The Armageddon Inheritance

“Negative.”

“And you can’t think of any way to sneak around these damned imperatives?”

“Negative.”

“Then we’re SOL, people,” Colin sighed, slumping back in his couch, his sense of defeat even more bitter after the glow of victory he’d felt such a short time before. “Damn it. Damn it! We need an emperor to get into the goddamned system, and the last emperor died forty-five thousand years ago!”

“Captain,” Dahak said after a moment, “I believe there might be a way.”

“What?” Colin jerked back upright. “You just said there wasn’t one!”

“Inaccurate. I said there was no way to ‘sneak around these damned imperatives,’ ” the computer replied precisely. “There may, however, be a way in which you can use them, instead. I point out, however, that—”

“A way to use them? How?!”

“Under Case Omega, sir, you can—”

“I can take control of Fleet Central?” Colin broke in on him.

“Affirmative. Under the circumstances, you may be considered the highest ranking officer of Battle Fleet, and, in your capacity as Governor of Earth, the senior civil official, as well. As such, you may instruct Fleet Central to implement Case Omega, so assuming—”

“Great, Dahak!” Colin said. “I’ll get back to you in a minute.” Hot damn! He found himself actually rubbing his hands in glee.

“But, Captain—” Dahak said.

“In a minute, Dahak. In a minute.” Elation boiled deep within him, a terrible, wonderful elation, compounded by the emotional whipsaw which had just ravaged him. “Mother,” he said.

“Yes, Senior Fleet Captain Colinmacintyre?”

“Colin,” Dahak said again, “there are—”

“Mother,” Colin said firmly, rushing himself before whatever Dahak was trying to tell him could undercut his determination, “implement Case Omega.”

There was a moment of profound silence, and then Hell itself erupted. Colin cringed back into his couch, hands rising to cover his eyes as Command Alpha exploded with light. A bolt of pain shot through his left arm as a bio-probe of pure force snipped away a scrap of tissue, but it was tiny compared to the fury boiling into his brain through his neural feed. A clumsy hand thrust deep inside him, flooding through his implants to wrench a gestalt of his very being from him. For one terrible moment he was Fleet Central, writhing in torment as his merely mortal brain and the ancient, bottomless computers of Battle Fleet merged, impressing their identities imperishably upon one another.

Colin screamed in the grip of an agony too vast to endure, and yet it was over before he could truly experience it. Its echoes shuddered away down his synapses, stuttering in the racing pound of his heart, and then they were gone.

“Case Omega executed,” Mother said emotionlessly. “The Emperor is dead; long live the Emperor!”

Chapter Thirteen

“I attempted to warn you, Colin,” Dahak said softly.

Colin shuddered. Emperor? That was … was … Words failed. He couldn’t think of any that even came close.

“Colin?” Jiltanith’s voice was gentler than Dahak’s, and far more anxious.

“Yes, ’Tanni?” he managed in a strangled croak.

“How dost thou, my love? We did hear thee scream. Art thou—?”

“I-I’m fine, ’Tanni,” he said, and, physically, it was true. He cleared his throat. “There were a few rough moments, but I’m okay now. Honest.”

“May I not come to thee?” She sounded less anxious—but not a lot.

“I’d like that,” he said, and he had never spoken more sincerely in his life. Then he shook his head. “Wait. Let me make sure it’s safe.”

He gathered himself and raised his voice.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?” the voice replied, and he flinched.

“Mother, I’d like one of my officers to join me. Her implant signatures won’t be in your data base either. Can you have Security pass her through?”

“If Your Imperial Majesty so instructs,” Mother responded.

“My Imperial Majesty certainly does,” Colin said, and smiled crookedly. Maybe he wasn’t going to crack up entirely, after all.

“Query: please identify the officer to be admitted.”

“Uh? Oh. Fleet Captain Jiltanith, Dahak’s executive officer. My wife.”

“Acknowledged.”

“’Tanni?” he returned his attention to his com. “Come ahead.”

“I come, my love,” she said, and he stretched out in his couch, knowing she would soon be there. His shudders drained outward along his limbs until the final echoes tingled in his fingers and his breathing slowed.

“Mother.”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty?”

“What was all that? What happened when you executed Case Omega, I mean?”

“Emergency subroutines were terminated, ending Fleet Central’s caretaker role upon Your Imperial Majesty’s assumption of the throne.”

“I figured that part out. I want a specific explanation of what you did.”

“Fleet Central performed its function as guardian of the succession, Your Imperial Majesty. As senior Fleet officer and civil official listed in Fleet Central’s data base, Your Imperial Majesty, as per the Great Charter, became the proper successor upon the demise of the previous dynasty. However, Your Imperial Majesty was unknown to Fleet Central prior to Your Imperial Majesty’s accession. It was therefore necessary for Fleet Central to obtain gene samples for verification of the heirs of Your Imperial Majesty’s body and to evaluate Your Imperial Majesty’s gestalt and implant it upon Fleet Central’s primary data cortex.”

Colin frowned. There were too many things here he didn’t yet understand, but there were were a few others to get straight right now.

“Mother, can’t we do something about the titles?”

“Query not understood, Your Imperial Majesty.”

“I mean— Look, just what titles have I saddled myself with?

“Your principle title is ‘His Imperial Majesty Colinmacintyre the First, Grand Duke of Birhat, Prince of Bia, Warlord and Prince Protector of the Realm, Defender of the Five Thousand Suns, Champion of Humanity, and, by the Maker’s Grace, Emperor of Mankind.’ Secondary titles are: ‘Prince of Aalat,’ ‘Prince of Achon,’ ‘Prince of Anhur,’ ‘Prince of Apnar,’ ‘Prince of Ardat,’ ‘Prince of Aslah,’ ‘Prince of Avan,’ ‘Prince of Bachan,’ ‘Prince of Badarchin,’ ‘Prin —’ ”

“Stop,” Colin commanded. Jesus! “Uh, just how many titles are there?”

“Excluding those already specified,” Mother replied, “four thousand eight hundred and twenty-one.”

“Gaaa.” Not bad for the product of a good, republican upbringing, he thought. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mother. My name is Colin MacIntyre—two words—not ‘Colinmacintyre.’ Can you remember that in future?”

“You are listed in Fleet and Imperial records as His Imperial Majesty Colinmacintyre the First, Grand Duke of Birhat, Prince of Bia, War—”

“I understand all that,” Colin interrupted. “The point is, I don’t want to go around with everyone ‘Imperial Majesty’-ing me, and I prefer to be called ‘Colin,’ not ‘Colinmacintyre.’ Can’t we do something to meet my wishes?”

“As Your Imperial Majesty commands. You have not yet designated your choice of reign name. Until such time as you have done so, you will be known as Colinmacintyre the First; thereafter, only your dynasty will bear