Had interstellar travel always been so exhausting?
Juliyana, when she returned, merely slid down the wall and settled beside me. “Done.” She rested her head back against the wall. “I had to pay a second set of gate fees. The taxes were raised last week.”
I had forgotten about taxes and gate fees. In the military, we didn’t pay them, of course. “You’re a well-paid Ranger,” I said. “And this is the only way.”
“It’s extortion.”
“You’re always free to refuse to pay it.”
“And get to where I want to go, how?”
“You could buy a long-haul ship, point it in the right direction and wait.”
She rolled her eyes at the infeasibility of that idea.
“You could build your own gates.” I said, keeping my tone reasonable. “That’s all the Imperial family did.”
“Then they charge everyone to use them.”
“That’s because they spent seven generations developing the technology.”
“And now they keep it a big, dark secret.”
“Of course they do. They have to earn back their original research investment. There’s nothing stopping you from doing the same thing. Not even the Imperial Family will try to stop you.”
“Because they know no one can replicate the work. And why would they? It’s already been done. Anyone who tries would be repeating all that time and effort.”
There had been attempts over the years to deconstruct the gates and figure out what made them work, only the franchise holders for the gates didn’t put up with tinkering which might damage their investment. Nor would the people living in that sector appreciate losing their access to the greater Empire.
“If you don’t want to do the work, then shut up and smile when you pay your gate tax,” I told Juliyana.
She sighed. “I hate commercial travel.”
I could only agree with her on that one.
Our departure was hours away. It could have been worse, for the Zillah’s World connection was once-weekly. After a while, my ass and back started to hurt, pressed against the wall. Juliyana helped me up. I hobbled over to the café, and this time pleased the menu by ordering a sandwich.
Juliyana ordered pastrami on rye, with a pickle, salad, soup and a chocolate cake to finish. When I raised my brow, she tapped the corner of the menu, where the simple Cygnus logo sat. “The pickle the Cygnus files print is mild except for the end, where the bump is. The chocolate cake has a gooey center.” She shrugged. “I’m at least eating a salad, too.”
“It’s your metabolism.” I peeled open my own sandwich and frowned. Only now I remembered the Cygnus bread did not settle well in my stomach. Instead, I rolled up the deli meat and ate it with my fingers.
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me, about Cygnus and the gates.” I chewed. “The Emperor took control of the array, because Cygnus was handling it badly.” I still remember the official memo that went round, when gate control, manufacturing and administration were all turned over to the Emperor. “That was the only way to end the Crazy Years.”
Juliyana nodded enthusiastically as she swallowed. “The Crazy Years was his excuse. Of course the Imperial family wanted the array back in their control.”
“They already had control,” I pointed out. “The actual manufacturing of the gates, the construction of them, has always been a family operation.”
“Only the manufacture of the parts making up the gate, the mechanical parts, at least, was parceled out. Centuries ago, there were a dozen companies making their fortune providing the Imperial Family and the Imperial Shield with parts for the gate. Then, Cygnus Intergenera convinced the Emperor they could do it all as a one-stop contract, and they could do it cheaper and better.” She pointed at the menu, with the logo on the corner. “Now Cygnus has a stranglehold on the galaxy. They’re the most powerful corporate state in the Empire, and the Emperor didn’t like it.” She paused. “The Crazy Years is how he took the array back out of their hands.”
“That was in 245 or 6 or something. Drakas was years later.”
“It was 247, and Drakas was 251,” Juliyana replied. “I didn’t say the connection was direct or obvious, because everyone would have noticed. There is a connection there, though. The Emperor took back the array and a few years later, Noam apparently goes mad and destroys Cygnus Intergenera’s premier battalion.”
“Who were lined up in protest against the Emperor taking the array back,” I concluded. “You realize how crazy you sound?”
“It sounds absolutely insane,” she said. “Only you have a memo with your signature faked at the bottom of it, and that shifts the crazy.”
“Who benefits from something like this being bought into the open? That’s what I can’t figure out. The Emperor wouldn’t like it. Cygnus wouldn’t appreciate having shareholders and the buying public reminded of their military troubles and the Emperor’s disapproval. After that, the list grows very short.”
“That isn’t the point,” Juliyana said, with a touch of impatience. “I have the information, you’ve verified there is something screwy about it, now we follow up.”
For the first time it occurred to me to ask, “Where, exactly, did you get the information? You never did explain that.”
Her face hardened. “It hardly matters. We’ve verified the data—one document, which puts the others in an interesting light. If the Emperor has arranged things to suit himself, and if he did put my father out there as his scapegoat, it’s a short step to considering if he needed Noam to be out of the way. Just like you were pushed out of the way.”
I scowled at that. “I was not under any influence when I resigned my commission.”
“Except for the influence of an entire Empire screaming for your head as a coward,” Juliyana shot back. “There is at least a possibility that the Emperor manufactured the Crazy Years, just so he could take back the array. I think that is what we are both thinking, yes?”
“The information you
