Imperial Night (Ashes of Empire, #3) Read online

  “Then what can I do?”

  “Ever read a little book written about four thousand years ago by a Chinese general called Sun Tzu?”

  — 24 —

  ––––––––

  “All hands now hear this. Prepare for wormhole transit in five minutes. I repeat, prepare for wormhole transit in five minutes. That is all.”

  Lieutenant Stefan Norum switched off the public address system and sat back while his eyes sought out the holographic tactical projection dominating Standfast’s bridge. At its heart, two blue icons were rapidly nearing the orange disk that marked the wormhole’s event horizon. One represented the corvette, while the other marked her constant companion since the beginning of the shakeout cruise, the Republic of Lyonesse Starship Dawn Seeker. The latter was now part of the Navy’s 1st Squadron after General Barca suspended the Void Ship program for an indefinite period.

  Dawn Seeker fulfilled two purposes. The first was as Standfast’s safety in case she suffered severe problems and required outside help or, the Almighty forbid, evacuation, while the second was acting as a telemetry station and reporting on the corvette’s performance as seen by an outside observer.

  Norum’s ears picked up a door opening behind him and turned around, knowing it would be Lieutenant Commander Lisiecki. The door leading to the captain’s day cabin made a slightly different whisper than the main entrance.

  “Systems are green, sir. Dawn Seeker is synced and ready to cross the event horizon in tandem with us.”

  Lisiecki dropped into the throne-like command chair behind the navigation and helm stations and rubbed his hands with gleeful anticipation that was only partially feigned.

  “This is where a starship meets the true Void.”

  Norum, who wasn’t quite as skilled as his captain at disguising a twinge of apprehension, nodded enthusiastically.

  “The third and last of Standfast’s three baptisms. Finally.”

  “She’s done better than expected so far, Number One. Her first wormhole transit should be as boring as it is momentous in the Republic of Lyonesse’s naval history.”

  “It would be equally momentous if the Void swallowed us,” Chief Petty Officer Husam Bracker, Standfast’s coxswain and her helmsman for the first wormhole transit, said, grinning at Norum over his shoulder. “We might find out whether it’s true that wormholes are direct conduits to the Almighty.”

  “Let’s concentrate on using wormholes as shortcuts between star systems, shall we?” Lisiecki gave the coxswain his best ‘I’m not amused’ look.

  “Aye, aye, sir. A shortcut we shall take.”

  The timer in the lower right corner of the primary display ticked away the minutes and seconds with inexorable precision and Lisiecki could feel the tension on the bridge. Every spacer knew ancient tales of malfunctioning starships entering a wormhole and vanishing forever, stories so old no one could dredge up examples, let alone names. Even the Navy’s exhaustive database, which held centuries of imperial history, contained no records of vessels lost in such a manner. Lisiecki had checked. Of course, that didn’t mean it never happened. At the height of the empire’s glory, the entirety of human shipping must have made over a million crossings each year, not all of them between systems with operational traffic control infrastructures.

  “All hands now hear this — wormhole transit in one minute. I repeat — wormhole transit in one minute. That is all.”

  The two blue icons in the tactical hologram were already touching the orange disk. For Dawn Seeker, which was older than anyone in Standfast, it would be just another plunge into a tunnel connecting star systems dozens of light-years apart, one of hundreds during a long career in service of both the Order of the Void and the Republic of Lyonesse.

  Lisiecki realized he was clenching his fists and forced himself to relax. In a few seconds, the wormhole would draw them in. Once that happened, no one aboard could control what came next. They would come out on the other side in eight hours, or they wouldn’t.

  “Crossing the event horizon in three, two, one,” Bracker intoned.

  The universe turned into a pretzel of psychedelic colors that threatened to burn a hole through Lisiecki’s brain, but the sensation vanished as quickly as it had come on.

  “Status.”

  “Systems are nominal,” Norum reported after a few seconds. He glanced at the primary display. Where they’d seen stars moments earlier, there now was nothing but unrelieved black. “We are transiting as per normal parameters.”

  Lisiecki, who’d joined the Navy over twenty years ago and served on two Void Ship expeditions, knew in his bones everything was right, that his ship felt right. He nodded.

  “Excellent. I expected nothing less. You have the bridge, Number One. I’ll be in my quarters.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  **

  “A few things knocked loose, but nothing we can’t fix with a turn of the wrench,” Lieutenant Padraig Younis, Standfast’s chief engineer, reported once he finished surveying the corvette after she emerged from the wormhole on the Broceliande end. “She’s working as designed.”

  “How long before we—”

  Lisiecki’s communicator chirped for attention. “Bridge to the captain.”

  He tapped it. “Captain here.”

  “Officer of the watch, sir. Sensors are picking up three hyperspace trails aimed at the wormhole terminus. If this is their destination, they’ll drop out of FTL in no more than ten minutes.”

  “A patrol from 2nd Squadron?”

  “The traces are too small for either Void Ships or frigates, or any Lyonesse units allowed to leave the home system. Dawn Seeker confirmed our readings.”

  Lisiecki bit back a curse as he and Younis exchanged a knowing look.

  “Put us at battle stations and make sure Dawn Seeker does the same, then broadcast a general alert to all naval units and HQ.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The battle stations klaxon sounded seconds later, followed by Lieutenant Norum’s voice warning the crew this was not a drill — unknown FTL ships were inbound and unlikely to be Lyonesse-flagged.

  “How are there intruders in this system?” Younis asked. “No way they slipped past Outer Picket and 2nd Squadron unseen. We would have, at the very least, received a signal from the traffic control buoys when we arrived or found them offline altogether. Yet the ones in this system are functional and not reporting unauthorized transits.”

  “Interstellar space. That’s the only answer.”

  “Arietis is the closest wormhole junction and getting here from there in FTL only would be a stretch for your standard reiver junk.”

  Lisiecki shrugged. “They either enlarged their antimatter containment units without exploding, or they’re running on fumes right now. Desperation will drive people to risk everything on a single throw of the dice. We’ll find out momentarily.”

  “Aye. Well, thank the Almighty we’re building our ships using pre-imperial standards. Standfast’s containment units can take on enough antimatter fuel for a thousand light-year trip in the highest interstellar hyperspace bands.” Younis climbed to his feet. “I’d best make sure engineering is ready for battle.”

  “And I’m due in the CIC.”

  Lisiecki remembered reading corvettes in the defunct Imperial Fleet didn’t offer the luxury of a combat information center. Still, he was glad the Lyonesse Navy insisted on them for the new class of warships. After running battle drills from the bridge of a Void Ship, he much preferred fighting from a CIC while the first officer took care of Standfast’s systems and navigation on the bridge, even if it that CIC was tiny compared to the ones in Kalinka class frigates.

  As he entered, Lieutenant Vera Strade, the combat systems officer, rose from the command chair and stepped to one side.

  “We’re at battle stations, shields are up, and weapons are loaded. Dawn Seeker is linked in and
ready to take our gunnery orders.”

  As the larger and more powerful ship, as well as the only purpose-built warship of the two, Standfast automatically took the lead, even though Dawn Seeker’s captain boasted just over a year more seniority as a lieutenant commander than Lisiecki.

  “Thank you.”

  Lisiecki’s eyes turned to the holographic tactical projection dominating the heavily armored compartment. Three red icons surrounded by equally red circles indicating the positions were approximate, seemed directly aimed at the two blue symbols hovering near the wormhole terminus disk.

  “How did word get out we were blocking the entrance to the Lyonesse Branch if no ships escaped Outer Picket in years, sir?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Vera. Maybe someone was supposed to report back. When they didn’t, the reivers figured we were guarding our end of the Arietis wormhole and decided bypassing Corbenic altogether would be a splendid idea. Fear can push people into doing things they never would ordinarily.”

  “Makes sense.”

  Strade took her station to the command chair’s left and ran one last check on the ship’s offensive and defensive systems, if only to keep her mind off what she suspected would be another outright slaughter, just like the ones at Outer Picket. She didn’t quite know how she would deal with that possibility. Her previous tours at Outer Picket had been dull and bloodless.

  “Just remember, we’re as desperate to keep the plague from Lyonesse as those infected are to find a star system with a functioning medical system,” he said in a voice pitched for Strade’s ears only as if he’d sensed her doubts. “Our duty is to our own.”

  “Yes, sir.” She kept her eyes on the weapon systems status board.

  “Sir.” The communications petty officer raised her hand. “Incoming from Commander, 2nd Squadron.”

  Lisiecki turned toward the signals alcove. “Yes?”

  “Text only. One word — destroy.”

  He took a deep breath. The senior 2nd Squadron officer in this star system exercised control over all traffic from wormhole terminus to wormhole terminus despite the fact Standfast and Dawn Seeker were under Navy HQ orders during the corvette’s shakeout cruise. Per protocol, ships in one of the republic’s three star systems came under the local commander for the duration should an emergency arise. Unknown intruders coming at a wormhole terminus from interstellar space in a time of galactic plague was about as big an emergency as Lisiecki could conceive.

  “Acknowledge.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Guns, once we determine the incoming ships are not of Lyonesse origin, target and prepare to fire for effect.”

  His words notwithstanding, Lisiecki knew the intruders wouldn’t broadcast a beacon identifying them as belonging to the republic. No Lyonesse ships had left the republic’s star systems since Dawn Hunter’s return a year earlier, and she’d been the last of the Void Ships sent out to pick through the empire’s remains. Whoever was coming at the wormhole terminus Standfast and Dawn Seeker were unexpectedly guarding didn’t belong. And they would die just as surely as if the plague had felled them on their homeworlds.

  “Sensors are picking up three emergence signatures.” A pause. “Sloop-sized, no beacons. Their emissions and hull profiles do not match any Lyonesse-flagged starship. They’re accelerating toward the wormhole terminus.”

  “Targets marked. Standfast will take Tangos One and Two, and Dawn Seeker will take Tango Three.” Numerals appeared beside the red icons in the tactical projection. “We are locked in and ready to open fire.”

  Moments later, a voice by Lisiecki’s right elbow said, “Incoming transmission from one of the Tangos, Captain, audio-only. They claim to be disease-free and are demanding we give them asylum.”

  Lisiecki glanced down at his first officer’s hologram. “Demanding? That’s not how sane refugees would phrase a request for mercy.”

  “I know. And the fact there’s no video component to the transmission speaks volumes. Those are plague ships for sure.”

  “Tangos are within effective weapons range,” Strade said without turning away from her console.

  Lisiecki took a deep breath. This would be the first time in his entire career he gave the order to kill sentient beings. But there was no choice. The safety of the republic came before everything else.

  “Fire.”

  — 25 —

  ––––––––

  “It is time, Abbess.” Landry, wearing the Order’s formal cowl just like his superior, filled the open doorway to Gwenneth’s office.

  She turned away from the window overlooking the quadrangle and the Void Orb and smiled at him.

  “It is indeed.”

  “The abbey’s Brethren are assembled in the chapter house — standing room only. Those from outlying priories are connected via comlink, including the Windy Isles, though it’s the middle of the night there. Sister Mirjam and her people will probably vote for you just because Loxias interrupted their sleep.”

  “I should hope they will vote on the merits of the review, not based on the inconvenience it poses.”

  “Human nature, Abbess. We’re not immune, no matter how much we might try.”

  Gwenneth gave Landry a tight smile as she swept past him and into the corridor. They took the stairs to the ground floor and passed through the main door. Although the chapter house was a stout stone structure with thick walls built to survive for millennia and sitting at the far end of the quadrangle, Gwenneth could sense minds jostling for space within even as she stepped out into the open.

  They were nowhere near as chaotic as those at the citizens’ assemblies she’d attended with Jonas Morane in the months after their arrival on Lyonesse. Still, the fact she could hear them at all spoke to the turmoil Loxias’ maneuver created among the Brethren. They’d never witnessed a leadership review because no abbey had conducted one in living memory. Pushing away the press of agitated thoughts, she walked past the Void Orb without giving it so much as a glance, and her mind focused on what lay ahead.

  The chapter house was a high-ceilinged space used for community assemblies, classes, and occasional entertainment evenings. It was a close cousin to the Lyonesse Senate building, designed by the same architect. Rows of tiered benches lined its long axis on either side of the floor with observation galleries above them. Another set of seats reserved for the abbey’s senior leadership filled one end, facing the main doors. Stained glass windows above the galleries, several over two meters high, let in a watery, mid-afternoon glow which complemented the light globes floating at regular intervals near the arched, neo-Gothic ceiling.

  Though the heavy wood doors stood open, Gwenneth heard no voices, no hint of conversation, and she smiled to herself. Even on this momentous occasion, at least outward discipline prevailed. As she crossed the threshold, heads bowed respectfully and remained so as Gwenneth swept down the center aisle toward the abbess’ seat, a simple, high-backed wooden chair upholstered in red fabric.

  As she turned and faced the hall, she glanced at the wall of displays above the main doors, showing live video connections with the outlying priories, then let her eyes roam over the assembly. The chapter house was full, the priory chapter rooms appeared full, and she knew the abbey’s overflow, mainly junior Brethren, watched from the refectory next door. Only those aboard warships or on duty in the various hospitals and clinics weren’t attending in some fashion. Should any vote be within the margin of absence, it wouldn’t be certified until those not in attendance sent in their ballot.

  “We will now ask that the Almighty guide us and grant us wisdom during this extraordinary gathering of the Brethren on Lyonesse.” Gwenneth’s voice resonated clearly and without effort, thanks to the excellent acoustics, as she led her flock into prayer. When the last words faded away, she took her chair and said, “Please be seated.”

  After the rustling of robes faded away, she turne
d her head toward Loxias, who, as the abbey’s chief administrator, sat on her right.

  “Since you requested this assembly, the floor is yours.”

  Loxias inclined his head.

  “Abbess.”

  He stood and took an orator’s pose — confident, shoulders squared, head held high, eyes sweeping over the assembled friars and sisters.

  “Brethren of the Order of the Void. You know why we are assembled here today, even though we were called together at what some might consider unseemly short notice.” Gwenneth didn’t react to the implied criticism, though a few Yotai Abbey survivors in the assembly weren’t quite as reserved. “We are probably the last of our kind left alive anywhere in the galaxy. Our motherhouse, Lindisfarne, surely did not survive the empire’s collapse. None of the major wormhole junctions did, as our Void Ship expeditions found out. Worse yet, they’ve not found any surviving Brethren for well over a decade. My friends, we must accept the sad fact we are alone, saved by the Almighty for a purpose that is not yet clear.”

  Gwenneth hoped someone would point out the Void Ships visited less than half of the old empire’s sectors, and those were considered the hardest hit by Dendera because they were rebellion strongholds, however, no one stood to rebut Loxias.

  “Many of us believe our abbess should recognize this new reality and take appropriate steps.” Loxias glanced at her for a few seconds before continuing. “Chief among them is declaring this the motherhouse, another Lindisfarne if you will, and, as a result, working on a new relationship with the republic’s government. If we consider ourselves the last consecrated servants of the Almighty in his Infinite Void, we must step beyond the walls of our abbey, our priories, our schools, and our hospitals. For Lyonesse, for its citizens, and the future of humanity among the stars so that when the republic sallies forth and reunites our species under a new banner, we will be ready to go with it and spread the Almighty’s teachings once more.”