Imperial Twilight

by Eric Thomson

  A faint aroma of roasted meat mixed with that of stout ale tickled Marta’s nostrils as she looked for her friend from the 16th Fleet HQ operations center, a Marine Corps command sergeant by the name Nadav Sodhi. He served under Uncle Olav in the 35th Imperial Marine Regiment on Peralka thirty years earlier, during the reign of Emperor Karlus, and held him in high regard.

  She found Sodhi, wearing casual civilian clothes, sitting alone in the snug nursing a tall glass of beer while waiting patiently for her. He glanced up as soon as he saw movement from the corners of his eyes and gestured at the seat across from him.

  “Please grab a pew, Milady. Can I offer you anything?”

  “A Glen Arcturus, if the mess still has any, but it goes on my tab, Nadav.”

  When she first reached out to the noncom network shortly after arriving on Yotai, Marta had insisted they treat her as nothing more than a simple guest. It meant no standing when she entered a room, no paying for her drinks, or taking notice of her titles. And if her presence in the mess was no longer desired, she would respect that decision as well.

  “No problems.” Sodhi touched the edge of the tabletop. “Won’t be but a minute. Not many customers left now that supper’s done.”

  “Any reason?”

  The old noncom shrugged.

  “Wednesday evening is usually dead.”

  A serving droid entered the snug moments later, carrying a crystal tumbler filled with an amber liquid. The smoky, boozy aroma of a twelve-year-old single malt hit her nostrils seconds after the droid placed the glass in front of her.

  She raised it in salute.

  “Skoal, Nadav.”

  “To your health, Milady.”

  After taking a sip, Marta smacked her lips with appreciation.

  “That’s the good stuff. It’ll be a sad day when we’ve emptied the last bottle in the Coalsack Sector.”

  Sodhi made a dismissive sound.

  “Maybe for you, but I’m a beer drinker, and Yotai isn’t about to run out of suds.”

  “Good thing I’m developing a taste for the local whiskey. That won’t run out either.”

  A theatrical shudder ran up Sodhi’s spine.

  “Pass. Since Zahar razed the Yotai Abbey, there hasn’t been any drinkable rotgut on this damned planet. Say what you want about the mind-meddlers, they were master brewers and distillers.”

  “How’s duty these days?”

  “Nothing changes much in the operations center, Milady, but my friends in the 55th and 56th aren’t getting any happier with the increased spit and polish bullshit. It’s almost like the grand duke is trying to turn us Marines into damned Guards. Is it true we’re about to get our imperial titles back because of you?”

  Marta nodded.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Then I guess you won’t be drinking with us lowly sergeants no more.”

  “And why would I stop? As the empress, I’ll be commander-in-chief of the armed services. Doesn’t that mean becoming an honorary member of every single mess, be it junior, noncom or officer?”

  Sodhi half closed one eye as he rummaged through his memory.

  “Can’t say I remember offhand, but it sounds about right. The old-time emperors and empresses, before Stichus Ruggero, wore uniforms with no rank badges or fancy trim to show they were one of us.”

  The comment brought to mind pictures Marta had seen of Kal IV during his term as emperor. In them, he always sported a black Marine tunic no different from that of a private, adorned only with the medals and qualification badges he’d accumulated during a long career in the Imperial Marine Corps.

  “At least they earned those uniforms,” Marta replied after taking another heady sip. “I don’t know what I’ll be expected to wear.”

  “Whatever you damn well please, I figure.” Sodhi gave her a complicit smile. He took a healthy pull at his beer and exhaled slowly. “Like I said in my message, I received news from Mykonos. My buddy Nate tracked the people you’re looking for from Tiryns to Thera and from Thera to a tiny place called Issos, about fifty klicks inland, west of Thera. Issos escaped the imperial attack unscathed because it has nothing more than a dirt strip.”

  Marta nodded, her mind’s eye calling up images of a village she’d visited with her husband during their first year on Mykonos when Hachim was still establishing himself as governor general.

  “They lived in a house on the outskirts and didn’t mingle much with the locals, though nobody in Issos said anything bad about them. The way Nate tells it, they don’t remember much, other than there were two kids, four security guards — mercenaries, probably — and quiet folks who were good at medicine and farming.”

  “Lived?”

  “That’s the thing, Milady. About two months ago, give or take, a shuttle landed by the house one night and the next morning, the kids, mercs, and quiet folk were gone without a trace. No one in Issos saw the shuttle. Hell, most didn’t even know one landed, so I’m afraid that’s where the trail ends. Sorry.”

  Marta reached out and squeezed Sodhi’s thick, muscular forearm.

  “Don’t be. Your friend Nate sent the most encouraging news I’ve received since leaving Mykonos. If a starship picked them up, then my children are safe.”

  A skeptical frown deepened the lines creasing his face.

  “Really?”

  “The people who promised to care for Sigrid and Stefan figured a ship would eventually come to pick them up. And it sounds like that happened.”

  “How will you find the wee ones now?”

  “The Almighty will provide, my friend.” Marta could almost hear Heloise’s calm voice speaking in her head. “Besides, the man who appointed himself their protector will make sure nothing happens. He’s a bit like you and a lot of the others around here.”

  She gestured toward the main room.

  “No, scratch that. He’s a lot like you, which shouldn’t surprise me. Hartwood Cahal used to be a Marine noncom. He served in the 77th.”

  “Used to, Milady?” The amused glint in Sodhi’s eyes told Marta she’d made a faux pas.

  “Of course. I should know better. Former Marines are those tossed out of the Corps. Hartwood Cahal retired honorably.”

  “You want I should ask around if anyone knows this guy? It might give us an idea where they went from Mykonos.”

  “Please.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Tell your friend Nate he has my undying thanks. If he ever comes to Yotai, I’d like to meet him and say so in person.”

  She raised her glass and swirled its contents around before swallowing them in one gulp. The whiskey burned a fiery path down her throat, yet in her heightened state, it was strangely soothing.

  “And buy him as many drinks as he wants.”

  “Knowing Nate, he’ll take you up on the offer and try to run up the biggest tab this mess has ever seen.” Sodhi drained his glass. “And that’s it, Milady.”

  “It was more than I hoped.”

  “Then I’m glad to be of service.”

  Overcome by the need to tell Heloise, Marta pushed her chair back and stood.

  “Thank you again for everything, Nadav. I’ve kept you long enough. Be well.”

  “You too, Milady.”

  Conscious of the need to exercise self-discipline, Marta crossed the main bar at the same sedate pace she always used in public rather than bounce with glee like her roiling emotions demanded. She even nodded politely and smiled at the smattering of patrons when they glanced at her.

  Heloise must have sensed a change in her emotional state the moment Marta stepped through the door because she gave her a quizzical look.

  “Good news?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you once we’re in private.” An uneasy feeling suddenly washed over Marta, threatening to dampen her spirits. “Let’s go back upstairs.”

  “A good idea, Highness.” Admiral Zahar’s deep voice seemed to come f
rom the shadows of a connecting corridor. “You shouldn’t be — what is the expression among the nobility again? Slumming? This is no place for our future empress.”

  “On the contrary, Admiral, but now isn’t the time for a prolonged discussion on the matter.”

  He stepped out into full view.

  “It is nevertheless a discussion we must have at some point. For now, could I please ask you to stop using non-commissioned military personnel as your private intelligence service? Any of your needs can and will be satisfied via the proper channels. If you’ll recall, I offered to assign an officer of suitable rank as your aide-de-camp, though you deemed it unnecessary. Perhaps Your Highness would reconsider if the aide also acts as your liaison with the 16th Fleet staff, empowered to find the answers to all your questions.”

  “I’ll take the suggestion under advisement, Admiral. Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse us, my lady-in-waiting and I will regain our apartments.”

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Highness.”

  Zahar bowed his head as Marta and Heloise vanished into the corridor warren.

  Once back in the imperial apartments, still surprisingly surveillance free according to Marta’s sensor, she turned a relieved smile on her companion.

  “According to Nadav’s friend in the Mykonos garrison, a starship shuttle picked them up eight weeks ago.”

  Heloise let out an unaccustomed sigh.

  “Praise the Almighty. It could only have been one of our ships, answering the distress beacon Sister Averyl carried.”

  “One of our ships?” Marta parroted. “As in the Order of the Void?”

  “We own the Galactic Dawn Corporation, which in turn owns a small fleet of armed merchant vessels crewed by Brethren, though we neither advertise their ownership nor the crew’s status as members of the Order. The operational revenues help fund our abbeys and good works, and we travel on our own ships to the greatest extent possible for various reasons, not least of them being safety.”

  A guffaw escaped Marta’s lips.

  “The mind-meddlers have their own navy? Will wonders never cease?”

  “In recent times, owning a navy, as you put it, helped save lives. When Galactic Dawn was formed, the then head of the Order established a formal Rule obliging our ships to rescue any Brethren threatened by invaders or local authorities. She also ordered that every abbey, priory, and mission keep beacons able to summon any Galactic Dawn vessel passing through their star system on hand. Averyl carried one, as did Friar Sandor. Evidently, one of the Dawn ships visited Mykonos.”

  “Where would it take them?”

  “I couldn’t say. The Order’s home is on Lindisfarne. But that star system is at the other end of the empire and might be effectively out of safe reach, considering the wormhole network inevitably passes through star systems at war against either the Crown or the rebellion, or humanity itself.”

  “They’re still alive and safe, I’m sure of it. But I don’t know where they are.”

  A faint smile tugged at Heloise’s lips.

  “Consider this the Order’s version of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle. Some of us can search our feelings and either sense another living spirit, though not determine where it is, or we can pinpoint the spirit’s location and not know whether it lives or has become disembodied.”

  Suspicion gleamed in Marta’s eyes.

  “That sounds almost like an attempt at humor.”

  The sister’s smile widened.

  “Just a little joke among those of us with heightened senses. Our talent connects us with other living human souls. It is not a galactic positioning device.”

  “Too bad.”

  “The Almighty will provide.”

  An involuntary snort escaped Marta’s self-discipline.

  “That’s what I told Nadav Sodhi word for word. I could almost hear your voice in my head when I spoke.”

  “Then my teachings are sinking in. I’m gratified.”

  “And now, you're also sarcastic.”

  “An unfortunate habit which excludes me from ever becoming a priory’s leader, let alone the head of an abbey. But I don’t yearn for a position of leadership, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Yet you’re not unhappy with being a lady-in-waiting.”

  “We also serve who stand in the shadows and watch. Speaking of which, I trust you won’t accept Zahar’s renewed offer of an aide-de-camp.”

  “Certainly not. We both know a dog robber would be nothing more than Zahar’s spy.” When Heloise raised a questioning eyebrow, Marta said, “Dog robber is apparently an ancient nickname for military aides. Uncle Olav used the term disparagingly, though I found no mention in the historical records of its origin or derivation.”

  “Ah. So you’ll continue to use the non-commissioned officers’ grapevine?”

  “I’d like to see Zahar stop me.” When Heloise opened her mouth to reply, Marta raised both hands. “Yes, I understand. Don’t push him too far. He’s more dangerous than Devy Custis.”

  — 36 —

  Lyonesse

  “That tears it.” Cerys Orobio backed away from the sitting-room window overlooking the street below. “We’re not just being tailed, they’re casing this building. Amateurs for sure, but it means someone made us. A pair of kids, no older than twenty, are sitting on a stoop across the way, having a grand old time. Problem is, I remember seeing both faces twice yesterday and once this morning while Kamaal and I were watching Severin Downes do his thing.”

  “Could it be a coincidence?” Bouras joined her and glanced out. “Lannion isn’t what you’d call a big city, so seeing the same faces more than once wouldn’t be as strange as if we were in Lena, which has ten times as many people.”

  “My gut tells me they’re a tail, Boss.”

  Bouras turned to Markov and Renlinger, sitting at the dining table, sipping tea.

  “Did either of you feel an itch between the shoulder blades in the last day or two?”

  “Now you mention it,” Renlinger replied, “I did feel as if a person or persons unknown were spying on us at the university, both yesterday and today. But I wrote it off as normal curiosity about strangers looking around, casually asking questions such as why a bunch of Void Brethren are working in the library annex. No particular faces caught my attention, so it might just have been normal paranoia. By the way, the answer is packaging data for the knowledge vault, which in its physical form is an armored chamber deep beneath Lannion Base, impervious to anything short of a planet-busting strike from orbit. The locals aren’t exactly keeping it a secret.”

  “Did they also tell you why they’re packaging data to store in an underground bunker?”

  “Because this Admiral Morane, who led the 197th Imperial Battle Group here after it was damn near wiped out by rebel forces, convinced the locals that human civilization was going into the shitter. To give our species a head start, they’re storing every bit of important knowledge in a safe space so Lyonesse can kick off a new cycle of technological progress even if it gets bombed or raided. Although since this place is a wormhole cul-de-sac, it should be a lot safer than a major junction like Arietis or Yotai.”

  “Or, since I don’t buy the civilization collapse bullshit, it could be they want to make this star system the capital of a new empire,” Markov said in a thoughtful tone. “They’ll definitely want to know about this at home. No chance we can send a subspace message, is there?”

  Bouras shook his head.

  “While they’re still operating a booster relay here, it doesn’t do us much good since the Arietis system no longer has one. It means the only way to contact the rest of the galaxy from Lyonesse is via starship.”

  “I’d like to suggest that having spotted enough of Tanith’s stasis stiffs alive and well, we can safely report it landed here and offloaded the prisoners,” Orobio said. “It could now either be in cold storage, orbiting a moon or one of the other planets, or scuttled becau
se the sabotage wasn’t repairable. Since no one told us to find a specific stiff, I’d say we met our mission objectives. We should hop on the next starship and head home. I’m sure news of what’s happening here will interest everyone, including the top guys since Lyonesse intends to go its own way right on Yotai’s doorstep.”

  Renlinger raised his hand.

  “Seconded.”

  Bouras turned to Markov, who nodded.

  “What Ty said. If the Lyonesse police or military placed us under surveillance, it’s best to get the hell out with the information we collected so far.”

  “Okay. The next ship it is. But while we wait for one to show up, the mission doesn’t turn into an unplanned holiday. We keep sniffing around. I’d still like to find out what happened after Morane stole Tanith from under the Parth Task Force’s nose.”

  “And hear more about their plans to become the self-appointed guardians of humanity’s legacy,” Markov added. “Especially since it involves members of a religious group wiped out with the most extreme prejudice I ever witnessed. The big boss will really want to hear about them.”

  Bouras wandered over to the window again and glanced out.

  “An older woman is talking with the kids Cerys thinks are watching us. Looks tough, possibly serving or ex-military.”

  Markov jumped to her feet.

  “Let me see that.”

  But by the time she stood beside her team leader, the older woman was gone.

  “What did she look like, I mean beyond generalities?”

  “Nothing remarkable. Black hair, dark complexion, aquiline nose, one-seventy to one-seventy-five centimeters tall, strong build, angular face, in her forties. Like I said, she struck me as one of your lot, the way she stood.”

  “Shit. That sounds like Adrienne Barca. Or at least the woman I saw talking to the Government House gate sentry two nights ago. You know what that could mean?”