The shaft deposited him outside Command Alpha in a brightly-lit chamber big enough for an assault shuttle. The command deck hatch bore no unit ensign, as if Fleet Central was above such things. There was only the emblem of the Fourth Empire: the Imperium’s starburst surmounted by an intricate diadem.
Colin looked about, natural senses and implants busy, and paled as he detected the security systems guarding this gleaming portal. Heavy grav guns in artfully hidden housings were backed up by the weapons Vlad had dubbed warp guns, and their targeting systems were centered on him. He tried to straighten his hunched shoulders and approached the huge hatch with a steady tread.
Almost to his surprise, it licked aside, and more silent hatches—twice as many as guarded
It wasn’t as impressive as Command One, was his first thought—but only his first. It lacked the gorgeous, perfect holo projections of
It made him feel very, very insignificant.
Yet he was here … and those couches were empty. He had come eight hundred light-years to reach this enormous room, come from a planet teeming with humanity to this silence no voice had broken in forty-five millennia, and all this might and power of empire were but the work of Man.
He crossed the shining deck, bootheels ringing on jeweled mosaics, and ghosts hovered in the corners, watchful and measuring. He wondered what they made of him.
It took ten minutes to reach the raised dais at the center of the command deck, and he climbed its broad steps steadily, the weight of some foreordained fate seeming to press upon his shoulders, until he reached the top at last.
He lowered himself into the throne-like couch before the single console. It conformed smoothly to his body, and he forced himself to relax and draw a deep, slow breath before he reached out through his feed.
There was a quick flicker of response, and he felt a surge of hope—then grunted and flinched as he was hurled violently out of the net.
“Implant interface access denied,” a voice said. It was a soft, musical contralto … utterly devoid of life or emotion.
Colin rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe the sudden ache deep inside his brain, and looked around the silent command deck for inspiration. He found none, and reached out again, more carefully.
“Implant interface access denied.” The voice threw him out of the net even more violently. “Warning. Unauthorized access to this installation is punishable by imprisonment for not less than ninety-five standard years.”
“Damn,” Colin muttered. He was more than half-afraid of how Fleet Central might react to activating his fold-space com but saw no option. “Dahak?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I’m getting an implant access denial warning.”
“Voice or neural feed?”
“Voice. The damned thing won’t even talk to my implants.”
“Interesting,” Dahak mused, “and illogical. You have been admitted to Command Alpha; logically, therefore, Fleet Central recognizes you as an officer of Battle Fleet. Assuming that to be true, access should not be denied.”
“The same thought had occurred to me,” Colin said a bit sarcastically.
“Have you attempted verbal communication, sir?”
“No.”
“I would recommend that as the next logical step.”
“Thanks a lot,” Colin muttered, then cleared his throat.
“Computer,” he said, feeling just a bit foolish addressing the emptiness.
“Acknowledged,” the emotionless voice said, and his heart leapt. By damn, maybe there was a way in yet!
“Why have I been denied implant access?”
“Improper implant identification,” the voice replied.
“Improper in what way?”
“Data anomaly detected. Implant interface access denied.”
“What anomaly?” he asked, far more patiently than he felt.
“Implant identification not in Fleet Central data base. Individual not recognized by core access programs. Implant interface access denied.”
“Then why have you accepted voice communication?”
“Emergency subroutines have been activated for duration of the present crisis,” the voice replied, and Colin paused, wondering what “emergency subroutines” were and why they allowed verbal access. Not that he meant to ask. The last thing he needed was to change this thing’s mind!
“Computer,” he said finally, “why was I admitted to Command Alpha?”
“Unknown. Security is not a function of Computer Central.”
“I see.” Colin thought more furiously than ever, then nodded to himself. “Computer, would Fleet Central Security admit an individual with invalid implant identification codes to Command Alpha?”
“Negative.”
“Then if Security admitted me, the security data base must recognize my implants.”
Silence answered his observation.
“Hm, not very talkative, are you?” Colin mused.
“Query not understood,” the voice said.
“Never mind.” He drew a deep breath. “I submit that a search might locate my implant codes in Fleet Central Security’s data base. Would you concur?”
“The possibility exists.”
“Then I instruct you,” Colin said very carefully, “to search the security data base and validate my implant codes.”
There was a brief pause, and he bit his lip.
“Verbal instructions require authorization overrides,” the voice said finally. “Identify source of authority.”
“My own, as Senior Fleet Captain Colin MacIntyre, commanding officer, ship-of-the-line
“Authorization provisionally accepted,” the voice said. “Searching security data base.”
There was another moment of silence, then the voice spoke again.
“Search completed. Implant identification codes located. Anomalies.”
“Specify anomalies.”
“Specification one: identification codes not current. Specification two: no Senior Fleet Captain Colinmacintyre listed in Fleet Central’s data base. Specification Three:
“My codes were current as of
“That is not possible.
