grunt over his shoulder. “Ask Spartak—he has the head full of knowledge. I’ve not followed the progress of events down here towards the hub. Still too rigid and organized for my taste!”
The girl glanced at Spartak rather shyly—they had hardly yet got to know one another during this brief trip, and she had spent most of her time out of the way of both brothers, although Spartak had seen enough to convince him that Vix still at heart regarded women as expendable; currently, he just did not have the time to get himself another if he lost Vineta, and was doing his clumsy best to keep on her right side.
“Well,” Spartak commenced, “this was formerly one of the main garrison systems for the Imperial fleet, and when the Empire began to lose its outer reaches this was one of the—the foci, so to speak, on which retrenchments were made. I think it’s now effectively a frontier system. The Empire hasn’t: vanished, of course, but only shrunk to a fraction of its former size.”
“That’s what’s worrying me,” Vix interjected. “I’ve tangled with certain bone-headed parties who seem to imagine the Empire still flourishes. For my part, I think it’s now a farce, and will only prove a handicap to some new and more stable foundation.”
Spartak nodded in surprised agreement.
At that moment a light sprang up on the communicator panel, and Vix reached over to activate the circuit. A voice boomed out with a ring of crude authority. “Identify yourself and your ship!”
“See what I mean?” Vix muttered wryly, and added more loudly, for the benefit of the distant challenger, “Vix of Asconel piloting my own vessel, on private business and landing on Delcadoré.”
“Asconel, hm?” The voice was as clear as if it came from the next room, even when at lower volume it continued, “Where in all of space is that?”
Other voices, much fainter but quite distinct, chimed in.“Asconel—isn’t that where.…? Well, it’s off towards the Rim anyway, so I guess it’ll do.… Anything to shift this problem off
my
back … Yes, we’ll settle for this one—we don’t want to wait till the galaxy freezes just to find a ship bound for the Big Dark or somewhere
really
distant.…”
Vix and Spartak exchanged appalled glances, and the first voice roared out again.
“Vix of Asconel, you’re under Imperial requisition. Do you hear and understand? Your ship is under Imperial requisition. Do not attempt to evade this order, or it will be the worse for you!”
“What does this all mean?” Vineta whispered.
“Right now, that’s what it means!” Vix replied in white-lipped fury, and gestured towards the viewport which moments ago had held only Delcadoré, its larger moon and the stars beyond.
Now, like a monstrous fish swimming leisurely to intercept smaller prey, there loomed the gigantic shape of an Imperial ship of the line, the ancient Argian symbols blazoned at prow and stern, for all the galaxy as though Argus could still issue orders to a million planets, and prepared to back this false contention with the all-too-real support of fire-power equal to the output of a minor sun.
VIII
F IGHTING and running were out of the question. When the order was given to make a landing on Delcadoré under the escort of the Imperial battleship, Vix—punctuating his pilot work with oaths that seemed to grow fouler by the second—furiously complied, while Spartak tried to console him with the suggestion that at least so far they weren’t being told to do anything but what they had intended all along.
Meanwhile, Vineta stood close against him, her large dark eyes fixed as though hypnotized on the hull of the escorting ship, her whole body trembling with the unexpressed terror she felt at the nameless threat the “Imperial requisition” implied.
Spartak’s heart lifted, though only briefly, when he saw what forces the Empire could still command—there might be a thousand vessels, he guessed, docked here at what
The girl glanced at Spartak rather shyly—they had hardly yet got to know one another during this brief trip, and she had spent most of her time out of the way of both brothers, although Spartak had seen enough to convince him that Vix still at heart regarded women as expendable; currently, he just did not have the time to get himself another if he lost Vineta, and was doing his clumsy best to keep on her right side.
“Well,” Spartak commenced, “this was formerly one of the main garrison systems for the Imperial fleet, and when the Empire began to lose its outer reaches this was one of the—the foci, so to speak, on which retrenchments were made. I think it’s now effectively a frontier system. The Empire hasn’t: vanished, of course, but only shrunk to a fraction of its former size.”
“That’s what’s worrying me,” Vix interjected. “I’ve tangled with certain bone-headed parties who seem to imagine the Empire still flourishes. For my part, I think it’s now a farce, and will only prove a handicap to some new and more stable foundation.”
Spartak nodded in surprised agreement.
At that moment a light sprang up on the communicator panel, and Vix reached over to activate the circuit. A voice boomed out with a ring of crude authority. “Identify yourself and your ship!”
“See what I mean?” Vix muttered wryly, and added more loudly, for the benefit of the distant challenger, “Vix of Asconel piloting my own vessel, on private business and landing on Delcadoré.”
“Asconel, hm?” The voice was as clear as if it came from the next room, even when at lower volume it continued, “Where in all of space is that?”
Other voices, much fainter but quite distinct, chimed in.“Asconel—isn’t that where.…? Well, it’s off towards the Rim anyway, so I guess it’ll do.… Anything to shift this problem off
my
back … Yes, we’ll settle for this one—we don’t want to wait till the galaxy freezes just to find a ship bound for the Big Dark or somewhere
really
distant.…”
Vix and Spartak exchanged appalled glances, and the first voice roared out again.
“Vix of Asconel, you’re under Imperial requisition. Do you hear and understand? Your ship is under Imperial requisition. Do not attempt to evade this order, or it will be the worse for you!”
“What does this all mean?” Vineta whispered.
“Right now, that’s what it means!” Vix replied in white-lipped fury, and gestured towards the viewport which moments ago had held only Delcadoré, its larger moon and the stars beyond.
Now, like a monstrous fish swimming leisurely to intercept smaller prey, there loomed the gigantic shape of an Imperial ship of the line, the ancient Argian symbols blazoned at prow and stern, for all the galaxy as though Argus could still issue orders to a million planets, and prepared to back this false contention with the all-too-real support of fire-power equal to the output of a minor sun.
VIII
F IGHTING and running were out of the question. When the order was given to make a landing on Delcadoré under the escort of the Imperial battleship, Vix—punctuating his pilot work with oaths that seemed to grow fouler by the second—furiously complied, while Spartak tried to console him with the suggestion that at least so far they weren’t being told to do anything but what they had intended all along.
Meanwhile, Vineta stood close against him, her large dark eyes fixed as though hypnotized on the hull of the escorting ship, her whole body trembling with the unexpressed terror she felt at the nameless threat the “Imperial requisition” implied.
Spartak’s heart lifted, though only briefly, when he saw what forces the Empire could still command—there might be a thousand vessels, he guessed, docked here at what
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