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Major General Ishani Robbins, head of the Wyvern Group’s Anti-Subversion Unit, which dealt with political and criminal matters affecting Hegemony security, put on a thoughtful air after Torma related what he heard from the unfortunate and now doomed Captain Keter. In her mid-fifties, fit, with a narrow, angular face framed by short dark hair, Robbins studied her subordinate with deeply set brown eyes that conveyed less emotion than the two silver stars on the collar of her black uniform tunic.
“Are you saying the rumors that reached us long ago about another human star system retaining advanced technology might be grounded in reality? Our historians are convinced they belong to the realm of myth.”
Torma, wearing a black uniform like his superior but with a colonel’s crossed swords and three diamonds on the collar, ran splayed fingers over his skull, ruffling black hair tinged by the first hints of gray, and shrugged.
“It’s the only way I can explain the items Keter brought back from Hatshepsut. They’re clearly meant for human hands and weren’t manufactured in the Hegemony. Our analysis proved they were made of alloys devised far from our home stars.”
“The records tell of non-humans with hands very similar to ours.” Robbins sounded dubious.
“They also tell us that non-humans capable of faster-than-light travel in this part of the galaxy fared badly even well before the empire’s collapse. Besides, we’ve not heard of any coming through the wormhole network in a long time. No, General. Humans with advanced tech capabilities made those items, which means the rumors are true. And they evidently roam the network or perhaps even cross interstellar space faster than light.”
She grimaced.
“The Regent will not be happy with this news.”
“Understandably. Another human polity with the same capabilities as the Hegemony will almost inevitably present a threat. Perhaps not at once, but in the future, when we reunite humanity under our banner.” Torma paused for a moment. “Maybe we should track down the source of those rumors and see for ourselves.”
He looked up at Robbins again.
“I’ll raise the matter with General Bucco. He can decide whether it’s worth the Regent’s time.”
Even as she spoke, Torma realized the Chief Commissioner wouldn’t mention this development to Vigdis Mandus. She wasn’t the sort who would welcome news that might disturb her nine-year term as ruler of the Hegemony. As far as Torma could tell, Mandus, like her immediate predecessors, paid only lip service to the ideal of reuniting humanity under Wyvern’s leadership. She seemed just as uninterested by the idea of sending expeditions to conquer the closest of the fallen worlds and slowly spread a new civilization, one purged of the defects that destroyed the empire. But what did he know? Mandus was even more of a cipher than the previous Regents, one who reached the pinnacle of power ahead of four-star flag officers with a greater claim to it.
Yet Torma didn’t dare show his skepticism. Officers who disparaged the Hegemony’s ruling class saw their careers drastically cut short. His purpose, and that of every other State Security Commission member, was to make sure nothing ever threatened the current order. Yet his private study of the past proved that unchanging, stratified societies eventually perished, often violently, when conditions shifted.
The regime’s reluctance to expand when nearby star systems were theirs for the taking showed how stagnant it was. No Regent wanted to be the first threatened with removal from power for upsetting the elites. And they would be annoyed at whoever sent military forces beyond the Hegemony’s sphere on a mission of conquest because it would make the home systems more vulnerable to unrest.
Robbins stood and walked toward the bank of windows overlooking the HQ courtyard. Her third-floor office, one of the more spacious ones in the headquarters building at the heart of New Draconis, seemed austere, but it was an accurate reflection of her character. If it weren’t for wood paneling, the obligatory stand of flags, and the windows, it might pass for a storage room.
Torma watched her movements and was struck again at how much menace she projected, though it had to be unconscious. Perhaps the Almighty had blessed her with a touch of the Sisters’ talent. Some of them, such as Ardrix, could put the fear of the Almighty into ordinary people with a simple glance if they so wished.
“Shall I inform the Navy of my findings, General? Their intelligence analysts will probably consider the appearance of advanced tech items on Hatshepsut worthy of further inquiry. Perhaps the Chief of Naval Operations might even send a reconnaissance mission, in case there is a threat brewing beyond our sphere.”
Though he didn’t see her face, Torma knew Robbins was frowning as she parsed the implications of his suggestion. She always frowned when facing delicate decisions. The two fighting branches of the Armed Services, the Navy and the Ground Forces, didn’t play well with the State Security Commission at the best of times. And this was despite the Chief Commissioner sitting on the Ruling Council alongside the other two service heads, the Regent, the Chancellor, and the four Consuls.
Politics. Torma mentally shrugged. He was aware of a faction in the military that would gleefully embark on a campaign of expansion, as did General Robbins. But because successive Chief Commissioners remained opaque about their views on the matter, Torma and his colleagues left the Expansionists to seethe in silence at their leaders’ lack of energy. What ordinary citizens thought didn’t matter. They had no say in the affairs of state. Provided they obeyed the law, paid their taxes, and weren’t a burden on the public purse, the Commission didn’t bother them. And they understood attracting the Commission’s attention was a bad idea.
Robbins turned and faced him. “Pass the details to Naval Intelligence personally, outside normal channels.”
Torma kept his eyebrows from creeping up in surprise. He’d never figured Robbins was an Expansionist, or at the very least, sympathized with them.
“In fact,” she continued, “I think you should speak with Rear Admiral Godfrey himself.”
“Yes, General.”
Johannes Godfrey, Chief of Naval Intelligence, favored the Hegemony’s expansion, though he kept his views well hidden. Torma only found out because of a chance remark by one of Godfrey’s subordinates. He’d filed the information away for future use, should an occasion arise. It was what Commission officers did for a living. Data hoarding, one of his juniors called it. They stored unguarded words for a rainy day or an interrogation. Did that prove Robbins was on the Expansionist side? If so, it was another tidbit he would add to the rest.
Torma himself was agnostic on whether the Hegemony should pursue its stated and sacred mission of reuniting humanity across the stars. He would obey his superiors and protect the state to the best of his abilities, no matter what they decided.
“I’ll tell him you’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
Torma wondered what her words meant. Did Godfrey and Robbins enjoy a friendly relationship? Was she feeding him information collected by her investigators, thereby breaching the wall between the Commission and the Navy? Did Chief Commissioner Bucco know, or Robbins’ immediate superior, Commissioner Cabreras? And what was the quid pro quo from the Navy? There must be one. It was how the various parts of the Hegemony government worked with each other. Games within games within games. Some days, he needed a program to keep the network of quiet connections and backchannels straight.
“You may go.”
Torma stood, briefly came to attention, and nodded once instead of saluting since he didn’t wear a headdress.
“General.”
As he returned to his office, Torma idly wondered whether the long-gone Imperial Constabulary's inner workings had been as complex and twisted as those of the Commission. Unfortunately, he might never know. Most of the Constabulary’s records perished in the orbital bombardment of old Draconis, the former imperial capital. It had been unleashed by admirals of the 1st Fleet tired of watching the last empress destroy humanity. In the aftermath, they’d established the Hegemony and saved what little was left after the Retribution Fleet’s depredations.
When he entered, he saw Sister Ardrix sitting on her meditation mat in the lotus position by her small desk. She opened one eye and speared him with her intense gaze, then glanced at the far end of the mat, her usual signal he should join her and unburden his soul. The difference between her usual persona and that in the interrogation chamber never failed to surprise him. Where he’d sensed nothing earlier, in the basement, he now perceived an aura of calm, as if she’d never unleashed the demons hiding behind Keter’s soul.
Could Ardrix throw a switch and shut off the part of her that reached into the unwilling minds of others? Perhaps. Though she’d been his unit’s chief truth-sayer for over a year, he still knew little about the woman behind the always serene facade. It was as if she lived both in this world and another he couldn’t perceive.
Torma obeyed her unvoiced command and adopted the lotus position facing her. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing pattern as she’d taught him while he let his thoughts roam freely. Ardrix was a strange woman. Ageless, like all those of her kind, she might be older than his mother, yet her unlined face would lead a casual observer to assume she was his junior.
If Ardrix had ever spied on his innermost feelings, she’d never let on, though Torma was paranoid enough to believe she would mercilessly denounce him the moment she sensed disloyalty. Too many senior officers had taken abrupt retirement and vanished not long afterward for no apparent reasons during Torma’s career with the State Security Commission.
However, the meditation sessions after difficult interrogations helped him regain his mental balance, and for that, he felt grateful. But Torma never asked his colleagues whether the Sisters assigned to the Commission did the same with their commanding officers or whether Ardrix was going above and beyond her duties for reasons only she understood. And if so, why?
“How did the general react?” She asked the moment both opened their eyes after surfacing from a deep dive into the Infinite Void.
Torma thought about it for a moment, then said, “Interested, curious, but somehow aware our superiors might not welcome the news. She asked I pass our findings on to the head of Naval Intelligence in person and that she would open the lines of communication for me.”
A copper-tinted eyebrow crept up Ardrix’s pale forehead.
“Fascinating.”
“Strange more like.”
Torma rose and waited until Ardrix did the same before bowing.
“This could be our first actual evidence someone else survived Dendera’s holocaust. But I fear we might never find out who they are, how they survived the Retribution Fleet, and where they’ve been hiding if our betters suppress the evidence in the name of avoiding social unrest. The myth of being the last survivors is too deeply ingrained in our people.”
“Those who command the Navy’s fighting formations still have fire in their bellies. Once news reaches them, they will do everything in their power to track the origin of the items Keter brought back from Hatshepsut.” Ardrix’s soft alto voice seemed wrapped around a core of absolute certainty.
“And you know this how?”
Instead of answering, she gave him a mysterious smile.
“If you have no more tasks for me, I shall bid you a good day and rejoin my Brethren at the abbey.”
“Right. The Order has its own grapevine. Enjoy your evening, Sister.”