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
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
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