Stephen Berry - Final Assault

"When an Emperor sits on the sceptered throne again," groused the old man. The door clicked open and they stepped into the house.

It was the same room that L'Wrona remembered from before the war, but darker, shrouded in deep shadows that danced to the flickering light from the oil lamps and the hearth: a long, wide room of broad-beamed ceiling and wide wood floors that swept on into the dining area and the darkened kitchen beyond.

"If you'd stoke the fire," said the freeholder, "I'll heat the stew." Not waiting for a reply, he moved into the kitchen, turning up the oil lamps along the way.

Throwing the hardwood logs on the fire, L'Wrona replaced the mesh screen and stepped back, rubbing his hands. As he did so, he noticed the char marks burned into the floor in front of the stone fireplace. They were small, perfectly round and patterned into two rough clusters a few meters from each other, the sort of marks a hand blaster set on low would leave.

As the flames rose and the heat grew, L'Wrona unfastened his battlejacket and folded it over the back of a sofa. Unstopping the decanter that stood on a side table, the margrave poured the amber-colored brandy into two of the thin crystalline goblets. As he replaced the stopper, K'Sar appeared, wheeling a small serving cart.

"Best to eat in here," said the freeholder, unfolding a pair of floor trays and setting them before two chairs to either side of the hearth. "The dining hall's spacious but cold."

L'Wrona took a steaming bowl of v'arx stew from the cart, setting it at K'Sar's place, then took one for himself as the old man doled out the black bread. Before he sat, he placed one of the brandy goblets on the freeholder's tray, taking the other for himself.

"All kinds of rumors reach here about you, H'Nar," said K'Sar, carefully sipping the stew.

"Oh?"

"Hero on the run. Fleet's afraid to arrest you, the Imperials and Combine T'Lan want you dead." The freeholder dunked his bread in the stew, nibbled the crust. "If anyone's after you and they know you're on U'Tria, they'll be here as soon as they run your biog."

L'Wrona nodded, half listening, his eyes roaming the room. He remembered a bright-lit house, always a party for this or that occasion, music, laughter, the sound of children. As U'Tria's de facto minister of culture, a Freeholder was necessarily a visible, gregarious person. Now the house was as cold and as bleak as a tomb, while the man…

L'Wrona looked at the freeholder. Like the house, he decided-a bright flame all but gone.

"Your family," said the margrave, "did they survive the occupation?"

K'Sar's gaze shifted to the burn marks on the floor. "No," he said after a long moment, his eyes returning to L'Wrona's. "My family are all dead."

"Your grandchildren?"

"All," said K'Sar softly.

"Why've you come, H'Nar?"

"I need your help," said the margrave.

"My family has stood by yours since the High Imperial epoch," said K'Sar, setting down his spoon. "How may I help?"

"Once upon a time," said L'Wrona, picking up his brandy and leaning back in the chair, "there was an emperor who sent a fleet to stop a revolt-a revolt of our own homegrown AIs. That fleet jumped and was never seen again."

K'Sar laughed-an empty brittle sound that echoed through the rooms. "H'Nar,

H'Nar. You want the recall device. You want the legendary Twelfth Fleet of the House of S'Yal."

"Surely it's possible?" said L'Wrona, sipping his brandy.

K'Sar shrugged. "Anything is possible, My Lord-but not necessarily wise.

"Why come to me?"

"Because you're an amateur archaeologist and a first-rate archivist. And the House of S'Yal's your area."

"And a difficult area it is." Pushing his tray aside, the Freeholder rose and stepped to the fire. "Information is fragmentary, and much of it still classified." He stood looking down at the fire.

"Not to a former senior officer of Fleet Intelligence, Freeholder. You may not have published everything you know about the period, but

…"

K'Sar turned back from the fire. "Consider -as no one ever seems to-the consequences of recalling the Twelfth. Over eight thousand mindslavers commanded by death-oath officers fanatically loyal to S'Yal, suddenly freed from stasis and released upon us. Think they'll be happy, H'Nar? Think they'll even be sane-thrown fifty centuries downtime, everyone and everything they knew gone?"

L'Wrona shook his head. "They're Imperial Fleet-the finest military force humanity ever fielded. They'd recover, adapt, help their own."

"The Imperial Fleet." The freeholder picked up his glass, holding it to the firelight. He sipped, then turned to face the margrave. "There were Imperial Fleets and there were Imperial Fleets, H'Nar."

"What are you trying to tell me?"

"S'Yal followed T'Nil to the throne-and undid much of the good T'Nil had done. He reactivated the mindslavers. He reneged on concessions T'Nil had granted the Empire's evolving machine race. He created a fascistic command structure within Fleet and encouraged a hideous mystical religion based on his alleged ability to grant immortality to his chosen preceptors."

K'Sar tossed back his brandy and set the glass on the mantlepiece. "When the machines revolted-as well they should have-it took S'Yal by surprise. He gambled and sent his personal fleet under his most loyal admiral to hold the machine advance in check while the Fleet rallied. S'Yal's personal fleet, H'Nar, under his most loyal admiral." K'Sar pointed a finger at L'Wrona. "That, My Lord, is the Imperial Fleet we're discussing."

L'Wrona nodded silently, then finished his own brandy. "I need that Fleet, Freeholder. If the AIs break through, we're all dead anyway. Legend has it that just before S'Yal was overthrown, his technicals created a recall device and that it lies buried with him in his last citadel."

"What makes you think I've the location of the citadel?" said K'Sar, turning to toss a stout log on the fire.

"Don't toy with me, Freeholder," said L'Wrona, standing. "If you know, you owe it to the Confederation, to your oath of loyalty, to.. ." He stopped as K'Sar turned, his face suddenly white with rage.

"Don't you dare question my loyalty, My Lord Margrave," he said, voice quivering with anger. "When the S'Cotar came, they demanded the location of the Planetary Guard fallback points. I knew them and had an L-pill under my tongue, should they try to rip the information from my dying mind. But they were more clever than that. They brought in my two grandchildren, and, when I still wouldn't tell, slowly beamed them down in front of me." K'Sar pointed with both hands to the two burn marks flanking him on the floor. "Don't question my loyalty," he repeated softly.

"I wasn't questioning your loyalty, Freeholder," said L'Wrona carefully, unable to take his eyes off the nearest burn mark. The kids were too young for him to remember -born during the war, their birth announcement a vague memory. Their mother K'Yan had been his friend, though. K'Yan of the laughing eyes dead, too, he supposed.

L'Wrona looked up at the stern old man. "I apologize if…"

Sighing, K'Sar waved his hand. "It didn't happen," he said.

"The citadel's on K'Ronar, H'Nar, at a point very dear to S'Yal and the Imperial treasury -I'll give you the coordinates. But I beg you, H'Nar, be careful-S'Yal was an evil man, and he had the old knowledge. His last resting place may not be entirely… at rest.

"You have a file on it that I could have, sir?"

The freeholder nodded. "In my study safe. I'll get it." He was back in a moment, holding a gray commwand. "Here," he said, holding it out. As L'Wrona took it, the Freeholder placed his hand atop the younger man's. "Your word," he said, looking into the margrave's eyes, "you'll make no copy of it and destroy it when you're through."