FIRST EMPIRE KNOWLEDGE
FIRST EMPIRE KNOWLEDGE
In the first Millennium of Star Flight, the bold, foolhardy Vilani ventured out in their immense starjumpers, huge hulls packed with fuel and drives, marvels of engineering and science.
Looking back, we see those ships as primitive, inefficient, bulky, crude. But to eyes that were accustomed to ships that took generations to travel between the stars, they were marvels! They travelled not at a tenth of the speed of light, not at lightspeed itself, but a hundred times, almost two hundred times faster than photons. Explorers could visit more than one world in a lifetime and still return to make their reports. Investors could expect profits; scientists could expand their knowledge, and their reputations; the species could expand.
Even better, no one else knew the secret.
The starjumpers visited systems, stars, and worlds. They reached a thousand planets and discovered answers to classic questions of science: they filled to overflowing the data banks of the First Empire.
There was, in those early years, another type of knowledge: the unconfirmed, the incredible, the unbelievable. Stories of monsters and marvels, strangeness and strangers. These reports were problematic: hard to believe, hard to prove, hard to understand. It was easiest to laugh and then dismiss or ignore them. Who could possibly believe stories of monsters that swarmed in the vacuum of deep space, of worlds where time stood still, of sirens that called men to their dooms, of artificial planetoids in the depths of the outer oort? What reasonable scientist would believe the weird, the occult, the unproven, or the undocumented? More than one scientist was embarrassed to find that supposed fact was really the writings of the deranged, or alien children’s morality tales, or startlingly realistic entertainment fictions. This mass of nonsense had a name: the Niikiik Luur, literally the words meant the False-Knowledge.
This false knowledge was a source of constant confusion, and to the First Empire the obvious answer was to suppress it. It was systematically removed from the databases; references were tagged unproven or fictional; more than that, they were often scrambled or deliberately corrupted. Over time, over generations, over centuries, this forbidden other knowledge was very thoroughly eradicated. The information networks were all the better for it.
And yet, there are always the few who must be contrary, and some of those contraries had great power and great resources.
The Karand’s Palace on Nivalia became one such contrary: a secret repository, maintained by its hereditary staff even long after the First Empire fell. The estate was self-sustaining: surrounded by agricultural lands; worked by serfs; managed by a dedicated set of families. Of those, only a few actually knew about the collection, and fewer still saw any real value. Of course, it had no value; its curators were weird mystics with strange ideas and distorted concepts of importance and reality.
011-502
The Naval Base at
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The first ships of the fleet had just arrived insystem in a series of jump flashes as they individually shed energy. Arrivals would continue over the next sixteen hours. The naval base and the starport sensors knew immediately, indeed the arrivals were expected, but to households and businesses and families this was the first hint of homecoming; they started receiving alerts almost immediately. Crews on liberty meant money to be spent, spouses and friends to be reunited, celebrations. Ships in port meant supplies to be sold, services to be rendered, data dumps, database updates. This system would be a busy place for weeks to come.
Slintern House was aflutter with excitement. Servants scurried here and there putting art and accessories in their proper places, adjusting lighting levels, polishing imagined scuffs so that all would be perfect when the Admiral arrived. The Lady Slintern remained in her chambers, primping and preparing herself; there would be a social whirl of receptions and parties and audiences, many dominated by her husband, but many focused on her as the Lady of the house. These were exciting times indeed.
Hours passed with no word, no messages, no alerts to Slintern House, and the Lady began to entertain some slight fret. How unlike the Marquis Slintern not to send some signal or greeting, some indication of the social responsibilities that were coming.
The coded signals between the flagship and the administration center at the naval base created their own difficulties. Admiral Slintern was more than a ranking naval officer, he was a Marquis; the news could not simply be released.
The naval base had other admirals, and the next in line gladly assumed the mantle of command. Lesser Admiral Tanabula was but a Baronet, although it was clear in his own mind that would change soon. He also knew that with great power comes great responsibility. He could not delegate this particular task.
His black groundcar, preceded and followed by blue security vehicles, drove through the primary gate at Slintern House and stopped precisely at the grand entrance. Footmen opened doors and stood respectfully stiff. The Baronet emerged flanked by officers in grey and officers in white. “Tell the Lady to come here.”
No one had time to object. One raced up the grand staircase. Another inquired about refreshments, only to be rebuffed.
After a time, the Lady appeared at the top of the staircase, “How may I help you gentlemen?”
“Come down here. I will not shout my message to you.”
At last, arrogant, even angry, the Lady reached the bottom of the stairs to confront the Baronet. He was enjoying this. She deserved it even more than the Marquis.
He held out the small tray containing the double sunburst insignia that identified an Admiral of the Imperial Navy. He had been careful not to soil his hands by touching it. When she picked it up, he discarded the tray into a corner.
He used no identifier or honorific. The pronoun was sufficient.
“He disobeyed the Emperor. His title and his fiefs are forfeit. Be out of here by dark.” Three hours away. Not the traditional morning. By dark. The public would know by then. They would enjoy it; they enjoyed seeing the mighty brought low. Especially the cruel mighty.
She started to ask questions, but he ignored her. He turned to the house manager. “By dark.”
Although the Baronet left in his groundcar, the two security vehicles remained. A few minutes before the sunset, a car appeared, and the Lady left with two bags she had to carry herself.