Imperium: Coda: Book Three in the Imperium Trilogy

by Paul M Calvert

  He turned away and looked around again, trying to imprint this view onto his mind forever, knowing the chances of his ever experiencing something like this again were vanishingly small. “Yes, embrace whatever comes your way and live like it’s your last day on Earth, for one day you will be right,” he said, almost to himself. He turned back to look at her again, “And in your case, it might be the literal truth.”

  Karen caught his smile and understood he was trying to give reassurance, again reminding her a little of Duke Gallagher, making her wonder how the Duke was getting on with his own battles on behalf of the Emperor. Shaking off the last of her doubts, Karen instructed the ship to head for the suburbs of London. They both watched as the ship’s nose swung around and Sir John felt the acceleration begin building again as it headed towards his home. He suddenly felt dog-tired, the events of the past thirty-six hours finally catching up with him. Despite wanting to enjoy the view home, he decided to close his eyes for a few seconds and promptly fell asleep. Karen looked across at her guest and smiled, then instructed her yacht to slow down so Sir John could have a short sleep.

  A short while later, a suitably refreshed Sir John was saying his goodbyes to both Karen and Vimes, who had again taken on the form of his avatar.

  “Please take this communicator, Sir John. Don’t use it frivolously, but if you need to talk to me, I can be reached using this. My agents here on Earth will continue to monitor and make sure you keep your side of the agreement over Karen’s family. As she has already intimated, I needn’t be so melodramatic as to warn you what will happen if they are troubled, so suffice it to say someone will be watching. I strongly urge Her Majesty’s Government not to make this public knowledge nor share it with even your closest allies, but if that is your choice, I will do nothing to stop you, although I doubt whether anyone other than conspiracy theorists would believe you. Finally, on behalf of Emperor Alexander and the Empire, please extend to Her Majesty his best wishes” He extended his hand.

  “I certainly will. Thank you for being so understanding, Vimes,” Sir John replied, shaking the proffered hand, noting how warm and lifelike it was, “Can I try again to change your mind over establishing embassies between our two worlds?”

  “No, your societies are too socially backwards at this time. Perhaps in another one or two hundred years when you have a world government, but the final decision will be down to the Emperor.” He looked at Karen, “But then the Empress might have her own ideas on this.”

  Karen took his hand next, shaking it. “Who knows, Sir John, we might meet again, but if not, I wish you well.”

  Behind him, the wall opened, and Sir John walked down the ramp and onto his own lawn, absently noting a light was still on in his bedroom window at the rear of his house. He turned and walked backwards, watching the ramp disappear back into the slight shimmer that was the only thing marking the ship’s presence. Moments later, he felt a rush of cold air as the ship accelerated away. He stood and stared at the sky for several minutes until the cold air began seeping through his clothes. Hurrying towards the kitchen door, he unlocked it and let himself in, calling out to his wife so not to alarm her, “Honey, I’m home!”

  The day’s events suddenly catching up and leaving her tired, Karen instructed Vimes to take the ship into a synchronous orbit over north-east London, then went to bed for a few hours of much-needed sleep.

  Vimes woke her just before dawn, removing her from a particularly weird dream where she had spent the night working at her old Accident and Emergency department in Inverness. Everyone around her knew she had left and was no longer working there, but they still gave her patients to see despite her protestations. In the end, she had given up and simply treated everyone that came in. As a result of this weird dream, despite having slept for several hours, Karen was still tired and felt as if she had worked a full night shift, leaving her feeling vaguely resentful and annoyed.

  Not bothering with breakfast, Karen donned warm clothing and checked with Vimes if anyone was around. Given the all clear, she instructed the ship to take her down and land in the middle of a grassy field, currently covered in a heavy mist. She picked up a multi-purpose smart-metal stick and left the ship, running down the ramp. It immediately retracted behind her, vanishing back into the hull, replaced by the shimmering cloak.

  “Is this the spot, Vimes?” she asked her companion.

  “Yes, Karen. You are standing within a few inches of where Adam and Christine said their goodbyes to Earth all those years ago. It hasn’t changed much, apart from the trees being much taller and the large mound of earth to your right.” Vimes mentally directed her towards a long row of houses, snaking down towards a stream. “Follow those houses to the right, and that’s where the two of them lived for most of their time here. The house was sold years ago, but the neighbourhood is still recognisable.”

  Karen followed his directions and headed towards several trees that during the day shaded a dirt footpath. The early morning sun had just crept above the horizon, turning the ground mist a milky white colour. She walked through a metal style, bringing her out right behind the long row of terraced house that stretched to the left and right.

  “Where now?” she asked Vimes, who prompted her to turn right and follow the now much wider track.

  “Turn left when you reach the road then immediately right into Western Avenue. It’s number 137, about one hundred and fifty yards.”

  Karen walked past an old fashioned red post box then slowed as she neared her destination, crossing over to the other side so as not to draw attention to herself as she examined the house. It was a nondescript, terraced house no different from the others which extended on either side for as far as Karen could see. She felt a little let down, a vague sense of disappointment colouring her sentiment for she somehow thought the place would look better; perhaps more impressive as befitting its importance in the Royal family’s secret history. A car was parked on a concrete driveway that substituted for the small front garden Christine had spoken about. The hedge where the milkman’s horse would stop and nibble was also long gone.

  Karen felt a wave of melancholy come over her as she finally realised Christine was gone. By looking at the place where she and Alexander had lived when they had first begun courting, Karen had hoped to reconnect with her friend in some way or to get an idea of how her own relationship with Adam might progress, but there wasn’t any lingering trace of Christine to be found here anymore.

  “Vimes, can you show me what it was like all those years ago?” she asked her silent companion.

  By way of an answer, Vimes overlaid onto her vision a projection of what the street had been like in 1943. As she turned her head to look around, the image moved with her, giving Karen a window into the past. Although the houses remained the same, the gardens and colours were all different. Instead of cars parked on the drives, rows of pretty front gardens appeared, the ugly brown and green wheelie bins vanishing completely. A few ghostly people walked about, shades from the past going about their business.

  “Take it away, Vimes,” she told him, now wondering why she had bothered to make the detour here in the first place.

  Until now, Vimes had been quiet, neither proffering his usual advice or trying to lighten her mood. Instead, he told her he would ready the yacht for their departure. As she began retracing her steps, he finally spoke.

  “They were content here, Karen, so don’t be too sad. It was their first home together, and this is where they were probably at their happiest. Alexander had resigned himself to living out his life on Earth with Christine, and the burden of Empire weighed neither of them down, so try not to be sad.”

  “I can’t help it,” she replied, talking aloud, eliciting a strange look from the woman she just walked past. “Everything’s gone wrong. The family’s secret is out, there’s a galactic war on, I’m pregnant, the father doesn’t know, and I couldn’t do anything to save Christine. You tell me what’s not to be pissed off about.”
/>   “True, but the secret was going to come out at some point. Earth’s technological advancements meant it was just a matter of time. By working now with Sir John or his eventual successor, we can control who knows. The war was going to happen anyway. You and Adam are in love and will make great parents. As for Christine, I was with her at the end, and her last thoughts were of you, Adam and Alexander. Treasure the memories you have of a great person.” Vimes voice sounded sad yet positive in her mind.

  Karen spent the next few minutes in silence, thinking over what Vimes had just told her. Although it didn’t make her feel better, it helped put things into perspective a little bit, and by the time she had reached where the yacht was sitting, her mood had already begun to lift and an idea formed in her mind. A ramp extended down and she climbed to the top, stopping for a moment before entering the ship to look around and fix the picture in her mind.

  “Will I ever come back?” she asked herself, talking not about Dagenham but Earth. By way of an answer, she shook her head then walked into the yacht, not once looking back.

  SCENE 13, TO THINE OWN SELF…

  Adam had spent the last few hours watching nervously as Britannia’s shields blazed violet, with small patches of black appearing in places for a moment as the ship struggled to handle the energies directed against it. Moments before the shields weakened to a point where they might fail, five massive battleships interposed themselves between Britannia and the furious destructive energies pouring out from the Jump Station, shielding her from the fire and allowing her shields to dissipate away some of the energy, gaining them several minutes to recover a little. Co-ordinated by Frith and the combined AI’s, all the ships in Adam’s fleet were being continuously rotated back and forth from the front, replacing those whose shields were about to fail with fresher ships from further back.

  The battle was by no means one-sided, as the massed ranks of Imperial ships returned fire with equal ferocity, bathing the Station in a purple-blue corona of energy. Unfortunately, the Station was so vast that even the combined fire-power of Adam’s massed fleet was physically unable to concentrate sufficient fire on one spot to break through the shields.

  Swarms of smart missiles were attacking across multiple areas, having better success in breaking through the Station’s shields than the capital ships, several hundred slipping through weakened areas and impacting on the wall screens underneath the outer shields. Unfortunately, not enough of them were getting through to make any sort of impression, in places barely turning the wall screens a dull red. Initially, salvos of railgun slugs had also been fired at close range, but this had soon stopped as they had been vapourised by the tremendous energies being released before even reaching their targets.

  Admiral Frith was also watching the ensuing firefight from the Bridge, standing next to him. The large tank setting out the position of every ship in their fleet was ablaze with light, deliberately dimmed so it could still be viewed without hurting the viewers’ eyes. The fight was progressing as expected; neither side gaining any meaningful advantage, but both knew that while the Jump Station could continue the fight almost indefinitely, at some point, the attacking fleet would begin running low on supplies. Metals used by the total conversion energies were being consumed at a prodigious rate, and it was only a matter of time before they would need to disengage. The rebel commanders knew this too and had destabilised the Jump Point seconds after Adam and his fleet emerged, trapping them in the system.

  “Admiral,” one of the Weapon Masters called out, “please look at your viewscreen.”

  Frith did so, then pointed out to Adam the latest news coming in from long-range sensors. The large rebel fleet, currently about to make orbit around this system's habitable planet, Boskone 4, had changed tack and was now manoeuvring to slingshot around and head back towards the Jump Station. A quick check of the numbers showed it would arrive to reinforce the Station’s defences in a little over twelve days.

  Adam, too tightly wound up to do any more than smile thinly, nodded an acknowledgement. “Just as we expected. Now, all we have to do is take out this Station.”

  Frith shook her head and turned to look at Adam, “I doubt whether we will have achieved that before the Rebel fleet arrives to reinforce it. I think we made these damn things too hard for anyone to knock down, including ourselves. This one has been here for two thousand years, growing in strength all that time. If you have any new ideas, Adam, please tell me about them.”

  Adam remained silent, but Frith’s words had sparked the germ of an idea; something he would have to take away and work on before presenting it to her for consideration. Unfortunately, it would also lock him into a course of action where the potential implications for the future would affect everyone in the Empire. For the moment, however, he had to focus on the recapturing this system's assets.

  “Janice, perhaps we should consider sending our two new carriers to disable the shipyard and bring it back under our control?” he asked her. “It might draw off some of the rebel fleet or slow them down a little if they stop to retake it and give us more time to finish here.”

  Frith gave Adam’s idea serious consideration, checking with both Britannia’s AI and her own calculations before responding.

  “Agreed, but they will need additional support. Did you want to make the arrangements?” she asked Adam, interested to see his reaction.

  Adam nodded in agreement, wondering what twenty-four capital ships he should send to accompany the two carriers as screening. “Will you cast your eye over the battle plan before I implement it?” he asked, seeing Frith nod acceptance.

  “Of course, I’d be happy to. You might wish to place Captain Cooke in overall charge of the task force. She deserves a chance to see some action. Now, if you will excuse me.” At a nod from Adam, Frith turned away and began walking around the Bridge, stopping at the first station and engaging the officers in conversation, intending to speak with everyone currently on duty.

  Adam took this as his cue to leave for his quarters, picking up his two bodyguards at the exit, his mind focused on what capital ships to send as escorts for the carriers.

  Half a day later, the carriers INS Implacable and INS Glorious were heading with their accompanying escorts towards the closest gas giant and its orbiting shipyards. In her ready room, Captain Cooke was both excited and nervous in equal measure at being given this chance to command the small task force. Her carrier, INS Glorious, had seen little action since being recently commissioned, for she discounted the recent search and destroy missions where all they had to do was chase down and destroy or capture ships fleeing the victorious Imperial Navy.

  Her orders were simple enough on paper; capture the orbiting shipyards or, if this proved impossible, degrade them to a point where they would be of no further use to the rebels. Every chance to surrender was to be given, and if this was rejected, she was additionally tasked to minimise the resulting loss of life. This last part worried her. The plan was to destroy the rebel fighter wings protecting the shipyards, then degrade the point defences to a position where Imperial Marines could land and take back control. Infiltrator Programmes would be inserted into the computer systems by the attacking Marines who would hold position until the IP’s had done their work in removing Frederick’s taint, thereby allowing the rebel Marines to see how they had been duped into fighting for the wrong side. The theory behind this strategy was that the rebel Marines would then turn on those who had deceived them into betraying the Emperor, bringing the battle to a swift conclusion.

  “That’s the theory,” Cooke thought to herself, knowing that even the best plans tended to go wrong given half a chance. She checked the position of her task force relative to the target again, noting her fighters would be in range of the gas giant in just over twenty-four hours, with the main body following closely behind but not engaging the shipyards until the enemy fighters had been neutralised. Her own supplementary plan was relatively straightforward; draw the enemy fighters away from the shi
pyards using just a portion of her own, then surprise them by cutting off their retreat with the remainder. “If that fails, I’ll just have to use brute force and hope for the best,” was her parting thought before being reminded by Britannia’s AI that she had earlier scheduled to spend several hours touring the ship and speaking with the pilots and Marines.

  Cooke shut down the 3-D displays surrounding her desk and headed for the door, instinctively straightening her uniform to remove the non-existent creases before meeting with her Squadron Leaders to discuss the plan of attack.

  Two hours later, in the wardroom assigned to her squadron, Squadron Leader Harris was detailing the attack plan to her assembled pilots. Many of those she began with had been replaced, transferred to other ships after arriving at Arisia, for combat-seasoned veterans were needed to form the nucleus of new squadrons.

  Although it was only a short time ago, so much had happened in the intervening period that it seemed to Harris as if a lifetime had passed. Amazingly, both Carlos and her applications for Command training had been accepted and she suspected, but could not prove, that Vimes had ensured they would both be at the same Academy together. She had no idea how long Vimes would continue to take an interest in her well-being for she knew it couldn’t last forever, but was very grateful nonetheless. She and Carlos had quietly celebrated the news, not wishing to tell any of the other pilots until after the current engagement was over in case it affected their morale.

  Harris’s squadron, along with a dozen others, was tasked with drawing out the rebel fighters, luring them out beyond the defensive fire of the shipyard point defences. The one advantage they had over the defending rebel fighters was the enhanced capabilities of their own. It hadn’t just been the capital ships which had been upgraded with new technology, for her new fighters enjoyed several enhancements. Semi-autonomous drone-swarms that could be used either offensively or defensively had been added to the regular complement of smart missiles and railgun cannons. Also, the fighters themselves were designed with even higher tolerance to high-G manoeuvres in mind, something which complemented the increased engine power. Taken together, she hoped these things would give them the edge over anything the rebels might have which the planners didn’t know about.