Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  In doing so, she acknowledged, as others had before her, that Lady Marta held higher implicit rank than Regent Custis. Instead of feeling insulted, Custis smiled, seeing the social demotion as a vindication of his plan to crown Marta and make her the figurehead empress in whose name he would rule.

  “Milady. I trust you’re well.”

  “Indeed, Excellency. Thank you for asking. And you?”

  “Delighted.” She gestured at her companion, a vacuous looking man who appeared to be twenty years Gumbs’ junior. “May I present the Honorable Lucius Benasser?”

  He bowed with formal stiffness. “Milady.”

  “Thank you for coming, Mister Benasser.”

  A smile of pleasure lit up his face.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Milady. It’s so,” he paused, looking for the right word, “so splendiferous.”

  “How kind of you.”

  Gumbs nudged her partner when it looked as if he was about to reply, and both greeted Custis before wandering off to find the wine table.

  “Where did she ever find him?” Marta asked in a low voice, not expecting anyone to answer.

  “I understand she used to pay him for certain, um, services when she still commanded the Micarat Task Force. Since governors general with ambitions shouldn’t be so crass, Janae formalized the arrangement.”

  “And when she tires of the boy?”

  “That is a question best left unanswered.”

  “Why?” She smiled at a passing general as he dipped his head in an abbreviated, walking bow.

  “Didn’t you see there was no soul behind Janae’s eyes?”

  Marta thought back at their brief interaction, irritated at herself for missing something so obvious mostly because of her ruminations about the coming Ragnarök.

  “I noticed. Charming.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I intend to dispense with her services when the time is right.”

  “Don’t kick out your friends on my account, Devy.”

  She nodded at a passing high commissioner who wore a silver-trimmed dark blue civil service uniform, complete with sash and every bureaucratic medal known to humanity. Marta figured the many awards proved he could compose a thoroughly useless memorandum using every ponderous word ever invented.

  “We need to make this a clean start, my dear, and Janae is among those whose habits and competence won’t stand scrutiny in the long run.”

  “That would describe pretty much everyone, don’t you think? People who violently renounce their oaths and murder anyone who refuses to do so can’t be relied upon ever again. Someone willing to betray once will always be willing to betray again should it suit their aims. If you wish to make a clean start, begin by replacing your favorite snake, Pendrick Zahar, then tear through the chain of command from there. Once you’re done, replace the ruler of every star system, and tear through their chains of command.”

  “Leaving me with what? This sector and the empire we shall build need men and women with relevant experience. That means swallowing our distaste and wiping the slate clean for those whose usefulness transcends my immediate needs. The rest? I’ll deal with them due course. Once I no longer need them.”

  “How Jesuitical of you, Devy. But why should I expect anything less from the man whose ambition is to be Cardinal Richelieu to my Louis XIII?”

  “What—” Movement by the ballroom’s grand entrance, where Marine sentries snapped to attention and saluted, swallowed Custis’ puzzlement at her biting remark.

  “Here come Baron and Baroness Romito, finally. Speaking of bad habits such as tardiness... Once they’ve made their obeisance, we can go on with the evening. Everyone else who matters is here. Smile, Marta. I’m about to make you the sole legitimate empress of humanity across the stars.”

  “And yet, in the end, I won’t even be so much as Queen of Yotai,” she murmured in reply as the vision of a burning viceregal palace briefly flashed before her mind’s eye. Yet Marta felt no anguish at a future which might engulf her in fire and blood because she continued to feed on the irrational certainty her children would find a safe harbor against the coming storm.

  After receiving the Romitos’ greetings, Custis stepped up on the dais behind them and made the agreed upon signal to the bandmaster who wrapped up the piece they were playing. Four musicians put down their instruments, picked up heraldic trumpets, and stood.

  As they raised the instruments to their lips, the audience could see the banners hanging from them. Blue squares fringed with gold tassels, they bore the imperial crown above a coat of arms few besides Custis and Marta could identify as that of Kal IV.

  The bandmaster raised his baton, and the imperial fanfare rang out, killing all conversation instantly. At first, most in the audience looked at the trumpeters. Then, as the import of the music registered, they turned to the opposite side of the ballroom where Regent Devy Custis, head held high, waited for silence.

  His exquisitely tailored black suit bore only a fraction of the medals, decorations, and adornments dripping off the various military and civilian uniforms surrounding him. Its severity now that he loomed over everyone else became plain enough to convey the message he intended. The platinum and gold regent’s chain around his neck was the only badge of office he required. Once the imperial fanfare died away, Custis raised both hands.

  “Governors general, governors, high commissioners, my lords and ladies, admirals, generals, officers military and civilian, thank you for attending this historic event.”

  His voice carried effortlessly to the furthest corners of the cavernous hall. And even though his thanks were pro forma considering tonight was a command performance — show up or give up your place in the hierarchy — not a single murmur of derision or dissension greeted them.

  “As you know by now, human civilization is under siege. The madness of the usurper’s blood, come to a full boil in Dendera’s veins, has effectively ended our thousand-year-old empire. Billions have died, entire star systems are laid waste, and the scavengers our ancestors drove into the galactic badlands are coming back to take what is ours. But we will not let them.”

  He hammered out the last sentence, enunciating each word as his voice rose to a shout. On cue, the audience applauded, if not enthusiastically then with appreciation, and Custis inclined his head in a regal gesture of thanks.

  “Tonight,” he continued once the applause faded away, “I declare the empire reborn and cleansed of the Ruggero taint. From this moment on, Lena is no longer merely Yotai’s largest city and the seat of the Coalsack Sector viceroyalty. It is also the new imperial capital.”

  Thunderous applause, this time filled with genuine enthusiasm, rolled over Marta like an ocean wave driven by gale force winds. In its wake, hope, something long absent from Yotai and its dependencies, seemed reborn.

  Custis raised his hands again, appealing for quiet. When it came, he said, “A reborn empire needs a sovereign with impeccable qualities. In time, once we elect a duly constituted imperial senate, we will re-institute the ancient laws of succession. But here, today, we must acclaim a new ruler so we can begin our sacred task of rebuilding on the ruins of Dendera’s catastrophic misrule.”

  He paused for dramatic effect, eyes roaming over the crowd, then held out his right hand to Marta, still standing at the foot of the dais.

  “Citizens, it is my honor to present your future sovereign, a direct descendant of Emperor Kal IV, humanity’s last legitimate ruler.” Custis waited until she stood beside him, facing the crowd, then turned toward her and bowed his head. “Behold Lady Marta Norum, who will ascend the throne as Empress Marta, first of her name.”

  Yet another round of wild applause, this time punctuated by hundreds of throats roaring “Long live Empress Marta,” threatened to deafen her. Custis glanced at the bandmaster again and nodded once. Moments later, the imperial anthem, which had not been played since the rebellion first broke out, smothered the assem
bly’s enthusiasm with its rousing strains. Voices that called out Marta’s name moments earlier now broke into song, belting out a familiar refrain.

  Those in military uniforms stood stiffly at attention while civilians placed their right hands over their hearts. Even Custis sang with gusto.

  Marta, as befit an empress-designate, remained silent and aloof since, by custom, a sovereign never uttered the words of the imperial anthem. She was, therefore, the only one to notice Admiral Pendrick Zahar twitch in the unconscious movement she’d long learned to associate with a message coming in on his earbug.

  Zahar’s face hardened moments later. His eyes switched between her and Custis, but there was no mistaking their unvoiced message. Bad news was in the offing, and at the moment of Custis’ greatest triumph since setting foot on Yotai.

  — 30 —

  A welcome blanket of silence enveloped Marta when the door connecting the ballroom with one of the palace’s hidden passageways shut behind them, cutting off the hubbub of voices celebrating her nomination as their next empress. Custis had pled affairs of state and excused them from the festivities, promising to return later for a champagne-fueled toast to her future imperial majesty.

  Once in the regent’s office, he invited Marta to sit in the place of honor while Heloise and the aides made themselves inconspicuous against the far wall. By now, everyone in the palace gave her the same status as Custis’ military aide and where he went, so did she.

  “I gather the news you wish to impart is bad, Admiral,” Marta said in a flat tone before Custis could speak.

  “It is Your Imperial Highness.” Zahar glanced at Custis for an indication whether he was briefing the regent or the future empress. Seeing nothing to guide him, he kept his attention on Marta.

  “The aviso attached to the Isabella Task Force emerged from Wormhole Yotai Two thirty minutes ago and broadcast on the emergency subspace channel. A battle group from the 2nd Fleet entered the Isabella system via Wormhole One and delivered the same ultimatum Mykonos received. Since the balance of forces is roughly equal, Rear Admiral Demeas Manard, who commands at Isabella, intends to ambush them at the hyperlimit as they drop out of FTL and convince his opposite number to withdraw.”

  Custis clenched his right fist in anger.

  “We can’t afford to lose Isabella, Admiral. She’s more valuable to our plans than Mykonos.”

  “I know, Your Grace. That’s why Manard will fight.” Zahar glanced at the universal date-time readout by Custis’ desk. “The engagement will be over by now. Unfortunately, we won’t hear how it went for up to a standard day, if not longer. The aviso returned to Isabella the moment fleet operations acknowledged receipt of its message.”

  “What about subspace radio?” Marta asked.

  “Considering the distance between Yotai and Isabella, and the absence of any booster relays in between, the nineteen hour round trip via the wormhole means news travels faster by aviso in this case, Highness.”

  Custis began pacing in front of his desk.

  “Do you plan to send reinforcements?”

  Zahar nodded once.

  “I alerted the 161st Battle Group. It’s accelerating toward the hyperlimit as we speak, but the trip to and through the wormhole will take at least twenty hours, so they’ll likely arrive after the battle has already been decided.”

  “I hope whoever is filling in for Romito on Isabella has enough smarts to surrender unconditionally and evacuate potential target areas if Manard loses the fight.”

  “Mykonos’ example should suffice to make sure your orders in a case such as this are obeyed, sir.”

  “One would hope,” Marta said in a soft tone, “but humans rarely behave rationally under duress.” She glanced up at Heloise’s bland face.

  Custis had made no moves at reclaiming the Mykonos system after orbital strikes obliterated its space-going infrastructure. With no direct wormhole links to the badlands, it was at little risk of a barbarian incursion, unless both Micarat and Yotai fell. Or invaders came via the Cascadian Sector, which appeared to still be in Dendera’s hands, or at least part of her navy’s hunting grounds.

  Yet even the token ground forces Zahar eventually agreed to send didn’t pick up any signs of surviving Void Brethren, their mercenary protectors, and two small children, orphaned by their father’s murder and their mother’s abduction.

  Marta vowed to order a full-scale landing on Mykonos once she assumed the throne. It was the only reason she cooperated with Custis’ scheme. She felt no desire to be the figurehead ruler of a rump empire destined, if her visions weren’t the fevered dreams of encroaching madness, for an ignominious end.

  “Shall I inform Baron Romito, sir?”

  Custis gave Marta an involuntary glance. When she returned his unvoiced question with a minute shake of the head, he said, “Not yet, Admiral. Let’s wait and see how it plays out. Tonight we celebrate a new empire. Setbacks, if any, can wait until morning. Besides, as you said, we’re at the mercy of time and distance, and won’t know what transpired until later.”

  “As you command, sir.”

  Custis ceased pacing and faced them.

  “Shall we rejoin the festivities? Since there is nothing further any of us can do to influence matters in the Isabella system, especially if the decisive battle has already come to pass, perhaps it is time to cement the loyalty of our leading citizens with a formal toast to Her Imperial Highness.”

  A sardonic smile briefly crossed Marta’s lips.

  “How many out there do you think are wondering why they should bend the knee to an unknown daughter of a borderer marquess whose domain is on the other side of the old empire, solely because Kal IV’s blood runs in her veins?”

  “They bend the knee because they know the alternatives are unthinkable, my dear. You don’t need everyone’s unrestrained adulation. You only need enough followers able to make dissenters pay a price. And you have that.”

  “Unrestrained adulation?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I doubt it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t dare call me your dear, a practice I must ask you to cease forthwith.”

  Her regent seemed momentarily robbed of words. Jaw muscles moved as he chewed on words he could no longer utter, and after a few moments, Custis bowed toward Marta.

  “Of course, Your Imperial Highness. I apologize for my inexcusable familiarity.”

  She silently held his eyes with a blank stare long enough to elicit a twitch of discomfort.

  “No one out there adulates me, Devy. They feel relief at what seems like a return to normalcy. Most human beings prefer being ruled, not left to their own devices. The anarchy that demolished a thousand years of certainty has taken a toll on their psyches, and my ascension to a throne cleansed of the Ruggero stench soothes their inner turmoil.”

  “Your Highness is quite the psychologist.” Custis gave Heloise a brief, but suspicious glance as he sat on the corner of his desk. “One could almost wonder if you received mind-meddler training from the witches who call themselves Sisters of the Void. A good thing Admiral Zahar proscribed their Order on pain of death for meddling with minds to prop up Dendera.”

  “A good thing? No. A mistake,” Marta snapped. “The Void does not exert control over others and certainly does not prop up any sovereign. But the sisters are useful as counselors because they understand people, something vital for everyone who aspires to govern. You cannot rule humans if you’re unable to recognize what drives them. That, in large part, was the Ruggero dynasty’s failure.

  “A hunger for power impelled Stichus, not a wish to preserve the empire for the common good of an often fractious species. But he understood human nature sufficiently to seize the throne without shedding blood. His successors, selected because of lineage and not for their ability, didn’t inherit even Stichus’ minimal understanding. Each generation felt less empathy for its citizenry than the previous one until we found ourselves ruled by a sociopath who by now has ordered the murder
of billions. Is either of you familiar with Sun Tzu? I’m sure you must be, Admiral.”

  “Indeed, Highness,” Zahar replied when a frown of puzzlement creased Custis’ forehead. “He remains required reading at the Imperial Armed Services Academy.”

  “Sun Tzu famously said, ‘if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.’ Do you recall?”

  “Yes, Highness.”

  “Tell me, Admiral, do you believe the principle enunciated by Sun Tzu applies to more than just enemies and battles?” When he didn’t immediately reply, she said, “let me change a few words, and you’ll see what I mean. If a sovereign knows the people and knows herself, she need not fear for her rule. If she knows herself but not the people, then her rule will be uneven and often resented. If she knows neither the people nor herself, she will destroy her realm.”

  Zahar nodded.

  “Understood.”

  “Devy?”

  “I get what you’re saying, Highness. I’m not sure how we ended up discussing this subject when we should be back in the ballroom, raising a glass to your health.”

  “You accused me of being trained by what you term witches, men and women massacred on Admiral Zahar’s orders because the rebellion suspected they were Dendera’s creatures. I pointed out if they were indeed her servants, their influence was nil. Dendera understands nothing of her responsibilities and cares not a whit for humanity because the concept of empathizing with others is entirely foreign to her nature. Exterminating the Order of the Void was a crime, not a good thing, or a regrettable necessity.”

  Marta saw Zahar’s features tighten under her accusation, but he politely inclined his head.

  “We shall remain in disagreement on that subject, Highness, considering the fact Sister Katlynne, who once led the Yotai Abbey, convinced Viceroy Joback to resist the rebellion. I witnessed it with my own eyes and had to strike him down. Besides, the deed is done.”