Heirs of Empire

she reached down, gripped the blanket and sheets, and stripped the mattress bare with a single jerk.

She turned on her heel, and her exec’s stylus was poised.

“Five demerits,” she said flatly, and stalked away.

Colin MacIntyre looked around the gleaming conference table at the members of his Imperial Council. Two of them were absent, for Lawrence Jefferson had been called in as a last-minute substitute for Horus, and Life Councilor Geb, the Minister of Reconstruction was seldom on Birhat. For the most part, that was because he spent his time following close on the heels of Survey Command, but Geb was also the last surviving citizen of the original Birhat, and the monumental changes his home world had suffered hurt.

That was one reason Colin had recalled Vlad Chernikov from his post as Geb’s assistant. Tsien and Horus had needed an engineer on Birhat, so Colin had created the Ministry of Engineering and Vlad had agreed to accept it. Now the blond, blue-eyed ex-cosmonaut finished his summary of the Bia System’s ongoing civilian projects, and Colin nodded approval.

“Sounds like you’re on top of things, Vlad … as usual.” Vlad smiled, and Colin smiled back. “Having said that, how’s Earth’s shield coming?”

“Quite well,” Vlad said. “The only real problem is the task’s simple magnitude. We have emplaced forty percent of the primary generators and work is beginning on the subordinate stations. I fear the asteroid belt has all but vanished, but the Centauris freighters are keeping pace.”

Colin nodded. Spaceborne Imperial “smelters” could render almost any material down to its basic elements to synthesize the composites and alloys Imperial industry needed, like the battle steel which formed Battle Fleet’s planetoids, but even Imperial synthetics required some starting point. The raw materials to build things the size of Mother or Dahak had to come from somewhere, and the huge freighters of the Imperium’s “mining expeditions” could—and did—transport the rubble of entire planets to the fabrication centers. The Centauris System, unfortunately for it, was conveniently close to Sol, and its original eleven planets had already been reduced to nine. Soon there would be only eight as gravitonic warheads blew yet another to splinters to feed the insatiable appetite of Earth’s orbital shipyards.

“In the meantime, Baltan and Dahak have completed plans for Stepmother.” Several councilors’ eyes narrowed with interest. “We have yet to fully explore Mother’s memory, but we are confident we have extracted all the essential programs for her Battle Fleet and constitutional functions. Stepmother’s final core programming parameters remain flexible, however, as it seems probable additions will be required as our studies here in Bia continue. Of course, the entire project will require many years, but Horus, Tao-ling and I intend to initiate construction within three months.”

“And thank God we’re finally ready,” Colin said. “Dahak, you and Baltan have my sincere thanks for your efforts.”

“You are, of course, welcome, Sire,” Dahak replied, on his best formal behavior for the meeting. “I feel certain I speak for Admiral Baltan as well as for myself.”

“Well, remind me to thank him in person the next time I see him.” Colin turned back to Vlad. “And the new planetoids?”

“Those are much further advanced, despite the usual unforeseen delays. Imperial Terra should commission within four years.”

“Any problems with the computers, Vlad?” Gerald Hatcher asked.

“I’ll take that, if I may, Colin,” Sir Frederick Amesbury said. The wiry Englishman, one of Hatcher’s fellow chiefs of staff during the Siege, had become Minister of Cybernetics, and Colin nodded for him to go on.

“The pilot computers have been up and running for over two years, Ger,” Amesbury said, “and Dahak’s original figures have been spot on. Incorporating that Achuultani logic circuit into our energy-state designs has raised the speed of operations another five percent, and we’ve included more responsiveness to nonspecific prompts in the software. They aren’t self-aware, of course, but they have about thirty percent more autonomous decision-making capability. I believe you’ll be quite pleased with the results.”

“Excuse me, Sir Frederick,” it was Lawrence Jefferson, “but that’s something I’m still not quite clear on. I can see why we wouldn’t want Mother or Stepmother to be self-aware, but why don’t we want our warships that way? If we had more ships like Dahak, wouldn’t we have a far more effective fleet?”

“Yes and no,” Amesbury said. “The ships would certainly be more efficient, but they’d also be far more dangerous.”

“Why?”

“If I may, Sir Frederick?” Dahak said, and Amesbury nodded. “The problem, Lieutenant Governor, is that such ships would be too powerful for our own safety. As you know, the Fourth Imperium was incapable of building fully self-aware computers at the time of my construction. My own awareness evolved accidentally during fifty-one thousand years of unsupervised operation, and even now, we have not fully determined the reasons for this.

“The Fourth Empire, however, was so capable yet chose not to utilize that capacity for reasons which, upon consideration, particularly in light of facts we have discovered but which the Empire could not have known, seem entirely valid. Consider: there is no proof cybernetic intelligences are immune to ‘insanity,’ and the Achuultani computer is ample proof not all are immune to ambition. Should an Asgerd-class planetoid go ‘insane,’ it could do incalculable damage. Indeed, true prudence might suggest that I myself should be transferred from my present hull to some less dangerous location.”

“Dahak,” Colin sighed, “we are not going to argue about that again! I’ll accept your argument against creating any more self-aware computers, but you’ve certainly proven yourself to us!”

“Besides,” Vlad said dryly, “why should the possibility that you might go crazy disturb us when we have an Emperor who has done so already?”

A chuckle ran around the table, but Colin didn’t share it. His mind was already moving on to the next point, and he glanced at his Minister of Biosciences with a pang of sorrow. In many ways, Isis would have made a better councilor than Cohanna … if not for her age. She had far better “people sense,” but Colin was unhappily certain Project Genesis was going to be not simply the crowning achievement of Isis Tudor’s life but its last.

“All right, I believe that covers just about everything,” he said quietly, “but before we close, Cohanna has something to report. ’Hanna?”

Cohanna looked down at her hands with uncharacteristic sadness for a moment, then cleared her throat.

“I wish Isis were here to tell you this herself, but she wasn’t up to the trip. However—” she raised her eyes “—I’m pleased to announce that the first free Narhani female in seventy-eight million years was born at oh-two- thirty-four Greenwich time this morning.” A soft sound of surprise ran around the table, and Cohanna smiled mistily. “Isis was there, and she’s named the child ‘Eve.’ So far as we can tell, she’s absolutely healthy.”

Gerald Hatcher’s quiet voice broke the long, still silence.

“I never really believed you could do it, ’Hanna.”

“I didn’t.” Cohanna’s voice was very soft. “Isis did.”

There was another moment of silence before Vlad Chernikov spoke again, and his earlier levity had vanished.

“How is Isis, ’Tanni?” he asked gently.

“Not well, Vlad,” Jiltanith said sadly. “She faileth quickly, and so Father doth stay at her side. She feeleth no pain, and she hath seen her life’s work yield its fruit, yet do I fear her time is short.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Vlad looked around the silent table for a moment, then back at Jiltanith. “Please tell her how proud we are of her … and give her our love.”

“I shall,” Jiltanith said softly.

* * *

Francine Hilgemann activated her antisnooping devices before taking the new Bible from its package. Her security systems were every bit as good as those of the Imperial government (since they’d come from government sources), which meant she was as safe from observation as