Imperium: Betrayal: Book One in the Imperium Trilogy
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IMPERIUM: BETRAYAL
By Paul M Calvert
Text copyright © 2015 by Paul M Calvert.
Paul M Calvert asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
Front cover photograph © NASA, ESA, and M. Livio and the Hubble 20th Anniversary Team (STScI)
Thanks to:
My understanding wife, Irene, who allowed me the time and space to vanish upstairs and type for hours on end.
Richard Golding for listening to me banging on about the Imperium universe over numerous visits to the Winchester (our local pub) and for picking holes in unsuitable plot lines or trains of thought.
Mike Woods and Skye “Tempest” Macfarlane for helping with proof-reading.
Housekeeping
To make everything seem more familiar, I’ve deliberately set out to anglicise names, places and things. For example, if on an alien planet there is a drink analogous to tea, that’s the name I’ve given it. I hope this will allow you to immerse yourself better in the Imperium universe. Measurements are in Imperial, somewhat apt if you think about it. At the rear is an Appendix, containing a history of how the Empire was founded and the theory behind Quantum Attraction and how ships can travel faster than light. You might want to consider reading this first.
Finally, I’ve also drawn on the fine history and tradition of the Royal Navy for inspiration, especially around the naming of ships and ranks.
Table of Contents
Scene 1, Accession
Scene 2, Fl. Lt. Harris
Scene 3, Heaven
Scene 4, Bridge, Dauntless
Scene 5, Bombardment
Scene 6, Crown Prince
Scene 7, Planet Capital
Scene 8, Suspicion
Scene 9, Raigmore Hospital, Isle of Skye
Scene 10, Banishment
Scene 11, Raigmore Hospital, Inverness
Scene 12, Capital
Scene 13, Boundary of Heaven’s system
Scene 14, Struan, Isle of Skye.
Scene 15, Approaching Earth orbit.
Scene 16, Aurora Borealis
Scene 17, Vimes
Scene 18, Dauntless
Scene 19, Western Highlands, Scotland
Scene 20, Palace Woodlands
Scene 21, The day after.
Scene 22, Planet Kiyami, Sector 12
Scene 23, Capital
Scene 24, Dauntless
Scene 25, Homeward bound
Scene 26, A walk in the dark
Scene 27, DU-499
Scene 28, Bridge Cottages, Skye
Scene 29, Dauntless
Scene 30, Dunvegan Castle, Skye
Scene 31, Surprise
Scene 32, Uncovering the truth
Scene 33, Palace Bunker
Scene 34, The morning after the night before
Dear Reader,
Appendix 1, The Alexander Doctrine
Appendix 2, Capital and a bit of history
Appendix 3, Quantum Attraction
Scene 1, Accession
Protected planet P414, Sector 11. Local name: Heaven
The planet hung in space, sitting like a bright blue-green marble on a black velvet cloth, backlit by a billion tiny points of light. Just below the planet, the stars making up the bright lens of the galactic plane stretched across the midnight black of space.
Wisps of white and grey cloud hung motionless in the atmosphere and on the horizon a large cyclone slowly turned, creating a dense field of angry grey-white cloud cover spreading over a large part of the planet. In amongst the storm, bursts of lightning reached down from the upper reaches of the atmosphere, leaving actinic flashes on the retinas of any observer.
In front of the terminator line, marking the border between day and night, bright cobweb-like centres of light clearly marked the busy, teeming cities. Bright, spidery strings connected them to each other and empty expanses of desert or jungle were clearly defined on the surface by the absence of light.
A small speck of light appeared, lifting from the surface, rapidly rising up through the upper atmosphere and growing larger by the second until the orange and black colours of the Imperial family could be seen emblazoned on the prow of an otherwise plain craft. Identified by its bulky shape and retracting wings as a low orbit shuttle, it was being used to ferry passengers between the planet below to the orbiting capital ships of the Emperor’s personal fleet. One-hundred-foot-long and thirty wide, it was built to a standard design used throughout the Imperial Navy.
Climbing quickly into a medium orbit, the shuttle adjusted its course and headed towards another small speck coming into view over the horizon. With few points of reference in space to judge size or distance, the shuttle’s two pilots were relying on instrumentation to guide them towards the distant speck which had been stationed above the cyclone in an orbit which allowed the planet to slowly rotate beneath it.
Although perfectly capable of being flown solely by the shuttle’s AI, wherever possible the human pilots took the opportunity to fly themselves, revelling in the power and sense of freedom the shuttle afforded them. From the perspective of the two pilots in the cockpit, one male the other female, the rapidly approaching speck grew in size as they neared, to become the massive, brooding mass that was the Imperial flagship, INS Dauntless.
Built over one hundred years previously, in the Imperial family’s private shipyards, she remained the single most powerful and impressive symbol of the Imperium. Nearly a mile long and studded with lumps and extrusions which hinted at concealed power, she was by no means the oldest ship in the Imperial Navy and over the years had been continually refitted to keep up to date with the latest weaponry and armour. Dauntless remained as powerful now as when she was first constructed on the orders of the current Emperor’s father, Thomas II. She was normally kept invisible to sensors or prying eyes by the camouflage smart-metal covering her hull, but in honour of the planets Ascension today into the Empire, Dauntless was currently brightly lit and clearly visible to the inhabitants viewing from the night side of the planet as she moved overhead. Those not prepared to go outside and brave the evening cold could view her, and the upcoming ceremony, at home on their televisions and computer screens.
Inside the shuttle, despite having obtained clearance from the Air Officer to dock, the lead pilot always found it disconcerting to see the massive point defence systems tracking her approach, knowing they could vaporise her craft and occupants in an instant. Intellectually, she knew it was perfectly safe, yet on a primeval level, there was something about the impersonal mirroring of her crafts movements by the defences which made her uneasy.
Ignoring the feeling and focusing on the job at hand, she skilfully guided the shuttle along the designated flight path towards one of the open hangers, set beneath a gigantic, brightly lit black and orange Imperial insignia. Once the Ascension ceremony was over, the insignia would be absorbed back into the smart-metal, returning the flagship to its normal, unadorned state. All around her, Dauntless was surrounded by numerous other ships which made up the task force, but these were currently in stealth mode so not to detract from her presence and invisible to the planet below.
Two carriers, INS Glorious and INS Courageous, sat several miles away in a slightly
higher orbit, surrounded by their attendant auxiliaries. A picket line of cruisers and frigates patrolled space further away from the planet, alert and ready to blockade any approaching threat. Few risks were ever knowingly taken with the Emperors life, even more so on days like this when the Crown Prince was also aboard.
The female pilot felt a mild tremor from her craft as it closed to within a hundred yards of the hanger entrance, indicating it was passing through the invisible shields protecting the flagship from electromagnetic radiation and micro-meteorites. Although she could allow the shuttle to fly and dock itself, like all good pilots she quietly resented turning control back to the AI. Once her current tour of duty on the flagship came to an end she would almost certainly apply to go back to fighter duties on board one of the new carriers that were being rolled out into service, maybe even remaining part of the Emperor’s fleet rather than re-joining the regular Navy.
Dismissing such thoughts for later, Flt. Lieutenant Christine Harris focused on setting the shuttle down at the designated dock, passing numerous other shuttles and sundry vessels arrayed on both sides of the vast hanger bay. Brightly lit, the hanger was alive with activity, Despite the seemingly chaotic mess of personnel, ships, and lifting machinery moving around the deck, she knew everything was working together in perfect harmony. Reaching her designated docking space, alongside three large military shuttles, she slowly spun her craft one hundred and eighty degrees and reversed into place. So perfect was her approach there was not even a tremor as the shuttle touched down and automatically began linking itself into the deck. Watching the docking tube as it snaked towards the airlock, Harris activated the intercom to address her passengers.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention, please. We have now arrived. Please remain seated until the docking tube has been pressurized and you are instructed to disembark,” she told the half-dozen diplomats and their assorted gofers who were seated in the passenger area beyond the flight deck.
Annoyingly, some of them had already begun to remove belongings from the overhead lockers and mill about in eager anticipation of disembarking. Nearly all had been on the planet below for almost a year and were eager for news from home and a return to the comforts of modern living. The gaudy outfits of those in the Diplomatic Service were in stark contrast to the darker, more utilitarian uniforms of the flight crew and attendants.
Looking at the overhead display currently showing the passenger area, Harris muttered a rude comment under her breath about being ignored, then quickly checked the controls to make sure that the intercom hadn’t been on when she commented. Having been reprimanded in the past for making inappropriate comments within earshot of senior staff, she was in no hurry to repeat the mistake.
The unpressurized flight deck was full of technicians and ground crew in pressure gear, working hard to prep and restock various craft, with particular activity going on around the three medium-range shuttles she had docked next to. She knew these large and heavily armed military shuttles were being prepared for the imminent departure of the Emperor and his retinue of bodyguards, ferrying them to the Ascension ceremony which would shortly be getting underway on the planet below. In amongst the ground crew, automated cargo handlers and machinery moved around, taking instructions from both human operators and the flagships semi-sentient AI which controlled every aspect of the ship, down to the smallest detail.
Mirroring the flagship, most of the active stealth features on the three shuttles had been switched off, and they were decked out for visual impact rather than functionality, with only one shuttle showing the Imperial insignia on its flank.
Flt. Lieutenant Harris wondered if the people on the planet below realised the Emperor was bestowing a singular honour on them by attending, not only in person but with the Crown Prince too, sole heir to the throne. Thinking of the Prince momentarily distracted her, for since coming aboard twenty-five days previously, he had become very popular with the flight crews, especially the females, always greeting everyone by their first name when off duty and seemingly knowing everything about everyone. The Alexander Doctrine, named after the fourth Emperor who instigated it, forbade members of the Imperial family from marrying within the nobility, so, in theory at least, this gave her an outside chance of bagging herself a Prince of the Realm, but she dismissed the idea as a silly fantasy, knowing his reputation as a heartbreaker.
“Just get in the queue,” she thought with a smile, “along with the other ten thousand females on this ship”. Chuckling quietly to herself, she drew a quizzical look from the second flight officer who looked up from shutting down the panels and turning control of the shuttle over to the Primary Hanger Control team.
“Just thinking about the Prince being on board,” she said, which drew a heartfelt “No chance” from her co-pilot, Flying Officer Hendrickson, a skilled flyer but no conversationalist.
Primary Hanger Control interrupted them, advising that the docking tube had been attached and the passengers were free to disembark. Harris confirmed with the shuttles AI that everything was safe, then instructed it to announce the pre-recorded disembarkation message in the passenger area. Even as the announcement began, Harris was already heading towards the toilets at the rear of the shuttle to freshen up. Without looking, she knew the airlock had been opened for the air in the shuttle changed from the slightly bitter scent which lingered from the planet below to the more sterile and scrubbed smell that characterised the formal areas of all big vessels in the Navy. On the flight up, the shuttles AI had imperceptibly raised the air pressure from that of the planet to that on the flagship, so there was no hiss of escaping air when the doors opened.
One of the diplomats, who unlike the others was dressed all in black with an imposing scarlet cloak, noticed her flight rank and held out his hand. Grasping it in a firm grip, he thanked her for a smooth flight up from the surface. Harris could see from the campaign ribbons and decorations on the Ambassador’s uniform that here was a veteran of numerous battles and she instinctively stood a little straighter than normal. Catching where her eyes had lingered and the shift in posture, he smiled gently and apologised for the ostentation. His pale blue eyes fixed onto hers with a focused, yet not unfriendly intensity, and she noticed the prominent laughter lines around his eyes
“For these type of functions they wheel us old war horses out from behind a desk and I’m afraid we have to wear all the braid, no exceptions,” he said with a grin, the laughter lines deepening as he spoke, his voice a pleasing baritone. “Thank you again for a smooth ride, I hope you are the one that pilots us down when we get back to Capital. Good day to you, Flight-Lieutenant Harris.”
With that and a swirl of his cape, Ambassador Gallagher turned away and headed for the companionway. He carried his age well, giving little sign that he was approaching his two-hundredth birthday, walking with the self-control and assuredness of one who knows how to handle himself in a crisis. Although plain, the midnight-black uniform hung well on his impressive frame, its shape emphasising here was a man who kept himself in trim, despite holding down a normally sedentary position.
Admiring his style and easy manner, Harris watched Gallagher exit her shuttle, then she lingered for a few moments as the ground crew came in to get the interior ready for the next flight, before turning around and heading to the toilet. After freshening up, she would be reporting with her co-pilot to Primary Hanger Control to log their flight times and go off duty, their shift over for now.
On exiting the docking tube Gallagher was greeted by his aide, Second Lieutenant Stephen Collinson, a tall young man who always seemed to be slightly stooping down as if compensating for his height.
“I wonder if he will remember not to try and take my case this time,” Gallagher thought. He smiled, seeing his aide’s eyes flick down to his case and weigh up whether he should ask, then remembering not to at the last minute. The heavy case rarely left Gallagher’s side when he was away from home and it was unusual for him to allow others to handle it
. Collinson had only been assigned to him at the start of this mission and remained annoyingly eager to please. Gallagher normally preferred his staff to display a healthy dose of cynicism but supposed it was still early days. “If anyone can teach the boy cynicism it’s me,” he thought, “Damn, was I ever like this, so eager and nervous?”
On the flight up from the planet, he’d used his command level overrides to tap into the shuttle's flight systems, monitoring how the pilot performed and accessing the flight recorders for tactical information. Although he had every confidence in the capabilities of the pilots, especially those assigned to the flagship, Gallagher couldn’t break the habits of a lifetime in wanting to know everything that was going on around him.
“Just in case,” he thought, justifying it to himself even though he knew he should relax more. On the other hand, it was this caution that had kept him alive for so long. He’d enjoyed the unexpected comment Harris had made at the end of the flight and had waited behind to get a glimpse of her, admiring the flash of rebelliousness she’d shown.
Walking away from the shuttle, Gallagher lengthened his stride, forcing Collinson to do the same if he wanted to keep up. Quickly covering ground, Gallagher sent a query via his implant to Vimes, the Emperors aide, to see if the Emperor was free to meet with him right away. One of the advantages of being an old comrade in arms of the Emperor was that Vimes had standing instructions to always let him through, with only a few exceptions. Vimes was the immaterial, semi-sentient, electronic Aide of the Emperors family that followed them everywhere and was currently residing alongside the flagships AI.
“Ah, Ambassador Gallagher, nice to have you back on board. Don’t you wish to freshen up first?” replied Vimes, using the neural linkage all command staff had to the ship's communication system.
“No, I can do that later, after I’ve spoken to the Emperor about the ceremony,” Gallagher replied, thinking privately to himself that if Vimes was only semi-sentient he’d eat his cloak.