The Thousand Emperors

Antonov’s voice sounded like it came from everywhere and nowhere. Luc found himself afloat in a dreamless void, unable to determine where he was, or how long it had been since he had been knocked out. His limbs felt like a distant memory.

You’re going to wake up soon, he heard Antonov continue. There’s a lot you don’t understand yet, but you will, given time. But first, you must deliver a message for me.

What message? Luc tried to say, but he couldn’t feel his lips or his tongue.

The answer came a moment later:

After they come and rescue you, I want you to access Archives through your CogNet link. Then open a record with the following reference: Thorne, 51 Alpha, Code Yellow. Do you understand?

No, Luc answered. I—

Once you’ve done that, add the following statement to the text file contained within it: ‘I’m calling in my favour.’ Five words, Luc. That’s all I ask.

I don’t understand, Luc shouted into the abyss.

Someone did something a long time ago they shouldn’t have, said Antonov, his voice slowly fading. And now they’re going to repay me for keeping it quiet all these years. Remember what I said, Luc: ‘I’m calling in my favour.’

As if a switch had been thrown, Luc had control of his limbs once more, and could feel something hard beneath his back. His eyes flickered open in the same moment he realized his CogNet link was live once more, and he discovered more than four hours had passed since he had first entered the complex in the company of an entire squadron of Sandoz. Night would by now have fallen across the crater, meaning it was safe to go back out onto the surface.

Even more importantly, he was free. The tangled loops of cord that had bound him now floated loose around the chair in which he was still slumped.

Reaching up, he tentatively touched his head, exploring the contours of his skull. There had been something dreamlike about the whole encounter with Antonov, as if it hadn’t really happened, but when he touched fingers to his nose he found it crusted with dried blood.

Updates flooded in through his now-active CogNet: he learned that two more Sandoz squadrons had already entered the complex’s top level, and were working their way down towards him without meeting any resistance, machine or otherwise.

Luc pulled himself out of the chair, then stopped, seeing Antonov slumped against the railing on the far side of the bridge, head bowed forward. Luc kneeled before him and touched fingers to the rebel leader’s wrist. Dead.

Then he glanced towards the main display and felt a chill form around his heart.

<This is Luc Gabion,> he sent via the CogNet. <Can anyone hear me?>

<This is Master Siedzik here,> someone replied. <You’re the only one whose vital signs are showing, Mr Gabion. Where are Marroqui and the rest of his Clan?>

<They’re all dead,> Luc responded. <I’m the only survivor.>

Siedzik didn’t reply for some time, and Luc guessed he was conferring with his superiors on the orbital platform.

<Where exactly are you?> Siedzik sent back. <We can’t get a location fix on you.>

That, Luc knew, was because he was no longer beneath the surface of Aeschere, but on board a starship some millions of kilometres distant. The only reason they could converse at all was because the ship’s communication network was automatically bouncing his CogNet link back through the connecting gate. But there wasn’t the time to try and explain all that to Siedzik, even assuming he’d believe one word of the explanation.

<I’m on the lowest level,> Luc replied after a pause. <Antonov compromised our mosquitoes and set them to attack Marroqui and the rest of his Clan. Antonov’s here, but he’s dead. I don’t know if that means the mosquitoes still down here won’t attack you, but I’d urge being extremely fucking cautious one way or the other.>

<Stay where you are,> Siedzik commanded. <We’ll be with you shortly.>

<No,> Luc sent back. <You need to head back up to the surface. I think Antonov’s set some kind of a booby-trap.>

<What kind of—>

<I’ll let you know when I find out,> Luc replied, cutting the connection before Siedzik could demand any more details.

He pulled himself into a navigation booth surrounded by interface and astrogation gear. The ship linked into his CogNet just long enough for it to work out he didn’t know how to operate the navigational systems, and replaced most of the scrolling data surrounding him with a series of simplified questions and help menus.

It didn’t take long for Luc to work out that Antonov had not, in fact, been lying: the ship had already dipped into the turbulent upper reaches of 55 Cancri’s photosphere, and the external temperature was already a couple of thousand degrees beyond the craft’s design parameters. He had minutes, perhaps only seconds, before it shattered under the strain.

He stood jerkily, skin clammy with sweat, and pushed himself towards the exit from the bridge. It took another couple of minutes of fumbling and swearing in the zero gee before he managed to navigate his way back to the bay containing the transfer gate.

Luc sailed through the gate and back into Aeschere’s hollowed-out heart, sidestepping millions of kilometres in the blink of an eye. The little moon’s gravity took hold of him as