by Eric Thomson
Once the troops were back in line and standing at the parade rest position, Governor Yakin’s clear voice rang out over Lannion Base as her gaze swept the ranks.
“I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed such an impressive display of discipline, professional pride, and esprit de corps. Certainly not from the Imperial Guards I saw on Wyvern. And I know your fighting abilities far outstrip theirs as well. I don’t think it would be exaggerated to say you are probably one of the finest planetary defense forces in existence, one not only born for these troubled times but specifically created to protect what will one day become the cradle of humanity’s rebirth among the stars.
“And I daresay my fellow citizens are in complete agreement. Know that I am honored beyond words to be your commander-in-chief. It is therefore with great pleasure I formally proclaim the creation of the Lyonesse Defense Force. In the name of the people of Lyonesse, I charge you with our safety and the safety of our precious knowledge vault.” She raised her hand to her brow in salute. “We Shall Prevail.”
When Yakin fell silent, a deep-throated roar of approval erupted from the assembled battalions, joined seconds later by the audience’s enthusiastic applause. Morane, facing Yakin from twenty paces away, saw her eyes widen in surprise before a delighted smile softened her serious expression. Sergeant Major Havel might have helped her look and act like a flag officer, but nothing prepared the reserved former noblewoman for the cheers of troops who’d gleefully adopted her as their own.
After that, the rest of the ceremony went by in a blur, but when Morane marched the defense force off the parade square, they were treated to the thumping clap of spectators accompanying the rhythm of the band. Just as the troops had adopted Yakin, it seemed the citizens of Lyonesse had adopted them.
— 22 —
Yotai
“Lady Marta!”
Grand Duke Devy Custis, Regent of the Coalsack Sector, rose from behind his gilded desk and crossed the opulent viceregal office to greet Norum, hands outstretched while the silent aide who’d guided her from the palace’s shuttle pad withdrew.
Norum dipped her head in the greeting typically exchanged between social equals at court.
“Devy.”
Both the gesture and her use of Custis’ first name without title or honorifics were designed to annoy him while showing she in no way considered herself his inferior. But Custis’ broad, welcoming smile never wavered. He took Marta’s hands and studied her face.
“Some might think you’re less than pleased to exchange Mykonos for Yotai.” He released her and waved at a settee group to one side. “Please, let us sit and get reacquainted. I believe we last saw each other well over twenty years ago when your father presented you at Emperor Karlus’ court along with your brother Madoc during that decade’s gathering of the Nobilitas.”
“Why should I be pleased?” Marta asked in a lazy tone as she took a deceptively comfortable chair across from Custis and crossed her legs.
“I suppose you haven’t heard the latest yet. Can I offer you something? Coffee? Tea? Or perhaps one of Yotai’s fabled medicinal spirits?”
Marta shrugged. “Coffee is fine.”
Custis made a hand gesture which she assumed was for an unseen aide watching them.
“Minutes before your ship crossed the wormhole event horizon and left the Mykonos star system, a strong imperial task force emerged from the wormhole connecting Mykonos to the Cascadian Sector. Imperial as in loyal to Dendera. Twenty-one ships, none of them smaller than a cruiser. If our intelligence reports are correct, they’re operating under orders to devastate any rebellious world which does not instantly submit to the Crown and turn over its senior political and military leadership for automatic execution as traitors. Since my own naval forces would have been annihilated had they stayed behind, I evacuated them and left Mykonos to the imperials. You made it out just in time. Judging by what Admiral Zahar told me about this Jorge Danton who took over, it doesn’t look good for the planet’s civilian population, never mind anyone connected to his regime.”
Marta struggled to keep her bland expression against an overwhelming surge of despair. Judging by Custis’ unchanged demeanor, she succeeded. But the news might explain Heloise’s somber mood in the days following their departure. Could she have sensed the arrival of forces planning to punish Mykonos’ treason with utmost violence in the moments before the wormhole swallowed Vindicta? Custis was still prattling on while she felt her heart sink into a black hole from which it might never escape.
“Pardon?” When he stopped talking and gave her a questioning look, she said, “My apologies. I’m a bit fatigued by travel and news that countless more innocents might pay for our so-called betters’ feckless pursuit of absolute power.”
“It is I who should apologize. Perhaps letting you rest for a day or two before we met would have been kinder, especially since you’re safe under the 16th Fleet’s protection.”
A frown creased her forehead. “What about that imperial task force?”
Custis waved the question away.
“I doubt they’ll go beyond Mykonos. Besides, their commander will know they cannot hope to enter the Yotai system with impunity. Twenty-one ships, minus those detailed to guard the formation’s withdrawal route, won’t make it past the wormhole defense arrays, let alone come within firing range of Yotai itself. You’re perfectly safe here.”
A serving bot, carrying a tray with two cups, a carafe, and various small bowls, entered the office via a hidden side door. At Custis’ silent signal, it placed the tray on the low table separating him from Marta and vanished.
“Since we’re among friends, my dear, I think we can help ourselves.” After they’d done so, Custis took an appreciative sip and sat back in his chair. “I’m not sure whether I should ask, but the records show you and your late husband had two children which should be around eight years of age. Did they also fall victim to the unfortunate turbulence that took poor Hachim’s life?”
Marta kept her eyes on her cup while she ran through one of Heloise’s mental discipline exercises. Otherwise, she might chuck the hot coffee in Custis’ face. Unfortunate turbulence indeed. A parade of increasingly mortal insults in a dozen human languages crossed her tongue, though none dared escape lips clamped together by main force.
Instead, she gave him a faint, almost helpless nod, though a feeling as irrational as it was pervasive told her Sigrid and Stefan still lived under the protection of Hartwood Cahal, Sister Averyl, and the rest of their small party. If the invading imperial task force commander felt compelled to sterilize Mykonos in retaliation for Danton’s defiance, it would have happened by now. But Custis needn’t know.
“I’m so sorry, Marta.”
He almost sounded sincere. Almost. Perhaps finding out she had no living offspring fit with his plans. Or maybe, like many of the aristocratic sociopaths who spent time in Dendera’s orbit, he never entirely developed the ability to feign empathy. It wasn’t a useful survival skill around an empress unable to show the slightest feeling for others.
“Apologies won’t bring them back, Devy. Jorge Danton was Admiral Zahar’s creature, though the Almighty only knows how Zahar turned a Guards officer. If I’m to blame anyone on Yotai for losing my family, he’s it.” She finally looked up at him, sure her emotions were under control once more. “Now tell me, why am I here, and not dying under the empire’s kinetic strikes along with the citizens of Mykonos?”
“Perhaps we should save that discussion for another time, once you’ve recovered from your ordeal.”
“We will discuss the matter now, Devy.”
Custis’ reaction to the steel in her voice — back straightening, eyes hardening, and the beginnings of a scowl creasing his high forehead — seemed almost comical.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You need me for a nefarious scheme, otherwise, why send a precious frigate to Mykonos. I don’t carry great military or political secrets in m
y head, nor do I own riches beyond imagining. And as for social climbing, the daughter of a marquess hardly constitutes a step up for a grand duke, especially one with a spouse and offspring of his own. Besides, I doubt the concept of an imperial nobility will survive the downfall of Dendera’s empire.”
She gave him a smile where mischief warred with contempt.
“It has to be important. You’ve been letting me overstep the bounds of familiarity with nary a peep. The Devy Custis I knew would never countenance such behavior from the likes of me while he was still scheming for greater power at the imperial court. Time to cut the crap, as my Uncle Olav used to say.”
“Your Uncle Olav sounds like a colorful figure.”
“He was a colonel in the Marines and didn’t have much use for your sort, Devy, or for anyone else who wasted their life on Wyvern. He never used his title as far as I can remember or even acknowledged owning one. I can’t imagine what he’d make of the current situation if he were still among the living. Probably wish a pox on everyone and find himself a quiet wormhole cul-de-sac with a pleasant, habitable planet.”
Custis chuckled.
“If your uncle were still alive, he’d be too late, unless his appetite for adventure outstripped his self-preservation instincts. There was one such dead end star in the Coalsack Sector, but with frontier systems slipping out of our reach, the wormhole junctions to get there are no longer under the 16th Fleet’s control.”
“Oh?”
“A place called Lyonesse. Not that it matters. Star systems without strategic value aren’t worth the expenditure in precious, quasi-irreplaceable ships and crews.”
“That sounds a tad callous,” Marta replied in an arch tone. “The inhabitants remain human beings and citizens of the empire.”
“We’ve entered a new era of realpolitik. Practical objectives to save what we can before regrouping and rebuilding are the only things that matter. Unfortunately, it means Lyonesse, among many marginal systems, will be forced to fend for itself until a reborn empire can once more assert suzerainty.”
“If they survive long enough. The empire isn’t merely in the throes of another unpleasant realignment, Devy, it’s dying and has been since Stichus Ruggero seized the throne. When he transformed the imperium into a hereditary monarchy, he injected a fatal virus into the body politic. Dendera is the ultimate manifestation of that disease. This time, I fear we face collapse on an interstellar level, and that means centuries, if not millennia of darkness.”
A smirk creased Custis’ face.
“How dramatic! But then, I understand you hold a doctorate in political history. Perhaps you’re applying the wrong lessons of the past to interpret current events. Our empire is the first polity of its kind, which means we’re on a path humanity has never taken. Parts of the empire are collapsing, but much of it will survive. Disunited, yes, yet capable of coming together again under more enlightened leadership.”
“Your leadership, no doubt?” She allowed herself a sly smile. “Or is this where I come in? Am I to give your reborn empire the legitimacy of Kal IV’s bloodline, one free from the Ruggero madness? Legitimacy without power, no doubt. As my regent, you’d be the actual ruler, the éminence grise behind the throne, n’est-ce pas? Where star system governor generals and the military’s flag officers might balk at a viceroy making himself dictator for life, they would welcome the stabilizing influence of a constitutional sovereign. Especially one with impeccable credentials and not a hint of Ruggero DNA in her family tree. How am I doing, Devy?”
Custis greeted her deduction with ironic applause.
“I see you won’t be the easiest of figurehead rulers, Milady. Or should I say, Your Majesty?”
“I’ve not agreed to play a part in your scheme yet, Devy, and I see no reason for my participation. Let history take its course. If the Coalsack Sector is destined to survive as a beacon of civilization during the long night of barbarism, it can do so without me.”
“No sense of noblesse oblige, Marta? Your father would be sorely disappointed. You and I can reverse the empire’s decline. First here in the Coalsack, then in neighboring sectors, until we reunite humanity and set the foundations for a new polity, at peace with itself and free of any Ruggero poison.”
Norum made a great show of indecision, biting her lower lip and letting her eyes roam everywhere, but she’d made up her mind back on Mykonos. Though she would suffer the fate of all figureheads and live in a gilded cage, with Heloise’s help, she might be able to track down her children. Besides, to borrow another of Uncle Olav’s favorite expressions, what else would she do with her time? Play endless games of pinochle?
“I’ll go along with your scheme, Devy, but under one condition.”
His eyebrows crept up.
“And that would be?”
“You treat me as your partner in this, not as your puppet. That means you listen to my views and treat them with the consideration they deserve. I know more than you do about successful and unsuccessful forms of government, and more importantly, the history of those few polities who survived civilization-level disruption to endure another few centuries of growth, stagnation, and decline. Take it or find a descendant of Kal IV who didn’t complete post-graduate work in political history.”
Custis studied her with amused eyes for a few seconds, then leaned forward and stretched out his hand.
“Deal.” A pause. “Your Majesty.”
Though she shook hands with him, Marta knew full well he’d renege at the first clash of opinions. Devy Custis didn’t suffer opposition gladly, one of the many character flaws which no doubt contributed to his expulsion from Dendera’s court.
The bigger question hanging over Marta, and in no small extent, Heloise, was whether she would genuinely go along with his scheme or only until they could find Sigrid and Stefan? The historian within her knew instinctively the empire was past the tipping point, and no amount of shoring up would help. Its time was over. And then what? Would there be safety, for her children, for her, and for Heloise? And how long before Dendera’s demented vengeance reached Yotai to turn the rebellious sector capital into a depopulated ruin?
Marta knew Heloise would tell her to trust in the Almighty’s plan, but if such a thing existed, it seemed remarkably nebulous to her mortal eyes.
PART II - TAPS
— 23 —
Lyonesse
The communicator’s insistent buzz cut Rear Admiral Jonas Morane off mid-sentence. He stabbed at the device and said, “Morane.”
“Operations, sir, Centurion Haller. We received an urgent call from the Government House guard detail. Severin Downes and eight other former politicals trespassed on the grounds and are attempting to push their way in so they can petition Governor Yakin. So far, the troops are keeping them away without resorting to force. But they refuse to leave and are becoming agitated. The NCO in charge is asking for instructions. His rules of engagement don’t cover this sort of situation.”
Morane gave Colonel Brigid DeCarde a disgusted look.
“Why didn’t we let the useless buggers stew a few weeks longer in the camps?”
DeCarde raised her hands, palms outward.
“Don’t look at me, sir. I was all in favor of sending them to the Windy Isles for a year so they could learn about true hardship from confirmed criminals.”
“Did the sergeant of the guard call the Lannion Police Service?”
“He did, but since the incident is occurring on star system government premises, they said it was for the military to sort out.”
Morane rolled his eyes while stifling a groan. This was Chief Administrator Logran’s doing. No wonder the incident landed directly on his desk instead of being dealt with by civilian authorities. The municipal police forces were answerable to the Department of Public Safety, which in turn worked for Logran. And the Lyonesse Defense Force didn’t, as yet, field a military police unit.
“How about I take a troop from the ra
pid reaction squadron and deal with Mister Downes,” DeCarde suggested. “In a peaceful manner, needless to say.”
“A full colonel backed by the empire’s former elite troopers to quell a minor intrusion? Seems like overkill.”
“Sending one of my centurions or a platoon leader might end with Downes bleeding from various orifices seconds after he opens his mouth. But don’t worry, I intend to work my charm on the little lordlings and convince them annoying me would be a terrible idea. The Pathfinders are coming as muscle if I need to arrest them.”
“Understood. Thank you for taking care of this, Brigid.”
“I need my entertainment, sir.” She jumped to her feet and snapped off a salute. “But the governor needs to rip those twits a new one. They’ve only been loose for a couple of weeks, and this is what? The fourth incident?”
“Fifth. They seem to be slow learners for folks who once sat on the highest councils of state.”
“Which explains why the empire is fucked up beyond belief.”
DeCarde turned on her heels and left Morane to fume at Severin Downes’ incurable sense of entitlement.
The former Count Hallibrank had been militating for aristocratic sinecures the moment the Lyonesse courts voided all political convictions and Logran’s community services folks moved him and the others into various communities where they could find work. At first, his arrogant whining was a minor irritant, but Downes quickly convinced the chief administrator to resettle him and his family in Lannion instead of Trevena, as Morane had urged. At least there, he would have been far enough away to discourage impromptu attempts at pestering Yakin face-to-face.
However, the governor’s ingrained sense of courtesy so far prevented her from telling Downes where to stick his demands. Unsurprisingly, he took her reticence as a sign of weakness and therefore believed he could get his way through sheer persistence. That the Lyonesse Colonial Council enshrined the nobility’s abolition in law meant nothing. Downes wanted to recreate the Wyvern Court in miniature around Yakin so he could scheme, peculate, and peddle influence with impunity, a far better use of his time than honest work. Not that he’d admit it in so many words.
