The Emperor's Conspiracy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Chapter XII

  Chapter XIII

  Chapter XIV

  Chapter XV

  Chapter XVI

  Chapter XVII

  THE EMPEROR'S CONSPIRACY

  By

  William Zellmann

  Copyright 2011 William Zellmann

  Chapter I

  As I struggled toward consciousness, my first sensation was of overwhelming cold. The next was the smell and, yes, the sour taste of vomit.

  I shook my head to clear it, and instantly regretted the action as the movement touched off a severe pounding. I groaned and cursed as I tried to examine my surroundings without moving my aching head.

  The massive unpainted gray duracrete walls and barred grates, together with the uncomfortable cold, told me everything I needed to know. Jail, or whatever they called it on Haven. Depressed as I was about being in jail, it was as nothing to the knowledge that I was on Haven.

  Weak sunlight did its feeble best to pour through the small, barred window. Haven is hardly the vacation spot of known space. Oh, it's about average size for a man-settled planet, and its gravity is only .92 of standard. Unfortunately, though, while the system's primary is a class G0 dwarf, the same class as Prime's, Haven is slightly farther from it. More importantly, for the last thousand years or so, Haven has been emerging from an ice age. The glaciers have retreated enough that slightly over half the land between the poles and the equator are ice-free, at least part of the year. At the poles it's uninhabitable.

  Man wouldn't have bothered with a world like Haven except for two things. First, the system hosts no less than four jump points. Second, it's the rim system nearest the rest of the Empire.

  The first point guaranteed that Haven's system would become a major recalibration point for transiting starships. Such a busy transit point would inevitably develop into a trading hub, and Haven was habitable, barely. Even counting the expense of coping with the extreme climate, it was still cheaper to settle the planet than to build an orbiting space station big enough to serve such a hub. So a few hardy souls, mostly employees of the trading combines, came to Haven. They poured low, massive, ugly, super-insulated duracrete buildings to withstand the incredible storms, and settled in to stay.

  The second point was why Haven was home to more than just a few traders and chandlers: someone with a nasty sense of humor selected Haven to be the capitol of the Rim Sector. Or perhaps it was just some bureaucrat who learned Haven was physically closest of the rim planets to the rest of the Empire, and didn't know, or didn't care, about its climate.

  At any rate, Haven is now home to several million people. I'd never be one of them, though. I hate the cold.

  That partly explained why I was in jail. From the surface, Haven City just looked like a cluster of huge, featureless gray domes, interspersed with a few more conventional buildings half buried in snow. But all those domes were interconnected by duracrete tunnels, and a lot of Haven City is underground. In contrast to the colorless ugliness of the surface, Haveners decorate the interiors of the tunnels and buildings in blindingly bright, sometimes garish, colors and patterns matched only by their equally garish clothing styles.

  Of course, with the lack of outside amusements, they had come up with an amazing variety of indoor activities, many of which included or featured liquid refreshment. Alcoholic liquid refreshment.

  Since I left the Empire Fleet some ten years ago, drinking and bar brawls had become increasingly important parts of my recreational activities. Hari, my engineer and best friend, was beginning to nag me unmercifully about it. But no matter how often I told him, he just didn't seem to understand that drinking helped blur the faces and drown the memories . . .

  Metallic clanks that reverberated in my aching head announced the arrival of my jailer, accompanied by Hari. If I hadn't been so miserable, I probably would have snickered at the appearance they made. The jailer was short and stout, almost as wide as he was tall. His greasy black hair and blue chin lent him an apelike appearance. He barely came up to Hari's chest.

  Hari was almost a comical opposite. Two meters tall, Hari is skinny, looking almost emaciated. His white hair is so thin as to be nearly invisible at any distance, which gives his head a skull-like appearance. Add to this the fact that Hari spends very little of his time off our ship, the Valkyrie, and his paleness instantly brings to mind a corpse.

  But Hari is also undoubtedly the best engineer I've ever met. He has an instinctive feel that seems to let him know in advance if something is going to happen to the old bitch. He also saved my life.

  When I dropped off my resignation letter and fled the Fleet, I was verging on suicidal. Hari resigned his commission to come with me. He nursed me through the nightmares and the sometimes-monumental drunks. He talked me through the depressions. He's my best — okay, only — friend.

  Right now, though, he didn't look it. Now, Hari's pale cheeks blazed an angry red. His expression was grim.

  I sat up on the bunk, suppressing a wince at the roaring pain in my head. I tried to greet him, but all that came out was a wordless croak. I swallowed, and almost gagged at the sour taste of bile.

  Hari just shook his head in furious frustration as his gaze swept over my unshaven, vomit-stained person. Finally, he sighed deeply. "All right, let him out." His gravelly bass voice was, as always, a surprise, coming from that thin body.

  The jailer shrugged and applied the key strip to the cell's lock. The door slid open. I rose unsteadily, and gathering what I could of my tattered dignity, walked out of the cell.

  As I retrieved my belongings from the jailer I heard the desk sergeant tell Hari, "Drunk 'n disorderly, assault 'n batt'ry, assaultin' police officers. We'll send the damage bill out to yer ship. Don't try t' lift off 'til it's paid, 'r you'll both be in here." Hari nodded, glaring at me. While Hari was still dealing with the financial matters, I slipped into the 'fresher to make myself more presentable.

  The image in the mirror didn't make me feel any better. I grimaced and scraped what I could of the dried vomit from my rumpled, creased uniform. A wetted towel got most of the rest. I couldn't depilate, and my chin and cheeks were darkly shadowed. I resolved to try to stay downwind of everyone. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to banish some of the sallowness from my skin, the bleariness from my eyes. I didn't have notable success, but the splash of cold water did wash most of the cobwebs from my brain.

  At least I didn't have to worry about a tangled mass of hair. Habit forged in the imperial marines had kept my hair only about a centimeter in length. I ran my fingers through it to give it a semblance of order. I examined myself again, and came to the reluctant conclusion that I'd done all I could. It would have to do until I could get to a 'fresher back aboard Valkyrie.

  Hari was waiting when I left the 'fresher, his thunderous expression radiating disapproval. We started for the jail's door, and he started.

  "Damn it, Val, this has to stop. You're getting as bad as Con!"

  I winced at that. Con Wiler was Valkyrie's Astrogator. He was also the shallowest human I've ever known. He had an amazingly large collection of porn vids, and spent nearly all his in-space time in his stateroom, immersed in them. When grounded, Con spent all his time and all his money on port bars and port prostitutes. He was always drinking, drunk, or hung over. He didn't enjoy bar brawls, but he often bore evidence of the anger of boyfriends, husbands, or fa
thers.

  "Don't be silly, Hari," I replied, stung. "It's only once in a while." I tried a weak smile. "And at least I'm not chasing women."

  The smile didn't work. Hari just shook his head in exasperation. He opened his mouth to reply, but closed it as two men walked up.

  The blinding colors of their clothing contrasted with their colorlessness. They were completely average. Average height, average weight, average hair color, average everything.

  One produced a badge case. "Captain Val Kedron of Valkyrie?" He asked in a disinterested tone. At my nod, he continued, "Imperial Security Service. Would you and Mr. Carlon come with us, please?"

  It was like a sudden ice water bath. Cops and jails are one thing. ISS is another entirely. Suddenly I was dead sober — and scared. The ISS spends most of its time pursuing terrorists and threats against the Empire. The rest of their time is devoted to the protection of the Emperor and other high imperial officials. They have incredible powers, and are responsible only to the Director of Imperial Security on Prime.

  We were both so dumbfounded and so intimidated that we didn't even question the men; we just went meekly along. When we headed down the tunnel toward the dome that held only the Viceroy's palace, I swallowed loudly. It looked like we were in big trouble. Hari's face could have been carved from stone.

  The man who rose to greet me didn't look intimidating. He was of average height and middle-aged. Slim and elegant, he was conservatively well dressed, a novelty on Haven. His face was darkly handsome, undoubtedly the result of expensive body sculpting. If anything, he most resembled an aging vid star playing an imperial courtier. His eyes scanned me from head to toe, missing nothing. I flushed, remembering my unkempt appearance.

  "Thank you for coming, Captain. I'm Sander Cord, Viceroy of the Rim Sector." His smile appeared genuine and welcoming, but that didn't reassure me.

  I'd heard of Cord, of course. Everyone has. How he was the son of one of the Imperial Prince's tutors. How the old Emperor had decided the Prince needed a companion his own age, and how Cord had literally been raised in the palace with the Prince, now Eron XXIV, Emperor of Humanity. Dozens of vids have been written and produced portraying Cord as everything from a gallant hero who rose from obscurity to become the Emperor's only true friend, to a villainous opportunist blackmailing his way to power. I really hadn't formed an opinion, though I suspected the truth was somewhere in between.

  "I appear to have caught you at an unfortunate moment," he continued. His voice was a mellow and trained baritone, his accent pure upper-class innerworld.

  I could feel warmth crawl over my face. I began to mutter an apology, but he waved it off. "Don't worry, Captain. I don't base my judgments of people on their appearance. I'm much more concerned with who they are than who they appear to be." He straightened, and his manner became businesslike. "I need you, Captain. And you, Mr. Carlon. And I need your ship."

  That surprised me. "What in space would a Sector Viceroy need with a couple of broken-down old free traders and a ninety-year old ship?"

  The smile didn't waver. "Now, now, Captain. You can hardly be called 'broken-down'. I still have access to Empire Intelligence, you know." He dropped a record chip into the reader slot on his desk.

  "Let's see now. Kedron, Val. Native of Solaris IV. Graduated Fleet Academy with honors, 2842AE. Assigned . . . well, I'm not going to go through your entire service record. Resigned 2859AE, at rank of Lieutenant Colonel of Marines." He paused. "Immediately after the withdrawal from Haskins' World."

  I winced at the reminder. "Yeah," I replied dully. That was one subject I didn't want to discuss. I'd been living with the nightmares for ten years.

  He shook his head and sighed. "The Fleet lost some of its best people because of Haskins' World. You heard about Admiral Dunstan?" I nodded, and he continued. "Let's see, completed Strategy and Tactics at the Imperial War College with honors. A two-year course, is it not?"

  I nodded again. I had a feeling I knew what was coming, and wasn't going to like it.

  "Completed Ship Operations, Navigation, and Jump Theory. It appears you were on what they call the fast track to a flag. That's the usual reason for sending a Marine to Ship Ops."

  I nodded again. I really didn't like this conversation. This guy knew entirely too much about military matters for a sycophantic politician. Flag rank is only conferred on officers who have commanded both a warship and marines on the ground in combat. "I was in receipt of orders to take command of a destroyer when I blew it on Haskins' World," I admitted. "I resigned as soon as I got back to the Aigash Kai, before they could court-martial me."

  He looked puzzled. "Court-martial? There's nothing in your service record regarding a possible court-martial." His face cleared, and he stared at me intensely. "Could it possibly be you don't know, Captain? Didn't you read the reports of the investigating team?"

  I shook my head nervously. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead and palms. "I had just lost more than half of my command. I didn't need a bunch of bureaucrats from Prime to tell me I'd screwed up. Two days after we reached the Kai, Hari and I hitched a ride on a supply ship to Aragon II. We bought the old Valkyrie, signed on an Astrogator and Comm Officer on shares, and never looked back." I glared at him. "We're still not looking back."

  Cord had a wondering expression on his face. "Gods, you really don't know! General Stilkis was the one who'd have been court-martialed, if he'd survived. The investigation not only cleared you, it praised your performance in the face of overwhelming odds. Admiral Dunstan put a note in your service record to the effect that he'd have recommended you for the Empire Star, if you hadn't bailed out so quickly. He said that . . ." Cord glanced at the screen. " . . . Colonel Kedron was almost solely responsible for our ability to extract all the nuclear and heavy weapons, and nearly six thousand Fleet personnel. Despite poor decisions by superior officers and casualties of more than sixty percent, Colonel Kedron was able to maintain unit cohesion and made it possible for the fleet to accomplish an effective evacuation, instead of a confused debacle." Cord raised his eyes to me. "I'm honored to be the one to tell you this, Captain. When the Fleet invaded and recaptured Haskins' World, it was largely due to your efforts that they didn't have to face nukes. Thousands of men and women owe you their lives."

  It was my turn to stare.

  "Hah!" Hari crowed. "I told you Fleet HQ wasn't stupid enough to blame you! The Empire Star!" He looked impressed.

  "But I lost more than half my command!" I protested weakly. "Almost a thousand people died because of me!" I was reeling. On the one hand, I was absolved of the guilt I'd carried around for more than ten years. On the other hand, I was beginning to realize I'd given up a career I loved simply because I was depressed over taking heavy casualties.

  Cord smiled gently. "Those men died so many thousands more might live. You bear no guilt, Captain. Quite the contrary." He straightened and his smile widened. "So you are neither 'broken down' nor simply a free trader." He turned to Hari. "And I believe you have a military background, as well, Mr. Carlon."

  Hari nodded warily.

  I shrugged. If Cord had my record, he certainly had Hari's. "Hari was a Fleet Commander, Engineering Officer on the Osiris." I was regaining my equilibrium. "Now, can we get down to what this is all about?"

  A slight frown crossed his features as he looked at me appraisingly. Then, as though he'd decided something, he turned to the ISS men and waved them out.

  "Very well, Captain," he began when we were alone. "I suppose I should start with the most basic fact, the one that has guided my efforts for the last thirty years." He looked as though he wanted to say more, to emphasize the strength of his feelings even more, but couldn't find the words. Finally, he just shrugged. "You see, Captain, the Empire has been in decline since the Horsehead Rebellion, and even the most optimistic estimates say it will collapse completely within three hundred years."

  He didn't look upset at my involuntary snort of derision, but I was furious with
myself for my lack of control. I was casting frantically about for a reply when Hari said, "And what are the most pessimistic estimates?"

  Cord jumped to his feet and began pacing. "The three-hundred-year estimate is valid only if everyone is doing their best to retard the fall." He said grimly. "The most pessimistic scenarios give us less than a century. In fact, if worse comes to worst, the fall could come in our lifetimes."

  I was speechless. I mean, the Empire covers over a million star systems. Twenty thousand of those systems are inhabited. The Empire has flourished for more than three thousand years. To be told that the Horsehead Rebellion had actually succeeded in destroying it . . .

  All Empires are cursed with occasional revolutions and rebellions. Nevertheless, some four hundred years ago, the entire Horsehead sector rebelled. It was a hard fight, but the rebellion was put down, and the leaders executed. I mentioned this to Cord.

  He simply shrugged. "True, but suppressing the revolt cost the Empire dearly. By the time it succeeded, the Empire's resources were overstretched. The Empire could no longer afford to expand.

  "Just as importantly," he continued, still pacing, "the Emperor had been badly scared. Robur XII and his descendants took extreme measures to insure the Empire's security. Among other things, they began discouraging original thought and scientific advancement. Their intervention was enough to tip the scales. The Empire has been in a slow but definite decline ever since."

  He sighed. "It's only become noticeable during the past century; and even so, I only learned of it by accident, when I was researching an economics paper on the imperial palace's comps."