Fortunes of the Imperium - eARC

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “No, sir,” she said. “No other drydock facilities report working on their ship. They could have loaded it into a cargo bay in deep space. I know there’s a bunch of jockeying around out there if someone is carrying above the duty free allowance of certain goods. But that’s the cargo bays, sir. The waste tanks aren’t designed to be opened out there on any Imperium ship. Even if there are vacuum valves to protect the living spaces, there’s still too much of a chance of a life-support rupture.”

  Nirdan cringed. “We’ve seen the results of that, too. I didn’t like having to view the bodies before everything was sent back to the Core Worlds for investigation, but it was part of my job. Sublight, it took two years to fly them home.”

  “Couldn’t have been nice for the relatives when they got there,” Oskelev said.

  “Out of curiosity, why aren’t the waste tanks designed to open in deep space?” Nirdan asked. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to dispose of, er, unpleasant matter elsewhere?”

  “It’d require too much reverse engineering of most vessels, sir,” Anstruther said. “And, no, it looks like these ships weren’t altered for such a maneuver.”

  Nesbitt climbed up the ladder again. Redius gave him a hand getting out of the access port.

  “I need a drink of water,” he said. “Is life support still running?”

  “Yes,” Nirdan said. “We try to keep the vessels in good condition, hoping that the crews can reclaim them at some point.”

  The big man pushed past them into the living quarters of the ship. He returned with a beaker in his hand and a disgusted look on his face.

  “What is the matter, ensign?” Parsons asked.

  Nesbitt held out the cup.

  “This water, sir. It tastes terrible.”

  Plet immediately took the cup from him.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s brackish tasting, almost musty,” Nesbitt said. “Can water go moldy?”

  “It shouldn’t be like that,” Nirdan said, looking over Plet’s shoulder into the glass.

  “If the life support system is functioning, the water filtration system ought to be working, too,” Plet reminded him.

  Nirdan looked at his pocket secretary for a schematic of the ship. He went to a panel on the common wall with the living quarters and removed it. Rows of red lights shone above one lone and overburdened green.

  “That’s weird,” he said. “It isn’t working. Neither is the air system. None of the purification systems are operational.”

  “Redius, get an oxygen level,” Plet instructed. The Uctu brought out his sensor and walked out of the chamber with it held aloft. The ship was not large; he returned fairly soon.

  “Bad,” he said. “Ten percent oxygen, twenty carbon dioxide.”

  Plet glanced at the scope in horror.

  “Whatever they did to this ship, it would have become unlivable in practically no time,” she said. “They could have died in space of carbon dioxide poisoning. No hydroponics area to absorb it, like on large ships. A couple of herbs and a tomato plant to make all the processed and stable food taste a little better, but that wouldn’t do enough. They sacrificed their health to make money.”

  “It’s impossible that they could have come this far with the systems compromised in this fashion,” Parsons said. “Run a diagnostic.”

  Redius ran his fingertips over the touch screen. The lights went from red to green. The fans and pumps under the deck plates were already running. After a moment, the tiny points flickered, then each went back to red.

  “Running, but not operating correctly.”

  “That means there’s something we’re missing,” Oskelev said. “What are we not seeing?”

  “If the pumps are operational, why isn’t the purification system working?” Plet asked.

  The timid Anstruther all but blurted out her thoughts.

  “Nanites. The pumps only circulate air, water and waste. Something has gone wrong with the nanites that do the processing.”

  “Check on them,” Plet said. “Their programming might have gone inert.”

  The crew scattered to several access points around the ship. Parsons monitored their inspections. He had a suspicion as to the cause of the malfunction, but did not want to prejudice their minds before they had gathered facts to support his theory. Redius, whose station was engineering, was the first to put his spatulate fingertip on the problem.

  “Nanites gone,” he said. “All.”

  Anstruther and Nesbitt returned with similar reports.

  “There should have been kilos of nanites, in every system on the ship,” Anstruther said, showing Plet and Parsons her tablet. “There aren’t any that I can detect.”

  “Or me,” Nesbitt said. “Even the self-healing pipes in the walls aren’t self-healing any more. I found a bunch of leaks in the hygiene room. The place stinks.”

  “In the absence of nanites, there are undoubtedly hundreds of strains of bacteria and viruses that are growing unchecked in the systems,” Plet said. “The water reservoir is probably badly contaminated now.”

  Nesbitt’s face contorted with dismay. Sweat broke out in small beads on his forehead. He put his hand to his mouth.

  “I drank some of it,” he said.

  “Hospital facilities at your service,” the chief inspector said, kindly. “Invite for checkup. I make appointment.” She lifted her hexagonal pad and made a few swipes with her fingertip.

  “Thank you, inspector,” Parsons said. “If you need to make use of the facilities to rid yourself of the intake, Ensign, I suggest you do so before we get back on the shuttle.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nesbitt said. He backed out of the room, and fled.

  Parsons returned his attention to the remaining crew.

  “What could have removed all the nanites from a ship?” Plet asked. “Were they experimenting with some kind of program to evacuate micromachines, and it got out of hand?”

  “We need to discern whether this is a specific instance, or whether the situation exists over the other ships in custody,” Parsons said. “Are there any nanites left to analyze?”

  “Not one, sir,” Anstruther said. “It’s the strangest thing I have ever seen.”

  Parsons turned to Plet.

  “I suggest you send a message under seal to FitzGreen on Way Station 46, lieutenant,” he said. “We were looking for the presence of a hostile agent, not an absence. Perhaps the nanites opened the panels of the ship on a microscopic level so that the insertion of a warship and a cache of weapons would not be visible to casual inspection, then departed from the ship so no trace could be found of their involvement. The removal of native nanites must be a side-effect. Ask him to investigate whether the trace remains of an unexpected drain of nanites. He must trust no one. These are dangerous people we are dealing with. They ruthlessly involve innocent traders as pawns to be sacrificed for the goods they are smuggling.”

  “You say innocent,” the chief inspector said, her forehead wrinkled. “But court requires proof of means.”

  Parsons met her gaze with confidence he only half felt. “We will find the evidence to support our theory, madam.”

  “Hope you will,” she said.

  CHAPTER 34

  I held the Autocrat’s right hand in my left, as I traced the folds of pale orange skin with my right forefinger.

  “This deep, straight one indicates the length of your life,” I said. “It corresponds to the long curved one on the human hand.” I showed her my life line.

  “They are not the same shape,” Visoltia said, curiously. “I have never examined a human hand so closely.”

  “I will show you the charts, and you may try your own interpretations on me,” I promised her. “And this is your heart line. Hmm. I see sorrow in your immediate past, about halfway back in your life, and at the very beginning.” I pointed out the three breaks in the shallow trough on her palm. She nodded.

  “My father, two years back. My grandmother, when I was but
nine summers. And my mother. I was so small I don’t even remember her. But you could have learned that from my Infogrid file.”

  “But not this,” I said, seizing upon a tiny starburst of lines immediately below her third finger. “This marking is believed to indicate that you are devoted to those you make your friends. You are true to them no matter what.”

  “But you have that same mark,” Visoltia said, pointing to a place on my upturned hand.

  “Ah, but in human parlance, that is known as the Mystic Cross,” I said, raising my eyebrows impressively. “The ancient texts say that those with it have an open door to the infinite. Oh, and look at the lines on the side of your hand. In a human palm, I would say that meant you were going to have three children. The Uctu texts indicate that you have three severe trials of trust in your lifetime. Your other hand says that you have already suffered two of them. I would guess from what you have told me, and what I have read about you, that those are the loss of your father and grandfather.”

  “You are far better than the official diviner, Lord Toliaus,” she said, her eyes large and solemn. “You must be very tuned in to the rhythms of the unseen dance.”

  “I like to think so,” I said, beaming.

  “The two of you must meet and discuss the infinite while you are here,” she said. “Often.”

  “It is a rather large subject, but I will do as Your Serenity pleases,” I said.

  “My turn!” Visoltia said eagerly. She reached across the bed, for indeed the enormous divan upon which we sat was her sleeping place. This was not a throne room, as I had previously divined, but the State Bedroom. We had been introduced to her at the Second Levee, following Her Serenity’s habitual nap during the hottest part of the afternoon.

  The vast room had been abandoned by all but a few servants and my party. Rimbalius had departed with open reluctance, but he had left behind two guards, who stood a couple of meters off the edge of the bed, their hands on the butts of their weapons. They looked very uncomfortable to be present at a party of the informal level to which it had devolved. So too were Ambassador Galeckas and her assistant. The Autocrat’s nursemaid had beckoned them to join her at a polite remove so we could speak to them, but they could not easily overhear our private conversation.

  For our part, I was very comfortable. I sat in the half-lotus position with the skirts of my robes around me. Jil and her ladies lounged on their sides around us, a couple paying attention to, even participating in, the festivities; the rest, including Jil, not. Our shoes were on the floor beside the bed. As a courtesy, one of the Autocrat’s ladies had furnished her with Visoltia’s smallest jewel box to fossick through for fun. Jil and Marquessa had spent the last hour or so trying on earrings, bracelets and necklaces. It seemed that the Uctu did not go in much for crowns or diadems, having already a crest of tiny, reddish scales that would have served well as a regal headpiece. Nor, lacking external ears, did they have a tradition of earrings.

  One of the ladies anticipated her mistress’s needs and met the outstretched hand with a small bundle knotted into a gold silk handkerchief.

  “I am surprised that all of you made it through the Room of Trust alive,” Visoltia said pleasantly, rooting through the bundle. “So many groups have lost a member out of panic.”

  “Er, what happens to the ones who are lost?” Hopeli asked, trembling with understandable nervousness.

  The Autocrat looked at her with a sad smile.

  “I do not wish to mar this pleasant moment,” she said. “Those who are lost are doomed to perish. I am so glad that all of you were able to pass within. I have not enjoyed the presence of strangers so much in a long time.”

  “Perish?” The girl’s voice trembled as she realized all of us had had a lucky escape.

  “Is it your tradition to kill off visitors before you have even met them?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

  “Only the ones whom the fates decree are not worthy of meeting me.”

  “Good heavens,” I said. “That would shave a few hours off those long, dull welcoming ceremonies at home. I can see my cousins taking bets on the outcome.”

  “It does not happen always,” the Autocrat said, with a simple upturning of her hand. “Once you know the secret, it is easy to enter. Perhaps too easy. But it is a tradition. No one who was here before is allowed to tell newcomers, in case they have bad intentions. The fates sort out those who mean me ill.”

  I changed the subject with a deep clearing of my throat.

  “I have many matters to bring to your attention from your brother my cousin,” I said.

  Visoltia shook the bundle at me.

  “Later. Don’t you want to know your prospects of love?”

  “With an Uctu maiden?” I asked, as she removed several small objects from the silken handkerchief. That gave Visoltia another fit of the giggles.

  “No! Unless that is what the fates decree.”

  I was content for the moment to occupy myself learning her customs, as I felt they would give me greater insight into the Autocrat’s way of thinking. Visoltia touched one amulet after another to the back of my hand. Each was formed as an animal from somewhere in the Autocracy. Few bore a resemblance to Imperium creatures. Each charm was made of a different substance in a rainbow of colors.

  “What are you trying to determine?” I asked, watching her with interest.

  “If any of these match the texture of your skin, it tells me what kind of mate you seek,” she said. “Do you wish for a strong love, or a gentle one? Do you seek your equal, or would you prefer to serve or master? Will the one who is right for you come as a surprise, or is it one on whom you have had your eye?”

  “At the moment, I am too busy for love,” I protested, but she continued to try each object against my skin.

  “Perhaps you are,” Visoltia said, putting the last charm back into the silk bag. “I have exhausted the fetishes, and found none that are precisely like you.”

  “That’s Thomas all over,” Jil said, amused. “He is exhausting.” The other ladies tittered once I explained the joke in Imperium Standard.

  “That is not the correct word?” she asked me. “Lord Thomas!”

  I brought my attention back to her.

  “Your mind wanders,” Visoltia said, reproachfully.

  “I beg your pardon,” I said. “I was trying to clear it, and it went off on its own to admire your lovely curtains.”

  “No, all of the time,” she said, studying me with a wisdom that belied her youth. “Your mind is restless. It is the sign of a seeker. I knew you were the one to speak with me. You must stay as long as you can. It will be of great benefit to the Imperium and the Autocracy if you remain here. We shall be friends forever.”

  “I do hope we will,” I said. “Our peoples are such near neighbors. With that in mind, Your Serenity, what is the reason for keeping our ships from crossing . . . ?”

  “You are so well-versed in the occult arts,” Visoltia said. “What do you use to tell the future?”

  I could tell that I was going to have to work the questions I needed to ask into context, but I was also pleased to discuss my enthusiasm.

  “My favorite means of attempting to read the future is with a crystal ball, Your Serenity. It is quite a beauty, clear rock crystal and a perfect sphere, but Parsons, my aide-de-camp, whom you met—the tall, austere one—removed it from my luggage. Perhaps I should have seen that coming in the globe itself,” I added, with what I thought was admirable self-deprecation.

  “Never fear, Thomas,” Visoltia said, with a winsome smile. “I have one.” She clapped her hands. A lithe female Uctu glided forward. She wore a gown that was a simplified version of her mistress’s. I assumed that meant she was a favorite.

  “Tcocna, fetch the Eye of Wisdom.”

  “I say!” I exclaimed. “You’ve named your crystal? I must come up with a title for mine.”

  “It is a tradition here to give all things of importance to you a name,” she said.
>
  I mused upon that. Symbolism in the Autocracy was of the same level of importance that it was to the Imperium. I had seen that mentioned in the histories that Parsons had forwarded to me.

  “How delightful,” I said. “I think I will adopt the custom.” Visoltia looked pleased.

  “Will you name your cameras, too, Thomas?” Jil asked.

  I waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. They are only tools. I rarely go on lengthy photo shoots any longer. I save my attention for the contemplation of the infinite.”

  “You have the attention span of a housefly, Thomas.”

  “That is quite a compliment,” I said.

  “Oh, dear, Thomas, all this involvement in the occult is warping your brain.”

  “Not at all,” I countered. “Unless you have come across less involved houseflies than I have. All the ones that torment me are fixed absolutely on gaining access to the food or drink that I am determined to keep away from them. Therefore, a compliment.”

  Jil rolled her eyes. The other ladies laughed, most likely at me, but Banitra’s dancing eyes told me she was with me. I was glad to have at least one ally, however perilous.

  Shortly, a piping fanfare erupted outside the audience room. The Autocrat sat upright on her cushion, her blue spots brightening.

  “The Eye of Wisdom arrives.”

  The servant returned, her hands held flat to shield the sides of her eyes. Behind her, two male Uctu brought a litter into the room. On top of it was a draped bulge of a silhouette not unlike in size to that of my crystal ball, which I was determined that moment therefrom to name The Orb of Clarity. Behind them came a pair of robed Uctu playing a small metal drum and a fife. The young males approached the Autocrat and set the litter down before her on the bed. They withdrew, licking the center of their top lips to show that they were dying of curiosity and would prefer to have remained. The door closed behind them.

  “Very impressive,” I said. “Our emperor’s possessions never enter the room with a musical escort.”

  “The Eye requires due ceremony,” Visoltia said in all seriousness. She hesitated, then drew the cloth away. We gasped.