by Eric Thomson
“Downes?”
Morane tapped the side of his nose with an extended index finger.
“Precisely.”
A groan of dismay escaped DeCarde’s throat.
“Why, oh why did we ever pick up that cursed prison ship? Is anyone working on a time machine so we can go back and tell our former selves to leave Tanith for the 16th Fleet?”
“Sorry. Traveling to the past is either impossible or requires a special rogue wormhole that doesn’t allow you any control over time and space, depending on the physicist you ask.”
“What powers did the council give this commission?”
“Inform and make recommendations to both the Colonial Council and the governor. But it’s the skunk’s nose under the tent flap. Give Hecht and his pal Downes a few years. They aim to take full control of the vault.”
“Can we do anything about it?”
Morane shook his head.
“Not until Lyonesse has a new constitution. The current Colonial Council can create and fund any non-executive commission that strikes its fancy, provided doing so doesn’t violate existing laws.”
“And Hecht isn’t looking to hold a Constitutional Convention any time soon, I’ll bet. He likes things just as they are.”
“He does because he knows many, if not most of the Estates General representatives don’t want a legislature subservient to someone with his ambitions. However, Elenia Yakin can’t stay governor forever, chiefly because she’d rather not become the next monarch by default, and without a mechanism to replace her, we’re stuck. Governors are appointed by the empress on the advice and consent of the Imperial Senate. We have neither, and eventually, Lyonesse will need a new princeps civitatis.”
“A what now?”
“First Citizen. It’s Latin. Since we don’t yet know what form Lyonesse’s government will take, Elenia Yakin, Emma Reyes, and I use the term in conversation when we’re discussing the future chief executive.”
“How about the governor simply summon the Estates General and when they assemble in the Hall of the People, declare it a Constitutional Convention? I’d love to see old Rorik’s reaction.”
“Don’t think we’re not discussing it. But our governor is a stickler for propriety. She believes, as do I, that one cannot base a new social compact on even the slightest lie. Otherwise what we create will always carry a whiff of illegitimacy, and that’s no recipe to nurture a spark of civilization against the coming darkness. Instead, Lyonesse will crumble just as the empire is doing nowadays because Stichus Ruggero founded his dynasty on a pack of lies.”
“Then what’s the answer?”
“To Hecht’s commission? Gorge it with information, then let it spew advice no sane person would ever contemplate. And while they’re distracted with cocktail parties, plenary sessions and public consultations, make sure they can never gain physical access to the vault itself. Thankfully, it’s on defense force grounds, and no matter what Hecht might wish, I can bar anyone short of the governor from entering Lannion Base.”
“If you ask me, shooting him and Downes now will save us a lot of grief.”
“Perhaps, but we can’t build on a foundation of politically motivated purges.”
“I know,” DeCarde sighed. “Fantasizing now and then helps me deal with my more reactionary impulses. An enlightened tyranny unafraid to remove society’s toxic elements has its advantages.”
“Until you’re stuck with an unenlightened tyrant. No one thought even the most ambitious senator could upend succession rules that served the empire well for almost eight centuries, but here we are, refugees from the chaos his dynasty created.”
“Here we are indeed.” DeCarde inclined her head in defeat. “I concede the point.”
Morane’s communicator chose that moment to chime. He glanced down at it and grimaced.
“Gus Logran, right on schedule to complain about the latest batch of would-be settlers. Hi Gus. Brigid DeCarde is with me. What can the defense force do for our chief administrator today?”
“You heard about Rorik’s latest scheme?”
“The Knowledge Vault Oversight Commission? I was informed of its unplanned birth an hour ago.”
“Are you aware he strong-armed it through the council without consulting either the governor or me beforehand?”
“No, though I’m not surprised. He didn’t breathe a word to Chancellor Reyes, Sister Gwenneth, or me, even though we’re named as ex officio commissioners. We found out when a copy of the decision appeared on our communicator screens.”
“As did the governor and I. Rorik likes to keep his cards close-held, but this was unusual even for him.”
“I suspect Severin Downes has become one of his trusted advisers. This little surprise maneuver reeks of court intrigue. Thankfully, the speaker of the council can only nominate four of the eleven commissioners.”
Logran cackled with derision.
“Just wait until you see how many of the commissioners named by the Estates General will be in his pocket.”
“All four?” DeCarde asked.
“Perhaps, Colonel. But I’d put my next month’s pay on at least two, so his people are in the majority.”
“A fat lot of good it’ll do them. His commission can only look at what we’re doing and offer advice. It wields no real power.”
“For the moment. Rorik has a longer game in mind. I don’t know what that is, but I’m sure we won’t like it, considering who he’s named as commissioners, let alone as chair.”
Morane’s office terminal chimed for attention, indicating a call either from the operations center or through its node. He checked the routing and sighed.
“Mention the devil… Downes wishes to speak with me.”
“I’ll cut my link,” Logran said.
“No. Stick around and listen in without saying a word. I won’t tell Downes you’re on my personal communicator.”
“Understood. And thanks.”
“You too, Brigid.”
“I’ll be as quiet as the grave I’d like to dig for Downes.”
Morane touched the control screen, accepting an audio only connection.
“Severin Downes here,” a dyspeptic, nasal voice announced. “Why aren’t we on a video call, Admiral?”
“Because I’m indisposed, Mister Downes. What can I do for you?”
“I trust you received notification from the Colonial Council that it struck a commission to oversee this knowledge vault you’re building.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re also aware they appointed me as its chair.”
“That too.”
“Good. I wish to inspect the vault so I may better acquaint myself with the commission’s remit.”
Morane turned a long-suffering glance on DeCarde, who repressed a mischievous smile.
“I’m sure we can arrange a visit, Mister Downes. Perhaps next Wednesday?”
“No. I mean to carry out my inspection forthwith.”
“Today?”
“What else would forthwith mean, Admiral?” Downes tone seemed to question Morane’s intelligence and genetic lineage. “I shall be there in thirty minutes.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You’re not coming here in thirty minutes, Mister Downes. I will see that someone gives you a tour of the vault at thirteen hundred hours tomorrow.”
“Why does this insistence on a delay make me suspect you’re attempting to hide something?”
Morane pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, suppressing a reply that would only make things worse.
“I’d rather not intrude unannounced on those who devote their waking hours to make the knowledge vault a reality. An unplanned visit would needlessly disrupt a heavy work schedule and be discourteous to everyone involved. I’m sure you can appreciate how poorly that might reflect on a commission only a few hours old.”
“And if I in
sist and show up anyway?”
“The vault is on a defense force installation, Mister Downes. You’d never make it past the main gate.”
After a disdainful sniff, the former count replied, “We shall see how long the military keeps absolute control over humanity’s heritage.”
“If you can point at a civilian location just as capable of withstanding a kinetic strike from orbit as my underground warehouse, I’ll gladly consider it. But since no such thing exists on Lyonesse, any discussion about moving the vault off Lannion Base is futile, and while it remains here, I am its sole custodian.”
“As I said, we shall see. One of the main reasons for forming the oversight commission is to ensure we manage the vault for the greatest benefit of every citizen in this star system. Leaving its care in the hands of one man while hiding it behind armed soldiers is antithetical to that principle.”
“Oh? And here I thought it was to give you and your closest friends the type of sinecure you used to enjoy on Wyvern.”
Shocked silence greeted Morane’s barb.
Finally, Downes asked, in a voice dripping with outrage, “I beg your pardon, Admiral? What did you just dare say?”
“If there’s nothing else, Mister Downes, one of my officers will meet you by the main gate tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours sharp. Good day.” Morane stabbed the controls embedded in his desktop.
“That probably wasn’t the smartest way to handle Downes, sir,” DeCarde said.
He gave her a rueful shrug.
“Probably, but unless I cut him off at the knees now, who knows what mischief he’ll cause. This isn’t one of those times to go along so we can get along.”
“Mind you, his response was a thing of beauty,” Logran said. “I almost thought he was about to choke on his wounded pride.”
“You realize calling the commission a sinecure for exiled nobles means open conflict with Rorik Hecht, right, sir?”
“I do, Brigid, but the moment Hecht used Downes and the lordlings as tools to expand his political power, open conflict became unavoidable. If you ask Sister Gwenneth, I’m sure she’ll say it was inevitable once Hecht understood the full import of my proposal. She warned us about him on our first day here.”
Logran chuckled. “Gwenneth had old Rorik pegged from the start, eh?”
“She’s the best judge of character I ever met.”
“They say Sisters of the Void can peer into your soul. Perhaps there’s a bit of truth to that.”
“Perhaps, but only those whose souls harbor darkness need fear a sister’s gaze.”
— 40 —
Yotai
Marta didn’t cross paths with the admiral in the days after Heloise’s death, a sign he was deliberately avoiding her. Regent Custis’ behavior had remained unchanged from its habitual false solicitousness, but then she thought it unlikely Zahar would tell him about her transformation for fear of revealing his own sensitivity to a sister’s mind.
But Custis was freezing her out of more and more meetings with star system and military officials in a barely disguised reminder her role was that of a figurehead. And without Heloise, Marta’s isolation increased, especially after being gently told by her friends in the senior non-commissioned officers’ mess it would be better if she no longer accepted invitations to enter. Worse yet, the handful of senior sergeants who’d made up her informal intelligence service were distancing themselves, no doubt after being warned off by Zahar or his minions.
The two Marines who’d accompanied Zahar into her office and took Heloise’s body to the morgue seemed to have vanished altogether. Hopefully, they’d suffered nothing worse than a transfer off Yotai so they couldn’t spread rumors of the incident. But after watching Zahar stab Heloise with such unalloyed rage, even if she’d used her talent to goad him, Marta wouldn’t be surprised if they too were dead.
Though what disturbed Marta most was Custis rescinding her directive to withdraw naval units from Coalsack Sector star systems leading into what remained of the empire so they might be spared added devastation by Dendera’s Retribution Fleet. He even ordered a task force back to Mykonos long after Commodore Sekine withdrew her ships to save them from almost certain destruction.
When Custis informed Marta of his decision, in an aside during one of the interminable social events he put on to raise her profile, she experienced her most intense and disorienting vision of fire and blood to date. It lasted only a few seconds and left her with no clear images, but the anguish she suffered for hours afterward drained both her energy and her patience. Whether he countermanded her to make a point or as an informed judgment call remained open to speculation. However, if it was the former, then she bore some responsibility for what might come thanks to how she’d exercised an empress-designate’s limited authority.
Yet the most significant change to her daily routine since Heloise’s death came via a Marine lieutenant colonel by the name Jacelyn Bram, assigned as her military aide-de-camp at Custis’ orders. When Marta tried to refuse, the regent smiled and informed her she no longer had a choice. Sovereigns required at least one personal attendant and with Heloise dead, the position needed filling.
Marta, a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders, stood at the edge of the viceregal palace’s observation terrace, watching mist born of the slow-moving river envelop Lena when Bram came through the open doors with her usual, energetic stride. Dark complexioned where Marta was pale, her short black hair framed an angular face more suited to the battlefield than the ballroom.
“Highness, news has come from the frontier systems. Regent Custis asks whether you’d consent to join him in the main briefing room.”
Marta met Bram’s dark brown eyes, searching for a deeper meaning to her words, but found none. The Marine guarded her thoughts well enough to the point where Marta wondered whether Zahar picked her for more than merely temperament and devotion to duty.
She’d not dared reach out so far, both in deference to the Rule of the Order and in case Bram was a wild talent capable of detecting intrusions. It wouldn’t do for her to suspect Marta might be one of the proscribed mind-meddlers.
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, Madame. I was told to find you and pass along the regent’s invitation. But for what it’s worth, he apparently seems rather agitated, so the news probably isn’t good.”
“Let’s hope we won’t hear of civilian populations decimated because the Retribution Fleet’s commanders condemned them as irredeemable traitors thanks to a handful of 16th Fleet ships patrolling the system.”
In the days following her appointment as Marta’s aide, Bram quickly learned the empress-designate held strong views and had few qualms about voicing them, including those deeply critical of the regent and his military commander. Yet even though part of her duties had to include reporting back on anything notable Marta said or did, she knew the Marine was staying silent. Something always seemed to hold her back.
“Let us hope indeed, Madame.”
Though the aide never offered her own opinions, even in private, Marta sensed she shared the senior non-commissioned officers’ mess dislike of Custis and their healthy suspicion for his plans to found a new empire. Bram turned on her heels and led Marta down the back stairs to the palace’s office section.
While Marta swept into the room and headed for her seat while those present bowed their heads, Bram took her accustomed place along the wall with the other aides. Recognized as first among equals, just like Heloise, her high-collared, dark green uniform with gold braid aiguillettes dripping off the right shoulder nonetheless blended in better than the late Sister of the Void’s black robes.
“Please be seated.”
Custis’ habitual smarmy expression was noticeable by its absence, replaced with an almost palpable aura of worry. He dropped into the padded chair across from her and leaned forward, arms on the polished tabletop.
“Thank you for joining us, Highness.”
“No, Highness.” Custis nodded toward Zahar, now sitting at one end of the table, as far as he could politely get from Marta. When she glanced at him, his cold, hard eyes conspicuously avoided meeting hers. “The admiral will brief us on the details.”
“Your Imperial Highness, Regent. After weeks without sighting Dendera’s Retribution Fleet anywhere in the Coalsack Sector or the adjoining wormhole junctions, Isabella and Mykonos became victims of quasi-simultaneous punitive incursions two days ago. The local task forces received no warning other than from their respective wormhole traffic control buoys when the attacking battle groups emerged. And I use the term battle groups loosely because the imperial units appear to have been larger than normal, which could indicate a concerted effort to destroy anything we place in their way.”
“Why were we not warned?”
A faint grimace of irritation twisted Zahar’s lips.
“Since none of the picket ships we sent to act as tripwires in adjoining wormhole junctions carry subspace transmitters powerful enough to reach Yotai without the help of retransmission arrays, we will never know, Highness. However, it seems likely they were destroyed before they could withdraw, perhaps through acts of treachery. We were fortunate the avisos posted in the Isabella and Mykonos systems made it back to report. Especially since both captains waited until they could confirm the fate of our forces before leaving by running silent while almost literally within enemy missile range.”
Zahar touched a control, and the holographic tank in one corner of the room came to life with a schematic of the Isabella system and its wormhole termini.
“Approximately forty-eight hours ago, a thirty-five ship imperial formation, most of them heavy cruisers, came through Wormhole Isabella One. An almost identical formation of thirty-five ships simultaneously came through Wormhole Isabella Four.”
