The Imperialists: The Complete Trilogy

by H. T. Kofruk

  The crew members of the Red Sea greeted the arrival of the Virgin Mary with hopeful eagerness. The carbon pipe was full of pressurized liquid oxygen to relieve the air situation in the Red Sea. The most critically injured were transported to the mothership where the sickbay was already crowded.

  Rick was looking at a holograph of the extending pipeline knowing that a piece of shrapnel travelling at the speed of sound could pierce the pipe and ignite the gases, dooming both ships. He was glad to have found another ship but the state of the Red Sea was worrying. The captain of the ship had perished in the battle around Lordsphere and Commander Philippe Dessaint was now in command. Rick knew Dessaint was not a highly experienced officer, having been promoted to commander only four months ago, but had to be impressed by his efficiency and broad view. If the same situation had occurred under a less competent officer, many more would have died.

  The bearish figure of Commander Walker emerged from the mag-lift. The red-haired Scotsman had done a round of checks on the ship facilities in order to pass judgment on priorities. “The wormhole creator seems to be irreparable, sir” he said with a grim expression. “The keumigen lens cracked into several pieces”

  Rick nodded. They were now isolated from the rest of the Atlantic Alliance. Without the ship’s wormhole creator, barely powerful enough to open a wormhole the size of a large house, there could be no communication to Quadrant Command, wherever that was now that Lordsphere was destroyed. Their star charts indicated that six months of light-speed travel would be necessary to reach the closest wormhole station. And that was under the assumption that the wormhole station hadn’t been attacked.

  A spark erupted from the titanium pipe as a tiny particle hit it at high velocity, leaving a black mark. “I want a squadron of Tiger Sharks surrounding that pipe and protecting it from particles until the transfer is complete” ordered Rick. Walker repeated the order with a louder, hoarser voice that demanded immediate action.

  Rick didn’t want his crew members knowing how lost and clueless he was. In peace time, travelling a few months in the dark without wormhole capabilities would not have been so bad. Indeed, he had often thought how nice it would be to just explore the Yinhexi without having to send electronic reports every fortnight. But in the middle of a war where a major Atlantic Alliance planet was blown up by an otherwise ‘illegal’ weapon of planetary destruction, being in the dark was almost more than he could bear.

  The oxygen transfer was complete in thirty minutes. Tiger Shark fighters surrounded the pipe in static defensive formation until it was reeled into the mothership. A shuttle containing thirty ixana plants imported from the Pacific Federation made its way to the crippled cruiser. The tall, red and green leafy plant was known to produce fifty times more oxygen than anything found on Earth and thus, Atlantic Alliance vessels carried hundreds of them in different parts of the ship.

  Hundreds of drones were welding and covering the various holes and cracks in the ship while several mechanics were prodding the exposed light-speed drive. Rick had given orders to personnel on both ships to complete repairs in three days, making his officers gasp. He was wary of staying in one position longer than he had to and was anxious to start the six-month journey to the next wormhole station. If they happened to meet even one enemy cruiser, they would be pressed to overcome it.

  On the fourth day of repairs, however, Rick was still looking anxiously at holographs of the repair activity. Though most of the external damage had been covered, several key pieces of machinery were still showing red, including the Red Sea’s light-speed drive.

  “Sir, we are draining the light-speed drive of several noxious chemicals that have accumulated. Once that task has been completed, a newly forged thruster panel should do the job” reported the holograph of the Red Sea commander.

  “The thruster panel needs to be robust enough to take the six months of almost continuous use, Commander. Make sure your engineers perform strict quality control on it before it is installed. How long will this take?”

  “Our engineers have given me an estimate of four hours, sir.”

  “How are conditions on your ship?”

  Commander Dessaint gave a nod of gratitude for the admiral’s interest in his men’s welfare. “Oxygen partial pressure is at ninety per cent, sir. We’ll survive but there is still the stench. Our moisture retrieval system is also back on line.”

  “Remember, Commander, six months. Do everything you have to do to get all conditions back to normal” said Rick with a nod of dismissal. The commander acknowledged and saluted before his holograph disappeared.

  There was an unsettling feeling in his guts. Given that they had stayed at the same location for almost a week, he knew that another few hours to finish repairs didn’t represent an enormous additional risk. But they were still only a few light-weeks from where Lordsphere had been.

  Rick sat down and resisted the urge to get himself a glass of scotch. He had been sober for the last ten years but he felt he could really use some of the stuff at that moment. He had replaced alcohol with exercise, meditation and strolls in the ship’s botanical area but he had to admit, despite what experts said, they were no match for a nice glass of malt whisky on the rocks. A fragrant Habana cigar would have also been more than welcome. No, you’re not going down that road again. You’re too old for that…

  “You should get some rest, sir” whispered Commander Walker in his gruff highland accent.

  “Once we’re on our way.”

  The big second-in-command nodded and went on to bark at other officers on the bridge. Rick smiled to himself as he observed how everyone’s movement accelerated for about a minute after hearing the Scotsman’s shouts, then conspicuously slowing down to pre-hysteria speeds when the effects wore off. The chief science officer, a short pale-skinned man who stubbornly maintained his Russian surname despite the discrimination he suffered, was looking intently at the charts listing the composition of nearby meteors just in case something of use could be extracted. The navigation officer was quietly plotting a course to their destination while taking into account the movement of stars, noted black holes and other obstacles. The Nicaraguan Marine Corps colonel was standing next to the ship logistics officer, perhaps discussing emergency measures but more likely engaging in just idle small talk.

  Rick was immensely proud of his crew. He no longer had any family to be proud of so the thirty or so sailors and marines on the bridge, the four thousand other members of the ship’s crew, even the members of the Red Sea were like an extended family to him. And he had to get them out of this situation and take them home.

  “Admiral, sir” called out the bridge operations officer. “I think we have something.” The tone of his voice suggested uncertainty, fear and a longing for his guess to be incorrect.

  “Display” ordered Rick. The navigator’s holograph enlarged and moved to the centre of the bridge. It showed a blurry object seemingly in suspended animation in space.

  “What are we looking at, Major Stevenson?” inquired Walker, his voice also trying to hide anxiety.

  “It’s a ship, sir. We can’t yet get a high-definition projection of it but it has a heat signature similar to a small ship. Judging by its current trajectory, it will pass within three AU of our position.”

  “At what speed? How long do we have?”

  The young officer looked at some calculations and shook his head. “Two hours, sir. It’s flying at forty per cent light speed.”

  “It’s a recon module, probably unmanned” remarked Rick. “If that’s true, we’ll be well within its tracking range.”

  “Should we send out a drone to destroy it?” asked Walker.

  Rick shook his head. “No, they would know the whereabouts of the destruction if it’s a recon ship. If they have wormhole access, they could be in the vicinity in a matter of minutes. We have only one option, gentlemen; get the repairs done within two hours. Get Commander Dessaint.”

  The holograph of the Red Sea Commander
showed impeccably the contortions in his face as he grasped the new orders.

  “Is it possible within two hours?” asked Rick in a severe voice.

  “I can’t guarantee it, sir. I respectfully ask the crew of the Virgin Mary to start ahead. You have done enough for the Red Sea.”

  “What a load of bullocks!” exclaimed Walker. “We’re not leaving without ya!”

  Rick knew that the two commanders were good friends, having graduated from the Navy Academy the same year. “Commander, that is for me to decide” he said reproachfully. “But I concur with Commander Walker’s view. We all know that the Red Sea couldn’t even fight off a small destroyer in its current state. Either we leave together, or we fight together.”

  Commander Dessaint was about to protest when the operations officer suddenly intruded in the conversation. “Sir, the vessel has shifted direction and increased its speed. It’s coming towards us. It must have detected electronic activity from our position.”

  The holograph of the ship was now less blurred. The black ship, smaller than a transport shuttle but larger than a fighter, remotely resembled a fish. Rick knew that the Chinese preferred their ships to resemble animals. Based on his experience, he was almost sure that what they were looking at wasn’t a ship but a long-range recon drone. He could almost make out laser sensors and wave frequency detectors.

  “You get that repair work done, Commander” said Rick. “And I hereby give you the rank of captain. We’ll do the ceremony once we’re safer. Move your arse, Captain Dessaint.”

  The holograph disappeared. Rick had to make a choice. If he sent a drone to destroy the recon vessel, an enemy fleet could appear within ten minutes. But if he launched the drone now, it could intercept the vessel about five AU away from their current position, a vast area to cover. That could buy them some time to finalize the repairs. The quicker the drone was sent out, the more area the enemy would eventually have to comb.

  “Send out three attack drones, just in case that thing is armed” he ordered. “And arm one of them with a tactical nuclear weapon. If an enemy ship does appear in the vicinity, we’ll try to inflict as much damage to keep them occupied.”

  “Aye, sir. Excellent idea, sir” replied the commander of the air group before relaying the order to the drone docks.

  Within a minute, three armed drones shot out in different directions in order to converge on the target from different angles. A human ‘pilot’ would be strapped and neuro-connected to a command-and-control post to give them orders in case the situation changed suddenly.

  “Our drones are travelling at sixty-per cent light speed, sir. They should converge on the target in about fifty-five minutes if the speeds of both parties remain constant” explained the CAG. “We’re approaching from three different directions so the enemy vessel won’t know for sure where we came from.”

  Rick doubted that. The recon vessel’s movements suggested that it already had a good clue to their whereabouts but it was a good tactical decision anyway. All he could do now was wait and hope for the best.

  Chapter 5: Dongjing

  ‘This stele was made to commemorate the friendship between the Renden New Han Emperor and the radiant Queen Mbazo Zekkulo Kawokyo IV, illustrious leader of the Three Seas, Five Lakes, Eighty-Eight Forests and Eight Hundred and Eight Mountains. Our Renden friends will be forever welcome on the Queen’s domain of Three Seas…[deleted]. In exchange, the people of the Three Seas…[deleted] will receive all the benefits of Renden knowledge and technology. This stele was presented to Prince Han Ching-diu, first son of Emperor Han Fa-Hui, on the seventh double full moon of the second month of the eighteenth year of the reign of Queen Mbazo Zekkulo Kawokyo, at Green River, the royal capital of the Three Seas…[deleted]’ – Stele of Friendship between Rendens and the Zaya(now extinct), rough translation, year 2881

  The streets of Dongjing were not as clean and well-maintained as those in Huangjing, Fann found. In fact, the old city that had once been a Russian naval base was now a series of slums and squalor. He could see the Russian heritage in the many Orthodox churches that lined the city. Many of them had originally been bought by wealthy Chinese businessmen to be renovated and used as holiday homes following the annexation of the eastern part of Russia into the New Han Empire. But the harsh climate soon had them abandoning their property to buy villas in milder areas, leaving the churches to beggars and rats.

  He once heard a story about what happened in Dongjing from a young enlisted soldier who hadn’t recognised the prince. Fifteen years ago, his father, the emperor, had decided to inspect the vast expanse of the New Han Empire on Earth. Local officials in Dongjing, afraid of reprimand, went on an extermination campaign of all homeless people. The Massacre of Dongjing, it was later called, created a cleaner city for a while. But the twenty thousand beggars and homeless people who were sent to an ‘alternative home’ were never found again. Many believed they were shipped to outer-space colonies but the young soldier claimed he had seen remains in a mass burial site just fifteen miles from the city. The chemical vapour used to kill them was so potent, that even after fifteen years, no plants would grow at the site.

  Now the churches, the old villas, the abandoned navy barracks were again overrun by the homeless, the hopeless and the diseased. With virtually no local economy to speak of, Dongjing was run by local mafias, drug lords and ex-military thugs. Despite the Walking God ruling worlds thousands of parsecs from Earth, it really was dimmer beneath the proverbial lamp.

  Fann had arrived three nights ago with the help of some officers sympathetic to his cause. Colonel Qin hadn’t missed the fact that Fann was wearing his military fatigues when he pushed him out of the summit of the Heavenly Tower. Military battle gear often detected rapid free-falls and the coiled threads of the fabric would fan out to become essentially a parachute. Even with the aid of the parachute, he had fallen awkwardly on his right shoulder, dislocating it. Several guards came running and they immediately recognised the face of the prince.

  But at the same time countless Web-Com messages were being thrown back and forth to arrest the prince for murdering the emperor. The captain of the guard, a middle-aged man Fann recognised from his youth, had arrested him but instead of taking him to a cell, drove him nonchalantly to his home. You must live, your Highness. You must make right what is wrong. The captain had given Fann his weapon and his personal pulse-glider. Fann knew as he turned away that the captain would most certainly be arrested and then executed. You must make right what is wrong. The words hung in his head like a bad headache. Fann hadn’t even thanked the man. Instead he had just gotten in the vehicle and left.

  He regretted it now. The captain, most certainly already being tortured by the most painful means, was probably asking himself whether the prince had left simply to escape or to really right the wrongs. He should have at least told him, assured him that his life was not forfeited so a young fool could run away. He should have told him that all wrongs would be righted and he would be remembered and honoured. How? You didn’t even bother to get his name!

  His thoughts came back to the task in hand. He walked towards the moving holograph of two dragons, one black and the other white, entwined and moving in an almost sensual way. The name of the establishment, Royal Pleasure, would have been sufficient to bring down the wrath of the Imperial security forces if it had been any other Chinese city on Earth. But everybody in the city knew to stay well away from it, even the mayor and the city officials.

  Fann had changed out of his military gear and donned a dark long coat over simple cotton clothes. His woollen hat was not only useful to hide his face, but also to keep out the chilly winds that warned of the harsh winter to come. He instinctively knew that the surrounding area was full of disguised sensors. The blackened windows of the building almost certainly hid robotic sentinels which would scan the exterior with heavy pulse cannons poised.

  He approached the entrance to the three story building originally made of cheap breeze blocks but
now almost certainly reinforced with bisimigen and bio-metallic alloy. He knocked three times on the heavy iron-wrought door and waited for a response. After a few seconds of silence he knocked again, but this time louder. The evening wind was starting to get stronger, making him pull up the long collars of his coat. He finally banged at full strength, making a thunderous sound in the otherwise silent street.

  A red horizontal beam appeared on the black glass which changed to a zigzag frequency bar when the person or robot behind it spoke. “What do you want?” a deep robotised voice asked.

  Fann was almost sure chemical gas pellets, pulse rifles, neural stunners and a host of other weapons were aimed at him from invisible crevices. “I have come to see Tuul.”

  “There is no Tuul here” said the flat monotone voice again.

  “Bullshit. I need to see him.” He could smell the tell-tale ionised air that indicated a Web-Com scan being performed.

  “There is no Tuul here. Remove yourself from the premises”

  Fann took off his hat and pulled down his collar. He didn’t know where the camera was but was sure whoever was speaking could see him. “You tell Tuul that Prince Fann of the Imperial Family is here to see him. If not, you’ll have dead royalty at your doorstep.”

  The red bar remained still. Fann imagined that the slight blinking reflected the speaker’s indecision. But after a few seconds, the bar disappeared. Fann waited for the door to open, for a gas pellet to knock him out, any sign that his demand was being acknowledged or refused. Instead he got silence. He waited for a full five minutes during which the wind got colder. Someone or something tumbled over a metal dustbin, making a loud clanging sound in the otherwise silent street. He sighed and turned to leave. His only plan up to now had been to meet Tuul. He was pretty sure that if he came back again making the same demand, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

  The metallic sound of bolts turning combined with the hiss of pressure being released made Fann turn back around. The thick door was slightly ajar. He ran towards the door and opened it with some difficulty due to its weight. The interior was dark with only one light pointed at him.