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The next morning, when Sister Ardrix reported for duty, Torma indicated she should shut the office door and take a chair across from him. He made sure his field dampener worked because every office in the State Security Commission HQ was under surveillance by an AI looking for words that could be construed as treasonous. But like every other senior officer, Torma got away with using dampeners designed to frustrate the AI because it was understood they sometimes conducted business that should not be recorded. Such as interrogations skirting even the Commission’s broad parameters, for example.
“Did your Archimandrite give you a new, confidential mission yesterday, Sister?” Torma asked once Ardrix sat across from him, eyes searching his face in that unnerving manner of hers.
“You know I cannot speak—”
“Of the secret expedition to Hatshepsut?”
Ardrix nodded once after a pause that seemed to go on forever.
“You were approached as well.”
“By an officer from Naval Intelligence who claimed he worked for Rear Admiral Godfrey.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but one not used to her ways would miss her reaction.
“Was it Captain Ewing Saleh, perchance? He visited the Archimandrite yesterday in the afternoon, shortly before I returned to the abbey. I did not meet him but was told the gist of their conversation after vespers. You and I will accompany the covert expedition to discover more about the unknown humans trading advanced artifacts bearing old Order markings.”
Torma cocked an eyebrow in question. “Does the prospect please you?”
“Of course. Though the Archimandrite would not give me a choice either way. Secrecy means I alone, among the Brethren, am the right choice.”
“And I alone among Commission officers, it seems.” Torma let out a soft sigh. “So be it. Neither of us has a choice.”
“You seem displeased?”
“We will violate the law in the same way Jan Keter did, along with hundreds, if not thousands, of Guards Corps Navy and Ground Forces members and one Void Reborn Sister. Yet my presence and yours will somehow make sure we don’t suffer Keter’s fate. It doesn’t seem right or particularly realistic.”
“Keter is still alive and healthy, and chances are good he will go with us. We can release him on Hatshepsut before returning home. That should salve your conscience.”
Torma let out a strangled laugh.
“A Sister of the Void Reborn thinking in utilitarian terms? To quote our charming Captain Saleh, the universe is truly a wondrous place. No. The inner demons you released to torment him at my orders will always be on my conscience, along with the souls of those I directly or indirectly dispatched.”
“Then take comfort in knowing you can spare Keter’s soul. Was there anything else?”
Torma knew Ardrix no longer wished to discuss the matter, and there was no use insisting. Besides, he’d merely sought confirmation she and Archimandrite Bolack were part of the scheme. Somehow knowing the Hegemony’s chief religious figure sided with those favoring an expedition lifted just a smidgen of the weight he’d felt draped over his shoulders since the previous evening. Supposing a conflict emerged between Regent Vigdis Mandus and Archimandrite Bolack, unimaginable as that might be, Torma couldn’t call a likely winner.
Mandus needed Bolack if only as a sign the Almighty still smiled on the Wyvern Hegemony. Did Bolack need her? Probably not. His most devout faithful outnumbered the entire Guard Corps — Navy, Ground Forces, and Commission — by a factor of over twenty to one. If not more. Those who survived the empire’s collapse almost two hundred years earlier had embraced the Void Reborn teachings as their sole salvation, like men and women stumbling upon an oasis in the desert moments before dying of thirst.
Those thoughts crossed his mind while Ardrix waited, a patient expression on her face as if she heard his internal dialog.
“Please carry on, Sister. Knowing we’ve both accepted our destiny and will travel the same path is enough at the moment.”
Ardrix stood and bowed her head respectfully before turning on her heels and leaving the office, bound for the interrogation rooms where one of Torma’s investigators waited with the newest prisoner. No sooner had she left than his communicator buzzed insistently. General Robbins. Torma knew what awaited him upstairs and stood with reluctance.
She was the last of three checkpoints. When Torma agreed one last time to this secret expedition, his fate would be sealed. Neither he nor his late father, who retired as a Commission general, ever overstepped the bounds set by the Ruling Council. Today, he would be the first Torma who did so.
Saleh was right, though, at the moment, Torma didn’t consider his natural curiosity an investigator’s greatest asset. He saw it as his biggest downfall. Ardrix’s serene acceptance of this unexpected path seemed equally strange, despite her vows of obedience. He stood, tugged at his waist-length tunic’s hem, and headed for the stairs at a measured yet determined pace.
Robbins was staring out the window at the quadrangle when Torma stomped to attention in the open doorway. Upon hearing the sound, she turned and gestured at a chair in front of her desk.
“Close the door, will you?”
“General.”
“My distortion field is active. Is yours?” She asked once both sat facing each other.
“Always.”
“Good. You had a visitor last night?”
Torma nodded once. “One of Admiral Godfrey’s messengers.”
“And?”
“He proved an excellent judge of character.”
“So, you’ll go?”
He nodded again.
“Yes, since the alternative is the sort of trip that I’m not ready for just yet. I spoke with Ardrix a few minutes ago, and she’s ready as well.”
“I’m glad you accepted. It would pain me to lose you, Crevan. You’ll no doubt be sitting in my chair a few years from now, and perhaps even in one on the top floor. I’m sure I need not emphasize how important this matter is for the Hegemony. You knew from the moment you searched Keter’s ship.”
“Yes, General. It’s greater than politics or anything else in the Hegemony’s history.”
“I’m glad we agree.”
Torma hesitated for a few heartbeats. “What about Chief Commissioner Bucco?”
She locked eyes with him.
“You may return to your duties, Colonel.”
Knowing it was the only answer he would hear, Torma climbed to his feet.
“With your permission?”
“Dismissed.”
When he returned to his office, Torma felt a strange sense of dislocation, as if he’d suddenly lost control over his destiny and was now only a pawn in a power play whose genesis predated his interrogation of Jan Keter. Perhaps by more years than he could imagine. Did that make him a catalyst?
He shrugged off his unease and, seated once more behind the bare desk that served as his barrier against the grubbiness of official corruption, Torma plunged into his unit’s latest investigation reports. Part of him, repressed but still present, hoped he would find nothing that meant more souls on his conscience, individuals he’d send to certain death for defying a regime whose legitimacy seemed more tarnished some days than others. Such as when he faced evidence its commitment to the Oath of Reunification was nothing more than a masque that forced loyal servants of the state into action despite the Ruling Council.
Like most Commission officers, Torma had an almost instinctive ability to compartmentalize his thoughts, and he shoved those he considered quasi-treasonous to the very back of his mind so he could focus on his duties. And so, over the following days and weeks, he forgot about Captain Ewing Saleh, the secret expedition to Hatshepsut, and what it meant for the Hegemony’s future. He and his people had enough corrupt officials lined up for investigation, trial, and in many cases, execution to keep them busy.
Sadly, he hit dead end after dead end in his pursuit of Jan Keter’s backers, meaning they were either among the Hegemony’s quasi-untouchable elite or its secretive, violent criminal underground. Those categories were by no means entirely distinct from each other, as his colleagues in the organized crime units discovered when their investigations were derailed by unnamed senior government officials with enough power and connections to escape their clutches.
It left him with nothing more than speculation about why said backers were interested in both trade and intelligence gathering on human worlds struggling to support a modicum of industrialization, be it ever so primitive. Were those who chartered Keter also straining under the Ruling Council’s inertia?
Equally puzzling and no less frustrating was the lack of progress in identifying the location of an old Order house using an L/L mark on its products. Hatshepsut was home to an abbey and numerous priories before the Great Scouring, but Keter saw no traces of them, nor did he pick up any indications they might still be operating on that world.
What happened to the Brethren, no one knew. They’d lost countless historical records during the ultimate battles between the Retribution Fleet and rebellious admirals, and parts of human history seemed like a patchwork. Torma doubted anyone in the Hegemony could name every single star system colonized by humanity over the millennia, let alone the habitats, stations, and other settlements. If ever the Hegemony sallied forth, they would surely find hundreds of forgotten worlds. If.
When the long-awaited summons finally came, it caught Torma by surprise. One morning, shortly after arriving at Commission HQ, General Robbins summoned him and Sister Ardrix to her office. That alone told Torma something was up. Robbins never called a unit’s Sister along with the commanding officer for whom she worked.
When he and Ardrix were sitting across from Robbins, the latter said, “Colonel, Sister, the Navy requested a senior Commission officer and a Commission Sister to accompany Task Force Kruzenshtern on extended naval maneuvers along the Hegemony’s outer borders. I chose you two for the mission as you are the most experienced team available.”
Torma found his superior’s choice of words interesting. Inter-service requests usually filtered down from the Wyvern Group commander, Commissioner Cabreras, who often chose senior assignments himself rather than let his divisional commanders make the call. Did that mean Cabreras was in on it? Surely Robbins couldn’t hide Torma and Ardrix’s secondment to the Navy for what would likely be several months. He mentally shrugged. Did it matter? Dealing with Cabreras was Robbins’ problem.
“You have forty-eight hours to brief your second-in-command, make the arrangements for an orderly handover, and pack. The abbey will send a temporary replacement for you, Sister. I copied Archimandrite Bolack on the Navy’s request.”
Ardrix inclined her head.
“I will make sure she knows the full extent of her duties.”
“I don’t doubt that. You’re both expected at the Joint Base spaceport terminal the day after tomorrow, at oh-eight-hundred. A shuttle will take you to Task Force Kruzenshtern’s flagship, the light cruiser Repulse, in orbit. There, you will report to Commodore Gatam Watanabe, the flag officer commanding. A list of required and forbidden items will be in your message queue shortly, along with weight and volume limitations.”
“How many ships besides Repulse, General?”
“Four. The light cruiser Reprisal, the frigates Dominator, and Devastation, and the armed transport Terror. Not the Navy’s newest and best ships, by any measure, but their prolonged absence will be less noticeable, especially since the warships were drawn from all four fleets and Terror is freshly out of her latest life-extension refit. She’ll carry a company from the 1st Special Forces Regiment along with an air wing.”
Torma’s heart sank just a bit. He recalled that the youngest of the five, Repulse, was launched before his birth, and even she was built based on an imperial design that was outdated when the empire collapsed, albeit improved. Robbins must have read his thought because she let out a humorless chuckle.
“Task Force Kruzenshtern can deal with anything it might meet, considering we’ve not encountered anyone with more powerful starships since the Hegemony’s founding.”
“Only because we’ve not gone looking, General. But I get the point. Old ships won’t be missed as much as newer ones, though I’d rather we come back in one piece.”
“I share your sentiments, but perhaps a good scare out there might convince the Ruling Council it should place more emphasis on advancing our shipbuilding program rather than let it languish through lack of vision.”
Torma allowed himself a derisive snort.
“With all due respect, General, visions of greatness interfere with the sort of grubby graft that keeps the Hegemony trapped. It’ll take more than running across a mighty interstellar fleet gobbling up star systems to wake the Council from its slumber and consider long-overdue changes.”
“True. But one step at a time. If you have no other questions, you’re dismissed. Good luck. Task Force Kruzenshtern’s expedition may be the catalyst that sets us back on track to reclaim humanity’s heritage.”