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

  The dining room’s other door opened, and a silver-haired man in his eighties with a sculpted face that could only come from genetic engineering entered with an energetic stride. He wore a pleasant smile, but his eyes held no more warmth than interstellar space. Though he and the other former imperial nobles lost their titles when Governor Yakin abolished them, Downes still cloaked himself in a vague aura of superiority.

  “A good day to you, Gentlemen.” He shook hands with Hecht and Loxias before sitting across from the friar. “I trust everything is well in your busy lives.”

  Moments later, two men in white shirts and black trousers entered, carrying covered trays. A young woman in a business suit — Hecht’s executive assistant — followed them in with an uncorked bottle of red wine. Once the waiters served them and left, she poured the wine, placed the bottle in the middle of the solid wood table, and withdrew.

  Hecht reached for his glass and raised it.

  “To your health, my friends.”

  Downes and Loxias followed suit, the latter nodding with approval at the vintage as he swirled the first sip around his tongue.

  “Dig in.” Hecht nodded at their plates, now covered with cold meats, cheeses, and vegetables. “The floor is yours, Loxias, unless you’d rather wait until after lunch.”

  The latter nodded but took a healthy morsel before speaking.

  “This morning, I witnessed our newest friar take his vows. A most extraordinary man, with an unusual background.” Loxias told Stearn Roget’s story between bites. “He has the greatest potential of any friar the Order has known in its history and will no doubt be highly influential in a noticeably short time. Stearn could even become the first Summus Abbas in our history. His abilities will probably eclipse those of our strongest sisters once he finishes training.”

  “And what does this mean for Hecht Industries, Friar, if I may be so blunt?”

  Loxias gave Downes a tolerant stare.

  “When Gwenneth declared Lyonesse the motherhouse of the Order of the Void, she did more than just take a stand on our status vis-à-vis the republic. She clearly stated we had a stake in the republic’s future and its mission of reuniting human worlds under a single banner, rebuilding what the Ruggero dynasty rent asunder.”

  “Good and well, but why does this concern us?” Downes took a sip of wine.

  “I’m not convinced the present administration, or the abbey leadership understands the implications of Lyonesse’s mission as the last outpost of civilization.”

  “Aren’t you part of the abbey’s leadership?”

  Loxias raised his hand, palm facing downward, and wiggled it from side to side.

  “Yes and no. I run the day-to-day operations of the abbey’s physical plant, but decisions about the Order’s policies and plans come from a single source — the abbess. We will soon set up a Council of Elders to dilute her power and give the abbey a measure of democracy.”

  “Won’t she resist?”

  “A Council of Elders governed the motherhouse on Lindisfarne. Gwenneth cannot erase that precedent.”

  Downes picked up his wine glass again.

  “Pardon me, Friar, but that still doesn’t tell us why we’re discussing politics instead of simply enjoying this fine lunch.”

  “I think we should explore how we can help each other.” Loxias gave Downes a knowing smile.

  A spark of curiosity appeared in the latter’s cold eyes. “I’m listening.”

  “Those at the senior levels of Hecht Industries can’t openly engage in political activities, and neither can the former imperial officials who served the late empress on Wyvern. It means two of the three men in this room cannot enter the halls of power.”

  Though neither Severin Downes nor Gerson Hecht spoke, Loxias could see vague annoyance in their eyes. Whether at the restrictions laid on them or his words, he couldn’t tell.

  “I think the Order of the Void should take its rightful place in the Estates-General, and from there become a force in the republic’s governance. One which can represent the disenfranchised.”

  Hecht gave Loxias a knowing look.

  “And you’d like us to use our connections within the community to see the Order becomes part of the Estates-General.”

  “If you would be so kind.” Loxias’ smile broadened.

  “Again, what’s in it for us, besides another ally in the Estates-General?” Downes asked. “We already have plenty of friends in that august body.”

  “For one thing, we would make it our mission to transfer control of the Knowledge Vault away from the military, as you wanted years ago, Mister Downes.” Loxias glanced at Hecht. “And as your father wanted. If anyone has a chance of succeeding, it would be the people who filled that vault.”

  “You forget it’s in the virtually impregnable basement of the Defense Force’s main installation on this planet. No president will sign off on moving it to a lesser location, and the Defense Force will not give just anyone access.”

  “One thing at a time, Gerson. Morane’s time as president is almost finished. If his successor designates the Order as custodians, the military will give us unfettered access. We can work on moving it elsewhere in due course. Perhaps a site Hecht Industries or one of its partners could build. The teachings tell us vengeance belongs to the Almighty, but you can help usher in the next best thing — a rollback of Jonas Morane’s militaristic republican dreams.”

  The former count and Gerson Hecht exchanged a meaningful glance, then the latter nodded.

  “We will see that the Order of the Void joins the Estates-General.”

  Loxias inclined his head in a gesture of humility that, not coincidentally, hid the gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  “Please accept my heartfelt thanks.”

  — 29 —

  ––––––––

  “A Council of Elders?” Gwenneth looked from Loxias to Keleos and back with a slightly raised eyebrow that could convey either incredulity or contempt. “Don’t you think we hold enough meetings as it is? And how would such a council differ in scope and composition from the abbey’s operations committee? I consider every department head an elder of the Order.”

  “But not every wise elder is a department head. Marta, for instance,” Loxias replied. “Or Rinne. Or many Brethren I could name. Besides, the operations committee focuses on the day-to-day management of this abbey, its priories, and its other dependencies. You’re the nominal chair, but as chief administrator, I run it. Since we’re the Order’s motherhouse, we must create a council concerned with our policies, our plans, our future, our relations with the secular world, and more.”

  “That would be my job.”

  “As head of a regular abbey, yes. But you’re now the head of our entire Order. Our traditions do not give the Summus Abbatissa sole power over Order-wide policies, such as changes to the Rule, nor when charting a new path, let alone one which might deviate from centuries of precedent. The head of our Order on Lindisfarne always summoned a Council of Elders to help her deal with such matters. It is time we establish one as well.”

  “The idea is finding a lot of support among the Brethren,” Keleos said. “They feel that since we’re the Order’s head abbey, we should align our ways with how it was on Lindisfarne.”

  A mocking smile briefly danced on Gwenneth’s lips. “If we forge a fresh path, should we not leave centuries of precedent behind us, such as overly complex structures?”

  “In some matters, yes.” Loxias nodded once. “But the changes we face in adapting to our new place in this fallen universe are momentous enough they demand the wisest among us work in unison. With all due respect, Gwenneth, you are but mortal, with a mortal’s limitations and failings. You alone cannot bring about that which will become necessary. Where one mind and one soul will not suffice, it behooves us to join in. Our predecessors recognized this long ago and created the first Council of Elders, whi
ch eventually propelled the Order to greater glory in the Almighty’s name.”

  “And who would you suggest sit on this council, apart from the three of us?” Gwenneth ignored the flash of triumph in Loxias’ eyes as he sensed another win in the offing. “I imagine you think we should imitate Lindisfarne and appoint ten elders plus the Summus Abbatissa.”

  “Precisely.” He rattled off eight names, all highly respected within the Order for their wisdom, experience, and profound knowledge. Gwenneth couldn’t fault any of the nominations, even if Lindisfarne Brethren were in the majority. It wasn’t unexpected that the eldest among her flock would show the most support for the Order’s hoary traditions.

  “Let me guess, if I don’t create a Council of Elders, you two and the other eight will demand I convene the Brethren in the chapter house for a vote.”

  “I don’t think it needs to go that far, Abbess. Someone with your humility knows the task you face in creating a renewed Order capable of seeding other worlds with abbeys and priories when the republic sallies forth. You also know this task is best tackled with plenty of help from the wisest among us.”

  Butter wouldn’t melt in Loxias’ mouth, but she knew he’d outmaneuvered her. Besides, the constant internal politics took their toll. Let others share in the misery, even if it meant giving up power.

  “Very well. I shall announce the creation of a Council of Elders at this week’s chapter. Should I assume the nominees already signified their acceptance?”

  “They did.”

  “Was there anything else?” Gwenneth contemplated her visitors with a detached expression as she sat back in her chair.

  “No, Abbess. Thank you for listening. Under your continued leadership and backed by the wisdom of ten elders, the Order will no doubt grow in strength while it prepares for a return to the stars.”

  As Loxias and Keleos stood, Gwenneth asked, “How was your lunch with Gerson Hecht and Severin Downes the other day? Did you discuss anything I should know about?”

  “Productive, as usual,” he replied without missing a beat. “I think we will get preferential pricing offers when we issue this year’s request for proposals.”

  Loxias was too smooth by half, Gwenneth reflected as Landry ushered them out. But at the moment, she couldn’t think why his dining with Hecht and Downes bothered her. She wouldn’t even know, if not for the Defense Force’s incredibly efficient intelligence service, which kept her informed on matters concerning the abbey at Morane’s behest.

  Gwenneth swiveled her chair and stared out at the Void Orb. It increasingly struck her as something malevolent brooding at the abbey’s heart, despite the fact she’d never felt the slightest reservations about the one she’d seen daily inside the Yotai Abbey for many years.

  Loxias had blindsided her with the Council of Elders suggestion, and she blamed herself for not realizing it would be his next move in a relentless campaign aimed at reducing her power over the Order’s affairs. She could claim tiredness, even existential fatigue, but in an organization that prided itself on respecting precedent, establishing a council of ten headed by the Summus Abbatissa, as Lindisfarne did long ago, was the next logical step.

  **

  Jonas Morane’s gaze fell on Brigid DeCarde once Health Secretary Wevers Rauseo finished informing the president and his cabinet colleagues there was still no progress in developing a vaccine against the Barbarian Virus.

  “What about the analysis of the intruders destroyed by Standfast and her escort?”

  “Our mobile lab confirms the people aboard were infected with the same strain, Mister President.”

  “As we expected,” Rauseo said.

  “The Navy also analyzed the wreckage to determine how those ships made it from what we assume was Arietis via interstellar space. Theoretically, they should not be able to carry enough antimatter fuel, since that type is optimized for wormhole travel, unlike Standfast and the rest of her class. But we found indications among the debris they increased the size of their antimatter containment units.”

  “No good.” Vice President Charis Sandino lightly tapped the wooden tabletop with her clenched fist. “We should have known that would happen. It’s the easiest thing to modify on a starship.”

  DeCarde nodded.

  “Indeed. It also means they likely found an old imperial astrogation database somewhere if they identified not only Broceliande’s star but could make precise enough hyperspace jumps.”

  “Then why not aim directly at us here?” Sandino asked. “If they found an imperial database, they can easily find our star.”

  “Range. Whatever they did with their magnetic containment units gave them just enough fuel for Broceliande. They probably hoped it would take them around whatever was blocking the entrance into Corbenic.”

  Sandino exhaled loudly.

  “Which means someone will eventually figure out they need even larger fuel tanks and take aim directly at Lyonesse. They were smart enough to bypass Corbenic after a few attempts.”

  “The odds they’ll die of the virus before that happens aren’t negligible.”

  Morane nodded. “We can only hope. Will the Navy change its dispositions?”

  “In a limited fashion, Mister President. We can’t keep permanent pickets on both wormhole termini in Broceliande and Corbenic while at the same time patrolling Lyonesse’s heliopause and hyperlimit. We have neither the hulls nor the crews. Our lightly armed sloops wouldn’t fare quite as well as the purpose-built naval units or the Dawns in a head-on fight with intruders, and we can’t afford to lose a single vessel. Prevail will join the fleet in a few weeks, but even with accelerating the corvette program and building a third dry dock, Repel and Repulse are still at least twelve months from commissioning. The next two ships won’t be ready for at least twenty-four to thirty-six months, and that’s with Hecht Aerospace working flat out. We desperately need an orbital facility to build frigates, yet even with the best will and enough funding, it’s still years away. The corvette program is taking up too many resources.”

  “Then what’s the plan?”

  “Use the traffic control buoys at both ends of the Corbenic-Broceliande wormhole as tripwires if intruders slip into our space behind Outer Picket’s back and post 2nd Squadron’s warships as an inner picket on the Broceliande side of the Lyonesse wormhole.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed Morane’s face.

  “So long as we keep enough warships in this system and our eyes on the heliopause, I suppose it’ll do.”

  “The alternative would be pulling our units back, with a single picket on the Broceliande end of the Lyonesse wormhole and watch the rest of the branch via traffic control buoys. But in doing so, we effectively surrender control of anything beyond Lyonesse itself.”

  Sandino shrugged. “If intruders are bypassing the wormhole network anyhow, why not? There’s nothing of interest in the other two systems.”

  “Until we run out of easily mined places around here,” the Natural Resources Secretary said. “Both Corbenic and Broceliande have ore-rich, albeit airless planets.”

  “That won’t happen for centuries. By then, the Lyonesse Navy will be the strongest strike force in the known galaxy, one whose ships, more importantly, will have large antimatter containment units so they can bypass the entire wormhole network if necessary.”

  A smile briefly lit up DeCarde’s face.

  “Only if we build orbital facilities, Madame Vice President. And that’ll take a lot more material than half a dozen corvettes. But fair enough. However, picket duty is hard on crews, and each wormhole transit to rotate ships home for rest and recuperation takes a little more out of old hulls that the empire would have retired by now. The Navy is currently evaluating Myrtale’s fitness as a faster-than-light and wormhole ship.”

  “What happens if she’s no longer considered capable?”

  “Then Lyonesse gets its first crewed orbital in
stallation in the form of a monitor.” When DeCarde saw Sandino didn’t understand the term, she added, “It’s what the Navy calls smallish but heavily armed ships whose primary role is orbital defense.”

  “I see.”

  “We’ll squeeze the last gram of life out of our warships until we replace each one by a comparable, newly built unit.”

  “I know, but what I fear is that last gram of life evaporating before we launch replacements.”

  “You and me both, Madame Vice President.”

  — 30 —

  ––––––––

  Friar Stearn entered Marta’s training room and saw she was already there. He bowed at the waist, as a student does to his sensei. She returned it in the same manner but didn’t bow quite as deeply since she was, in every respect, his superior.

  “I trust you are well this morning?” She gestured at the meditation mats in the center of a softly lit, window-less, wood-paneled space that was at once spare and warm. Stearn always thought it a most appropriate reflection of Marta’s character.

  “I am.”

  “And eager, no doubt.”

  “That as well.”

  In the week since he took vows, Marta had reviewed basic mental disciplines with him and tested his mind so she could evaluate the strength of his defenses. When he wasn’t with Marta, Stearn worked as a stationary engineer, maintaining the abbey’s environmental systems alongside gray-bearded, long-service friars with only a smidgen of talent. He was impatient to expand his sixth sense and become more. That was why he’d entered the Order in the first place, and today would mark the start of his next journey.