The Glory of the Empress

by Sean Danker

  “They’re not armed? Are they broadcasting? We’re all under blackout, but they don’t know that. Are they trying to broadcast?”

  “Negative, Commander.”

  “Makes sense,” Mao muttered, pacing again. “They don’t want to be found. Looks like they are who they say they are. New question: what do we do about it?”

  “They’re not our problem,” Major Compton said.

  “But there is the matter that they’ve come under attack and lost lives in Evagardian space. They’re going to ask us for help.”

  “They have no grounds for that request,” Woodhouse said. “They’re galactic refugees.”

  “But they want to be Evagardians.”

  “They are doing this illegally,” Sergeant Golding added cautiously.

  “Can’t really blame them. Who would want to be a galactic when the Empress will accept anyone?” Woodhouse asked.

  “Not what we’re here to worry about,” Mao said firmly. “I understand why they haven’t told anyone they’re coming, but our people need to know. I’m going to let them go. They’ve made their choice. They can gamble if they want to. I’m hoping Tenbrook’s efforts to rob us of targets will rob them of threats. He’s cleared our end of Demenis to protect his people. That gives these folks a better chance, don’t you think?”

  “Probably. But is Burton Station ready to take on this many immigrants?” Compton asked.

  “Not even slightly,” Bjorn said, almost laughing. “No, this many for a station like that will take weeks to process. We really do need to warn them. A lot of immigration analysts are about to get a surprise deployment.”

  Mao snorted.

  “How can we get the message through, though? We’re dark,” Compton said.

  “We’ll send a physical beacon back toward Nelson. She’ll pick it up and relay it. Pirates can’t break our encryption. It’ll be fine.”

  “Works for me. I saw the size of those ships and I thought this Tenbrook guy was onto us.” Woodhouse looked relieved.

  “So did I, for a second. Lydia, reengage with the Sunbath.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Doyle appeared. He looked pale. Bjorn realized he was afraid they were going to turn him away.

  “Pilot Captain Doyle,” Mao said, “you and your passengers may proceed.”

  “To whom am I speaking?” Doyle asked.

  The commander hesitated. “Good luck,” she said, and cut the transmission.

  “I can’t even imagine what it must be like in there,” Woodhouse said, eyeing the massive ships.

  “I hope they make it,” Mao said, “but they probably have an easier trip than we do. Maintain alert status until we’re clear. Lydia, get us back on course.” She let out a long breath and sagged against the console. “I don’t like this.”

  10

  THE cockpit opened as Bjorn approached the fighter. Kladinova unstrapped slowly, as if she had no energy. She climbed out and dropped to the deck.

  “Is that the sensor?” she asked, seeing the cylindrical device in Bjorn’s hand.

  “We updated it with the data from the changes we made to the drive to disguise our trail. It’ll compensate now.”

  “All right,” Kladinova said absently. Then she seemed to focus, and her gaze became unfriendly.

  “The first alert is almost halfway done. We’re up in ten hours. You should get in the simulator. I’ll check the fighter. Then you need to sleep.”

  She nodded.

  “Why’s it doing that?”

  A light on the inhibitor was flashing.

  Bjorn frowned. Then he brought the device closer to his body. It began to flash more quickly. “I think it’s reacting to my implant. It’s confusing the impulses. That just means it’s working.” He held it out toward her right hip. The light flashed. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Actually it was a little worrisome. The military implants did more than just tweak body chemistry to suppress libido and hormonal surges. A malfunctioning implant could do terrible things to the body. Bjorn would have to make sure the sensor was merely reacting to the implants, and not interfering with them.

  Kladinova scowled and left the bay, but Lieutenant Ibuki was approaching.

  “I read your report,” he said.

  “I’ve got yours too. If we’re going to change the Lydia’s signature, we have to change the fighters’ too,” Bjorn said, setting down his toolbox and opening it. “Here.”

  Ibuki took the sensor. “You really think something this primitive could help us?”

  “It’ll have to.” Bjorn frowned. The sensor in Ibuki’s hand wasn’t flashing. “Make sure it has power,” he said.

  Ibuki blinked, then examined the device. “This charge should be good for at least a hundred hours,” he said.

  “Take this one. I want to check that one.” They traded devices. Bjorn watched Ibuki’s hand, still holding the device, fall to his side. The light remained dark.

  “We’ll see if it works.” The other pilot strode away.

  Bjorn watched him go. The inhibitor in his hands blinked feverishly.

  So Ibuki had disabled his implant. Or it was malfunctioning—but if that were the case, he’d know, and he’d be talking to Woodhouse about it.

  Bjorn turned back to Kladinova’s fighter. Ibuki’s implant was none of his business. He supposed he had an obligation to tell the commander, but that was the longest-standing double standard in military history. One was expected to follow all orders, but one was also expected not to throw his fellow servicemen under the metaphorical shuttle.

  Of course, the Empress improved on the formula by demanding that there never be a reason for anyone in her service to be reported in the first place.

  Evagardian perfection.

  Bjorn was curious, though. He looked down at the device.

  They weren’t even a week into the cruise. That was a relatively short time for a romance to have bloomed aboard the Lydia, but it wasn’t out of the question.

  Bjorn needed something to take his mind off the looming threat of Tenbrook and Cophony anyway.

  He crossed the spine to the other bay. Ibuki’s team was there in force. Rada and Sergeant Golding were working on the fighter. Ibuki was in the cockpit.

  How nice it must be to have a full three-man team.

  “What’s up, LT?” Golding asked from beneath the fighter.

  Bjorn smiled at Rada, then knelt, discreetly moving the inhibitor toward Golding. It glowed faintly. It would flash if he got it closer. Her implant was active.

  “Just wanted to ask you guys if you’d seen Lieutenant Kladinova acting odd.”

  “She’s a diva,” Golding replied. “There are lots of liners in the officer corps just like her. Get used to it. There are even some enlisted ones.”

  “That’s the thing,” Bjorn said, moving closer to Rada. “I feel like she’s mellowing out a little.”

  “That’s good, right?” Rada asked.

  Her implant was functioning too.

  “I hope so. You guys should get some rest,” Bjorn said as he walked away.

  “You’re on alert after we are,” Rada called after him. He waved and left the bay.

  So Ibuki’s paramour was not Rada or Sergeant Golding. Rada would’ve been a good suspect if not for her apparent interest in Bjorn himself, though there was no rule that said she could only be interested in him.

  Bjorn found Sergeant Golding immensely likable, and he admired the fact that she had earned her place in the gentry through deeds, not DNA. But there certainly hadn’t been any visible sparks between her and Ibuki.

  Likewise, General Dayal was probably out. It would be an insult to suspect her, and the general deserved that respect.

  That left Yeoman Rebecca DiJeur and the commander. But DiJeur had eyes only for Major Compton, and
though the commander was a little odd, Bjorn couldn’t seriously suspect her. She liked to make jokes, but even in a situation with lower stakes he couldn’t picture her compromising professionalism that way. But he would do this the Evagardian way: thoroughly. He’d check everyone. No exceptions, no special treatment.

  The general was with the commander on the bridge. Their implants were both enabled.

  Major Morel was asleep in his bunk. His implant was on.

  Bjorn went to Red Bay and approached Major Lucas’ team. The fighter’s cockpit was sealed with Lucas inside, ready to sortie at any time.

  Yeoman DiJeur was taking careful inventory of her tools.

  “Hey, LT,” she said in greeting.

  “How you guys holding up?”

  She shrugged. “On-call is the worst.” Her implant was on.

  Bjorn tapped on the cockpit shield, and Lucas popped it open.

  “What you got for me, Bjorn?”

  “Did you read Morel’s memo?”

  “I did. We can’t install the new sensor until we’re back in rotation, though.”

  “I know. I’m giving it to DiJeur.”

  “Good man.”

  The cockpit closed, and Bjorn handed an updated sensor to DiJeur. Major Lucas’ implant was functioning.

  It was beginning to look as if Ibuki didn’t have a partner. That wasn’t a surprise. Bjorn personally couldn’t tell much of a difference in how he felt when the implant was active, but there were plenty of people who could. Some didn’t like it. Maybe Ibuki was one of those who felt stifled with it enabled; maybe he thought it impaired his flying.

  Major Compton was in the spine, making his way to the bridge. Bjorn slipped past him, checking the inhibitor as he did so.

  He stopped.

  Major Compton looked over his shoulder. “What is it, LT?”

  Bjorn wordlessly touched the inhibitor to his side, then held it out to the major.

  “You and Ibuki.”

  Compton looked taken aback for a moment; then he sighed. “Playing detective?”

  “Sorry. It was an accident.”

  The older man snorted. “How do you want to handle it?”

  Bjorn didn’t actually care, but Compton did look uncomfortable to be having this conversation in the spine.

  “You’d know if this affects mission readiness better than I would,” Bjorn said, twirling the sensor. “It’s none of my business. But if I were you, I’d put it on hold until we’re home safe. And don’t get caught. The commander’s got enough to deal with. How’s that sound?”

  “Am I the guy you want to ask?”

  “Yesterday you would’ve been the first guy.”

  There was nothing more to say. Bjorn wasn’t looking for an answer.

  He turned and started back toward the bay, reflecting that he’d probably done the wrong thing. Yet for the first time since receiving his ridiculous commission, he actually felt vaguely like an officer.

  Ibuki was still working with his team. He looked fine. He wasn’t an easy read, but if this thing with Compton distressed him in any way, he was hiding it well.

  But Bjorn supposed he ought to check anyway. It wasn’t in his nature to be so intrusive, but he hadn’t expected to find anything. He’d been hoping for an implant malfunction.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. It was Yeoman DiJeur, and she looked troubled. Troubled, but not absolutely crushed. Which meant she hadn’t heard Bjorn’s discussion with Major Compton.

  “Sir, can I talk to you?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I just need a second with Sei first.” Bjorn had already caught Ibuki’s eye. The pilot stepped away from the fighter, and DiJeur obediently backed off.

  “What is it?” Ibuki asked.

  “This is awkward, but I have to own to it. I noticed your implant was switched off and I got a little nosy. I just talked to Compton.”

  Ibuki blanched. “You’re right,” he said. “That is awkward.”

  “Right?” Bjorn grinned. “I just need to know you’re okay.”

  “Why would you ask me that?” Ibuki looked more curious than alarmed.

  Bjorn shrugged. “This type of thing isn’t always as much fun as it looks.”

  “I initiated it, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ibuki folded his arms. “So?”

  “So, what?”

  Bjorn didn’t wait for an answer; he just went back to Yeoman DiJeur. “Problem-solving the Evagardian way,” he told her. “Not solving problems correctly or for the right reasons, but still solving them.”

  “I really need to talk to you,” she said, looking pale.

  “Okay.” Bjorn felt bad for pushing her off; she meant business. She’d been fine ten minutes ago, though. “What is it?”

  “It’s about Lieutenant Kladinova.”

  The combat-alert Klaxon began to blare, and they both looked up, startled.

  “Stations, people,” Mao said over the com. “Real-world combat alert.”

  Bjorn gave DiJeur an apologetic smile. Looking stricken, she nodded, and they both dashed away.

  Compton and Golding were already on the bridge, and Woodhouse appeared even as Bjorn was strapping into his chair.

  “What have we got?”

  “Those two civilian transports? They’re under attack,” Mao said, busy at the helm.

  “Pirates?” Woodhouse asked, struggling with his straps.

  “Who else?”

  Bjorn opened his own tactical readout. Three vessels were harassing the two mammoth passenger cruisers.

  “Are we jumping back?” Compton asked.

  “Too close to jump,” Mao said. “Full speed. We’ll go in hot. Three targets, three solo kills. I want it quick and clean.”

  “We’re engaging? Just like that?” Woodhouse sounded dazed.

  “Lydia’s already confirmed IDs on two of the ships. One of them’s on the list. That’s enough for me. They all die. Right here, right now.”

  Kladinova was climbing into her cockpit. Bjorn enabled his com.

  “We’re in business. Mobile sortie with a predetermined target. You’re going to make a triangle jump, disrupt his shields, then turn around and put a mine on him.” Bjorn mapped the maneuver on her screen, watching her study it.

  “I copy,” she said, lifting her hair and slipping her sync collar into place.

  “Lydia, ETA?”

  “One hundred seconds, Commander.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mao said into the com, standing up and turning away from the screen, “you know our mission. Nothing’s changed. So, they know we’re coming, and they want a piece of us. So, there’s a traitor with them. Consider it a privilege that we might have the chance to correct that problem. Your targets are victimizing noncombatants in imperial space. That’s contrary to everything the Empress stands for, and I only see one way to handle it. Honor and glory to the Eternal Empress,” she added, though she sounded a bit distracted.

  “Always may she reign,” Bjorn, along with the rest of the crew, answered out of habit.

  “Lydia, full disruption barrage.”

  Bjorn looked up at the feed.

  He could see the two massive cruisers, and the three smaller ships. There was weapons fire.

  But from this perspective it didn’t look like the Lydia was flying toward the battle; it looked like the battle was rushing toward them.

  11

  “FULL yield,” Mao commanded, pointing to Woodhouse.

  “General,” the captain said, releasing his safety, “you’re green.”

  General Dayal launched. Bjorn watched her streak away in a wide arc, circling toward the battle.

  “Ten seconds,” Mao said, eyes fixed on her feed.

  Bjorn placed his hand on the release that would allow Kladinova to take control of her fighter.
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  “We’re coming in too hot,” Compton said, looking up. “They’re going to pick us up.”

  “I’ll bet they will.” Mao’s hands clenched. “Launch.”

  Bjorn threw the release, and the three remaining fighters lit out of the bays, shooting out into the black. The lines on the feed lit up.

  The Lydia, ordinarily hidden, was clearly visible to the pirates. The firing had stopped when Compton made the call that they were in the open.

  As one, the pirates began to shift their shields and bring themselves about to face the threat.

  Kladinova’s target was only a skiff, more a yacht than a ship. But only moments ago it had been firing on Doyle’s laden cruiser.

  Bjorn could see cargo pods torn open by weapons fire. The passengers within had never had a chance. There was literally nothing more than a little Ganraen steel and polymer protecting them from the void. The containers had no temperature control, no gravity. Those people were just packed in there in the cold, breathing recycled air and hoping to reach the Empress’ embrace alive.

  Kladinova didn’t care about the skiff crew’s efforts to protect themselves. There was no defense against an Everwing fighter. She made a clean pass over the hull, her fighter within millimeters of the skiff’s shields.

  There was more at work there than vanity. The closer the fighter got to the shield generator, the greater the shock trauma the victim suffered. It was theoretically possible not only to disrupt a vessel’s shields by passing with an Everwing fighter, but to destroy them completely. That would give other fighters precious time to land critical hits on larger targets.

  But that wasn’t an issue here; Kladinova didn’t need the time. She diverted, spun, and burned again, going in for the kill.

  She passed the skiff on the exact same heading, and her mine crashed through its hull long before the vessel’s shields reinitiated.

  Kladinova flashed past the Lydia. Bjorn saw the fighter only on the feed, not through the viewport. Kladinova was moving far too fast for the human eye to track.

  The skiff erupted in a flash of white. There would be no debris; the entire ship would be atomized by the mine. These weapons were designed for use on much larger, much more threatening vessels.