COREWARD OF THE IMPERIUM
The essential strategy of the early Empire was expansion. The fallow worlds of the Long Night were ready for re-contact and redevelopment: waiting only for the proper seed and season. Alas, the few dozens of worlds that Cleon the First ruled faced a formidable challenge in reabsorbing the ten thousand worlds that were once the First Empire.
When the Long Night fell, worlds naturally fell back on their native energy sources: animal power, fossil fuels, renewables. High tech worlds embraced the risks of fission systems; still higher tech depended on fusion. Neither fission nor fusion was portable; installations were the size of villages and every city required at least one.
Cleon’s secret was FusionPlus: a radical paradigm shift that provided cheap portable energy. It took some sparks of genius, imagination, and craziness to even pursue the concept. When it was perfected in –20, it revolutionized the dozen worlds of the Sylean Federation. Vehicles could run essentially forever on cups of water. Houses could disconnect from the grid. Factories could locate near resources rather than near energy. Power became too cheap to meter and did not require a distribution network. Productivity skyrocketed; prosperity arrived and seemed to never want to leave (except, of course, for the energy and power grid companies). It was this booming economy that created the Third Imperium and its expansionist policies.
Yet even this economic powerhouse could not reabsorb the ten thousand worlds of the old empire in a few dozen years. Power vacuums and rival empires seemed inevitable, and every rival that arose would constrict future growth. It was Cleon’s business genius that solved the problem.
Cleon would gift some trader a hold full of fusion modules and send him out into the Wilds. The trader would ultimately arrive at a ripe world with a hold full of modules. He sold perhaps a few; he gave away a few more, but ultimately, the strategy was to lease them: for oaths of fealty. Cleon’s gift included a makershop with templates that could make more and a monopoly on free power. After a few years, the trader and his family were at the top of the local power pyramid.
In a century, or two, when the expanding empire finally reached this booming system, Cleon’s markers for his gift came due: the trader’s family now owed fealty to the Empire.
There were always some who thought just taking the modules would be easier. It would have been stupid not to prepare for such an eventuality. Deep within every FusionPlus were multiple layers of concealed encrypted control systems: they determined efficiency, they prevented misuse, they could trigger early shutdown, or even explosive self-destructs. Many a powerful family knew that the key to its power was the secret control codes for its makershop and its output.
320-434
Aboard ISS Talon orbiting
Caes 0914 Beauniture C8858??-4 Ga Ph
I awoke to the common sounds of a starship bridge. I had heard them many times before and they were a comfort, a familiarity.
“Who here is senior?”
“Captain Tryan, ISS Talon.”
A scout service ship? “And who is the briefer?”
“I will handle that as well.” The voice conveyed self-assurance.
I opened my eyes to see a variety of officers busy at their consoles. Outside the transpex at some distance hung the bright half of a planet against the stars. “Very well.”
The captain began without supporting images. This Talon was eight years out on a twenty-year mission coreward of the Imperial borders, generally to chart new systems, contact new cultures, and increase the empire’s knowledge of uncharted space. We were 800 parsecs, a little over twenty sector-lengths, beyond the border. Few, if any, ships ventured this far for any reason. Prudent minds at Capital apparently thought someone should.
“By the way,” he interjected. “The system activated you as an exception. There is no urgent situation. We have time to talk and discuss. Let’s adjourn to the captain’s suite?”
“Certainly.” I was always on the alert for problems, but I genuinely sensed nothing amiss. As we left the bridge, the captain spoke proudly of this ship: a 40,000 ton cruiser of the newest design. This must be part of the new ship-building scheme Lord Aankhuga had discussed.
“We left the Empire in 426. We’ve been away for eight years; we don’t expect to be back for another twelve. We’re dedicating essentially all of our service careers to this one mission: to scout out threats to the empire in this direction.
“We’re a community: a mix of compatible sophonts and genders; a proportion of dedicated pairs; even provision for youth education. We have a small population of children, the oldest just turned seven.”
In Tryan’s quarters, we settled into comfortable chairs and he continued. Occasionally, we were interrupted by Marines with refreshments.
This ship could jump five parsecs—sixteen light-years—at a time. Several jumps back, a chance encounter with a local trader mentioned a Human-settled world and Talon’s course was diverted for a visit.
“By the trader’s report, this was supposed to be a thriving Human world with a billion people and rudimentary interstellar trade. When we arrived, yesterday, we found a smoking ruin. Self-inflicted, no less. Two years ago, the locals basically went crazy: no fewer than three nuclear wars, cities sacked by rioting mobs, luddites, berserkers, craziness run rampant. There are a few enclaves of sanity in remote regions, and now we see the first steps of a recovery.”
“And they supposedly knew what was coming. They had warning, but just couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Warning?”
“Bear with me, please. They trade with other worlds, mostly coreward from here. Those worlds experienced the same thing. There’s a wave, literally a wave of insanity emanating from the core. It’s about a month thick: it starts low, rises in intensity to peak at the half-point, and then subsides. Leaving in its wake a world where about half the people have gone crazy. Some of them recover; a lot don’t. Not just people either, animals, fish, trees, plants all act irrationally.”
“And how does a plant act irrationally?”
“Plants less so than animals, but vegetation sprouts out of season, leaves grow erratically, grasses grow in quick spurts and then turn winter-brown.
“This world had almost two billion people ten years ago; now it is down to a third. Some died from craziness . . . most died from wars and technological failure that the craziness produced. A decade ago, this world had jump drive and sophisticated computers; today, it can barely handle steam power. Almost the entire infrastructure has been destroyed.”
As he slowed down, I asked some questions.
“These are Humans? from where?”
“We aren’t certain. We don’t think they are Ancient castoffs. They seem to have been here about four thousand years.”
“Which makes them, what? First Empire refugees?”
“Yes, probably. The records we looked at aren’t clear. The local language has hints of Vilani, but there are vowel shifts.”
“So tell me your concerns, Captain? What needs to be done here?”
He focussed on two:
What potential does this world have, as it recovers, to threaten the Empire?
What is this Wave of Craziness?
I agreed. We talked for quite a while, laying plans.
The next day, on the bridge, we put our discussions into action. I announced to all, “I am Agent Insul of the Quarantine acting under Edict 97. Let’s get started.”
I addressed the Marine officer in charge of ship’s troops. “Force Commander. Sensops has identified a library with substantial historical information as well as records of the Craziness. I need it harvested. Your orders have been sent to your comm.” The Captain and I had crafted them last night, re-evaluated them this morning, and agreed they should be issued.
I addressed our Engineer. “We need a duplicate makershop for delivery planetside. How long?” He estimated a week and I accepted.
I addressed Comms, “We need a meeting with the top, five? Yes, five leaders. On a neutral field. In two weeks. Set that up.” He asked about criteria and I suggested power base and population. I told him there was a memo with more information.
I could have done this all by memo, but it helped that everyone saw what everyone else was doing. The captain looked on approvingly.
340-434
Caes 0914 Beauniture C8858??-4 Ga Ph
We met on a dry lakebed, flat with visibility to the horizon. All five invited leaders received separate instructions on arrival times; they were assigned distinct preparation areas and they converged from different directions.
We emplaced fabric sun shelters at the five points of a pentagon, centered on our assault lander. I sat in the shadow of the lander and waited as ground vehicles approached kicking up clouds of dust. Each expedition with its protectors and advisors arrived to its own designated point to be greeted by a single spacer in Imperial colors.
Our reception for them was a demonstration of power. With atmospheric temperature above 40, the air under the shelters was a comfortable 20. Coolers held refreshments. Displays showed views of the other shelters and of our central assault lander; those in each shelter could see where everyone else was and what they were doing. Other displays ran loops discussing in broad terms how a makershop worked and how a portable fusion module worked. It all consumed huge amounts of power. It was meant to make an impression.
At the appointed time, the five leaders were announced by their titles and names and escorted to their audience with me. I greeted them warmly while a translator provided meaning to my words.
Several lander excursions had visited local populations and researched greeting and hospitality customs, and I now was well-versed. Impressions are always important. On the other hand, their names were long and cumbersome: I called them One through Five, and the translator would spew out “Lord and Master Anilainty Fendlkinly” or “First of Equals Thint Inantian Napp” as appropriate.
Once the five were seated, I stood before them and made our proposal. It was patterned on the expansionist policies of the first century Empire. We had a gift of a dozen FusionPlus modules for each of the attending leaders. They had already seen their power output demonstrated. We promised there would be more.
Our price was simple: all would swear fealty to the Empire and the Emperor. One of them would become ascendent and receive a makershop that would create more modules: enough to fuel the recovery of this world and propel it to greater heights than ever before.
I insisted on an immediate response. I allowed no discussion: I had already ranked them by power and population, and proposed that One, the leader of the Eastern Region of the Primary Continent be ascendant. He accepted. The others acquiesced.
We moved immediately to the oaths of fealty.
A voice in my ear analyzed the five: “They don’t like him; they don’t trust him. Three seems to be leading the discussion and getting the consensus.” I tapped a silent acknowledgement on a communicator stud.
One of my spacers stepped forward and administered the oath in three languages: Anglic, Vilani, and the local tongue.
As he finished, a Marine stepped forward. We had rehearsed this. He was a body linguist; he had instructions that his evaluation would be public rather than whispered, whatever the result. We hoped for loyalty; we were prepared for not. In the local tongue, “He lies. His oath is false.”
I shot him. He fell. I kicked his body off the raised platform myself. The retainers and entourage in the sun shelters watched in horror, and with a bit of fascination. None made a move.
I made a short speech about how the Empire requires honor and loyalty above all else. That oaths are what bind us in common purpose. That false oaths are worse than death, and they inevitably bring death.
I called up Three (the translator said, “Honored Leader Flinge Baralaso”) and proposed that he be ascendant. He accepted, although a bit nervously. The oath was again administered, and my body linguist spoke after, “He speaks truth.” The other three leaders swore subordinate oaths. I dismissed them to their sun shelters.
There were details to be handled now: now-dead One’s people were told that he had violated protocol. Later, his replacement could swear fealty to Three. Control codes were distributed. Module deliveries were arranged.
My job was done.
345-434
Aboard ISS Talon orbiting
Caes 0914 Beauniture C8858??-4 Ga Ph
Captain Tryan and I sat in his suite and discussed our month’s work. Tryan asked, “Do you think they will expand to touch the Empire? Do you think the Empire will expand to touch them?”
I mused no. “The distance is too great. We’ll probably never see them again. But they will become a powerhouse in this sector; others will have to defer to them; and since they owe theoretical fealty to the Empire, we rise in everyone’s estimation.”
“So, we have an outpost far beyond our borders. Do we send emissaries to them? Is that even practical?”
“I am more concerned about the Craziness. Does it do this every time? To everyone? What happens when it reaches the Empire?”
“In eight hundred years? That’s a long time from now.”
“Long time or not, it will get there eventually. When you return, I’ve marked the relevant files for forwarding to Quarantine. The library the Marines harvested should go to the Archive on Vland.”
Over the next several days, I analyzed and researched what I could about this world and this region. On my last evening before I evaporated, I ruminated on this particular experience.
I had only killed one person.