Imperial Twilight Read online

  IMPERIAL

  TWILIGHT

  Ashes of Empire # 2

  ERIC THOMSON

  Imperial Twilight

  Copyright 2019 Eric Thomson

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used ficticiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living, or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published in Canada

  By Sanddiver Books

  ISBN: 978-1-989314-15-9

  — Lyonesse —

  “Her Excellency, The Honorable Elenia Yakin.”

  Everyone present climbed to their feet and assumed a respectful stance, except for the three officers, who came to rigid attention. Yakin swept into the hall and, with Logran holding her chair, sat at the midpoint between the table’s far ends, facing Morane. As if on cue, everyone else imitated her.

  “Good afternoon,” she began. “At the request of Lyonesse’s Estates General, I convened this plenary so Captain Morane of the Navy, Lieutenant Colonel DeCarde of the Marines and Sister Gwenneth of the Order of the Void may explain the reasons for their unannounced arrival, what they propose, and why. For the edification of our visitors, the Estates General of Lyonesse is composed of the Colonial Council, whose leaders are at this table and whose members are sitting behind me; the mayors of Lyonesse’s communities; the chancellor of the Lyonesse University; representatives of the Lyonesse Mercantile Association; senior administrators of the Lyonesse government; and representatives at large of trade unions, citizen’s groups, and professional associations. The Estates General are called into a plenary only on rare occasions when the government is faced with grave decisions concerning the colony’s future. This is one of them.”

  Morane nodded once to acknowledge Yakin’s explanation. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

  “So far, only a few heard what you told us and saw your evidence, Captain, though everyone knows the gist of your purpose. And of course, everyone on Lyonesse knows of the debt we owe you and your people,” she continued. “If I could impose on you to repeat your story and answer any questions. My secretary is prepared to display the recordings of those unfortunate colonies.” Yakin pointed at a giant screen dominating the one wall not pierced by transparent doorways.

  “Certainly, Madame.” Morane stood and let his gaze roam over the assembled colonists, meeting their eyes without embarrassment or nervousness, no matter how hostile they might seem.

  Then he spoke in slow, measured tones about a subject few seemed able to grasp and even less accept as fact — the violent end of a social and political order that had lasted longer than a dozen lifetimes.

  And how they could salvage humanity’s future along with their own.

  PART I – LAST LIGHT

  — 1 —

  Mykonos (Coalsack Sector)

  The trap door at the top of the basement stairs opened with the suddenness of a guillotine blade dropping on its victim's neck. Dust fell in random patterns like tiny star drops over the crude concrete steps and onto the ancient polished stone floor.

  Marta Norum’s gut clenched with a now all too familiar dread. She pulled her children deeper into the filthy alcove giving off the ruined building's ancient cellar, conscious they were trapped.

  Petras, the capital of Mykonos, a planet settled long before the old Commonwealth died, was replete with stone dwellings built a thousand years earlier on foundations sunk deep into the living rock. Yet someone had stumbled into their hiding spot.

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice, neither gentle nor harsh, wafted down among the shimmering motes. It seemed ageless, yet familiar. Marta Norum’s mother might once have used such an intonation.

  Or perhaps her mentors, women appointed in loco parentis during her extended stays with various monastic communities while her parents, Uther Norum, the Marquess of Cascadia, and Lady Cecilia searched for their next step up the greasy staircase of nobility ascendant.

  In theory, the closer one came to the Ruggero throne, the safer one would be from any purges driven by imperial paranoia. Then, Dendera succeeded her father and pulled the fabric of empire from its shaky framework.

  Marta suppressed a shiver of fear and clutched at the boy and girl huddled on either side of her. A faint whimper escaped the latter’s quivering lips. The sound barely reached Marta’s ear a few centimeters away, yet somehow the woman above them caught it too.

  “I am Heloise, of the Mykonos Abbey, or what’s left of it. This place is unsafe. Soldiers are combing through the ruins, searching for those on the run from Jorge Danton now that he no longer worries about the loyalty of the 84th and 91st Guards Regiments.”

  A pause.

  “The usurper’s troops show no mercy, even to widows and children. A quick, clean death is the best their victims can expect, although such a fate is unlikely. They consider killing Danton’s enemies an enjoyable task, one which should be drawn out to prolong the entertainment.”

  A pair of scuffed, black, calf-high boots, size small, appeared on the top tread. They took one step, and Marta Norum could make out the loose black trousers preferred by Sisters of the Void tucked into them.

  The rush of blood filled her ears while a thudding heart sent vibrations along every limb and through her skull. Marta’s first words came out as a hoarse croak.

  “How did you know we were here?”

  Another step, this time revealing the hem of a knee-length dusty, black cloak.

  “I sensed the children’s terror. Their minds are not yet sufficiently developed to repress strong emotions.”

  “Sensed?”

  Norum released her daughter and fumbled for the blaster tucked into her overcoat pocket. It was once part of her deceased husband’s ceremonial attire, but no less deadly for that.

  The Sister of the Void took another step.

  “Some of us have a heightened awareness of others, especially when they broadcast powerful feelings.” She chuckled dryly. “It makes us better healers than many, even though the Order would rather we don’t discuss the matter with outsiders. But in the present circumstances… Besides, we were looking for you, Lady Marta. For you, Sigrid and Stefan.”

  “How do you know who we are?”

  Marta raised the weapon with a shaky hand, her thoughts almost drowned by the roar of incipient panic.

  “And why are you looking for us?”

  “I wasn’t a hundred percent sure of your identity until just now, but thank you for the confirmation. I’ll be happy to explain why, but later when we’re out of danger. We don’t have much time to escape unnoticed.”

  “Escape where? Danton owns this planet.”

  Heloise took the remaining steps without saying another word and stopped at the foot of the stairs, in the rectangle of light created by a wan, late afternoon sun shining through a wrecked roof. She faced the shadows where Marta and her children hid and allowed them to take a good look at her.

  Of average height, she appeared lean, almost rangy beneath the voluminous cloak. Short, iron-gray hair topped a face seamed by long decades of privation and service. Dark eyes beneath black brows searched Marta Norum’s indistinct features as they acclimatized to the cellar’s gloom, and for a moment, she fancied they could pierce through her skin and see her naked soul.

  A shiver ran up Norum’s spine at the notion, but it vanished almost at once, replaced by a sudden and unaccountable feeling of incipient relief which, in turn, seemed as if it might give way to bone-numbing fatigue.

&nb
sp; “For now, we must leave Petras and find refuge. Though he might wish it were otherwise, Danton’s grasp is still restricted to the capital’s immediate surroundings. He’ll need more time to make himself the undisputed master of Mykonos, even with the surviving military forces now under his command.”

  “Traitors to the Crown.” Marta Norum’s weary tone took the sting from her accusation.

  “Realists. When he placed your husband’s head on a pike, Jorge Danton became the most feared man in this star system. Despite their officers’ conditioning, the Imperial Guards were always more loyal to naked power than the Ruggero dynasty. And now that the entire sector has slipped from Dendera’s grasp it’s better to join forces with rebellious units than fight and die for a distant ideal. But we can discuss the philosophy of rebellion later. Please come with me. We must get away before darkness falls.”

  The urgency in Sister Heloise’s voice drove Marta to obey without conscious thought. She dropped the late Governor General Hachim LeGris’ ceremonial blaster into her overcoat pocket and stood on shaky legs. Stefan and Sigrid, staring wide-eyed at the apparition in black, followed her movements without prodding, as if mesmerized.

  “Why should we trust you?”

  “Because my remaining Brethren and I are probably the only sapient beings in this star system who wish you well. Anyone other than us aiding you in the smallest way risks a horrible death at the hands of Danton’s chosen executioners.”

  “And you don’t fear him?”

  “Since Danton ordered the massacre of the Mykonos Abbey Brethren on suspicion of loyalty to the Crown, we few survivors are the walking dead. Fear of the usurper has no bearing on our decisions. Now come, and don’t forget your bags.”

  Heloise turned on her heels and climbed the stairs one by one without looking back.

  Marta Norum briefly hugged her eight-year-old son and daughter, meeting eyes dulled by the indelible memory of their father’s cruel execution and the long days of terror as they dodged Colonel Jorge Danton’s murderers through the ruined quarters of Petras. Then, Marta motioned at them to precede her up the staircase and, after a final glance at the cellar that sheltered them for the last day and a half, she followed suit.

  Five more dark-cloaked figures stood by the half-demolished restaurant’s gaping windows and doors, peering out at the rubble-strewn streets. Two women and three men.

  If Marta understood Sister Heloise correctly, they were the last of a once thriving monastic community devoted to medicine, learning, and charitable works in the name of the Almighty. Six survivors from among the thousands who once populated the abbey and countless priories scattered across the planet’s surface.

  Heloise thrust a dark bundle at Marta.

  “Put this on and raise the cowl. Your appearance is too well known, but few will look twice at another Sister of the Void fleeing Danton’s killers. There’s no profit in denouncing us.”

  “What about my children?”

  Heloise turned her eyes on the bewildered twins.

  “You were careful to keep them from the public eye during your husband’s rule. Dirty as they are now, no one will think them anything more than a pair of lost souls under the Order’s protection.”

  “And I’m not sufficiently filthy?” She ran long, slender fingers through matted, shoulder-length blond hair framing a heart-shaped face prematurely aged by fatigue and fear.

  “It would take more than mere grime to disguise you.”

  Norum shook out the bundle and obeyed Heloise’s instructions. When her face was partially obscured by the baggy hood, Heloise nodded with approval.

  “Good enough.” She turned to one of the men. “Is the way clear, Sandor?”

  “It appears so,” the friar replied. “If we leave now, we’ll escape Petras before predators come out to feed on the unwary.”

  “Where are we headed?” Norum asked.

  “To the Port of Tiryns. We cannot risk taking what little air or suborbital service still connects Petras with Thera. It might take forty-eight hours or more to cross the Boetian Sea by ship, but few independent operators ask inconvenient questions when the money is right.”

  “Why Thera?”

  “It is, for us, the safest place on Mykonos with a functioning spaceport.” When understanding briefly sparked in Marta’s eyes, Heloise allowed herself a tight smile. “Yes, we’re hoping to find passage on a starship headed away from the Coalsack Sector.”

  “I see. But it still doesn’t tell me why you choose to encumber yourself with a widow and two kids on the run from a mad Guards colonel.”

  “I’d like to know that as well,” a disembodied male voice said from the shadows of a collapsed veranda. All six Void Brethren whirled toward it while Marta Norum reached for her children, eyes wide with renewed fear.

  Heloise gestured at Sandor.

  “Quickly, take them and go. Gellert and I will stay behind to cover you.”

  The man chuckled, though Norum’s ears picked up undertones of amusement rather than menace.

  “You’re not going anywhere without my say so, Sister. Look into the street. If you squint hard enough, you might see a few of my men near the intersection. Several more are tucked away among the rubble, waiting for orders.”

  Norum glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing more than dusty walls, piles of stone and broken pavement.

  “My men are wearing chameleon armor, and they know how to blend in.”

  “What do you want?” Heloise asked. “Quickly now. It’s not healthy to stay among these ruins after dark, and the sun is about to kiss the horizon.”

  “Funny you should mention that, Sister.”

  — 2 —

  Yotai (Coalsack Sector Capital)

  “I’m not sure I share your pessimism, Admiral.” Grand Duke Devy Custis, a powerfully built man in his sixties turned away from the three-dimensional projection depicting the Coalsack Sector and speared Pendrick Zahar with a hard glare. “Or did your battle group commanders experience a moment of panic?”

  The imperial court’s languid drawl colored Custis’ words, but Zahar didn’t mistake it for the affectation of a Wyvern buffoon.

  “Your Grace?”

  He tilted his head to one side and returned the duke’s stare without fear or embarrassment. In contrast to Custis’ broad, almost sensual features, the 16th Fleet commander’s face was that of an ascetic — narrow, with a long patrician nose, sunken cheeks, and hooded eyes. His expression, even at rest, betrayed the predatory nature of a man who lived to exercise power.

  Custis gestured at the hologram.

  “Withdrawing your forces to Micarat seems a bit rash. It leaves Arietis and its wormhole junction in the hands of whoever gets there first, not to mention Peralka, Parvi, and Mentari, and their wormhole junctions.”

  “With the losses we suffered putting down several uprisings after Viceroy Joback’s death, such as that led by the idiot Santana on Ariel, I no longer enjoy the luxury of spreading my forces along the frontier, Your Grace. Arietis is of limited use at the best of times and not intrinsically worth defending. The systems beyond have been or shortly will be overrun by invaders, making the Micarat wormhole junction their main entry point into this part of the sector.”

  As he spoke, Zahar pointed at various stars outlined in purple and red, showing they were no longer under 16th Fleet control.

  “I took every precaution to make sure no inbound ship passes the wormhole traffic control arrays without permission.”

  “I wonder whether killing Joback while he still enjoyed the loyalty of so many star systems was a mistake.”

  “If I’d waited longer than I did, Your Grace, my losses would have been worse. I regret not slitting his throat the moment he declared himself for Dendera. It would have avoided us temporarily losing control of Ariel. Retaking that system proved costly in large part because one of the 168th Battle Group’s commodores pledged herself and more than two dozen war
ships to Santana’s service. Both are now dead, of course. Executed. Yet the damage is done, leaving us with losses we can ill afford.”

  “You couldn’t have known about my plans,” Custis replied in a conciliatory tone. “What about Parth?”

  He pointed at a star outlined in green near the sector’s outer edge.

  “Barbarians coming via Arietis can reach it without passing through your Micarat choke point by the simple expedient of transiting through the Yin and Takeshi systems. Not that I’m overly fond of Parth, considering Dendera wanted me to end my days in one of its unhealthy death camps, but the system still belongs to this sector.”

  “I’m reinforcing Rayder Ostrow, who you might recall commands the 164th Battle Group, so he can fortify Parth to the same extent as Micarat and make it another choke point between us and the frontier. A few patrol ships will keep watch in the Yin system, enough to scare off the odd reiver wolf pack. If they find themselves at a serious disadvantage, their orders are to withdraw. Neither Yin nor Takeshi is worth fighting over.”

  “And the colonists?”

  Custis ran a hand through his luxuriant silver hair, bound into a queue at the nape of the neck by a silk ribbon.

  “With the empire collapsing and no immediate source of replacements, my ships are more valuable. If the colonists fear reivers, they’re free to move.”

  Custis let out a soft snort.

  “You’re all heart, Admiral.”

  “Hard times demand hard decisions, Your Grace.”

  “Indeed they do. Rayder Ostrow, eh?” The grand duke tapped his chin with an elegantly manicured fingertip. “Isn’t he the idiot who let — what was his name again — take Tanith and vanish?”

  “Jonas Morane, of the cruiser Vanquish, sir.” One of Zahar’s aides helpfully offered. “Though it wasn’t the name he used at the time. A Monokeros class transport by the name Narwhal carried Tanith away. Both ships were part of the 197th Battle Group, 19th Fleet, Shield Sector.”