EMPIRE: Succession

by Richard F. Weyand

  Goulet dropped back out of VR.

  “So you think, Mr. Hayes, that as long as I can’t see how this management structure could possibly have worked for sixty years, I shouldn’t change it. Once I’ve looked into it, however, and can explain how and why it has worked, then changing it may be appropriate.”

  “It would seem the prudent course, Sire.”

  “Point taken, Mr. Hayes. I will consider it.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Sanford Hayes met with Amanda Peters in the cozy simulation with the fireplace. He could have simply taken the elevator down two floors and met with her in person, but he didn’t think it particularly wise to do that. While MacFarland was unlikely to report it to the Emperor, as the second most powerful man in the building his presence would certainly be noted by someone, and news and gossip traveled fast in the Imperial Palace.

  “So what is His Majesty up to this week, Sandy?” Peters asked.

  “Oh, Amanda. His ignorance is frightening. He spent quite a bit of time designing a new management structure for the Empire. He can’t see how the current one could possibly work.”

  “Despite it having worked for sixty-three years.”

  “Yes. I gave him the Chesterton quote.”

  “The one about removing a fence?”

  “Yes. He said he would consider it.”

  Hayes sighed and looked down at his hands, then back up at her.

  “How long do we let this go on, Amanda?”

  “Until the sector governors become disillusioned with him, and he decides he can’t please everyone no matter what he does.”

  “And how long is that likely to be?”

  “Another couple of months, I think, Sandy. Hang in there. Keep him from breaking too much china if you can.”

  “Amanda, right now I’m trying to keep him from burning down the house.”

  Five sector governors met in VR: Stanton Sector Governor Bryan Hawking, Fremd Sector Governor James Thornton, Vandalia Sector Governor Elizabeth Sounder, Lauda Sector Governor Joshua Lewis, and Mantua Sector Governor Teresa Montefiore.

  “Well, here we are, with our candidate on the Throne,” Hawking said. “Life doesn’t get much better than this.”

  “And he’s asking us for input,” Sounder said. “Which brings up the question, What do we want to ask for?”

  “I think that we should ask for too much, so we have a position to back up to,” Montefiore said.

  “That makes sense to me,” Lewis said.

  “And me,” Thornton said. “Another question is, Do we want to all be in the same meeting so we can reinforce each other, or do we want to have one of us in each of five meetings so we can drive more meetings in our direction?”

  “We’re not likely to be able to choose which meeting we’re invited to,” Lewis said.

  “But we can probably affect which meeting we are in by pleading some sort of schedule conflicts,” Sounder said.

  “With the Emperor?” Thornton asked. “Before it was always ‘Show up at this time’ and ‘Yes, Sire.’”

  “Yes, but this Emperor doesn’t know that,” Sounder said.

  “I like that strategy, if we can make it work,” Hawking said. “And I think being in separate meetings is likely to be more advantageous. Given that, what are we asking for?”

  “Formalizing control of the succession, for one,” Sounder said. “We managed it this time, but let’s make it official. The successor is selected by the sector governors.”

  “Direct control of the military within the sector,” Montefiore said.

  “Actually in the chain of command, or not?” Hawking asked.

  “I think so,” Montefiore said. “Sure. Why not?”

  “The ability to impose tariffs on sector imports,” Thornton said.

  “And to proscribe certain imports as well,” Sounder said.

  The group grew quiet, and Hawking looked from one to the other of them.

  “Is that it then?” he asked.

  “For now, anyway,” Sounder said.

  The others nodded.

  “Very well,” Hawking said. “I will write this up and circulate it so we all have the same list.”

  “Is that safe?” Lewis asked.

  “The Emperor has asked us for our input,” Hawking said. “It would be derelict of us not to be working on it.”

  Goulet was as good as his word. After his conversation with Hayes, he went back through the historical record, reading up on the formation of the management structure currently in place, and how – and why – Trajan had tweaked it over time.

  He didn’t have experience, but he was a dedicated hard worker, and, as Emperor, he had access to all the records, all the Imperial Decrees, all the meeting notes and recordings.

  Goulet started building a mental picture of Trajan, the man and the ruler, and how he had ruled the Empire for sixty-three years.

  Verano

  “We’ll be arriving at Verano soon, Sire. We have your pilot standing by. Any further orders for us?”

  “No, Admiral Stevens. You have the plan. I will send you orders as we go along, probably via the ships that resupply you. You know how to decrypt and recognize my messages to ensure they are really from me.”

  “Yes, Sire. We’re all set on that score.”

  “And the QE radio, Admiral Stevens?”

  “Already locked down, Sire. And one critical component has been removed and is locked in my desk in my quarters.”

  “Very good, Admiral Stevens.”

  “Figure two hours or so, Sire. We’ll space past on the back side of the planet.”

  It wasn’t without precedent. Carriers launched attack craft without cutting acceleration all the time. Doing it in hyperspace, though, was another matter. The pilot General Cosworth had chosen was executive officer of the Illustrious’s air wing, Lieutenant Colonel Brad Stimson.

  Parnell had met with Stimson on the long trip to Verano. They had talked out their roles in the operation at some length. Stimson was also dark, like Parnell, and was the same age, but where Parnell was handsome enough, Stimson was video-star handsome. He could be a recruiting poster for Marine pilots everywhere. Despite that, Parnell liked him and the two got along well. Given that they would be houseguests on Il Refugio together for some time, it was not a minor consideration.

  The two men were in civilian clothing when they got into the VIP ship for the trip to Verano, and all the clothing they had with them was civilian clothing as well. Each had a small suitcase, rather than use a duffel bag or other military equipment. Each had also shut down his VR, and wore a VR suppressor as well.

  Parnell got into the VIP compartment of the attack ship and Stimson got into the cockpit while the ship sat in the airlock. It was actually the same VIP ship that had brought Parnell to the Illustrious in the first place, nearly two months ago now. Once they were strapped in and the ship sealed, the airlock was pumped down and then the outer door opened. The VIP ship was run out away from the Illustrious on the dolly it had been hung from in the airlock.

  The umbilical cable between the attack ship and the dolly was important here, because radios would not work in hyperspace. Stimson was getting constant time updates in his headset from air wing control.

  At five minutes to launch, Stimson started up the engines. Parnell could hear them come up to RPM and steady down.

  “Thirty seconds, Sire,” Stimson’s voice came over the intercom.

  Parnell checked his harness and relaxed back into his seat.

  On the mark, Stimson dialed up the RPMs on the engines, and they took the weight off the dolly. He released the catches and the umbilical cable, and the VIP ship started to move along the length of Illustrious. Slowly, then fast, and faster, they outpaced the big ship before Stimson peeled away from the carrier and made for Verano.

  Parnell remained relaxed in the VIP cabin. After a month of 0.4 gravities, it was both good and bad to feel a full one gravity again. Familiar, yet burdensome.

&nb
sp; They were only in hyperspace a few minutes when Stimson’s voice came over the speakers again.

  “This is gonna be a little bumpy, Sire.”

  They had debated how close to the planet to get before dropping out of hyperspace. Too far and it was a long way for a little ship, and, with the planet spinning below them, it was hard to stay out of sight. Too close and it wouldn’t matter how long it took – you would be converted to very small pieces. It turned out that, even though the maneuver was not used very often, the Imperial Marines had done testing on it and had pretty well nailed down the parameters.

  Stimson cut the acceleration and Parnell was in freefall for a moment, then Stimson went back to one gravity.

  “Boom. Planet ahead, right where we wanted it, Sire. Looks like a pretty planet, actually.”

  Parnell couldn’t use VR to check the forward view, but the VIP cabin had a display, and Stimson put the view ahead on it. He was right. It did look like a nice planet.

  “Are we on the back side, Colonel?”

  “Just barely, Sire. And the spin is on our side. We have about eighteen hours to get down.”

  “Will we make that, Colonel?”

  “Yes, Sire. With hours to spare.”

  “Excellent. Carry on, Colonel.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  Over the hours, Parnell sometimes napped, sometimes watched the planet grow larger as they drew closer. At one point he became concerned about the pilot.

  “Colonel, how are you holding up?”

  “I’m napping off and on, Sire. This is the boring part, and the machine knows where it’s going.”

  “Ah, good. Carry on, Colonel.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  When the western coastline of the unoccupied land mass ahead of them came into view, Stimson sent a focused radio transmission to a specific point on that western coast. There should be a repeater to VR there, if all had gone to plan.

  Marie Louise Bouchard, still on Il Refugio during the long hiatus between sessions of the legislature, received that VR alert, as did Ann Turley and Paul Gulliver. Turley checked with Bouchard in VR.

  “I saw it. I’m on my way,” Bouchard replied.

  Bouchard, in Marine MCU and with her hair in a ponytail, walked out the front door of the main house to where the car had pulled up.

  “Flying the shuttle again today, Ma’am?” the driver asked as the doorman let her in to the car.

  “Yes, James. Just me today. Let’s go.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  After a two-hour drive, they arrived at the spaceport on the west side of San Jacinto.

  “George, I’m going to be six to eight hours or so, so if you want to do something else in town, that’s fine. Just be back here in six hours.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”

  Bouchard had called ahead, and the ground crew had an armored assault shuttle ready to go. She thanked them, did her preflight, then got in and spooled up the engines.

  Fifteen minutes later she was headed east-southeast.

  “All right,” Stimson said. “So when the shuttle gets here, just push this button, OK? Then come out. You’ve got five minutes before the thing will take off on its own and crash itself into the sea.”

  “Got it,” Parnell said. “And you’ve turned off the altitude minimum and crash avoidance limiters?”

  “Yes, Sire. She’s going in the drink.”

  “OK. Knock off the Sire stuff now. I’m Chad and you’re Stan.”

  “All right, Chad.”

  Parnell looked out to sea.

  “And unless I miss my guess, here comes our ride.”

  Stimson looked out to sea and saw an Imperial Marines armored assault shuttle coming in low on the deck. It was pushing hard, and kicking up a rooster tail behind it.

  “Woohoo! Look at him go,” Stimson said.

  He turned aside to Parnell.

  “Pilots love to do that shit when we can, Chad. Don’t get the chance often.”

  “It’s a pretty sight.”

  “Pretty?” Stimson asked.

  “Yeah. I’m a ground-pounder. When you see assault shuttles come in hot and low like that, it usually means your day is gonna get lots better real soon.”

  Stimson nodded.

  “Ah. Makes sense. Never thought of it from the other point of view.”

  The shuttle pilot was braking hard now, the turbofans rotated around to face forward. The shuttle came in over the beach and landed in a swirl of sand and sea water about a hundred yards down the beach.

  Parnell went into the VIP ship and pushed the autopilot engage button, and a timer started running on the instrument panel. He came back out and he and Stimson ran for the shuttle.

  Bouchard watched the one fellow get out of the VIP ship cockpit and both come running for her shuttle. She would hold opening the door until they got closer, letting all the sand she had whipped up settle a bit more first.

  The two men running toward her were in civilian street clothes. One was as handsome as a Greek god. The other, while not quite so luminous wasn’t hard on the eyes either. Both men carried a small suitcase.

  When they got closer, Bouchard opened the rear passenger door. The lesser-looker waved the Greek god aboard first, then climbed in after him. She switched to the internal camera view of the passenger compartment.

  “Let’s get strapped in, gentlemen.”

  Lesser-looker responded to the ceiling.

  “Yes, Ma’am. We just need to wait for my ship to splash itself. Couple more minutes.”

  “Very well. Strap in.”

  Bouchard watched in the internal camera. Lesser-looker plopped into a seat and belted up with alacrity, then helped Greek god, who was fumbling with the harness a bit, get himself strapped in.

  She switched back to the external camera as she heard the VIP ship’s engines winding up. It took off, flew seven miles out over the ocean, and then did a wing-over and plunged into the sea.

  Bouchard spooled up her own engines, lifted off the beach, and turned one-eighty degrees in hover before pivoting the engine thrust to the rear and hurtling out over the sea. Before long the armored assault shuttle was nudging supersonic in its headlong flight back over the ocean to Il Refugio.

  “We have three hours before landfall, gentlemen, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. Those seats recline, and you can grab some sleep before we make our landing.”

  Stimson’s fumbling with the seat harness wasn’t a bit of play-acting. The harnesses in an Imperial Marine armored assault shuttle had to be much more adjustable than those in the pilot’s seat. Depending on the Marines’ kit for the mission, they had to handle a wide variety of sizes. A pilot, by contrast, usually wore an Imperial Marines flight suit, and in his own bird never had to adjust the harness at all.

  Parnell, by contrast, was a ground-pounder, and had been delivered by armored assault shuttle to what Marines called the worksite many times. The harness adjustments were second nature to him.

  Stimson’s clumsiness with the bulkier harness, though, also helped their little ruse, that the Emperor was the pilot and the pilot the Emperor.

  Three hours later, Bouchard woke her two passengers.

  “Time to wake up, gentlemen.”

  The two stirred and stretched.

  “We’ll be landing in just a minute. You know the plan, right? I’m landing on the lawn north of the guest house, alongside the big house. It’s about four in the afternoon local, so sun on the right and ahead takes you south to the guest house. That’s your destination.”

  Lesser-looker gave her a thumbs up, and Greek god nodded.

  “Got it. We’re good,” Greek god said.

  Bouchard gained altitude as she came in on Il Refugio from the east. She passed the island on its south side, turned and came in from the west, bringing the shuttle to a landing on a large lawn west of the main house and north of the guest house. She hit the cabin door open button.

  “See you in a couple
hours, gentlemen.”

  Parnell and Stimson debarked the shuttle and ran for the guest house, carrying their suitcases. They waited at the entrance as the shuttle engines spooled up and the shuttle took off, then knocked on the door.

  “I don’t know about you, Chad, but I’m looking forward to meeting the owner of that voice,” Stimson said as they waited for the door to be opened.

  The guesthouse butler showed them into the living room where Turley and Gulliver waited. They introduced themselves.

  “Hi, I’m Stan Carmell,” Stimson said, shaking Turley’s hand.

  “And I’m Chad Clemson,” Parnell said, shaking Gulliver’s hand.

  Turley looked them up and down and nodded. More misdirection was always good.

  “That works, actually. Excellent. All right, let’s get you fellows some VR aliases so you can access the system again.”

  Turley and Gulliver had a lot of experience generating and using VR aliases, which most people didn’t even know were possible. And as the joint head of Section Six, they had access to the databases to generate the false histories to back them up.

  Stimson’s radio transmission to the VR repeater on their way to the surface had included their alias names. Turley and Gulliver had used those alias names to generate background histories for both of them as locals here on Verano. They had also prepared the subroutines needed to load those aliases into their VR nanites system.

  Turley had a small box in her hand She pushed the subroutine into the box then walked up to Stimson and held the box up to the back of his head.

  “All right. Turn on your VR system. Even with the personal VR suppressor on, you should be able to see this, it being so close.”