To his surprise, he shrank from it. But why? He’d learned to accept his persona as Dahak’s captain and even as Governor of Earth, so why did this bother him?

Because, he thought, this brightly lit mausoleum whispered too eloquently of power and crushing responsibility, and it frightened him. Which was foolish in someone who’d already been made to accept responsibility for the very survival of his race, but nonetheless real.

He shook himself. The Empire was dead. All that could remain were other artifacts like Mother, and he needed any of those he could lay hands on. Even if that meant assuming command of a long-abandoned headquarters crewed only by ghosts and computers.

He only wished it didn’t feel so … impious.

“Mother,” he said finally.

“Yes, Senior Fleet Captain?” the computer replied, and he spoke very slowly and carefully.

“On this day, I, Senior Fleet Captain Colin MacIntyre, commanding officer—” he remembered the designation Fleet Central had tacked onto Dahak “—HIMP Dahak, do, as senior Battle Fleet officer present, pursuant to Fleet Regulation Five-Three-Three, Section Niner-One, Article Ten, assume command of Fl—”

“Invalid authorization,” Mother interrupted.

“What?” Colin blinked in surprise.

“Invalid authorization,” Mother repeated unhelpfully.

“What’s invalid about it?” he demanded, unreasonably irritated at the delay now that he had steeled himself to it.

“Fleet Regulation Five-Three-Three does not pertain to transfer of command authority.”

“It does so!” he shot back, but it was neither a question nor a command, and Mother remained silent. He gritted his teeth in frustration. “All right, if it doesn’t pertain to transfer of command, what does it pertain to?”

“Regulation Five-Three-Three and subsections,” Mother said precisely, “pertains to refuse disposal aboard Battle Fleet orbital bases.”

“What?!”

Colin glared at the console. Of course Reg Five-Three-Three referred to transfer of command! It was how Dahak had mousetrapped him into this entire absurdity! He’d read it for himself when he—

Understanding struck. Yes, he’d read it—in a collection of regulations written fifty-one millennia ago.

Damn.

“Please download current Fleet Regulations and all relevant data to my command.”

“Acknowledged. Download beginning. Download completed,” Mother said almost without pause, and Colin reactivated his com.

“Dahak?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“I need some help here. What regulation replaced Five-Three-Three?”

“Fleet Regulation Five-Three-Three has been superseded by Fleet Regulation One-Niner-One-Five-Seven-Three-Niner, sir.”

Colin winced. For seven thousand years, the Imperium had managed to hold Fleet regulations to under three thousand main entries; apparently the Empire had discovered the joys of bureaucracy.

No wonder Mother had so much memory.

“Thank you,” he said, preparing to turn his attention back to Mother, but Dahak stopped him.

“A moment, Captain. Is it your intent to use this regulation to assume command of Fleet Central?”

“Of course it is,” Colin said testily.

“I would advise against it.”

“Why?”

“Because it will result in your immediate execution.”

“What?” Colin asked faintly, certain he hadn’t heard correctly.

“The attempt will result in your execution, sir. Regulation One-Niner-One-Five-Seven-Three-Niner does not apply to Fleet Central.”

“Why not? It’s a unit of Battle Fleet.”

“That,” Dahak said surprisingly, “is no longer true. Fleet Central is Battle Fleet; all units of Battle Fleet are subordinate to it. Battle Fleet command officers are not promoted to Fleet Central command duties.”

“Then where the hell does its command staff come from?”

“They are drawn from Battle Fleet; they are not promoted from it. Fleet Central command officers are selected by the Emperor from all Battle Fleet flag officers and serve solely at his pleasure. Any attempt to assume command other than by direction of the Emperor is high treason and punishable by death.”

Colin went white as he realized only Mother’s interruption to correct an incorrect regulation number had saved his life.

He shuddered. What other tripwires were buried inside Fleet Central? Damn it, why couldn’t Mother be smart enough to tell him things like this?!

Because, a small, calm voice told him, she hadn’t been designed to be.

Which was all very well, but if he couldn’t assume command, Mother wouldn’t tell him the things he had to know, and if he tried to assume command, she’d kill him on the spot!

“Dahak,” he said finally, “find me an answer. I’ve got to be able to exercise command authority here, or we might as well not have come.”

“Fleet Central command authority lies in the exclusive grant of the Emperor, Captain. There is no other way to obtain it.”

“Goddamn it, there isn’t any emperor!” Colin half-shouted, battling incipient hysteria as he felt the situation crumbling in his hands. All he needed was for Dahak to catch Mother’s lunatic literal-mindedness! “Look, can you invade the core programming? Redirect it?”

“The attempt would result in Dahak’s destruction,” the computer told him. “In addition, it would fail. Fleet Central’s core programming contains certain imperatives, of which this is one, which may not be reprogrammed even on the Emperor’s authority.”

“That’s insane,” Colin said flatly. “My God, a computer you can’t reprogram running your entire military establishment?!”

“I did not say all reprogramming was impossible, nor do I understand why these particular portions cannot be altered. I am not privy to the content of the imperatives or the reasons for them. I base my statement on technical data included in the material downloaded to me.”

“But how the hell can anything be unalterable? Couldn’t you simply shut the thing down, dump its entire memory, and reprogram from scratch?”

“Negative, sir. The imperatives are not embodied in software. In Terran parlance, they are ‘hard-wired’ into the system. Removal would require actual destruction of a sizable portion of the central computer core.”

“Crap.” Colin pondered a moment longer, then widened the focus of his com link. “Vlad? ’Tanni? Have you been listening in on this?”

“Aye, Colin,” Jiltanith replied.

“Any ideas?”

“I’faith, none do spring to mind,” his wife said. “Vlad? Hast some insight which might aid our need?”

“I fear not,” Chernikov said. “I am currently viewing the technical data Dahak refers to, Captain. So far as I can tell, his analysis is correct. To alter this would require a complete shutdown of Fleet Central. Even assuming ‘Mother’ would permit it, the required physical destruction would cripple Comp Cent and destroy the data we require. In my opinion, the system was designed precisely to preclude the very possibility you have suggested.”

“Goddamn better mousetrap-builders!” Colin muttered, and Chernikov stifled a laugh. It made Colin feel obscurely better … but only a little.

“Dahak,” he said finally, “can you access the data we need?”

“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—”