Graveyard of Empires

by Lincoln Cole

  “We can win,” her father said.

  “How many rebellions have worked in the past? None, and there have been hundreds in the last few years alone.”

  “This is different.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Darius is a good man. A great leader. People are rallying to his cause and already we have millions supporting him. The International Council is already rallying to the cause.”

  “And you don’t find that suspicious? I saw the way he paraded them on stage,” Kate said, her voice bitter. “He must have some control over them. Some sort of blackmail.”

  “That’s not fair, Kate,” Carl said, moving over to rest his hands on her shoulders. He gave them a gentle squeeze. “They want to support him.”

  “Why?” Kate asked, turning around. She was half a head shorter than Carl, so she had to look up into his eyes. He was the one to flinch from the gaze, though. “Why would they support him? It doesn’t make sense. He’s only been here for three months. We don’t know very much about him. And what we do know doesn’t seem good. He served the damned First Citizen as one of his personal bodyguards!”

  “So he knows firsthand how bad the man is,” Alaina’s father said, still looking away. “We should be grateful that he joined us. That he wants to lead us. He was one of the Shields, Kate. One of their best. And now he’s one of us. He has the least to gain and the most to lose by rebelling, yet here he is, ready to fight for our freedom.”

  “I don’t trust him,” Kate said. “We’re nothing to him. Just chattel.”

  “We need to trust someone,” Carl said, reaching out and rubbing Alaina on her head. He was a big man with strong hands and a friendly face. He grinned down at her. Alaina giggled and swatted his hand away. “No one wants to live with our chains. No one wants to be slaves.”

  “What chains?” Kate asked, holding up her wrists. “What bonds, Carl?”

  “It’s a metaphor,” Carl said.

  “Metaphors are stupid,” Kate replied. “Is it worth more fighting for perceived freedom or staying alive?”

  “Can’t we have both?”

  “No,” Kate said bluntly. “No, we can’t. Tellus is just one planet. The First Citizen will bring his armies and destroy us in a day.”

  “More will join. Three other planets are already promising to sign our treaty once it is ratified.”

  “And that would make us four planets against hundreds. Thousands even. And they have the army, not us. Better not to rebel when we don’t have a chance of winning.”

  Carl sighed. “If we don’t try, we can’t succeed. This has to start somewhere.”

  Her mother turned back to the sink. She handed the soapy glass to Alaina and leaned heavily against the counter. She rubbed her eyes and let out a deep sigh.

  “Yes, yes it does. But I’m afraid it’s going to end here too.”

  Carl wrapped his arms around Kate, drawing her close. He kissed the back of her knock and rocked her body in a slow dance. She was smaller than he was, tiny in his arms. She looked frail. Scared.

  “It won’t,” he said. “You’re right that Darius only arrived three months ago. You’re right that it’s hard to trust him. But look what he has done in those three months! He’s given us a chance. A path to winning something our parents wanted but could never get for themselves. Freedom.”

  “I know Carl.”

  “But he’s given us something even more important than that.”

  “What?”

  “Hope,” Carl said. “Until he showed up, we had no hope. It’s hard to believe that freedom could be possible, but look how many people come out. The treaty isn’t signed. It isn’t even written and already millions of people are ready for it. We live in quiet desperation.”

  “And now we’ll just be desperate.”

  “Maybe. But we will be free. A lot of people want to be free, not just us.”

  “A lot of people don’t,” Kate said. “No one in the Core is speaking of rebellion. Even the planets in Sector Three aren’t talking about it.”

  “It won’t matter,” Carl said. “Not once the war really starts. We’re drawing a line in the sand and forcing people to pick a side. And when their backs are to the wall and they have to make a decision, most will side with us.”

  “And what happens when they don’t?” Kate asked, turning to face Carl. Her pale blue eyes searched his face. “What happens when they side with the Republic?”

  Carl hesitated. “They won’t,” he said.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “But I do,” Carl said firmly. “They want freedom as badly as we do. They will join our Union.”

  Kate shook her head, closing her eyes. “I can’t stop this war. I don’t think anyone can now. I just don’t think anyone understands the real cost.”

  “We know the cost,” Carl said. “We will win.”

  “Promise me,” Kate said, her voice shaking, “that you won’t join when they come calling. That you won’t fight. I won’t allow you to die for this man.”

  “Kate…”

  “Promise me, or…” she didn’t finish the thought.

  Carl pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “I promise,” he said. “I have a beautiful wife and four glorious children. I’m not about to put my life at risk for anything. Even freedom.”

  Kate nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” Carl agreed. He let her go. They stared at each for a long minute. Both looked sad. Finally, Carl stepped over and picked Alaina up off her stepladder. He took the glass and towel away from her and set them on the counter. “And now that this is settled, I think it’s time for someone to go to bed.”

  “But dad,” Alaina said, yawning, “I’m not even tired.”

  “I know,” he said, holding her against his shoulder. “I meant me.”

  He carried her down the hall. They passed her siblings. Her brother was in his bedroom playing a VR game with a big headset on his face. Her sisters shared their own bedroom and were watching a show. Both were nibbling on little green crackers.

  Alaina slept in the smallest room at the end of the hall. It was barely bigger than a closet and had very little floor space. She was supposed to sleep with her sisters, but they’d thrown a series of catastrophic fits when her parents proposed it: they refused to sleep with a baby in the room.

  And Alaina didn’t mind. Her walls were painted a deep blue and there were two windows. She could look outside and see the moon peeking down on her, silver in the sky. She enjoyed being alone.

  It was also the farthest room from her parents, but that wasn’t an issue either. Alaina usually slept soundly, without many dreams. It was a rare night that she slept in bed with her parents.

  Alaina was gently lowered to the soft and cold sheets. She looked up at her father and yawned.

  “Goodnight, honeybee,” he said, tucking her into the covers and kissing her on the forehead.

  “Goodnight, Daddy,” she said. He turned and started walking toward the door. “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Alaina?” he asked, pausing at the entrance. His body was silhouetted by the light.

  “What was that man talking about today?”

  Her father was silent for a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he said, “He was talking about you.”

  She scrunched up her nose in confusion. “Me?”

  “He was talking about what we had to look forward to. The future. You are our future.”

  She yawned. “I am?”

  “You are,” he said with a nod. “And what a future you will be. I love you, honeybee. Sleep tight.”

  She closed her eyes. “Okay, Daddy,” she whispered, drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter 1

  Sector 1 - Axis

  Argus Wade

  1

  The revolver thundered in the courtyard below.

  Argus could taste bile in his throat. It tasted like jealousy. One in a thousand; maybe one in a million trained marksmen could ever be
as good as Patrick Uhlren with a revolver. With such monumental odds against him, it wasn’t worth getting jealous over how good Patrick was: God granted him his talent, and thus it is God’s triumph, not his.

  That logic stung of falsehood, though. It wasn’t a lack of sacrosanct belief for Argus, but rather a lack of personal worth. Both of them were members of the Ordo Mens Rea, but the similarities ended there. Argus was good with numbers; Patrick, an honorable Shield of the First Citizen, was a prodigy. Given the choice between which of the talents he wanted—guns or numbers—Argus wouldn’t even hesitate.

  Numbers didn’t impress people, but they were safe. Argus had never been good with weapons and sure as hell wasn’t a fan of putting his life at risk. The last time he used a pistol on a training range he’d nearly shot himself in the foot. Plus, numbers were important to the Ministry and the Republic.

  Yet knowing he was important didn’t diminish Argus’s jealousy. Dozens of school children clustered around Patrick with adoring faces. These were the children of the most famous and wealthiest citizens in the Galaxy, the ones who could afford to send their children to the Core to train with the Ministry. All of the children worshiped Patrick in a way that they would never worship Argus.

  It hurt.

  Another small target, no bigger than a kiwi, flew up in the air. The shot that followed shook the glass Argus was watching through. Eighty meters, at least. That was the distance from which Patrick shot the target, and it exploded in a cloud of dust from a direct hit. Another cheer rose from the adoring crowd.

  Argus Wade swallowed his bile. Petty or not, he couldn’t afford to dally. He had a job to do.

  “Patrick is an excellent shot,” the quartermaster offered, stepping up beside Argus to look out at the courtyard.

  They were standing in a glass walkway, having stopped on their way to the hangar. They wanted to see what the commotion was about—neither had known a Shield was visiting the Ministry today—and ended up watching for several minutes.

  “He is,” Wade agreed, “one of the best.”

  “To think: one of the First Citizen’s personal defenders,” the quartermaster said, reverently touching the glass as he watched Patrick reload his weapon. A flick of the wrist and then he rolled the bullets gracefully into the chamber. “I once dreamed of being chosen to join the Twelve. What a foolish child I was.”

  What child doesn’t wish for that? Argus wondered. But there can only be twelve at any time. He turned away from the window. “You were saying?”

  “I was?”

  Argus waved his hand in annoyance. “About the trip. You were listing off supplies being loaded into my ship.”

  The quartermaster—he was short and ruddy with droopy cheeks—opened his ledger once again and ran his finger along the page. He found his spot and cleared his throat.

  “Twenty-two crates of foodstuffs, including sixty-eight pounds of perishables and—”

  “How many day’s worth?” Argus interrupted. “I don’t need specifics.”

  The man scanned his page again. “Forty-six.”

  “I thought it was thirteen days?” Argus said. “When I spoke to the Minister he said it would be a normal trip.”

  “I haven’t spoken to him,” the man replied.

  “How many priests will be accompanying me?”

  “Only one. Jeremiah Robinson. He’s been sent an itinerary and is expected to move to the Hummingbird whenever you send for him.”

  Argus stifled a groan. Jeremiah was annoying on his best days. An old priest, set in his ways, and angry with anything he didn’t understand. That category included most things, especially the Order to which Argus belonged. The Ordo Mens Rea wasn’t discussed openly in the Ministry. Only a handful of people even knew it existed, let alone what it was for. Jeremiah didn’t rank highly enough to be trusted, so he resorted instead to distrusting any and all priests he knew were members.

  And that list included Argus.

  The worst part was that Jeremiah wouldn’t like that Argus was in charge. He would be quick to report any wrongdoings to the Minister.

  But there was nothing Argus could do about it now. He pushed the concern away. “Very well. We will be leaving for Sector Three—”

  “Six,” the quartermaster interrupted, closing his ledger. “You’ll be going to Sector Six.”

  “Six?” Argus echoed, excitement creeping into his voice. That changes everything. “You are certain?”

  “Quite.”

  “Sector Six is outside Republican territory. It’s an unclassified sector.”

  “Yet human occupied,” the quartermaster replied. “Therefore, they should hear the word of the lord and receive His blessing.”

  “We haven’t traveled past sector four in hundreds of years,” Argus said. “They don’t know of the Ministry.”

  “Only for now,” the man replied. “But by the grace of the First Citizen, we will bring the heathens into the fold within the next few years. The legacy of such integration will belong to those men and women brave enough to face the savagery beyond our borders and spread the word of our Lord.”

  Shameless ass-kissing, Argus thought, isn’t necessary.

  Another gunshot sounded from below, but it barely registered to Argus Wade. His mind was in motion now, doing what it did best: sifting the muddy water to find the gold.

  I suggested traveling to Sector Six years ago, but I never expected the Minister to agree. Sector Six is dangerous, but their technology is, at least, thirty years behind ours. Maybe more. The money I could make selling even the most modest equipment…

  “I’ll need protection,” he said.

  The quartermaster looked at his clipboard. “You will have thirty soldiers from the Capital Cruiser Denigen’s Fist. Two pilots: Jack Lane and Michael Grant—”

  “I have someone particular in mind.”

  The man lowered the clipboard and raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Vivian Drowel.”

  “Not possible,” the man replied. “She is not sanctioned to leave—”

  “I don’t care if she’s sanctioned or not. She’s the one I want. She has clearance, correct?”

  “That was revoked when she returned from the Capital two years ago. She isn’t allowed to leave the Ministry until she has been cleared.”

  Argus groaned internally. “Well then un-revoke it. I don’t care what you have to do, get her clearance. If I’m being sent out into dangerous territory, I want someone with me I can trust.”

  The man hesitated, and then jotted something on the data pad. “I will see what I can do.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Wade lied. He felt a jolt of heat run across his temporal lobe as his implant heated up. He added just enough suggestion to his words to make the man do as he asked. Manipulating someone’s mind was dangerous: if the Minister caught him, his punishment would be immediate execution. But he doubted the ruddy-faced man would ever know that anything untoward had happened.

  The man nodded, making another notation. His expression was thoughtful.

  This might not be so bad, Argus decided. If they are sending me to Sector Six, they must not have high expectations for conversions to the Ministry. I can stop at Terminus along the way to stock up on goods and spend a few weeks planet hopping. With luck, I’ll leave Sector Six with an empty hull and full bank account.

  Time to go find Vivian.

  2

  “Wade, we have a problem.”

  No hesitation. No greeting. Argus was kind of irked as he stepped into Vivian Drowel’s chambers. It was a small and low-ceilinged room, Spartan in furnishing and completely lacking any warmth or personality.

  Come to think of it, he was always kind of irked when Vivian was around. She wasn’t exactly the friendliest person alive and she was notorious for being straightforward and direct. He trusted her with his life and loved her like a sister, he just didn’t enjoy spending time with her.

  “What sort of problem? I didn’t think they would get wo
rd to you that quickly about coming with me to sector six. But don’t think of it as a burden. It’s an opportunity.”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “The mission trip. I thought you would be excited to go.”

  “What mission trip? What are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Vivian held a data pad out to Argus. He took it and glanced at it: it was currently displaying a list of names.

  “New students,” he said, offering it back to Vivian. “What of it?”

  “Look again.”

  Wade bit back his annoyance and glanced at the pad again. Christian Blain, Anthony Walton, Georgia Winterton. He scanned through the names but didn’t see anything immediately strange about it.

  “A lot of high profile students,” he said. “And a lot of very rich families sending their children here to study. This is the new group arriving next week, correct?”

  “Number twenty-nine.”

  Wade scanned farther down the list and read the name.

  Abigail Walton.

  He read it again, feeling his stomach sink.

  “Oh…” he mumbled. “Oh no.”

  “You said they wouldn’t find her,” Vivian said. “But they have, and she will be arriving in six days.”

  “I didn’t think…I mean…” Argus said, fighting down a surge of panic.

  It wasn’t possible, especially not on a day like today when everything was going so well.

  “And yet, there she is.”

  “I can’t let them have her,” Argus said. He clenched his fist in fear and rage. “How the hell did they find her?”

  “I don’t know, Wade.”

  “She’s not some cattle for them to do with as they please. She’s my daughter!”

  He hadn’t meant to yell, yet the words hung in the air. Vivian stared at him, her expression unreadable, and Wade took a few deep breaths. His face felt flush and his muscles were tense.

  “Are you done?”

  Wade didn’t know. He said, “Yeah, I’m done.”

  “Good, now explain what you meant.”

  “What?” Wade asked.

  “About the trip. You said something about Sector Six.”