ready for an early afternoon departure, then to report with them to hanger fifteen in three hours time.
“What’s the destination, Sir, so I know what to bring with me?” he asked, standing up and asking to be excused.
“Formal, dress uniforms with all the trimmings, and brush up on your alien contact protocols,” came the cryptic reply.
At the appointed time, Collinson watched as the Duke, followed by a number of high-ranking Court and Naval officials, made his way across the hanger bay floor, walking briskly and deep in conversation. The hanger was vast, capable of holding two or three capital ships with ease under its vaulted, smart-metal roof. To help with carrying the enormous weight and mass of stone pressing down on the vaulting, it was reinforced with force-fields and ribs of artificially strengthened crystalline lattices which spread the load around the hanger and down into the planet’s core. When the approaching party was only a few yards away, he caught the Duke’s eye and was motioned to join the entourage as it approached the only ship currently occupying the vast hanger, in itself something unusual.
The ship was a jet-black and evil looking long-range diplomatic “shuttle,” a curious description for something armed and shielded to the teeth as this was, a powerful statement of intent in itself. Not normally used within friendly systems, it’s presence here was unusual, and to Collinson, certainly hinted at Gallagher’s current frame of mind.
As they approached, a door opened amidships in the polished ebony side and a set of stairs extended down to the ground. Two armoured Marines walked down and took station at the bottom, saluting the Duke and officials as they neared. With a final set of instructions relayed to them by Carmen, Patrick sent most of the officials off and ran up the stairs, two at a time, with Collinson following at a slower pace behind him, along with the remaining officials, all carrying bags of their own. The two, grim-faced Marines made one last scan around the hanger, then followed, the stairs retracting behind them with the door opening finally merging back into the hull until no trace of it could be seen on the mirror smooth skin.
Above it, a space in the hanger roof opened, the smart-metal retreating as the shuttle slowly ascended into the aperture, which then closed behind it, the metal following behind to seal the void as the black craft rose through the planet’s thick mantle towards the surface, a journey which would take ten minutes. The Duke took his seat and began talking to the officials closest on either side, so Collinson excused himself and dropped off his bag in the small stateroom assigned to him by Carmen for the journey, taking a few moments to look around at what would be his home until they reached the Jump Point. Thoughtfully, Carmen had also arranged for several changes of clothes to be hung up in his wardrobe, along with a selection of reading material on various data slates. Finished looking around, he walked out into the corridor and down towards the reception area where the Duke was still deep in conversation, but as Collinson walked in, Patrick looked up and beckoned him over with a wave, motioning him to sit down next to him.
Patrick waited until he had everyone’s attention, then began speaking again, “You will all be aware that from the moment you entered this ship, for security reasons all contact was lost with the outside datanet and your private communication and information channels. I can now confirm our ultimate destination will be the Diplomatic Jump Station controlled by the Felidae on their side of the buffer zone between our two Empires. I have arranged for Carmen to provide you all with downloads of our current intelligence, courtesy of the Imperial Intelligence Service, which is now available for you to open and read at your leisure during the journey there, which will take two wee
ks.”
“What’s the reason for this, Sir?” enquired one of the officials, called James Horey, a lightly built man, with intelligent eyes that missed nothing.
“We will be supporting Empress Christine in her meeting with her Felidae counterpart in our capacity as representatives of Sector two. It is our intention to reaffirm and secure the border treaty between the two Empires, James,” Patrick replied. Seeing the surprised look on many of the faces, including Collinsons, he continued, “You will all probably be unaware, but our Empress and her Felidae counterpart have been in communication for many years and have formed what I would describe as a…understanding…and I use that word advisedly, something the ISS and the entire Diplomatic Service has been unable to do since First Contact. Fortunately for us, as we know from how religiously they have kept to the peace treaty since the end of the war, if we can get fresh assurances from their Empress to ours, we will be able to leave the borders relatively lightly defended and use the withdrawn forces to bolster the Grand Fleet’s of Sectors one and two when we begin shortly thereafter to take back the rebel-held systems.”
“Are we so sure they can be trusted, Sir? After all, this would be an ideal opportunity for them to attack us,” asked another official.
“Nothing in life is certain, Carole,” Patrick replied, “other than death and taxes, but in this case, the Felidae have kept to the letter of every treaty for two-hundred and fifty years, so I think we can be sure they will not suddenly change now, especially after just having signed a new one. ”
Imperium: Revelation: Book Two in the Imperium Trilogy Page 33
