Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  Logran’s caustic expression at hearing the suggestion caused Morane to suspect he was a recipient of Downes’ promises.

  Morane saw the governor hesitate and suspected the idea of speaking with a man who abetted her husband’s betrayal might be too much. But then, she nodded.

  “An excellent idea, Admiral. And as legal ruler of Lyonesse, even one with limited executive powers, I order the following. Titles, including my own, are henceforth forbidden, and the nobility abolished on this planet. Speaker Hecht, if the council could find time to debate my executive order and pass an appropriate act to enshrine it in our laws, I would be grateful.”

  “We will make room on the calendar as soon as possible, Madame. I’m sure the motion will pass with little debate.”

  And with those words, Morane thought, Yakin had cut the last few strands keeping Lyonesse attached to the empire. Whether anyone else in the conference room realized it, they were now indeed an independent star system, unfettered by a dying empire and a thousand years of ossified tradition.

  — 18 —

  Governor the no longer Honorable Elenia Yakin climbed out of the aircar and studied her surroundings. As Hecht, Logran, and Morane joined her on the rammed earth parade ground, a Marine command sergeant in green battledress uniform and brimmed field cap emerged from the headquarters building and headed in their direction. Political prisoners by the dozen converged on the open space, curious about this unexpected break in their monotonous day.

  The noncom came to a precise halt six paces from the aircar and saluted.

  “Command Sergeant Anno Leung, D Squadron, 21st Pathfinder Regiment, sir. I’m the duty officer.”

  Morane returned the compliment.

  “At ease, Sergeant. Governor Yakin, Speaker Hecht, and Chief Administrator Logran wish to tour the resettlement camp and see how our former political prisoners are doing.”

  “Yes, sir. Certainly.” Leung turned to Yakin. “Your Excellency, gentlemen, what may I show you?”

  Before Yakin could answer, a loud voice suffused with the nasal Wyvern twang that set Morane’s nerves on edge called out, “My dear Elenia. It is you. Thank the Almighty someone heard my entreaties.”

  Severin Downes broke through the throng and hurried toward the visitors, arms outstretched. A pair of Marines armed with nothing more than holstered blasters made as if to restrain him, but Morane raised his hand, stopping them. The deadly gleam in Yakin’s eyes should suffice to deter Downes.

  “My dear Elenia?” She parroted. “We were never formally introduced.”

  Downes stopped in his tracks, momentarily nonplussed by the arctic chill in her voice.

  “Severin Count Downes of Hallibrank, Elenia. Your husband Wade is one of my good friends.”

  “My former husband, who proved to be an utterly despicable cad worthy of the imperial court’s cesspool, and I do not share friends, Mister Downes. In fact, I can’t recall a single friend of Wade’s I didn’t consider vile. And you will please address me as befits the office I hold. An ex-courtier such as yourself should know the proper forms.”

  Anger blazed in Downes’ eyes.

  “Forms? I beg your pardon, but did you forget a count outranks an honorable, especially the daughter of a minor baronet, and that a secretary to the imperial chamberlain outranks a colonial governor?”

  “I am well aware of court hierarchies, Mister Downes. But we are not on Wyvern, we are in the Sovereign Star System of Lyonesse, which is no longer part of the empire. I issued an executive order abolishing titles and making the idea of a noble class anathema. Therefore, I am no longer an honorable, and you are not a count. As for being the chamberlain’s secretary.” She waved her hand to indicate the camp. “Your presence here is evidence enough you lost that post when Dendera condemned you to exile. Besides, your erstwhile master died before Admiral Morane found and salvaged the prison ship taking you to Parth.”

  Downes’ jaw muscles clenched as he fought to restrain his fury.

  “Are you insane? You can’t simply abolish the nobility because you’re annoyed at being exiled on a shitty backwater colony with no future. I can see why Wade set you aside for someone from a better bloodline.”

  “Mister Downes,” Morane growled in a tone so menacing the man took an involuntary step back. “You will show Governor Yakin the respect she deserves, or you will find yourself in the Windy Isles before this day is out. The proper terms are ‘your excellency’ when you first address her, then madame afterward. Is that clear?” When Downes didn’t respond, Morane raised his voice. “Is that clear, Mister Downes?”

  By this time, complete silence had fallen over Camp Caffrey as everyone stared at Yakin, Morane, and Downes in astonishment.

  “And so we understand each other,” Morane continued, “the empire’s writ no longer extends to this system, and hasn’t since the Coalsack Sector rose in revolt against Dendera. Lyonesse is a self-governing, independent world, empowered to write its own laws. No one here gives a flying fuck about Wyvern, the court, or the empress. You will be simple citizens once you’re released from custody. Simple citizens who will make their own way in life, without sinecures, political connections, patronage, or nepotism.”

  “Now listen here—”

  “Shut up, Downes. Just shut up. I am beginning to regret salvaging Tanith and saving your worthless hides. Lyonesse might be better off if I’d left that damn ship to drift forever. The next time you wish to lodge a complaint about your living conditions, you will speak with the camp duty officer who will pass it up the chain of command for consideration. Do not try to suborn employees of the Lyonesse government again, or I will see that you’re charged with corruption. Perhaps a year or two working a prison farm upcountry will force that lazy aristocratic lump you call a brain into realizing your life has irrevocably changed.”

  Downes’ eyes shifted to Logran, but the chief administrator was staring out over the perimeter fence at the green fields surrounding Caffrey.

  “Are you going to let this jumped up space rat with fake stars on his collar speak with me like that, Chief Administrator? I thought your Department of Public Safety was in charge of our well-being.”

  “The defense force is responsible for your welfare, Mister Downes,” Logran finally muttered. “Best do as the admiral says.”

  Downes gave both Yakin and Morane a final poisonous stare, then turned on his heels and stomped off, pushing his way through the stunned throng.

  “His sort makes me happy I’ll never see Wyvern and the court again and confirms abolishing the nobility is the right thing for our planet.” She lost most of her icy countenance and essayed a smile. “I’d love to see the camp now, Command Sergeant Leung.”

  **

  Emma Reyes chuckled as Morane recounted the visit to Camp Caffrey later that evening in the Chancellors dining room at the College Club.

  “I always figured our Elenia hid a reinforced titanium backbone beneath exquisite manners and the patience of a saint. She just needed the right encouragement. Finally letting out a bit of that repressed anger must have gone far to lance the old boil. The poor thing’s been sitting on it for eight long years, pretending nothing could touch her. And good riddance to that aristocratic nonsense. Few will mourn the fact they can never become a lordling or grandiose lady now. And those who will regret the nobility’s abolition are the sort undeserving of honors. You’d be surprised how many of my most insufferable academic colleagues dream of adding a title of nobility to their pedigree.” She snorted. “As if it would hide their many character flaws.”

  Morane took a sip of his wine and nodded.

  “But I fear once we set Downes and the other former aristocrats loose, a few of them will stop at nothing to regain what they believe is theirs by right of birth. Logran might turn his back on Downes for the moment since he sees there’s nothing to gain by sucking up, but our friend Severin will try again. His sort never stops because they never learn.”


  “Probably. The important thing is we cast off the last trappings of empire and stepped into political adulthood, ready to find our way in the galaxy.”

  “Just keep in mind that while adults can call for help from their parents, star systems who declare independence, not so much. Even if our imperial or rebel parents don’t yet realize we left the family home.”

  Reyes raised her glass in salute.

  “Making sure we keep what’s ours would be your job, Admiral. Though I’m of Elenia’s opinion. Captain general is an elegant title for someone commanding both ground and naval forces. What happens when Brigid DeCarde succeeds you?”

  “Then she becomes a major general.” He emptied his glass and accepted Reyes’ offer of a refill. “You’ll attend the defense force inauguration ceremonies?”

  “I wouldn’t miss them for the world. We see little pageantry in these parts, and it’ll give me an occasion other than graduation to wear a chancellor’s full fig.”

  “I’m sure you look fetching in it.”

  Amused self-mockery suffused her delighted laugh.

  “I look like a tall, strangely colored mushroom, thanks to the oversized Tudor bonnet de rigueur for Lyonesse University officers. But since change is in the air, perhaps I can force through an amendment to the faculty’s ceremonial dress code. Though not in time for your parade, I suppose. The council of deans will probably argue about such a proposition for months on end without resolution.”

  “Sayre’s Law again?”

  “Yep.” She toasted him and drained her glass. “It’s one of the universal constants, like gravity or entropy.”

  “I’m sure the professors in your physics department would object to that characterization.”

  “Doubtful. They show no patience for petty infighting. At worst, they might say my metaphor makes no sense, which would technically be true.”

  “Not to change the subject, but how goes our knowledge vault project?”

  Reyes sighed.

  “I think I’ve finally convinced every last department head of the need to create repositories for their respective knowledge bases and put the necessary time and effort into producing a durable physical output we can store in your underground warehouse. I fear processing the data dumps from your starships is still pending while we search for volunteers. However, Sister Gwenneth promised me two or three dozen Brethren to help once she settles the Order into its shipping container abbey. They’ll work here on the university grounds, which should thrill those among the faculty and student body who profess to be militant atheists. But that’s always good for a few laughs since they don’t appreciate the irony of their zealously held belief in being non-believers.”

  “And you?”

  “What do I believe, you mean? I’m firmly in the mushy middle. Hedging my bets, so to speak. But I don’t mind the Order of the Void or others like them. They serve a useful purpose beyond matters of faith, and unlike the most militant of my faculty atheists, they don’t proselytize. Beyond that, I don’t give it much thought. You?”

  “Some days I’m part of the mushy middle, other times, I either fiercely want to believe in a higher power or strongly reject the notion. But I admire those whose faith appears unshakable, like Sister Gwenneth and her colleagues. They always seem so peaceful, so reconciled with the universe. Except when the political lordlings got the best of them. That was the first time I saw Gwenneth struggle to keep her composure. Which tells us something.”

  “And before we delve too deeply into metaphysics or the mysteries of the universe, could I interest you in a twenty-year-old Glen Arcturus Special Reserve? I’m reliably informed it’s the only bottle left on Lyonesse, and with the empire cut off, the last of its kind in this part of the galaxy.”

  Morane returned her mischievous smile with a broad grin.

  “Which of the political lordlings must I kill with my bare hands for such nectar?”

  “No one need die for this, my dear admiral. But the nectar is hidden away in the university chancellor’s official residence. Shall we scandalize faculty and student body alike by pretending to carouse behind hallowed doors?”

  — 19 —

  Mykonos

  The door to the guest quarters opened without warning, as it often had since Danton locked Marta and Heloise into their gilded cage. Unable to cause her direct harm for fear of attracting Grand Duke Custis’ wrath, he and his staff contented themselves with small irritants such as invading their privacy at the least opportune moments. Thankfully, Danton didn’t even make a pretense at hospitality and kept well away from both women, which suited Marta. She didn’t think herself capable of verbally assailing her husband’s murderer again like on the day of their arrival, let alone sit across from him at the dining room table without using her fork as a weapon.

  But worry about her children and her own future took an emotional toll. After a few days of watching Marta sink into what could soon become a crippling depression brought on by terminal hopelessness, Heloise quietly began to teach her the basic mental discipline exercises every Void postulant learned in the first few weeks after entering an abbey. Marta proved to be an apt student and not only snapped out of her funk by the middle of their second week of confinement but showed the beginnings of a Void Sister’s composure in the face of difficult situations.

  Both women were sitting in the lotus position on the day room’s bare floor, eyes closed, spirits soaring through the universe, or at least, so it seemed to Marta’s spinning visions when Danton’s junior aide burst into the room.

  “Your transport to Yotai has entered orbit, Milady. One of its shuttles will shortly land on Government House’s private pad. Please make sure you and your lady-in-waiting are ready to leave by fourteen hundred hours.”

  “Understood,” Marta replied in an absent voice, her inner sight, what Heloise called the third eye, still fixed on the Void.

  After giving her and Heloise a strange look, the Guards officer retreated into the corridor.

  A few minutes later, once both surfaced back into the here and now, Marta said, “It would be nice to know whether the others reached safety before we leave Mykonos.”

  Marta now knew, from late night whispers in her ear, after she began Heloise’s mental discipline training, the Brethren were hoping one of the Order’s starships would pass through the system and hear Sister Averyl’s distress beacon. Hence the attempt at reaching Thera on the western continent where, far from the heart of Danton’s thuggish administration, they could wait in anonymity.

  “If I might get a few minutes of access to a communications node still in contact with the rest of the planet, I might be able to check for a message.”

  A crooked smile banished Marta’s serious expression.

  “Maybe I should make doe eyes at that commissioned Guards idiot when he comes to fetch us.”

  “It might be better if we wait until we’re aboard the ship. Her captain will probably be more amenable to your wishes considering the importance Viceroy Custis places on your welfare.”

  “So I make doe eyes at him or her and hope I buy you time at a communications terminal. No problems. I’ll play the future ruler of a reborn empire under Devy’s wise guidance until my brain leaks from my ears if that’s what it’ll take.”

  They packed their few belongings — toiletries and clothes which once belonged to Marta and escaped destruction when the rebels took Government House. Since Heloise was approximately her size, she’d chosen a few of the more sober items, in keeping with her assumed status as a noblewoman’s companion.

  At fourteen hundred hours precisely, the door opened again, and an impatient-looking aide gestured at the corridor.

  “Time, Milady. The shuttle is on final approach.”

  “I gather Jorge isn’t seeing us off?” Marta asked as she swept into the corridor.

  “His Excellency is otherwise occupied, Milady, but he sends his best wishes for a pleasant trip.”


  As they passed through Government House’s back door, a pinnace-sized shuttle scarred by decades of hard use flared its thrusters one last time before gently settling on a cracked pad scoured by countless landings and liftoffs over the centuries. The craft still wore Imperial Navy crown and anchor markings even though its registration number started with the prefix identifying it as belonging to a starship from the rebellious 16th Fleet.

  Moments later, the aft ramp dropped, and an officer in blue battledress uniform emerged. She stopped at the ramp’s edge and raised a gloved hand to her brimmed cap in salute.

  “Lady Marta Norum? I’m Lieutenant Ari Tosh of the Rancor class frigate Vindicta. Viceroy Custis sent us for you.”

  Marta inclined her head.

  “I am Marta Norum, Lieutenant, and this is Heloise, my companion and lady-in-waiting. We’re honored the viceroy spared one of his frigates to convey us, especially in these trying times.”

  Tosh seemed to accept Heloise’s unplanned addition to the passenger list without question.

  “The star lanes are no longer as safe as they once were, Milady. Viceroy Custis did not want to take undue risks with your welfare.”

  “How considerate of him,” Marta murmured, glad she was able to refrain from uttering a more sarcastic reply.

  “If you and your lady-in-waiting are ready to leave…” Tosh’s tone turned her words into both a question and an invitation.

  “We are, Lieutenant.”

  Marta walked up the ramp and into the passenger compartment, choosing a window seat. Heloise settled in beside her.

  The shuttle lifted off without further ado, giving Marta a good look at Petras from above before the clouds swallowed them. Though the devastation left by the fighting lost its immediacy from such a distance, she could finally appreciate how widespread it was.