Under the Heel of the Aether Imperium

By J.P. Medved

Arla Lightrider is the newest captain of the Profit and Luck, her late father's aether tradeship.  She plans to follow in his footsteps, shuttling cargo through the tradelanes as a member of the Galactic Merchants Compact. 

Though her work is complicated by the new Imperium government's crackdown on the Compact's unregulated free traders, she thinks she can handle anything the stars throw at her.  But when a strange alien offers to pay her handsomely for transport to a fringe world, she becomes caught in a conspiracy that could shake the foundations of the new galactic order. 

For her passenger carries something the Imperium desperately wants; something it is willing to kill to possess or destroy. And, Arla soon learns, despite the new government's brutal consolidation of power, there are still pockets of resistance alive throughout the galaxy. 

Not everyone is content to live under the heel of the Aether Imperium.

Under the Heel of the Aether Imperium is a 12,000 word steampunk space opera novella.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.P. Medved
• Release date: Jun 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513053349

Book preview

Under the Heel of the Aether Imperium

A Steampunk Short Story

J.P. Medved

Copyright 2015 by J.P. Medved

Also by J.P. Medved

The Clockwork Imperium Series

The Great Curry Contest (free short story)

To Rescue General Gordon

Queen Victoria's Ball

Airfleets Over Ostend

The First Venus War

In the Shade of the Ishtar Trees

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I

I thought human brood mothers were confined to raise offspring, not given aetherships.

Arla wriggled her fingers underneath her nose, a gesture that, on the alien's home world, would have been interpreted as rude surprise and contempt.

"Maybe Hasani brood mothers, she spat the word out, but I am not Hasani."

Yet this world is controlled by their Imperium. And you are human, like they, are you not? What are you, then, if not Hasani?

"I am a daughter of the Merchant's Compact, a free woman. And I wasn't given my ship, I earned it, like every other honest trader." She'd paid more for her tradeship than this alien would ever know.

You are bold to admit such a relationship openly. There aren't many merchants left who would, after the crackdown.

The alleged crackdown. Free trading's not outlawed yet. And even the Imperium can't be everywhere at once. She brushed a stray lock of shoulder-length brown hair from her face.

The alien's nose tentacles wriggled in a way that could have been either pitying condescension, or polite worry. Arla couldn't tell.

It continued, in that rolling voice peculiar to the Carth, its words of accented tradespeak sounding like the clatter of pebbles swirling around the bottom of a stream, And what if I were an Imperium agent, sent to spy out and report on Compact members?

Arla's eyes narrowed. She didn't know if the Carth could read human facial expressions, but if it couldn't understand her scowl, the two slow pats on the butt of her revolver, riding comfortably down in a holster at her thigh, were unmistakable.

That's what my Ellis is for.

And against a squadron of Imperium dragoons?

Arla glanced around the large, crowded room. Other than a diminutive Weeg at the bar looking at her just a little too intently with its wide, watery eyes, and a pair of Malicks arguing by the door, everything at Manrac's Spice and Intoxicant Tavern was as it should be. As it had been the other times she'd visited looking for work after a run to Eutheri. The other times we visited, she reminded herself with a pang.

The low light of paraffin lamps cast much of the room and its maze of squat tables, booths, and sunken acid baths in shadow. It was the kind of lighting most of the patrons preferred for the type of business that occurred at Manrac's. Her father hadn't liked it, and only started coming here after more legitimate work became hard to find for Compact traders. After the arrests.

Seeing no immediate threats in her quick survey, she fixed her eyes back on the Carth, You got a point to all these hypotheticals, or you simply wasting my time?

The tentacles wriggled slight amusement, I knew you were Compact before I even sought you out.

Arla shifted her weight.

"The signs were obvious, for one who knew where to look; ship docked at a very specific repair shop, to avoid export taxes, no record in the planetary trade papers of the arrival of such a ship, but discreet inquiries, through certain middlemen, into local cargo or