Imperium: Coda: Book Three in the Imperium Trilogy

by Paul M Calvert

  Two rows behind, Sergeant Plewa was a happy man; if such a thing could be applied to him. He had stoically endured long months of being cooped up on Dauntless, waiting impotently as battle after battle had taken place in space, unable to do anything other than wait with his fellow Marines in case the ship was boarded. For him, this was more like it. Going into battle alongside his Emperor and leading the ground assault on the traitor Frederick’s Palace was the stuff of legend. He knew when they returned victorious to Capital and the Bodyguards’ planetary home, he and the others here today would be able to indulge in some serious one-upmanship with their less fortunate fellows left behind on Palace guard duty.

  Around him, his Cohorts’ suit readings were all good. Although to be expected from these hand-picked Marines, Plewa couldn’t break the habits of a lifetime and continued his checks, no-one needing any words of encouragement. Satisfied, Plewa turned his attention one last time to his own suit, triple checking all systems were at peak efficiency.

  Breaking through the clouds, Alexander watched as the ground rushed towards the shuttle, reminding him of his days flying his Spitfire, literally a lifetime and universe away. Frederick’s Palace was noticeably closing, and his suit automatically began to mark out the positions of Gallagher and his Marines near the entrance. The drop countdown began, and in response, the shuttle’s floor vanished, merging into its sides in readiness for their high-speed drop.

  Suddenly, it was time to go, and the Marines were fired down and out of their cages into the shuttle’s slipstream, their forward momentum closing them with the target even as they dropped like stones towards the ground. Taking these few seconds before activating his repulsors, Alexander quickly used his suit's sensors to take stock. All around and for as far as he could see, lances of bright fire thrust down from the orbiting armada, spearing any position that had escaped the initial attack. So total had been their surprise, none of Frederick’s air cover had even left the ground, destroyed where it sat. From everywhere, plumes of smoke were rapidly rising up to the clouds, spreading horizontally to form a dark and evil-looking layer. On the ground, bright fires could be seen near ruined defensive structures, many glowing a dull red as the heat from the partially fused structures registered on his sensors. A reminder from Vimes brought Alexander back, just in time to begin his final approach and landing.

  In the final few seconds before impacting the ground, the suits repulsors activated, loading his body with twenty-G for two seconds, eliciting another involuntary groan as he was pressed hard against the internal padding and restraints. Along with the other Marines, Alexander touched down hard, the concrete-like material of the ground cracking as their armoured boots made contact. Saying a quick thank-you to Graham Flower, his suit’s artificer, he took his place at the head of the Cohort, ignoring Sergeant Plewa’s urgent call for him to stay back. In the near distance, Alexander could see Gallagher and his Marines, their yellow and bright red suit colours in stark contrast to the armoured figures they were fighting.

  Along with everyone else, Alexander accelerated his suit to its maximum ground-covering speed, closing the distance at nearly seventy miles an hour, the artificial muscle fibres of their suits taking almost all of the strain. Above, the newly emptied shuttles provided air and ground cover, their belly point defences making short work of any rebel groups that strayed too far from Gallagher and his men, picking them off.

  A victory shout rang out from in front of them, and Alexander could see Gallagher and his men pouring through the broken defensive line and through into the Palace interior, leaving hundreds of bodies in their wake. Following close behind came the siege-avatars, purpose built robots made from partially collapsed matter, fifteen foot tall and almost impervious to anything short of a capital ship’s main guns. Necessarily slow and ponderous, their sheer mass and momentum would carry them through most materials, propelled by their enormous legs and digging arms, capable of ripping apart anything that didn’t initially give way or might impede their forward progress. Moved into position by planes of force from the orbiting ships, once inside the Palace they would have to move under their own power, a slow walking pace ideal for siege-work in confined spaces.

  Taking care to avoid the behemoths, Alexander finally reached Gallagher, the two men grasping forearms and touching helmets in greeting.

  “What next, Alex?” his friend asked, and Alexander could hear the excitement in his voice. “The defenders have taken up secondary positions, and we can’t afford a frontal assault unless prepared to lose a lot of good Marines.”

  Alexander nodded. “Vimes is working on re-establishing himself into the planetary datanet and with the Palace AI. It’s a long shot, but IP’s might be able to take control of it and isolate Frederick and his bodyguards inside.”

  Gallagher’s voice sounded sceptical. “It won't be that easy. Traitor yes, but Frederick isn’t a fool. One his first acts was to isolate Vimes, so he will have been prepared to stop him ever regaining control.” He shook his head. “No, I fear we are going to have to do this the old fashioned way, floor by floor and room by room.”

  Alexander nodded, watching as the siege-avatars finally reached their designated corridors, moving forward and into a stream of railgun slugs, flechettes and energy beams. Most splashed harmlessly against the unstoppable avatars, vapourising or bouncing off into the walls, floor and ceiling, adding to the devastation. On they lumbered, smashing through hastily erected barricades or deadfalls put in place by the defending Marines and Palace AI, some taking a less direct route by bulldozering their way through walls to avoid any obstacles placed in their way by the desperate defenders.

  Marines with mobile shield emitters moved behind them, using the siege-avatars bulk as partial protection from incoming fire. Occasionally, groups of defenders poured out from side rooms and engaged the Imperial forces in swift, but bloody hand to hand combat. Gallagher and the Emperor were now often in the thick of the fighting, their swords rarely still, shields becoming scratched and battered, with no time to repair them before the next engagement.

  On and on they continued until, after an hour of intense fighting, Alexander and his personal bodyguard finally reached Frederick’s Grand Hall, the high arches of the roof cracked and broken in many places. All of the beautiful stained glass and most of the priceless works of art had been destroyed or even used to build redoubts from where Frederick’s Marines could fire.

  Resting for a moment against a massive beam supporting a roof arch, Alexander took a quick breather, his suit pumping mild stimulants into his system. He had not been in combat as fierce as this for some time, and the effort was beginning to tell on him. Alexander looked around, catching sight of his old friend doing the same forty yards away, and waved.

  “We are definitely getting too old for this stuff, Patrick,” he said on a private channel.

  Gallagher’s laugh sounded in his helmet. “And to think I could be back home on Wayland right now. You really must pick your Nobles better, Alex.”

  Vimes took this as the right time to update Alexander, as a courtesy including Gallagher into the conversation.

  “I’ve seen an analysis of the dead Marines, Alex, and most of them are not in our Imperial database. They are therefore either from outside the Empire and fighting as mercenaries, or Frederick had secret worlds of his own from which he could recruit.”

  “How does this help us and can I use this in any way?” Alexander responded, looking for anything that might give him an advantage and bring the costly assault to an end. Other than letting Frederick go free, he was willing to try anything.

  Gallagher went silent for several heartbeats before giving his opinion. “Offer them enough money, spare their lives and promise them safe passage home?” he ventured, “But first you need to break through whatever blocks Frederick has put in place and take control over his battle-net. Even then, those personally guarding him are probably going to be made of sterner stuff.” He directed his next words to Vimes. �
�Do you think you can break into it?”

  “Not soon enough to be of any use. It appears to be using a Quantum Key to generate random encryption. Difficult. I am having better luck with the Palace AI and have almost finished isolating several of its minor functions, including those responsible for controlling the sensors.”

  “What good will that do, Vimes?” Gallagher asked, “there’s no point knowing exactly where Frederick is if we can’t get anywhere near him.”

  “Wait a minute, Patrick,” said Alexander, “I think I know what he’s trying to do. Will they let you take a Quantum Signature reading, Vimes?” Alexander asked, immediately seeing the possibilities, his long familiarity with the secret Jump technology giving him an advantage over his friend.

  “With a little tweaking, yes. I will let you know in a few minutes. In the meantime, looking at both of your heart rates, I suggest you take the time to rest. As Alexander correctly observed, neither of you are getting any younger.” And with that, Vimes broke contact.

  His words had the desired effect, and both men laughed, but not before Gallagher had muttered under his breath, “Cheeky bastard, I swear he is sentient.”

  In the end, it took Vimes ten minutes to confirm he had full control over the Palace sensors and Jump two of his hidden sensor drones directly into the chamber where Alexander and Gallagher were waiting. Despite knowing it was about to arrive, Gallagher jumped when it suddenly appeared alongside the two men, quickly followed by a second, the shockwaves of their appearance buffetting the room and blowing debris around. The skin of the drones immediately began frosting as the moisture laden air began to freeze on their surface, close to absolute zero from months in space.

  Marine technicians quickly began working on it, carefully removing the drive systems that were now redundant, making room for ten armoured Marines to climb inside. The smart-metal of its hull was reprogrammed to immediately lose molecular cohesion after the next Jump, allowing those inside to quickly exit. Despite now standing next to each other, Gallagher was arguing with his Emperor on a private channel, the two of them coming closer to a full-scale falling out than either of them could remember. Alexander was finding the strain of keeping his anger under control almost impossible, his rigid self-discipline and their long friendship the only thing stopping him ordering Gallagher to shut up.

  Gallagher was demanding he lead the attack on Frederick’s sanctum, insisting Alexander stayed behind and watched proceedings via Vimes and Palace sensors. Unfortunately, this was perhaps the worse approach to take with Alexander in his present mood. Despite Patrick’s attempts at persuasion, Alexander was adamant; he would lead the attack, but Gallagher was welcome to accompany him.

  “Don’t make me order you to desist, Patrick. I am going, and that is the end of it. If you continue down this path the two of us will have a falling out.” Alexander reached out and grasped his old friend’s shoulders, squeezing so hard that Gallagher could feel the pressure through his armour. “I know it is selfish, but the Empire owes me this chance at revenge. I need to take him prisoner myself.” He cut the private channel to his friend and partially withdrew his helmet, forcing Gallagher to do the same, knowing he would not argue with his Emperor in public where others could eavesdrop.

  Patrick did the same, wanting to look at his friend with his own eyes. “Perhaps for the last time,” he thought, sadly, his mind suddenly conjuring images of Alexander as a new-born, held in his arms as a witness to his birth, the images of his growing up, the death of family, marriage to Christine, the Succession War, all flicking through his mind at the speed of thought. He said nothing further, simply inclining his head in acquiescence to his Emperor’s wishes and turned away, not wanting him to see the apprehension on his face.

  Vimes began transmitting sensor data directly to the Marines selected to accompany the two of them in the probe, setting out a plan of action. Frederick’s sanctum was part of a massive underground complex, twenty miles deep, surrounded by the planet’s mantle and successive shields of increasing strength, driven by power taken directly from the molten core. Using the planet to power it, Frederick could theoretically remain safe for as long as the planet existed. Above ground, almost all of the planet was back under Imperial control, Vimes having been successful in re-establishing his control over planetary information sources. All communication channels were pumping out proofs showing how the people had been deceived by Frederick’s evil regime, urging everyone to remain calm. Pre-recorded messages of Alexander and Adam were being played on a continuous loop, alongside an edited video of the Empress’s death at the hand’s of an assassin.

  In dozens of Imperial Barracks across the planet, Marines who had been duped were taking their revenge against anyone they identified as being part of the rebellion, in many cases literally tearing the accused apart as the depth of their treason was revealed. Where all of the Officer class had been eliminated, Imperial replacements were being sent in by shuttle, along with agents of the Imperial Intelligence Service.

  In space, most of the fleet now lay silent, ready to provide any assistance that might be required. With the immediate threats from the planet and what remained of the weapon platforms neutralised, Admiral Frith stood much of it down from Battle Stations and concentrated on providing what aid was required to begin reconstruction of the damaged civilian centres. Fortunately, other than near military bases and the Palace, such damage was slight, but she knew the reassuring sight of friendly and approachable Marines on the almost deserted streets would help foster calm and ensure civil order was maintained during this difficult transition back to Imperial control.

  Inside the Grand Hall, preparations for the final Jump and attack on Frederick was now in place. The probe was readied, raised up onto hastily built supports to allow the Jump Field to form without digging deep into the floor. Sergeant Plewa had insisted on accompanying Alexander. Knowing he would find no better Marine to guard his back, Alexander agreed, allowing the Sergeant to hand-pick the others from amongst the assembled bodyguards, who were all vying for the honour.

  Vimes opened a channel to all of those going, marking the positions of everyone in Frederick’s chamber, annotating their names when known and their fighting ability. The chamber was no more than ten yards on each side but had a high ceiling, currently dominated by a schematic of the attacking Marines progress in advancing down into the bowels of the Palace. In addition to Frederick’s inner circle of thirteen representatives from the Sectors currently controlled by his supporters, there was a further twenty armoured Marines; either stationed by the sealed blast door leading into the room or standing close to Frederick. Vimes quickly updated everyone as they began to take their place in the modified probe.

  “Frederick is currently in armour, but like most of the others has his faceplate and helmet uncovered. Only five of the Marines standing nearest to him are fully armoured. Once you Jump, the probe will immediately dissolve, allowing you to fire. I’ve given each of you individual targets, so no shots are wasted, for you will have only one, or two chances to fire before the element of surprise is lost.”

  As Vimes gave out instructions, their individual targets were highlighted in their helmets, superimposed over other tactical information coming from the suits.

  “The Emperor, Gallagher and Plewa, along with you two, will target those guarding Frederick. The others will engage those by the door. On emerging, the concussion wave will stun or possibly even knock over all of those not wearing armour. Do not deviate from your targets.”

  Sergeant Plewa began instructing everyone to link into his suit’s local battle-net and then switched everything over to Vimes. He quickly checked everyone's suit readings, noting without comment the elevated ones coming from his Emperor’s, deciding now was not the time to tell anyone to calm down, especially him.

  Other than a quick “Good hunting” from Alexander, no words of reassurance or encouragement were required for any of those squeezing themselves into the probe, for they all knew
how much was at stake. Finally all in place, their flechette weapons primed and swords in hand, Vimes began the ten-second countdown. Outside, the familiar glow of the Jump field began to encase the probe, then, as the countdown reached zero, it vanished. A split-second later the room echoed to the sound of a thunderclap as the vacuum was filled by inrushing air, blowing dust and small items everywhere.

  Miles below, a frantic Frederick was trying to decide what he could do next. There were simply too many Imperial ships in orbit for him to try and use his small escape ship. Even in a cloaked ship, he had no doubt that Admiral Frith would be looking for any signs of his rising through to the surface and would destroy the launch point without hesitation. Nor were the ships guarding the Jump Station any good to him. His calls for help were still an hour away from arriving and, in any event, it would take them days to make the journey from there back to Kiyami.

  The projection dominating the room showed the positions of both defenders and attackers. Relatively safe for the moment, he knew it would take many weeks for the attackers to work their way down to his current position, by which time there was a slim chance that reinforcements would have arrived to take on Alexander’s forces. Above ground, as Alexander’s forces gained more and more control of the data and communication channels, more and more of Frederick’s Marines were laying down their arms and surrendering, almost all immediately offering to fight alongside their erstwhile enemies. Fortunately for him, Frederick had replaced almost all of the Palace Marines with either those loyal to his cause or foreign mercenaries, lured by promises of wealth and power.