Death to the Imperium (Imperium Cicernus) (2 page)

“You
on a diet?” Glitz said, who could never resist starting an argument.

“What?”
the man said fiercely.

Glitz
shrugged. “Just thought you must be on a diet, that’s all.”

The
fat man glanced at his two trays, looking slightly confused. “Are you trying to
be funny?”

“No,”
Glitz said sincerely. “It’s just that I’d always thought whales ate a million
calories a day. So I figured you must be on a diet.”

The
robot’s fight detection circuits perceived the signs of a possible brawl and it
edged closer, wielding the shocker eagerly. But, luckily for Glitz, the man
didn’t understand the joke, and simply glared at him before walking away. Glitz
stared at the choices on the machine, trying to decide which option to choose.

There
were three buttons, which had changeable labels with pencil writing. Today’s
choices read
CHEESEBURGER
,
CURRY
and
VEGETARIAN
. A decade
of ferrying spices for the East Galaxy Company had made Glitz loath spicy food,
and the third option sounded suspiciously vague. He wondered how many convicted
criminals were vegetarians. Not many, he would guess. He opted for the
cheeseburger. He pressed the switch and a burger appeared on a paper plate,
along with a side of fries.

He
glanced around the canteen, where the seats were filling up fast, looking for
somewhere to sit. At the far end, the man who had interrupted his chess game
was sitting alone at a table. Glitz made his way over to him and sat down.

“Hi,”
Glitz said.

The
man said nothing. He had also ordered a burger, and he was eating it slowly
with an air of being deep in thought. Glitz frowned and started to eat his own
meal, noticing that Tekka was wearing a large golden ring with a blue stone. The
burger was, surprisingly, not bad. There was a good helping of meat inside it
and the bread was fresh. Again, although Glitz was grateful for the humane
treatment, he was conscious that conditions on Malus would seem even worse by
comparison.

“Tekka,”
the man said finally, after finishing his burger.

“Glitz.”
He paused. “What did you do to end up here?”

“I
committed a crime,” Tekka said simply.

“Yeah,
but what crime?”

Tekka
didn’t reply; he just stared darkly into space. Glitz shrugged and continued to
eat his food. Doland sat down at the table, carrying a plate of curry.

“It
was fraud,” Doland said, grinning. He pointed to a bearded man standing at the
food vendor. “I’ve just been talking to your friend Marc.”

“He’s
not my friend. I only told him what I did so he would leave me alone.”

“Yeah,
well… anyway, he told me about your little plan, you know, the one to steal
five billion credits from Central.”

According
to old, unverifiable documents, digital cryptography-based currencies had existed
as early as eight thousand years ago, including the mythical Bitcoin. During
the early years of the Imperium, many similar currencies had come into general
use, such as the stupidly-named Coincoin, which used a proof-of-work mechanism
to generate coins. The currency fell into disrepute when it was discovered that
the processing power used to “mine” the coins had been used to crack the
security of several key Imperial computer systems. Around two thousand years
ago, the Imperium had switched from using paper-based fiat currencies to a universal
centralised cryptocurrency system, the “coin” of which was known simply as the
credit. Some people still used secret alternative currencies for illegal
transactions and money laundering, but the only official currency was the
credit, regulated by the Imperial Central Bank.

“Five
billion credits?” Glitz said, impressed. That amount would be enough to buy a
small island on the planet Eden.

Tekka
nodded, but did not reply.

“He’s
a mathematical genius, so Marc says,” Doland went on. “Graduated from Homeworld
University, too.”

Glitz
stared into Tekka’s cold eyes. Homeworld University? He was obviously no
ordinary criminal. What made a man like him turn rogue? Why would someone with
brains—and all the opportunities in life—turn to crime?

“Can
you two be trusted?” Tekka said suddenly.

Doland
looked up from his plate of curry, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I
mean exactly what I said. Can I trust you?”

“Trust
us for what?”

Tekka
placed his fingertips together, and lowered his voice. “I assume that neither
of you wants to go to Malus. We have all heard the stories. I for one am not at
all keen on going. I believe I may have a viable escape plan, but I need to
know whether I can trust you.”

Doland
and Glitz glanced at each other, and nodded at Tekka.

“Excellent,”
Tekka said. “Like Doland said, I have considerable expertise when it comes to—”

“Hang
on,” Doland said. “How do you know my name?”

“I
made a point of memorising the flight manifest,” Tekka said, pulling out a
folded piece of paper. It was a print-out of all of the convicts’ names, along
with thumbnail snapshots of their faces.

“A
manifest?” Glitz said. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Tekka
smiled coldly. “All of the vidscreens on the floor are connected to computers.
Of course, all of their functions are locked down except video playback. But I
asked the computer very nicely.”

“So
what’s your plan?” Glitz said quietly.

Tekka
glanced around to make sure they were not being overheard. Then he began to
explain his plan in a quiet voice. When he had finished, both Doland and Glitz
were a little in awe of the man. Doland was right. He
was
a genius. But
Glitz found one element of the plan troubling.

“Not
this ship.”

“What?”
Tekka said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Not
this ship. The Commander has been good to us. It wouldn’t be right to do it to
him.”

“Oh,
come on,” Doland said. “We’re being taken to the worst planet in the galaxy.
We’re going to be slaves for five years. This isn’t the time for caring about
other people.”

Glitz
wouldn’t be persuaded. He turned to Tekka. “Look, there’s no reason why your
plan couldn’t work with another ship, right? When will the next prison ship
arrive on Malus?”

“In
about a month, I expect.”

“A
month!” Doland said. “You want us to be stuck on Malus for a month?”

“It’s
better than five years,” Glitz replied.

Tekka
paused, stroking his left palm with the fingertips of his right hand. “If the
plan is to work, it requires three people. If Glitz is determined not to harm
the commander of this ship, it seems we have no choice but to make planetfall
and wait for the next ship.”

Doland
grimaced, but he knew that Tekka was right. Without all three of them, the plan
would be much more likely to fail. “All right,” he said. “I’m in.”

“Why
us?” Glitz said. “I mean, your plan needs three people, but why choose me and Doland?”

“Truthfully,
there is no particular reason. I need two people to help me escape. I don’t
care who those two people are. You were the two people that happened to sit
down next to me.”

Glitz
nodded slowly. In that case, he was very glad that he had chosen to sit with
Tekka. The rest of the journey to Malus went by quite uneventfully. A few
prisoners became restless and started to fight, but these confrontations were
quickly broken apart by the other convicts. Nobody wanted to have stricter
measures imposed upon them. They ate five more meals in the canteen, and slept
twice in the prisoners’ quarters. The guards only appeared occasionally to
check that everything was running smoothly, and no one even saw the Commander
again until they finally reached the planet. Around forty-eight hours into the
flight, he appeared on the floor with a small group of guards.

“We’ll
be arriving on Malus shortly, gentlemen,” Commander Rica said. “Thank you for
conducting yourselves so graciously, and I hope that your stay on Malus won’t
be overly unpleasant.” He knew there wasn’t much hope of that. The Commander
was a man of dangerous tastes, and there were many illegal pleasures that he
denied himself, purely so that he would never end up on Malus.

“It’s
been nice,” Glitz said loudly. “I’ll fly with you again some time.”

The
prisoners all laughed, and the Commander smiled and left the floor. Glitz had,
of course, been joking, but the journey had actually given him a deep respect
for the man. So many weak-minded people tried to gain respect through violence
and anger. It was refreshing to see someone who expressed their authority in a reasonable
way.

The
ship touched down on the planet Malus.

Narko,
the pimpled guard, smiled nastily at Glitz as the ship’s main door slid open. The
guards escorted the prisoners off the ship, where they were taken into custody
by another lot of guards. They were wearing their handcuffs again, which they
had been made to reattach before the ship’s landing.

Glitz
glanced up at the sky. It was permanently dark on Malus, because it was a
planet on the edge of the Talos system. The light from the central sun barely reached
Malus; it was only warm enough to sustain life because of thermoactive rocks
close to the planet’s surface. Volcanoes were one of the main causes of death
on Malus, next to overwork. The Imperium was notoriously tough on all prisoners—again,
unless they were from the aristocracy—holding the view that the worse the
prison, the stronger the deterrent. Glitz didn’t think that prisoners should
get off without punishment, but five years of hard labour seemed a little
extreme for his crime.

The
guards began to lead them towards the main prison site, which was where the
convicts would be sleeping and eating for the duration of their sentences.

“You
didn’t tell me what you did,” Doland said, who was standing behind Glitz.

“Smuggling.”
Glitz frowned at the imposing volcanoes. He could swear that some of them were
spewing black smoke. “I was in charge of a freighter for the East Galaxy
Company, but the pay was bad. I boosted my salary by smuggling weapons in a
secret compartment inside the ship.”

Doland
looked impressed. “Yeah? How’d you get caught?”

“Just
a routine inspection, or so I thought.” Glitz grinned. Although he hated the
fact that he had been caught, he couldn’t deny that it made a good story. “I
was carrying an official load of turmeric and moonspice, as well as a few kilos
of black market tobacco that I picked up from a guy on Zita-4. I was taking the
leaf to Paradise to sell. When I was boarded by Imperial troops, I figured it
was nothing to worry about. I’d been boarded before, but they hadn’t found
anything. But it turns out the leaf wasn’t just duty-free—it was stolen. Even
worse, the stupid bastard had robbed an Interstellar Courier to get it.”

“So
they found the stuff?”

Glitz
nodded. “They went all out. Practically took the ship apart. I got five years,
but the other guy was executed.”

Doland
breathed out slowly. “You were lucky then, in a way.”

“Lucky?”
Glitz poked his finger into Doland’s chest. “I’m stuck on a prison planet for
five years with nobody for company but you and that guy—” Glitz pointed to Tekka,
who was standing nearby. “—and he doesn’t even like me.”

“Don’t
be too heartbroken,” Tekka said. “I don’t like anyone.”

“Yeah,
well…” Doland lowered his voice. “We still have our plan…”

Glitz
glanced around at the forbidding planet, at the rocks and strange-looking birds
wheeling through the sky. Now that he was actually there, Tekka’s plan didn’t
seem quite so likely. He knew that no one had ever escaped from Malus before.

The
prisoners walked, handcuffed, towards the main prison, with uniformed guards
marching in front of and behind them. The air was filled with noxious smoke,
and the ground was covered in black dust—the prisoners’ feet kicked up dirt
clouds that blackened their convict uniforms.

Eventually,
they reached the main prison. It was a large silver dome that was composed of triangular
shapes arranged in a tessellated pattern. Glitz entered with the other
prisoners, flanked by Doland and Tekka. He wanted to make sure that he stayed
close to Tekka over the next few weeks; the man was his only chance of getting
off the stinking rock.

“My
name is Mr. Quex,” a bald man said, stepping in front of the prisoners. He was
carrying a large black staff with a tapered handle. Although it was black, it
looked suspiciously like a shocker. “I’m the officer in charge of this prison.
Let me be very clear. I don’t tolerate bad behaviour. If any one of you jokers
steps out of line, they’ll be treated with the greatest serevity.”

“You
mean ‘severity’, right?” one of the prisoners said. He was a thin man with a
permanent grin.

The
officer’s face reddened, and he stepped over to the man, his pig-like eyes
bulging from his head. “Silence!” he said.

“That’s
better,” the prisoner said. “Maybe you should just stick to two-syllable words
in future.”

The
prisoners laughed, and Mr. Quex looked like he was about to explode. He touched
the man with the end of his staff, who felt an excruciating pain surge through
his limbs. The prisoner cried out in agony, and Mr. Quex withdrew the staff.
The pain ceased.

“Let
that be a lesson to you all,” Mr. Quex said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate insol…
insolence.”

All
of the prisoners were weary and ill-tempered; they had last slept nearly twelve
hours ago, and they were all ready to go to bed.

“You
will be sent to your cells in alphabetical order,” the prison officer said. “As
soon as I read your name, two of the prison guards will escort you to your cell.”
He brought up a list on his tablet. “Alph, Tonek.”

Tonek
Alph, a tough-looking man virtually covered in tattoos, stepped forward. Two
even tougher-looking prison guards escorted him out towards his cell.

“Bane,
Rog.”

Rog
Bane was next to be taken to his cell, followed by Bergson, Cap, Christoph,
Doland, Edgewood, Fhali and Haaj.

“Glitz,
Harlan.”

Glitz
strolled forwards and peered at the two guards. “You sure these guys know where
they’re going?”

Mr.
Quex showed his teeth. “Follow!”

Grinning,
Glitz followed the guards; they led him through the prison, opened a metal
sliding door using a wall panel, and pushed him into his cell. The room was
tiny and grey. It had no windows, and no furniture except a bed. And a toilet,
if that counts as furniture. At least it was clean. The whole room smelled
comfortingly sterile, like a hospital room. The room was cramped and
unpleasant, and would certainly be a nightmare come true for anyone suffering
from claustrophobia. But at least it was safe. You didn’t have to spend every
night looking behind your back. Glitz knocked on the metal cell wall, and
someone knocked back. The sound was very muffled.

“Attention
all prisoners.” Glitz frowned. The tinny, metallic voice was coming from a
hidden speaker somewhere in the cell. “The time is 6:48. Work will begin in twelve
minutes. Please make sure you are dressed in your work clothes. New convicts
will find their work suits beneath their beds.”

“For
the love of space!” Glitz shouted. “I haven’t slept for twelve hours!”

The
message began to repeat again. “Attention all prisoners. The time is 6:49…”

Scowling,
Glitz reached under his hard bed and felt around for his work suit. His fingers
brushed against a clear plasthyne bag, and he pulled it out. Inside there was
an orange bodysuit that was made of some sort of tough artificial material,
probably PalTex. He stripped to his underwear and stowed his prison uniform
under the bed, struggling into the orange suit. The material was rough and
scratchy, like tarpaulin, against his skin, and his shoulders and neck began to
ache.

“Work
will begin in eight minutes.”

Glitz
sat on his bed and waited. He didn’t know how the whole thing worked.
Obviously, there was no way out of his cell, so all he could do was sit and
wait. He wouldn’t have got dressed at all in protest, but he didn’t want to be taken
outside wearing non-protective clothing.

“Work
will begin in four minutes.”

He
sat and waited, wondering vaguely what kind of work the prisoners were made to
do. Of course, he had heard several different stories from the other convicts
while on the ship. Some said they would be forced to dig holes in the rock,
while others claimed that the prisoners had to dive into the volcanoes using
special equipment, looking for precious stones in the lava. On balance, Glitz
felt that the first story was more plausible.

The
cell door slid open again, and a voice ordered him to leave the cell. He was
taken with a dozen other prisoners towards a guarded prison exit, and they
stepped back out onto the dark planet. Glitz and the other prisoners were led
by prison guards in one direction, and he noticed other small groups being led
in other directions. Presumably, different prisoners were assigned different
jobs. With irritation, Glitz realised that the arrangement might make it more
difficult for him talk confidentially to Doland and Tekka.

The
prisoners were led into a small all-terrain wagon, and were thrown around
roughly as they were sped to their destination, which they reached in just over
five minutes. Glitz glanced down at the quarry as they stepped off the truck. It
was a pit surrounded on all sides by volcanic mountains. The soil was like
black ash, and the hole was filled with huge boulders. The men were all
carrying large pickaxes and sledgehammers. A man got off a second wagon which
had followed the first. He was wearing a grey suit and brown boots. It was Mr.
Quex, the prison officer.

“Good
morning, Work Group Eight,” Mr. Quex said. “You may be aware that you have a
new member.” He pointed at Glitz. “Harlan Glitz.”

Glitz
grinned at the prisoners, but the other members of the work camp glowered at
him. He had a distinct feeling that he wouldn’t be getting along very well with
his new “colleagues”. He also felt a great sense of disappointment. He had
assumed that he would be working alongside Tekka and Doland.

“Sir,”
Glitz said. “Will I always be in the same Work Group?”

Mr.
Quex nodded. “In future, you will only speak when spoken to, but yes. You will
be working with these twelve men for the duration of your sentence. You will
also eat with them in your own section of the refectory.”