The Imperium Chronicles Collection, 2nd Edition - Stories

by W. H. Mitchell

Magnus nodded his understanding. “That’s all I needed to know.”

  The charges molded into the frame of the window exploded, sending wood and shards of glass spilling into the Senator’s study. Joan Marshal and her son instinctively threw themselves to the floor, shielding their faces from the flying debris. With their heads down, neither noticed the man slip into the room like a shadowy apparition.

  Magnus drew a blaster pistol from its holster. “Get up,” he commanded.

  Timidly, they obeyed, their attire shimmering like diamonds from the glass fragments. Joan straightened, realizing that Magnus was alone. “How dare you attack an Imperial Senator! My security detail when be here in seconds.”

  “They’re already dead,” Magnus said. “If you were a noble, the government would’ve assigned more experienced guards. I guess they don’t value commoners like ourselves quite as much.”

  “Who are you?” David asked.

  “Let me handle this,” his mother responded, half under her breath. “If it’s ransom you want, they won’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  “I’m not interested in terror,” the assassin replied. “I’m more of a contractor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your daughter sent me.”

  The Senator’s face contorted as if Magnus was talking gibberish. “My daughter died a long time ago.”

  “Actually, she’s very much alive.”

  “But she died when I was a baby,” David said.

  “No,” Magnus spoke coldly.

  “What’s he talking about?” the boy asked his mother.

  “He’s a madman,” she said. “Don’t listen to him.”

  “Then you explain it to him,” Magnus went on, waving his weapon for emphasis. “Tell him or I’ll kill you both. Really, it’s the least you can do.”

  “No!”

  “Do it.”

  David looked directly at the Senator’s face, scanning her eyes for truth, but saw that they were turned away from him.

  “Tell me what happened,” he pleaded. “Is she still alive?”

  “She might be,” Joan said. “I haven’t seen her for fifteen years.”

  “Why? What happened to her?”

  “It’s irrelevant, David. She’s just as dead to me as if she really died.”

  The boy shook his head, disbelieving. “I don’t understand.”

  “Sometimes there’s a price to pay and I used her to pay it. I had you, I didn’t need her anymore. I wanted a son and once I was pregnant with you, that’s all that counted. Everything I’ve done has been for you. You’re my legacy!”

  A piercing ray of light illuminated the room. The Senator was blinded momentarily, but as her vision cleared, she quickly examined her clothing for the wound she expected to see. Did he miss, she wondered? But the assassin’s shot was true.

  David spoke so quietly that only the Senator actually heard it. “Mother?” he said and crumpled to the floor.

  “David!” she screamed, dropping to her knees. She cradled the boy, but his body lay lifeless in her arms. “You can’t be dead. You have to carry on my work. It’s your destiny!”

  “There’s no destiny except death,” Magnus said. “Your legacy is dust.”

  The Senator, her greying hair dangling in a tattered mess around her tear-soaked face, hugged the dead boy even as she glared with hatred at Magnus standing over her. “Why did you kill him and not me?”

  “You were never the target,” he told her. “Your daughter made it very clear that you weren’t to be harmed. “

  “But why David?”

  “He was the thing you cherished the most, him and your precious legacy. Now you have neither.”

  Magnus put away weapon and slung one leg over the window ledge. Before he disappeared into the deepening night, he remembered something and stopped. “One more thing,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Your daughter sends her love.”

  And with that, Magnus was gone.

  A version of this story appeared in the novel, The Arks of Andromeda (2017)

  Devlin Maycare in The Caverns of Fire and Snow

  The Maycare Estate was an easy walk from the Citadel transmat station. Bentley, Lord Maycare’s butlerbot, greeted me as I arrived. The android walked in front of me with a wobbly gait. He appeared to be an older model, which seemed strange since Lord Maycare could certainly afford a newer one.

  “How long have you worked for Lord Maycare?” I asked.

  “Since he was a boy, Madam, ” Bentley replied without missing a step.

  In silence, I watched the back of his head the rest of the way until we entered a large auditorium filled with seats facing a transparent wall. On the other side of the partition a game, which I believe is called grav-ball, looked to be taking place.

  Grav-ball, needless to say, was a complete mystery to me. The two teams wore different uniforms, but the rules they followed, assuming there were any, seemed to entail tossing a ball to a teammate who was then immediately assaulted by everyone else. At one point, as Bentley and I stood there watching, two opposing players slammed against the wall directly in front of me. Even with inches of polycarbonate between me and the court, I could feel the crushing impact. When they moved away, sweat coated the partition and floated as droplets in the gravity-free air.

  Men always seem drawn to violence, whether in sports or war. I could only guess what Lord Maycare must be like if games like this were one of his passions.

  At the end of the match and, I’m assuming, a quick shower, Lord Maycare joined us.

  “Professor Jessica Doric, My Lord,” Bentley formally introduced me.

  “Call me Devlin,” Maycare said.

  He was a large man, muscular with blond hair and a warm, overtly charming smile. He looked around 40 years old, a decade my elder, but with an air of youthful exuberance. In many ways, he reminded me of the 18-year old athletes I saw at the university, surrounded by an entourage of beautiful co-eds and other dimwits. Remembering this and seeing Lord Maycare now put me instantly on edge.

  “Do you go by Jess or Jessica?” Devlin asked amiably.

  “I prefer Jessica,” I told him sharply, “or Professor Doric if you don’t mind, My Lord.”

  “What university?”

  “Formerly at the University of Regalis.”

  “But no longer there?” he said. “Why’s that?”

  “There was a disagreement about priorities.”

  Lord Maycare glanced at his shoes for a moment and then peered at me from beneath his heavy eyebrows. “Actually, didn’t they dissolve your entire department?”

  I stammered. “You know about that?”

  “Oh, I know more than you can imagine, Jess,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, feeling more on the defensive.

  “Your department of xeno studies was disbanded. In fact, the governing board dissolved it shortly after accepting a sizable donation.”

  I felt myself blush. “From whom?”

  “Are you familiar with Warlock Industries?”

  “Of course. They’re one of the worst mega-corporations in the Imperium, not to mention the largest military supplier. I protested against them last year—” I gasped. “Are you saying they retaliated against me because of my protest?”

  Lord Maycare laughed. “Protests like that barely register on their radar I’m afraid.”

  “Oh.”

  “But don’t take it personally. Actually, it’s the work you do, or rather the subject matter, that drew Warlock’s interest.”

  “Xenology...”

  “Specifically, xenotech,” he said. “Warlock Industries has a long history of researching, locating, and removing alien technology throughout the Imperium and beyond. Your studies threatened their program. After all, pillaging artifacts from a remote planet is far easier than stealing from an Imperial Museum.”

  “So, they thought I’d find the xenotech before they had a chance to take it themselves.”
>
  “Precisely,” Lord Maycare said. “In some ways it’s a compliment to your abilities.”

  “I’m flattered,” I said sarcastically.

  “But the end result remains the same: Warlock Industries continues ransacking the galaxy while you’re stuck looking for a job.”

  The unfairness of the situation dawned on me. I felt sick.

  “Cheer up,” he told me. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Knowing Lord Maycare’s reputation concerning women, I was dubious to say the least.

  “My intentions are honorable, I assure you,” he went on.

  “What did you have in mind?” I said.

  “Are you familiar with the Maycare Institute of Xeno Studies?”

  “Ah, no,” I admitted.

  “Well, that’s probably because I just made it up. Even so, I’d like you to run the research and acquisition wing.”

  “That’s...amazing...”

  “Yes, amazing is something I do quite well,” Lord Maycare quipped without a hint of irony.

  After a pause, as the possibilities swam in my head, something occurred to me. “Why do you care about any of this?”

  He chuckled and a devilish grin curled around his mouth.

  “That’s a very good question,” he said, still smiling.

  I stared at him, thinking he might elaborate, but after a while it became obvious that would not be the case.

  Lord Maycare looked genuinely surprised. “Why the hesitation? I thought you’d be thrilled...”

  “This all seems very, well, sudden,” I replied honestly. “I don’t like rushing into things.”

  “Really?” he said. “Rushing head first is the only way I know!”

  “I’m clearly not like you.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Alright, Lord Maycare,” I said. “I’ll take the offer, but I demand full autonomy.”

  “Certainly.”

  “And our working relationship must remain strictly professional. I know your history and I don’t want any funny business.”

  “But you’ll accept my money I presume?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The Institute of Xeno Studies turned out to be nothing more than the Maycare library located on his estate. Bentley took me there, opening the door into a room that was more of a great hall with massive fireplaces on either end. The bookcases were built into the walls, the tomes visible behind cabinet doors enclosed with brass wire mesh. It was midday at the time and sunlight entered through Gothic windows set high up, just below the arched ceiling. The Maycare family crest, a charging stallion, was a repeating motif on most of the woodwork. Long, heavy tables ran down the center of the hall with sofas and obscenely comfortable chairs in between. Parquet floor was visible wherever intricately woven rugs failed to cover it.

  Bentley left me alone, as I had asked, which gave me an opportunity to browse through the shelves.

  Before human settlers arrived in this galaxy and began colonizing, civilizations many centuries old had lived here. But, like a plague, the spread of humanity meant the death of those that existed before it. I had read about the Conquistadors of ancient Earth who invaded the New World and brought an end to the Aztec and Incan Empires. In the same way, the natives of this New Galaxy perished in the wake of the rising tide against them. However, although their civilizations crumbled, remnants remained in the form of books and other artifacts.

  To his credit, Lord Maycare preserved some of that history here in his library. It was an impressive collection: within minutes of searching, I stumbled on a manuscript from the Dahl home planet, Gwlad Ard’un, each page containing line after line of finely crafted script infused with gold. But then beside it, like a predator on the shelf, I spotted the K’thonian Codex glaring at me. An infamous volume, the Codex was bound in the tanned skin of enemies they had flayed alive. They even used the blood as ink.

  It became obvious to me that I needed help, so the next day I called my former research intern from the university. He was a grad student, a meek twenty-year old named Henry Rif.

  “Thanks so much for getting me this job, Professor!” he said, wiping the tuft of mousy hair that hung over his pasty face. He seemed as awed by the library as I had been.

  “Don’t mention it, Henry,” I said, sitting in one of the chairs near the fireplace. A massive mirror hung above the mantle, reflecting the woodwork in the ceiling arches. “How are things on campus?”

  “Oh, not great,” he admitted. “There isn’t much demand for a xeno studies assistant now that they closed down the department.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “I’m was sorry they let you go, Professor. I’ve really missed working with you.”

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  His face brightened and he shrugged his narrow shoulders.

  We spent the next few weeks sifting through books, taking each shelf in turn, one by one. The main table in the center of the hall became our headquarters. It quickly overflowed with loose papers, data pads, and fragments of ancient tablets decorated with logograms that nobody had spoken in ten thousand years.

  Bentley brought us coffee late at night to keep us awake. He offered other stimulants too, the kind that were illegal for most people who weren’t a nobleman. Henry glanced questioningly in my direction, but I declined on principle for both of us. If typical citizens couldn’t indulge in such things, I didn’t think we should either, regardless of our benefactor. The robot, whose eyes could not roll, attempted it anyway and left us to our work.

  In the fourth week, Lord Maycare himself paid us a visit. In truth, I hadn’t seen any sign of him since the first day we spoke. I was leaning over the table, attempting to read a particularly difficult passage of Tikarin abugida, when a broad shadow covered the work space.

  “Good morning,” Maycare said in a deep baritone.

  “Is it?” I said, completely unaware that I had worked through the night.

  “Well, it seems pretty good so far,” Maycare remarked, “although the day’s still young.”

  Cognizant that I hadn’t bathed in several days, but not sure how many, I turned. “Can I help you, Lord Maycare?”

  “Devlin. Please call me Devlin, won’t you?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Who? Oh, Henry! Yes, this is Henry Rif, my assistant. I hope it’s alright that I took him on with me — I needed the help.”

  Henry stared wide-eyed, possibly in horror.

  “Of course, Jess,” Devlin waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever you need is perfectly fine.”

  I nodded. “Good, but I really prefer Professor Doric.”

  He ignored me and scanned the incomprehensible objects on the table. “How goes it then?”

  “Goes it? Well, fine I guess.”

  “Have you come up with anything promising?”

  “Actually, yes,” I said, and looked for a document hidden somewhere in the mess. It was a printout from an expedition log. “Ah, there it is.” I gave it a good pull, dislodging it from beneath a book of Necronean Death Cantos, and displayed it in the air like a treasure map.

  “Yes?” Devlin asked, clearly interested.

  “Back in the year 652 Imperial Standard,” I began, “a survey team landed on a world called Hekla VII. They were looking for worlds suitable for future colonies, but all they got was a dead planet of ice and snow. However, they did discover an abandoned temple there at the base of an active volcano. Before leaving, they took holovids of the hieroglyphs written on the temple walls.”

  “Has anyone been there since?”

  “Um,” Henry stammered in a voice just above a whisper, “I did a search for flight plans and there hasn’t been a registered visit to that planet since the survey team. That’s 48 years.”

  “Thank you, son,” Devlin said.

  “I mean, not that you couldn’t have done the math to know how many years it was.”

  “Indeed.”

&
nbsp; “I mean, I didn’t mean any offense, Your Lordship.”

  “Of course not.”

  Henry managed a tortured grin that seemed to disappear between his shoulder blades.

  “So why is this place so important?” Devlin turned back to me, a pained look in his face.

  “As a matter of fact,” I continued, “the survey team also recorded several energy readings. The data didn’t match the protocols they needed for a new settlement, so they simply filed it and forgot about it. However, looking at the readings now, I’m convinced they’re caused by xeno tech somewhere in that temple.”

  “Hmmm,” Lord Maycare scratched his head. “How sure are you?”

  “Well, to be honest, it’s more of a hunch,” I said.

  “A hunch?”

  Now it was my turn to shrug, but Devlin wasn’t bothered at all. Much to my surprise, he became unexpectedly exuberant.

  “That’s all I need to know!” he said excitedly.

  “But—” I started, only to hear my voice instantly submerged beneath Maycare’s booming bark.

  “Bentley! Where are you, Bentley?”

  The butlerbot peered through the doorway. “Yes, My Lord?”

  “Call the star port and have my ship prepared for launch!”

  “Of course, sir,” the robot said as he disappeared again.

  “No, no,” I said. “My findings are just preliminary. I mean, they’re based on readings from nearly 50 years ago. We have no way of knowing what they really mean or even if there’s anything still there...”

  “I can’t count the number of adventures I’ve launched on nothing more than a hunch,” Devlin said. “Now gather whatever you’ll need. We’ll be leaving by lunch time at the latest. Also, you may want to shower while you’re at it...”

  “Oh!” was all I could muster.

  Within a matter of days, Maycare’s yacht, the Acaz, was penetrating the thick cloud cover enveloping Hekla VII. Watching through the windows as the ship descended into the atmosphere, I stood behind the captain’s seat where Devlin sat at the controls, Bentley next to him in the co-pilot’s chair.

  After minutes of nothing but curtains of gray, we broke through the clouds. In keeping with the survey team’s report, the terrain was nothing but bleak snow and jagged, granite cliffs. Eventually, as we skimmed along at a few thousand feet, a peak came into view. From the crater at the top, a constant discharge of ash fell across the surrounding heights, giving the mountain a dark outline against the white landscape.