The Blackbird Protocol: The Interstellar Blackbird, #2

By Ken Doggett

After a series of fierce battles with a lone, anonymous, and seemingly invincible ship dubbed "The Intruder," the Core Empire cobbles together a new fleet from the remaining survivors and surges out to reclaim the "Outworld" possessions it had lost in the conflict. Under FleetCommander Bretna Rathskald, on a mission of both vengeance and conquest, the fleet strikes at the first and most important target on its agenda, seeking to destroy the renegade fleet of FleetCommander Paulu Guideran along with the artifact site that might summon yet another disaster. The outcome of the vicious skirmishes that follow seems to be a forgone conclusion, until the Overlord of the Core Empire ultimately must stand for judgment, and by a most unexpected person.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rutledge House
• Release date: Nov 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215456477

Ken Doggett

Science Fiction author Ken Doggett has been writing for many years, beginning with short stories published in prominent and not-so-prominent Science Fiction magazines: Space & Time and Shayol, among others. Now, like many modern writers, he has chosen to directly publish his novels and short-story collections.  He was born in Atlanta in 1945, grew up in next-door DeKalb County, and developed a love for reading right after he discovered the school library. He read almost everything, but was especially fascinated by the fantastic tales of spaceships, space exploration, and conflict among the stars. He soon became familiar with the writers who would influence his own work: Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, John W. Campbell, and later, Larry Niven and Harlan Ellison. He graduated from Avondale High School just outside Atlanta, and after a stint in the U.S. Army assigned as a radio mechanic to the 2nd Armored Division at Ft. Hood, Texas, he worked in the field of electronics and electronic technology. After many years of reading all of those great Science Fiction stories, he decided, "I can do that," and wrote some of his own. In July 1981 he sold his first published story, Timestopper, to Amazing Stories. Eventually, with more of his stories reaching publication, he became a veteran writer in the Science Fiction genre.  But he has done more in the arts than write a few stories. He once thought he could draw and paint pictures, and he created and sold a few landscape paintings, both oil and acrylic. You can view some of these on his website. He currently lives in a rural farming community in Morgan County, Georgia, where he writes full time. 

Book preview

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music . . .

KORO REVA

Where the path from the house met the main trail, the tall man paused in the first brightening of early morning, and surveyed the snow-covered terrain ahead of him.  The main trail had been cleared by village authorities, but that convenience ended here, at Eva's house.  The last one before the wilderness area.  Beyond this point the trail completely vanished under the snow and ice, and it would remain hidden until the spring thaw slowly brought back the green countryside.

A slight pelting of sleet blurred the dark and distant line of aubertrees, and warned of a coming storm.  Colder weather would be moving in behind it, but for now his thermal suit indicated thirty-eight Imperial standard points below the freezing point of water; slightly warm for this planet at this time of year.

This was his reality now, the interminable sleet, the deep, snow-covered landscape, the bitter, icy wind, all were real-world manifestations of Ammar's wildly eccentric orbit, which carried it far enough out of the habitable zone of its sun to bring on a fierce, planet-wide winter.  Yet, despite the discomfort and the danger, he had little choice; he had a small task to take care of at the ancient site still active within the Forbidden Zone.  And the longer he waited, the greater the risk of this new reality coming to an abrupt end.

With the feeling that Eva was watching him from the window and wondering why the urgency, wondering if he would even come back, he climbed out of the icy gully that marked the end of the cleared trail.  He let his snow skaters plop wetly onto the snow, and stepped into them, one foot at a time, fitting his boots into the attachments.  Then he skimmed forward, slowly at first, testing both the skaters and the compactness of the snow; then faster, moving with an athlete's grace as he glided easily across the icy surface.  Though unseen under the present conditions, the snow-blanketed trail leading into the wilderness was by now familiar, and he needed no pointers to keep him on course.

But then something unfamiliar: ice-filled tracks, evidence of another pair of snow skaters.  Actually two pairs.  Two large men, judging from the deep ruts in the compacted snow, and they had passed through here not long ago.  Snow skaters were expensive and rare on this poor planet, and he was disturbed by what those tracks implied.  He patted the utility pocket on his hip, the slight bulge confirming that he hadn't forgotten the portable heat probe.  No doubt he would have to do some ice digging at the site, but as a bonus, the probe might offer some minor defensive advantage.  And from now on he would carry a real weapon whenever he was outside.

The scraping of his snow skaters on the irregular patches of ice embedded in the snow was the only sound that disturbed this snow-muffled landscape.  All else was deathly quiet.  It was that quietness that lulled him back into his thoughts, his constant musings of what his future held.  That path was dimmed also, but mainly by the overwhelming number of choices he had, the decisions he must soon make.  Dwelling on it, he almost missed the two silhouettes, dimly white against the brilliant white of the landscape beyond them.  He squinted against the glare as he came closer, and confirmed two men, both dressed in thermal suits.  They had stopped, and turned to face him.

Although he sensed trouble, he tried to avoid imparting that same sense to them.  Thermal shields covered their faces, as his own was covered, but their size and muscular heft was evident, even in the bulky suits.  He noticed with some satisfaction that the tallest of the two was not as tall as he, nor as wide at the shoulders.  The shorter one was squat, wider at the shoulders, but with the disadvantage of height.  Both seemed much younger than he was, and looked like men who too often confronted trouble.  The insignia on their close-fitting headcovers indicated that they were Imperial agents on some unlikely mission, and that meant the possibility of weapons.

He came to a stop near the two men, and planted his snow skaters firmly.  You two look far away from home, he said.  Keep it light, keep it friendly.

And who might you be, said the taller of the two, revealing who was in charge.

Koro Reva.

I need more than that.  His words came out in puffs of condensation, vanishing quickly in the cold, dry air.

Just a citizen, out for a morning walk.

The other man glanced skeptically at the barren, snow-covered wilderness.  He didn't smile at what he must have taken to be a lie.

You're heading for the Forbidden Zone.  What's your business there?

The Forbidden what?

Don't make this harder than it needs to be.

Reva understood the implied threat, and ignored it.  Never heard of it, he lied.  You're Imperial agents—right?  You must know that the collapse of Imperial Authority invalidates your mission—if you have one.

The man glanced at his partner, and back at Reva.  Since when?

Reva said nothing.  Maybe he had said too much already.

The man spat his laugh.  "The Empire was stronger than ever when we last saw it.  Now—poof!—it's gone?  And we're to take your word for that?"

Reva shifted on his feet slightly, keeping himself loose.  When did you last receive orders?  When were you last in contact with your superiors?

The other man hesitated, indicating that the question troubled him, but he changed the subject.  Imperial agents scare most people around here.  You don't seem at all afraid.  I'm wondering why.  What's special about you?

Reva shrugged.  I've done nothing wrong, so I should have nothing to fear.

The man glanced at his partner, and made as if to pace a little, but his leftward direction would effectively hem Reva in between the two.  Reva again studied the man's movements, trying to spot any indication of weapons, but, so far, nothing, and difficult to detect anyway, under the skin of ice that coated their suits.  These men had been out here for some time.  That probably limited their patience with strangers, cooperative or otherwise.  And apparently Reva was going to fall into the otherwise category.

Maybe so, the man said as he continued to edge toward Reva's left. But I think you're hiding something.  I want to know who you are and what your business is.  You don't look or sound as though you belong on the planet, much less on the main path to the Forbidden Zone.  And don't tell me you're not.  There's nothing else out this way.

Reva shuffled around, keeping the man in front of him, and managed to back away a little, putting the man's partner as far out of reach as possible.  The lightness had passed.  It was time to be firm.

I live here.  And my business, or even whether or not I have any business, is no business of yours.

The man stopped.  "Any business you might have inside the Forbidden Zone is our business."  He edged slightly closer and seemed to have detected the bulge in Reva's utility pocket.  He looked directly at it.

Reva said nothing.

The man hesitated, seeming to debate with himself how to proceed.  Finally, I'm Agent Jeek.  He indicated the other man.  This is Agent Borlo.  Recently a young boy traveled from here to a Core planet of the Empire, and he did it in about seven hours.

Reva still said nothing.

At minimum, the man went on, it's a six-day trip by translight ship.  That's a mystery that needs solving, and I think you're a clue.

An impossible mystery, I'd say, Reva said.  "I have no knowledge of any such boy, or anyone else possessing that kind of magic."  The emphasis he inserted was sarcasm.

What's that in your pocket?

Nothing.  A heat probe—in case I fall into a snow drift and have to dig my way out.

Give it over.  Do it carefully.  And slowly.

Reva paused for an instant, tried to gauge the seriousness of the man's intent behind the order, contrasted with his own need to keep the probe.  Finally, Sorry.  I'll be keeping it.

The man paused, seemingly blocked for an instant by Reva's unexpected balkiness.  Then he grinned nastily.  All right.  In that case, I'm about to become your worst nightmare.  He shoved against Reva, and made a grab for his pocket.  At the same time, his partner moved in.  With his left hand Reva grabbed the first man's fingers on the hand that was doing most of the groping.  He bent them back sharply, twisting the wrist.  At the same time his right arm shot out, instantly contacting the other man squarely in the center of his thermal mask with the heel of his palm.  The man fell back, stunned for a moment, a red stain soaking the area where his nose would be.

The first man had freed his hand, but was off balance as he leaned in for an immediate tackle.  Reva sidestepped deftly as the man went down, freeing a foot from its skater, and Reva kicked him, planting the toe of his boot solidly in the man's temple.  The snow nearly swallowed him up.  That one would be out for awhile, but the other man had recovered, his hand fumbling in his utility pocket.  Reva was on him immediately, grabbed his wrist as the hand came out of the pocket.  Slipping in the soft snow, Reva maintained his balance long enough to snap the man's arm back as the weapon went flying, and both fell into the snow.  The other man was up first, nursing his arm slightly, pain showing in a grimace, but he was groping toward Reva, as though he could barely see past his bloody face shield.  Reva pushed off his other skater as he rolled into him, bringing him down again with a yelp.  Reva had already grabbed up the skater, and he used it now to club the man in the head.  With both of his opponents down in the snow, and seemingly unconscious, Reva was quickly back on his feet.

He sucked in a quick breath.  No, he rasped, prodding for a response, you're just a bad dream.

With not even the barest stirring from the fallen man, he retrieved his skaters, slid them on as he watched the man's chest rise and fall in a normal rhythm.  He was breathing, but whether or not any other damage would show up if and when he regained consciousness, Reva was not prepared find out.

His only advantage, he knew, was that he had surprised the men with his quickness and his skill.  If they met again, it would not be so easy.  But would they now track him?

He glanced at the sky, the sleet still falling around him, mixed with snow.  He snugged his thermal mask tight against the icy wind, and was satisfied that the tracks would soon be covered.  But he would have to stay alert on the return trip.

He found the dropped weapon where it lay in the snow, and studied it for a moment.  A small, hand-held beam weapon of the type usually found aboard an interstellar military ship, powerful enough to kill, but not to breach a bulkhead.  He held it at ready as he fumbled in the other man's utility pocket for a matching one.  They might have had more, but he didn't want to waste time with a full search.  He dropped both weapons into his utility pocket and retreated silently, keeping his eyes on them until he was back on the trail.

Accompanied only by the spitting sound of sleet hitting his suit, he skated away.

ξ ξ ξ

CHAPTER 1

The fleet had spread out into the darkness until most of it was invisible except on the nav and tactical dataports and the holostation.  Watching from his command carrier, FleetCommander Paulu Guideran could see that the pathway formed by the fleet was too well demarcated.  It was a globe of entrapment that should have been hard to see in black space, but he doubted that the Intruder would have any trouble spotting it.  Should the Intruder stay on his present course he would fall right into it and find himself enveloped by the battlecraft of the Special BattleForce.  Surrounding that were a host of skirmishers and, further out, the carriers with their thousands of fleetfighters.

But as the immense vessel moved too directly and too boldly into the trap, Guideran began to have doubts.  On the holostation he could see its forward momentum reducing until it finally halted and remained still and silent against a background of stars.

He's taken a stable position, sir, Tek Najani reported from his tactical station.

And without warning the entire universe exploded in his eyes—

Paulu Guideran sat up and looked around, uncomprehending for a moment of his surroundings and the woman who lay next to him.  Then his senses began to return to him, and he realized that he had been dreaming, reliving the event that was so recently the turning point of every life on the planet.  He was surprised that it had taken this long to finally invade his dreams.

He was fully awake now, at home, in his own bed, and the woman beside him was his life companion, Miala.  And he had slept too long.  An hour past first light.  Since she was still asleep, he edged off the bed softly and went into the adjoining bath to freshen up with a complete liquifusion shower.

He took his time.  Unlike his fleetfighter carrier, which had been his living quarters for the past weeks, his home planet of Ammar had more than enough water for a long, wasteful shower.  In fact, it was stacked outside three to four meters deep in the form of snow and ice.  Spring was still months away.  There was also plenty of gravity, one Imperial Standard, compared to the 0.6 simulated ISG of his carrier, and he felt its heaviness.

As he enjoyed the luxury of minutes in the shower he was troubled by the dream.  No doubt it was the upheaval of the past few weeks that had triggered it.  After a series of losing skirmishes with a powerful intruder into Imperial space, the Empire had literally ceased to exist as it once was, and the Ammar System, along with all Outworld systems, had become independent.  How long they would remain free depended on many factors, and the system authorities would have to begin an intensive program to firmly establish independence, not only as a viable government, but in the minds of its people.  Otherwise, unfamiliar freedom could quickly become a burden.

He now considered it his responsibility to guide Ammar's Ruling Council to serious consideration of the Terms of Surcease presented to them by the Intruder—which he had begun to think of as The Emissary.  He hoped others would as well.  Ammar had been a minor community in the Empire, but now it seemed well-placed and well-equipped to become the center of a new reformation of the Outworld systems. 

Beyond all of that, his fleet of carriers, battlecraft, and support ships—remnants of the old Imperial Fleet that he had commanded and then commandeered—was still parked in the Ammar System and awaiting a purpose.  But his present situation had established a priority of its own.  The roads were impassable beyond the environs of the nearby village because of the thick winter, so he would have to summon a military shuttle to take him to Merrekum, Ammar’s capitol city.

But before that he would have a leisurely breakfast with his family, the first in a long time.

KORO REVA HAD TOLD her that he had some business to attend to, and she had not even the faintest guess as to what it was.  He was mysterious in so many ways.  When he had come to stay the final time he had brought a large backpack with him.  Some of it was unpacked already, but Evangeline was left to finish the job and determine her preferences for where it would all be stored.

She was curious about some of its contents.  A lot of it was clothing, some fancy, some plain and durable, but many of the other items were strange to her.  She picked up one of the two items that she had especially noticed because of their odd shapes.  They both had a cold and cruel look, and she examined the meticulous spacing of the embedded designs within the grip that might have been control functions.  She could imagine no use for either except as weapons.  Both were small enough to be concealed within the clothing, with grips that looked pliable but firmly connected to steel-blue, extendable nozzles.  She had no memory of ever seeing an actual weapon, but she handled this one gingerly and laid it aside with the other unidentifiable items.

She had already determined that she wouldn't ask him any questions about those, or about any other details of his past.  He seemed secretive about it, and she would allow him to reveal what he wanted to in his own good time.  She put all of his clothes in the shared closet, and the rest of the items, including those still unidentified, she stored in a drawer of the built-in bureau next to the closet.  Her own still-presentable clothing was meager, but her wardrobe had been expanded a little by the gifts he had brought her on his previous visits.

As she allowed the softness of one of his fancier upper garments to caress her arm, her thoughts wandered back to the time when they had first met.  He had been roaming the forest, moving stealthily, almost catlike, carefully taking his bearings as if he might lose track of where he had been.  She knew nothing of his origins, but she hadn't been afraid of him—she didn't know why.  He just seemed so easy-going, with a regal, yet relaxed air about him that put her at ease.  He had a blunt nose and brown eyes that blazed from under the brim of the funny-looking hat he wore, and he talked with the high-born accent of a Core Worlder.  They both had hidden emotional wounds that moderated the contrast of his boldness and confidence against her own timidity and doubt.  At the time, and for a long time after, he was like a caged animal suddenly set free and unable to cope with his new-found freedom.  It seemed natural that they would end up together, and that he would visit as often as he could, but within a few days after arrival he would always grow restless, a pattern he repeated with each visit.  Eventually he would leave, promising to return as soon as he could.

And now, finally, he seemed here to stay.  Had said as much.  Had come out of a storm that final time, anonymous and almost invisible, even frightening, until she recognized him.  And it seemed that an end had come finally to the lonely part of her life.  She still knew so little about him, but she had become accustomed to his mysterious ways and an entire world of his past that remained hidden.  He was like a skittish wild animal feeding from her palm, and she didn't want to scare him away.  But when she discovered the cache of gold coins bonded into the copious hems of an otherwise nondescript night coat, her curiosity was rekindled.  Was he in some kind of trouble?  Had he come here to hide out?

She looked at the coins for a long moment, hoping that a more comforting solution to the mystery would come to her.

FLEETCOMMANDER GUIDERAN looked across the breakfast table at his son Flander, with his unkempt dark hair and stubbled cheeks.  Looks like you should start shaving now.  In fact, it looks like you should have started a year ago.

Flander stared back.  "I started two years ago."

Two years?

You weren't around.  Flander paused.  I'm thinking about growing a beard.

Guideran chuckled.  You have some impressive stubble there, but I don't think you'll have much of a beard yet.

Flander shrugged, concentrated on his meal and said nothing.

The slight building of tension was lessened as Kallie came out of the kitchen with a deep dish of her fabulous stew.  She began to spoon it into each bowl with a large ladle.

I really missed your cooking, Guideran said.

She laughed.  Yes sir.  You tell me that every time you come home.  She filled his bowl and moved on to the next.  Not that I get tired of hearing it.  She turned away, surprisingly graceful with her ample bulk, and vanished into the kitchen with the empty server.

The small dining area felt cozy to Guideran, quaint and homey, with its sturdy furniture—modest except for the rare glass-and-kirlianoak cabinet where his life companion Miala displayed her hand-painted dish collection.  They didn't otherwise flaunt their relative wealth.  The other families who lived in the area were far less affluent, and Guideran didn't want their presence here to stand out, mostly for the sake of his children.  The house was simple, with the only concessions being two additions discreetly built so as not to give the impression of a large house.  Flander and Neci had their own rooms, away from their parents, and there was even a spare room for guests, though it was rarely used for that purpose.  Miala slept in it during Guideran's absences because it was closer to the children; in times of severe weather, Kallie used it until the weather cleared and she could go home.  The presence of Kallie reminded him constantly that his was one of the few families on Ammar that could afford domestic help.

She had returned and set his habitual mug of rich dark spresso next to his bowl.

He smiled, looked up.  You didn't forget.

She laughed.  I'd bring you that even if we didn't have anything else.

He chuckled, both at her understanding of his habits, and at himself.  But he couldn't get too comfortable here.  He was already missing his command.  He also had a few urgent things pressing on his mind, but he hoped that for the time being it would all be close to home.  His last campaign took him away for more than a year.  But that was for the Empire.  The Empire that had crumbled and receded into its core under the onslaught of the lone Intruder.

He glanced at his daughter, Neci.  She looked at him with adoring eyes, and seemed confident that he was home for good.  Flander, too, seemed mildly satisfied with his father's presence, but Flander was older now, headstrong, and there would always be tension between the two unless they could somehow forge a bond with mutual interests.  But what would that be?  Guideran had always had a campaign to see to, and had been away so much that Flander now seemed almost a stranger.

I assume you still want a career as a historian, focusing on Ammar history, Guideran said.

Flander nodded, somewhat warily, Guideran thought.  But now that his enrollment at Daen Academy had ended with the fall of the Empire, Guideran's former disapproval vanished.  Maybe Ammar history would be a good field for his son after all.  It would keep him out of trouble, and without a much broader education there was little else he could go into on Ammar except politics or the military, and at present he seemed unsuited to both.

Then you'll want to look presentable, Guideran said.  More grown up.  Maybe it needed to be said, but he regretted almost instantly saying it.  But, he added, hoping to mitigate the unintended insult and wipe the frown off of Flander's face, you have some time yet to worry about that.

He wanted to say something encouraging, something to help, but he could think of nothing that wouldn't sound authoritarian to the boy, coming as it was from his father.  The young man.  He was a young man now, after all, on the brink of complete adulthood.

My dataport won't work, Flander said suddenly.  It tries, but it won't connect anywhere.

But in many ways still a boy, still living in a narrow world.  Probably a side-effect of the battle with the Intruder, Guideran said.  Must have taken out a gordian node in this area.

When will they fix it?

Guideran shook his head.  I don't know.  Not my department.

How do you contact your fleet?

It's a large fleet, Flander, in orbit around this planet.  At least one ship is likely to be overhead at any given time, and my command channel is automatically relayed by any ship to my carrier.

Can you—

Guideran knew what was coming, and was already shaking his head.  No.  I can't make your dataport part of my command channel or any other military channel, just to relay it to your girlfriend.  If I didn't do it for everybody, it would be favoritism, and immoral.

Flander went quiet for a moment, obviously trying to think of a reason for making an exception.

Guideran relented, and said finally, I'll put my tactical tek on the problem.  He can do a scan to locate the problem.  If it's a node, he can restart it.  Maybe.

"But I need it now.  I can't get out because of the weather, can't talk to my friends.  Can't you just—"

Guideran shook his head, firmly this time. 

Miala took up the conversation, attempting to ease the ever mounting tension between them.  He was grateful to her for that.  In fact, he was grateful to her for a lot of reasons, and not just her insight, her intuition, and the intelligent way she managed to keep the family together and close even during his long absences.  And he was amazed at the love that still flourished between them.  She still had some of the weight that she had gained carrying their two children, but it fit her frame.  Her dark hair had a few silver strands that were visible only in a certain light, and her beautiful brown eyes that always seemed to be on the verge of laughter sat at a slightly canted angle above faint winkles that made her look every bit as smart as he knew her to be.  At just past the midpoint of middle age, Miala Flanders was the perfect complement to a man of Guideran's ranking, and still a very attractive woman to his eyes.

While she caught Guideran up on all of the neighborhood events he had missed when he was away, Flander remained quiet and let her talk without further interruption or complaint, perhaps just as happy to let the argument lie still.  As Guideran dawdled over the meal's last remnants, loathe to leave the company of Miala and the children, he heard the rumbling of a military shuttle maneuvering for a landing in the small clearing next to the house.

His day was about to get started.

CHAPTER 2

The aerial view from the shuttle window did little to improve the blighted appearance of the capitol city of Merrekum.  FleetCommander Guideran glanced at it, saw it etched into stark clarity under the silver-gray light filtering through the dense overcast.  Further out, on the visible horizon, the low, iron-gray clouds told him that more snow was coming.  Seeing little to interest him, he turned back to the display on his personal databook and the text of the Terms of Surcease.   He needed it to be fresh in his memory for when he met with the Ruling Council, and he scarcely noticed when the shuttle pilot began maneuvering toward Merrekum Base.

As a quasi-military installation, the port had once been maintained by the Empire, which had added a half-dozen heated landing pads, kept clear and drained by an extensive—and expensive—system of underground pumps; all were empty at the moment.  This was the only Ammarian port still open to normal air and suborbital traffic, as the necessary specialized equipment at the other transportation hubs had failed and gone unreplaced.  But now that its resources were no longer being sapped by the Empire, the rebuilding of Merrekum's infrastructure could at least enter the planning stages.

The mild jolt of touchdown and the ensuing silence caught Guideran's attention, prompting him to put away his databook and everything else he had scattered on the seat next to him.  He gathered his coat and gloves.

Huddling deep inside his hooded coat against the sub-freezing temperature, he disembarked and hustled the short distance across the wind-blown landing pad to a large black groundcar that had been waiting.  He had no need to go to the military headquarters building just off the main landing area; his destination was Merrekum Center and the Ruling Council.  With the city's major routes continually kept clear, he expected that he would have no problem reaching it.  Maybe the council members would find it as easy, but some lived far outside the city, and might have need of air transport.

Guideran had been assured by the Council that in this critical time, few absentee excuses would be tolerated.  And for those who couldn't make the physical trip, he trusted that the government's antiquated comcenter would be up to the task of presenting them virtually.  But he was mindful that nothing connected with Ammar's internal workings would be up to the standards of the empire he had so recently been a part of.

And wouldn't be for a long time to come.

THE SNOW-BURIED TRAIL ended abruptly at the deep ravine separating the settlements from the Forbidden Zone.

Koro Reva had crossed its rugged depths many times over the past two or three years, though now the deep snow made it even more difficult.  The other side of that ravine was all too familiar as well, the great white square, an enormous slab of vertical signboard mounted on the fence, shouting its message: FORBIDDEN.  So many times he had hiked past it, and moved downslope along the fence to the break that was hidden by a clump of small trees.

As always he paused and carefully scanned the entire area beyond the fence before slipping through the gap.  Another long walk until the path he himself had blazed brought him down to another ravine and into the deep forest of tall kirlianoak trees.  These other-world giants, imported to this planet eons ago, had over the span of many human generations pushed out the area's indigenous aubertrees.

The potential wealth here was always in the back of his mind, and foremost now as he slogged through the deep snowdrifts that lapped at the feet of these lofty giants.  Kirlianoaks grew only in a few areas of the planet, and grew only sparsely near areas with a permanent ice covering, where they were usually stunted.  But their wood was rare in pieces large enough and straight enough to be useful, and highly valued for the manufacturing of fine furniture and other luxury items.  He intended to tap into this golden opportunity and make for himself a lucrative life on this planet.  He couldn't imagine being, like so many of his neighbors, unrelentingly poor for the rest of his life.

He found himself continually surprised that he was finally here for good, living a relatively normal life as he had imagined it, and was away from the awful responsibilities and utter boredom of his former life.  He liked his new life, and sometimes as he found himself thinking that he wanted more, that he missed the political intrigue, its strategy, its gains and even its losses, those thoughts vanished when he remembered: he had Evangeline.  He had their partnership vows, legalized in the local village, and registered in the capitol city of Merrekum.  She was, to his eyes and to his heart, a beautiful woman, and when Ammar warmed in the spring, it was a beautiful place.  But he didn't want to live with all of this beauty as a poor man.

At the bottom of the slope, a narrow, swift stream cut across the path.  During his earliest trips here, before he had even met Eva and when he had at hand any modern tool he wanted, he had built a crude bridge from the smaller, fallen trees that littered the forest in its darkest areas.  The super-dense wood of the kirlianoak would endure, leaving the bridge firm and sound for many years to come.  Those modern tools were now out of his reach, but this span, created by his own hands, was still here to serve him.

He crossed the slippery, snow-covered bridge and started up the steep incline on the other side.  As he came out of the woods above the stream, the wind was stronger.  Through the thinner treetops he could see the dark clouds, threatening but seemingly still, almost as if painted across the slate sky.  The sleet was pelting harder as he studied the way ahead of him.  But this was the last leg of his journey, the final, snow-laden path toward the very reason for the area's isolation from the settlements.

The artifact itself.

AS FLEETCOMMANDER GUIDERAN watched the city glide past the windows of his groundcar, he felt a renewed interest in its buildings.  It was a slideshow of architectural diversity.  Some were modern, or gave that impression on the outside as they soared toward the sky, but most were drab, gray, stubby throwbacks to an era preceding even the Core Empire—or New Empire, as it had come to be called.  He had seen these same buildings often enough before, but now, even in their present condition of gradual decay, they seemed to hold a new promise.  A promise that this could all be fixed, renewed, to find a new grandeur.  Maybe, with the drain of the Empire gone, the city—the entire planet—could once again thrive.

The center of Merrekum was better maintained and kept cleaner than the outskirts, but here the snow and ice clearing had been sloppily done; the margins of the street were caked with clumps of dirty ice mixed with trash, all melding into a low wall of brown-smeared, frozen clumps of unidentifiable debris that reinforced the impression of general decline.

When finally his driver pulled up to the front entrance of Merrekum Center, Guideran's extended excursion into his own dark thoughts gratefully ended as a junior adjudant-général stood waiting to release the rear access for his exit.  His arrival must have been announced, because he was met just inside the door of the center by Council Chief Zuel.

There was nothing special or even significant about Tarké Zuel.  Like that of nearly all humans, his appearance was dictated by the gradual merging of the many different genetic individualities that had interbred with each other over the millennia, until dark, lustrous hair and a light chocolate skin color were almost ubiquitous throughout human civilization.  Zuel himself had no single outstanding or unusual feature.  He was shorter than Guideran, but still of normal height, and even his hair style held no particular distinction except that it contrasted sharply with Guideran's, which was kept so closely cropped that his scalp had begun to shine through as he aged.

Welcome, FleetCommander, Zuel said, somewhat formally, this time as a real participant in one of our sessions instead of as a spectator.  Guideran accepted the greeting without comment, even though he felt that he had indeed been a participant in many of those past sessions, albeit a minor one.  He had been here on many occasions to be honored as one of Ammar's own, an Outworld native who had succeeded in joining and then rising to the very highest levels of the Imperial power structure.  Some of those honors, along with Imperial honors, graced the top shelf of Miala's prized cabinet.

Zuel nodded toward the great hall, the hearing arena, visible through the foyer doorway.  You'll have to argue convincingly, I'm afraid.

Guideran felt a twinge at that.  Who wouldn't jump at the benefits accompanying the Intruder's—the Solar Emissary's—Terms of Surcease?  They were generous, and they promised real freedom.  More than that: protection.  And it was a protection that might still be needed if any elements of the Empire and its fleets had survived.

As he was led into the large room he noted that little had changed since his last visit.  And when was that?  Years perhaps, but he couldn't remember.  Probably when he had been promoted to FleetCommander.

In ancient times this had been a place of grandeur, built long after enough colonies were established on Ammar to make a capitol city feasible, and commerce viable.  Those were the days when hard work and trade between the various planetary colonies of the First Empire had brought the riches that made such luxury possible.  After the beginning of the decline brought on by the Core Empire, this hall had been well maintained, but little more.  Guideran's eyes could easily find many examples of unrepaired wear and breakage.  The seal above the oratory platform was the most visible.  The Ammarian symbol, a circular field of stars, holding within it a green planet one-third covered with the luminous whiteness that symbolized cold, ice and snow, was in need of refurbishing.  The white part was no longer quite so luminous, and the star field had extra stars, minuscule parts of the surface that had flaked away.

The platform below it was also in need of resurfacing, its formerly lustrous kirlianoak surface showing the paths most taken over the years across its sheen.  The semicircle of chairs at the platform's center were pitted, as was the railing that separated the platform from the spectators.  And many chairs in the spectator area were missing, having become unusable after supporting so many more-than-ample posteriors for so long.  The tapestry that once graced the walls around the chamber itself was barely remembered by only the oldest attendees.

He followed Zuel through the spectator level and up the two steps to the platform.  Three of the council members were already seated, while another chair bore an old and odd figure he thought familiar, but couldn't place.  The man rose as Zuel and Guideran approached him.

This is Lord Rogart Brinkle, Zuel said, former head of the Imperial Science Research Facility.  He was originally from Ammar, and has returned home after the fall of the Empire.

And your introduction is unnecessary, Brinkle said to Guideran.  "None other than FleetCommander Paulu Guideran.  A one-time, short-time Admiral, stationed on the core world Verd of the