Walter Jon Williams - Dread Empire's Fall 02 - The Sundering

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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
THE SUNDERING
DREAD EMPIRE’S FALL 02
WALTER JON WILLIAMS
For Kathy Hedges
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
With thanks to Dr. Michael Wester, for his tour along the hull of a dynamical system, and to Critical
Mass for their massive critiques.
Contents
PROLOGUE
Warrant Officer Severin avoided the glances of his crew. He…
ONE
The defeated squadron was locked in its deceleration burn, the…
TWO
Maurice Chen stepped onto the terrace outside the Hall of…
THREE
Perfect porcelain glazes floated through Sula’s mind, the blue-green celadon…
FOUR
After Corona had finished a pair of high-gee turns around…
FIVE
Martinez welcomed Corona’s new captain with all the grace he…
SIX
Sula walked to Martinez amid the throng in the Shelley…
SEVEN
Martinez was amused that Sula kept getting up during the…
EIGHT
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
Sula watched as the juggler spun and danced in the…
NINE
Martinez wandered through the Yoshitoshi Palace in a kind of…
TEN
That the Convocation was to take Wormhole 2 to Zarafan…
ELEVEN
Steadied by the arm of the rigger who helped him…
TWELVE
Lady Michi’s dining room was large enough for the formal…
THIRTEEN
As Goddess of the Records Office, Sula worked to cover…
FOURTEEN
The day after the ring was destroyed Sula took the…
FIFTEEN
Warrant Officer Shushanik Severin thought of the cooking oil in…
SIXTEEN
Ten days after the fall of the ring, the first…
SEVENTEEN
Cousin Marcia gave birth to a boy two days after…
EIGHTEEN
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
By the time they arrived in their own home area…
PROLOGUE
Warrant Officer Severin avoided the glances of his crew. He had led them into this misery, and now he
was unable to lead them out.
The cockpit window of the lifeboat was covered in frost, delicate white clusters of frozen spears that
reflected the red light of the Maw, the supernova ejecta that formed a giant scarlet ring which dominated
the Protipanu system. The lifeboat was grappled to the nickel-iron asteroid 302948745AF, which was
receding from the Protipanu 2 wormhole gate, and from the enemy fleet that guarded it.
The problem was that 302948745AF wasn’t receding nearly fast enough. If Severin ordered the lifeboat
away from the asteroid, he’d be detected by the ten enemy warships in the system and either captured or
destroyed. But if he did nothing, he and his crew would run out of food, or possibly even die of cold.
At the time, his plan had seemed the height of cleverness and high strategic thought. He had been in
command of the Protipanu 2 wormhole relay station when Captain Martinez of theCorona, fleeing a
Naxid squadron, reported that the rebels would enter the system within a matter of hours. Severin had
first of all used a trick of physics to physically move Wormhole 2, which caused the pursuing Naxids to
miss their target and to spend months of frenzied deceleration trying to claw their way back into the
system. Perhaps Severin had been rendered overconfident by this success, because he’d then talked his
crew of six into remaining in the system as observers, grappling their lifeboat to the asteroid in order to
keep watch on the enemy forces and report their location to any loyalist fleet that might jump through
the wormhole to do battle.
Only no loyalist fleet had arrived. That therewere loyalist fleets was proven by the fact that the Naxid
enemy remained in the barren system, barring the most direct route from the capital, Zanshaa, to Third
Fleet headquarters at Felarus. If the rebels had won the war, they surely would have left by now, gone to
somewhere more useful…instead they made a lazy orbit around the Protipanu brown dwarf, and had
filled the system with a bewildering array of decoys designed to mislead any force coming to engage
them.
And so Severin remained grappled to his rock, and his crew with him. The lifeboat’s systems were
powered down to avoid enemy sensors spotting a heat signature, and the crew wore several layers of
clothing and draped around themselves silvery thermal blankets that made them look like walking tents.
Their breath blossomed out before their faces in a white mist, and frost coated the walls and cockpit
windows. Frozen white rimed the beards of the men and the eyelashes of the women.
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
Thus far Severin’s crew hadn’t complained, and they had offered him no reproaches. Sometimes they
were even cheerful, which was remarkable under the circumstances. They had exercise equipment to
keep them fit and a full library of entertainments. But Severin reproachedhimself —reproached himself
for coming up with the scheme in the first place, and then for failing to provision the lifeboat for as
many months as he could. Six months’ rations had seemed plenty at the time, but now he was beginning
to wonder if he should reduce the number of calories the crew were consuming. And if he did that, the
reproaches, both from himself and from his crew, would begin in earnest.
And so Severin avoided the glances of his crew, and counted the days.
No loyalist fleet came.
A pity, because if they ever arrived, Severin could teach them a great deal.
ONE
The defeated squadron was locked in its deceleration burn, the blazing fury of its torches directed
toward the capital at Zanshaa.Bombardment of Delhi groaned and shuddered under the strain of over
three gravities. At times the shaking and shivering was so violent that the woman called Caroline Sula
wondered if the damaged cruiser would hold together.
After so many brutal days of deceleration, she didn’t much care if it did or not.
Sula was no stranger to the hardships of pulling hard gee. She had been aboard theDauntless under
Captain Lord Richard Li when, a little over two months ago, it had joined the Home Fleet on a furious
series of accelerations that eventually flung it through a course of wormhole gates toward the enemy
lying in wait at Magaria.
The enemy had been ready for them, and Sula was now the sole survivor of the crew of theDauntless.
Delhi, the heavy cruiser that had pulled Sula’s pinnace out of the wreckage of defeat, had been so badly
damaged that it was a minor miracle it survived the battle at all.
All six survivors of the squadron were low on ammunition, and would be useless in the event of a fight.
They had to decelerate, dock with the ring station at Zanshaa, take on fresh supplies of missiles and
antimatter fuel, then commence yet another series of accelerations to give them the velocity necessary to
avoid destruction should an enemy arrive.
That meant evenmore months of standing up under three or four or more gravities, months in which
Sula would experience the equivalent of a large, full-grown man sitting on her chest.
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
The deceleration alarm rang, the ship gave a series of long, prolonged groans, and Sula gasped with
relief as the invisible man who squatted on her rose and walked away.Dinnertime, a whole hour at a
wonderfully liberating 0.6 gravities, time to stretch her ligaments and fight the painful knots in her
muscles. After that, she’d have to stand a watch in Auxiliary Command, which was the only place
shecould stand a watch now that Command was destroyed, along withDelhi ‘s captain and a pair of
lieutenants.
Weariness dragged at her eyelids, at her heart. Sula released the webs that held her to the acceleration
couch and came to her feet, suddenly light-headed as her heart tried to make yet another adjustment to
her blood pressure. She wrenched off her helmet—she was required to spend times of acceleration in a
pressure suit—and took a breath of air that wasn’t completely saturated by her own stink. She rolled her
head on her neck and felt her vertebrae crackle, and then peeled off the medicinal patch behind her ear,
the one that fed her drugs that better enabled her to stand high gravities.
She wondered if she had time for a shower, and decided she did.
The others were finishing dinner when, in a clean pair of borrowed coveralls, Sula approached the
officers’ table while sticking another med patch behind her ear. The officers now ate in the enlisted
galley, their own wardroom having been destroyed; and because their private stocks of food and liquor
had also been blown to bits they shared the enlisted fare. As the steward brought her dinner, Sula
observed that it consisted entirely of flat food, which is what happened to anything thrown in an oven
and then subjected to five hours’ constant deceleration at three gravities.
Sula inhaled the stale aroma of a flattened, highly compressed vegetable casserole, then washed the first
bite down with a flat beverage—the steward knew to serve her water instead of the wine or beer that
were the usual dinner drink of the officer class.
Lieutenant Lord Jeremy Foote was in the chair opposite her, his immaculate viridian-green uniform a
testament to the industry of his servants.
“You’re late,” he said.
“I bathed, my lord,” Sula said. “You might try it sometime.”
This was a libel, since probably Foote didn’t enjoy living in his own stench any more than she did, but
her words caused the acting captain to suppress a grin.
Foote’s handsome face showed no reaction to Sula’s jab. Instead he gave a close-lipped, catlike smile,
and said, “I thought perhaps you’d been viewing your latest letter from Captain Martinez.”
Sula’s heart gave a little sideways lurch at the mention of Martinez’s name, and she hoped her reaction
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
hadn’t showed. She was in the process of composing a reply when the acting captain, Morgen,
interrupted.
“Martinez?” he said. “Martinez of theCorona ?”
“Indeed yes,” Foote said. His drawl, which spoke of generations of good breeding and privilege, took
on a malicious edge, and it was carefully pitched to carry to the next table of recruits. “He sends
messages to our young Sula nearly every day. And she replies as often, passionate messages from the
depth of her delicate heart. It’s touching, great romance in the tradition of a derivoo singer.”
Morgen looked at her. “You and Martinez are, ah…”
Sula didn’t know why this revelation was supposed to be embarrassing: Lord Gareth Martinez was one
of the few heroes the war had produced, at least on the loyalist side, and unlike most of the others was
still in the realm of the living.
Sula ate a piece of flattened hash before replying, and when she did she pitched her voice to carry, as
Foote had done. “Oh, Martinez and I are old friends,” she said, “but my Lord Lieutenant Foote is always
inventing romances for me. It’s his way of explaining why I won’t sleep withhim. ”
That one hit: she saw a twitch in Foote’s eyelid. Again the acting captain suppressed a smile. “Well, I
hope you’re saying good things about us,” he said.
Sula fixed Foote with her green eyes and replied in tone-perfect imitation of his drawl. “Mostof you,”
she said. She took a drink of water. “By the way,” she said, “I wonder how Lord Lieutenant Foote comes
to know of my correspondence?”
“I’m the censor,” Foote said. His smiling white teeth were perfectly even. “I view every torrid moment
of your outgoing videos.”
“There’s still censorship?” Sula was surprised by the inanity of it. “Doesn’t Foote have better things to
do?” They crewed a wrecked cruiser, with most of its officers dead, few of its weapons functioning, and
the forward third of the ship a half-melted ruin, torn open to the vacuum of space. Surely one of the few
remaining officers could find better use for his time than poking into her correspondence.
Morgen’s round face took on a solemn caste. “Censorship is more important now than ever, my lady.
We’ve got to keep word of what happened at Magaria from spreading.”
Sula hastily washed down a piece of flat bread in order to unleash her reply. “Spreading towhom ?” she
said. “Theenemy ? The enemy knowperfectly well they massacred forty-eight of our ships! They know
we only have six ships left in the Home Fleet, and they’ve got to know theDelhi ‘s a wreck.”
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
Morgen lowered his voice, as if encouraging Sula not to spread this news to the enlisted personnel, who
knew it perfectly well. “We have to prevent panic from spreading in the civilian population,” he said.
Sula gave an acid laugh. “No, we can’t have the civilians panicking. Not thewrong civilians, anyway.”
She gave Foote a cynical look. “I’m sure our honorable censor’s family is panickingright at this very
moment . The only difference between them and the general population is that Clan Foote is going to
panic their way into aprofit. I’m sure their money’s moving all over the exchanges, and it’s being
converted into…” Her invention failed her. “…into, ah, convertible things, to be carried to the safer
corners of the empire to await a brighter dawn. Perhaps they’re even being carried in the current Lord
Foote’s very own pillowcase.”
“My lord great-uncle,” Foote said quietly, “is too ill to leave his palace on Zanshaa.”
“His heir, then,” Sula said. “The point of the censorship is that we Peers are going to have a monopoly
on the information necessary to survive whatever’s coming. Everyone who doesn’t belong to our order
is expected to continue their normal lives, making money for the Peers, right up to the point where a
Naxid fleet shows up and starts raining antimatter bombs out of the sky.Then maybe they’ll be allowed
to notice that the media reports were less than candid.”
The acting captain pitched his voice even lower. “Sublieutenant my Lady Sula, I think this is not a
suitable topic for the dinner table.”
Sula felt her lips quirk in amusement. “As my lord wishes,” she said. Probably Morgen’s relations were
going to do well out of this, too.
Sula’s relations would not, for the simple reason that she didn’t have any. She was in the nearly
unprecedented position of being a Peer without any money or influence. Though the title of Lady Sula
made her the theoretical head of the entire Sula Clan, therewas no Sula Clan, no property, and no money
save for a modest trust fund that had been set up by some friends of the late Lord Sula. She had only got
into the Fleet because her position as a Peer gave her automatic place in one of the academies. She had
no patron either in the service or outside it.
Deplorable though it was, her position nevertheless gave her a unique insight into how the Peers
actually worked. The alien Shaa, who had bloodily conquered the Terrans, Naxids, and other species
who made up the empire, had created the order of Peers as an intermediary between themselves and the
great mass of their subjects. Now that the last of the Shaa was dead, the Peers were in charge—and had
managed to land-crash into a civil war within bare months of their last overlord’s demise.
Sula was surprised it had taken them that long. So far as she could tell, the Peers acted exactly as one
might expect from a class who had a near monopoly on power, their fingers in every profitable business,
and who with their clients owned almost everything. The only check on their rapacity was the Legion of
Diligence, who would massacre anyone whose avarice became too uninhibited—as, in fact, they had
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
massacred the last Lord and Lady Sula.
The Peers, Sula observed, seemed to act out of naked self-interest. But for some reason it was impolite
to actually say so.
Sula finished her flat food, then called a chronometer onto her sleeve display and wondered if she had
enough time to look at her mail before suiting up to stand her watch.
She decided she had enough time.
Sula returned to her cabin, one that had originally belonged to a petty officer who had been killed at
Magaria, and which still contained most of his belongings. She snapped on the video display with her
right thumb, an action that caused a sudden sharp sting. She snatched her hand away, and as the display
flashed on she inspected the thick scar tissue on the pad of her thumb. After the battle, in the course of
conducting urgent repairs, her thumb had come into contact with a pipe of superheated coolant, and
though the wound had healed, a wrong movement could still send pain shrieking along the length of her
arm.
She tucked the thumb carefully into her palm and paged through menus with her index finger until she
found her mail.
Only one message, from Lieutenant Captain Lord Gareth Martinez, three days in transit via powerful
communications lasers. She opened the message.
“Well,Corona managed to bungle another exercise,” he said wearily. His broad-shouldered figure was
slumped in a chair—he, like Sula, had been suffering from many days of high gee, and his weariness
showed it. His viridian uniform tunic was unbuttoned at the throat. He had a lantern jaw, thick brows,
and olive skin; his provincial accent was heavy enough to send razor blades skating up Sula’s nerves.
When they had first met, before the war, they had come together briefly, then came explosively apart. It
was all Sula’s fault, she felt: she’d been too panicked, too paranoid, too far out of her depth. She’d spent
the next several months hiding from him. A conceited son of privilege like Foote was someone she
could cope with; Martinez was something else again.
If they were lucky enough to come together once more, she wasn’t going to let them blow apart ever
again.
“I said byzero-one-seven !” Martinez said. “What’s thematter, there?”
“Sorry, my lord!” Fingers punching the display. “That’s zero-one-seven, my lord.”
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Williams, Walter Jon - [Dead Empire's Fall 02] - The Sundering
“Pilot, rotate ship.”Corona was already a little late.
“Ship rotated, my lord. New heading two-two-seven by zero-one-seven.”
“Engines, prepare to fire engines.”
“Missile flares!” called the two sensor operators in unison. “Enemy missiles fired!”
“Power up point-defense lasers.”
“Point-defense lasers powering, lord elcap.”
Martinez realized he’d been sufficiently distracted by the announcement of the enemy missiles that’s
he’d forgotten to order the engines to fire. He leaned forward in his couch to give emphasis to the order,
and his command cage creaked as it swung on its gimbals.
“Engines,” he said. “Fire engines.”
And then he remembered he’d forgotten something else.
“Weapons,” he added, “this is a drill.”
After the drill was over, after the virtual displays faded from Martinez’s mind and the leaden sense of
failure rose yet again in his thoughts, he looked out over Command and saw the crew as silent and
miserable as he was.
Too many of them were new. Two-thirds ofCorona ‘s crew had been on board for less than a month,
and though they were taking to their new jobs reasonably well, they were far from proficient. Sometimes
he wished he’d had only his old crew—the skeleton crew with which he’d savedCorona from capture
during the first hours of the Naxid revolt. When he now looked back on that escape—the tension, the
uncertainty, the hard accelerations, the terror induced by pursuing enemy missiles—all that now seemed
painted in the warm, familiar tones of nostalgia. In the emergency he and the crew had reacted with a
brilliance, a certainty that neither he nor they had matched since.
The old crew were still here, among all the newcomers, but Martinez couldn’t rely on them alone. The
new people all had to be trained, had to fit into their roles and perform as proficiently as if they’d been
in their places for years.
There was a whirring in his vac suit as the cooling units cut in, flooding the suit with chilled air and the
faintest whiff of lubricant.
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