Winterhome

by Blaze Ward

  History had shown the effect of such rare combinations. A strong emperor surrounded by weak admirals was no threat. A weak emperor surrounded by strong admirals was himself at threat, and thus none of the neighbors need fear. Only a strong emperor and strong admirals threatened.

  The previous ruler of Fribourg had proven his mettle. The new one was still a child, and a female one, at that, in a culture that considered female a second-class.

  Fools.

  Her own kind would fight her internally, so there was only so much Jessica could do.

  The galaxy had indeed changed.

  Chapter V

  In the Ninth Year of Jessica Keller, Queen of the Pirates: May the Seventeenth at Ladaux

  Pops looked around the small chamber as he waited for the woman they were meeting to arrive. Walls painted off-cream with a little too much mustard in them. Carpet somewhere past taupe on the way to whatever. Sand, maybe. Small conference table with a linoleum top in speckled gray and several other somethings. Eight chairs. Those at least matched. Old and battered, but matching.

  Galen sat on one side. Summer on the other. Nobody else had been “invited down” from the ships to this meeting, not even Galen’s wife Kari, which was kind of rude. Felt much more like a customs interview, checking papers and inspecting for smuggling, except for the participants.

  Six security marines who took themselves way too seriously stood around the outside walls. Sure, Galen was young and fit. And Summer might compete with them on lifting heavy weights competitively, but they had been invited here.

  Pops decided he was just feeling his oats this morning. Bedrov had said he wouldn’t take any shit from these people either.

  The hatch slid to the right with a squeak that suggested someone had tightened a slider control bolt half a turn too far. Good to know maintenance engineers around here cut corners, too.

  First Lord of the Aquitaine Fleet, or whatever her title was, entered briskly.

  Pops rose, because he was Pops. He was a little taller than the woman, but only a little, and probably fifteen kilos heavier. She offered a hand and he shook it, deciding that maybe he only had five kilos on her when he did, and that a lot of her stringiness was pure muscle.

  Another man had accompanied Naoumov. This one was taller than Pops, and far heavier, a big man who exuded bonhomie like a cheap cologne.

  Pops tried to remember to be impressed as he shook that guy’s hand and sat down. Probably have to wash his hands later to get the smell off.

  “Iorwerth Nakamura,” First Lord Naoumov began. “Pops. Crown Naval Designer of Corynthe. Galen Estevan, nephew of Uly Larionov. Summer Ulfsson. I am First Lord Petia Naoumov, and this is the Premier of the Aquitaine Senate, Tadej Horvat. Thank you for meeting with us today.”

  Galen shrugged. Summer nodded. Pops leaned forward.

  “To what do we owe the dubious honor and implicit threat in meeting two of the top officials in the Republic, during a simple courtesy call as we pass through?” Pops even made it all sound polite, and maybe friendly, too, but he was an old man, and had learned to use that like a weapon in polite conversation.

  Naoumov’s face soured, just the slightest bit, while Horvat’s smile broadened.

  About what Pops had expected when he lobbed that grenade into the conversation.

  “You are heading from here to St. Legier?” the First Lord asked with something approximating graciousness. More than Pops probably deserved.

  Must be good, whatever they were about to ask.

  Pops turned to Galen to answer that one. It was his ship. Pops and Summer were just passengers.

  “That is correct, First Lord,” Galen woke up and stumbled into the conversation, shooting Pops a look that suggested he didn’t appreciate being put on the spot like that.

  Pity, kid. Old man does mean things, from time to time. Keeps you on your toes.

  “Is there a problem?” Galen followed up, as Pops leaned ever so slightly back.

  “Not a problem,” the woman said. “More of a request on our part.”

  She faltered there, obviously looking for words that would be less something. Probably more polite or friendly than she had originally intended, back when she thought she was in charge of this meeting.

  Amazing what can happen in a heartbeat when the surly, old man gets to feeling ornery.

  Sure enough, she turned to the Premier. Good cop, probably.

  “We would like to ask that you escort a pair of vessels to St. Legier,” Horvat smiled, while remaining somewhat back in his seat.

  “Oh?” Pops asked vaguely. “Couriers? Freighters?”

  “One is a freighter hauling cargo, yes,” Horvat agreed. “The other is a warship that will be entering Imperial space under interesting circumstances, as it is not originally an Aquitaine ship, but will be flying our flag for the duration, and then presumably an Imperial flag, as well.”

  “Uh huh.” Pops wasn’t convinced.

  He turned to Galen to let the kid Bad Cop this pair.

  “Who, if I may inquire?” Galen picked up the thread faster this time. Not as asleep.

  “A Lincolnshire vessel,” Naoumov spoke up again. “The Robert Fitzwalter. I’m given to understand that Sri Nakamura is somewhat familiar with the ship.”

  The bland smile on her face was pretty decent payback for how he’d taken her sideways earlier, so Pops wouldn’t begrudge her that. Few people knew how to play rough without resorting to dirty. First Lord apparently qualified.

  “Huh,” he grunted. “Wasn’t aware that they actually went and did it.”

  And he couldn’t remember getting a check in the mail, either. Might have to invoice those silly bastards, Net 90 with a lot of interest if it was ready for service. Especially if the ship was here. Even if he had thought the original design request was a silly waste of time. There were contracts involved.

  “Pops?” Summer asked, deferential but a little concerned with his reaction.

  “Lincolnshire War Catamaran,” he explained. “Something I did on the side, when David began to normalize relations. Be interesting to see them in action, especially with Qin Lun and Jessica.”

  “Pardon me,” Horvat suddenly leaned forward and addressed himself to Summer with a great deal more intensity than he had before. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  All heads turned to Summer now, who actually blushed, just a little bit. Interesting, as she wasn’t a woman given to blushing.

  “I was an actress once,” Summer replied, somewhat evasively, after a moment. “Mostly commercials and low-budget things. Perhaps you know me from the vid?”

  That was about as much as Pops knew about her past, but Corynthe was frequently the back end of beyond, and rarely received any entertainment not produced absolutely locally. It was entirely possible that she might be better known closer in to civilization.

  Might also explain why she preferred the anonymity of the galactic fringes.

  She glanced at him from lowered eyes, and Pops took that as an invitation to distract the conversation.

  “So LWC Robert Fitzwalter is here?” he butted his nose back into everybody’s business. “Have they agreed to travel with a pair of pirates?”

  “Ex-pirates,” Horvat genially corrected, once he understood that the woman wasn’t going to answer any other questions about her background. “Queen Jessica has signed treaties of trade and mutual self-defense with the Republic. You are all now good, galactic citizens.”

  Whatever floats your starship, buddy. Corynthe divides into the Government, and the less-than-loyal Opposition, most of whom deserved to be in a prison somewhere.

  But didn’t we all?

  Still, Pops nodded the point.

  “They have, however, expressed some trepidation, yes,” Horvat’s smile remained. “Given the connections of the crew, Sri Estevan and Sri Nakamura, they are willing to make peace and travel as RAN vessels for the time being, presuming you would do the same.”

  A-ha.

&nb
sp; Sneaky, that one. Put the onus on Galen to agree to play nice with a bunch of folks that saw themselves as cops, and Corynthe as pirates. Which was generally close enough to the truth, at least until recently.

  Maybe still.

  “Pops?” Galen asked. “What is a War Catamaran?”

  Pops leaned back and let his eyes unfocus a little.

  “Lincolnshire doesn’t have a yard big enough to build cruisers from scratch,” he offered. “And noticed that Jessica and David were suddenly building upgraded 4-ring Motherships that might represent a threat, if things got serious again.”

  “Okay.”

  “So they hired me, of all people, to design a couple of capital-style ships they could build with the resources at hand. Robert Fitzwalter was probably the best design of the group, and Lincolnshire apparently went and did it.”

  “What is she?” Summer was the one who asked, surprisingly.

  “Take two frigates, which is the top end of what they can build locally,” he replied. “Line them up side by side, with about a hull-width of space between them, and then build a bridge right across the center, like a letter H. Add an engine pod to the back, and a weapons array to the front, like noses sticking out. Not as durable as a battlecruiser, but probably comparable to a modern 4-ring like Kali-ma. The Robert Fitzwalter design had a good mix of offense and defense, if they followed my plans.”

  “What other ideas did you suggest?” It was First Lord’s turn to get involved, apparently. Professional curiosity, most likely.

  “Oh, add a small pod off of each side of a frigate,” Pops grinned. “You can dock a couple of fighters, or put in generators and beams. Even just haul more cargo. Coolest, and maybe silliest design was a Trimaran. Take the Robert Fitzwalter, and add third frigate, above and centered, with three spans linking them all and a big engine in the middle. More durable than a catamaran. Lots more space. Nowhere to dock it, but if your third hull is emptied out and turned into a flight deck, you’ve got a Fleet Carrier design, pretty easy. Royal pain in the ass if they invaded Corynthe with one.”

  “Unless you’ve got a Patrol Cruiser, like say Qin Lun,” Galen observed dryly.

  “Yup,” Pops grinned. “You thought your tub was a cut-down Expeditionary Cruiser, like everyone else, didn’t you?”

  “We would prefer that the two of you not engage in a war,” Horvat interceded before things got silly. “Aquitaine supports the efforts of Jessica and David to civilize the outer reaches, but we are signatories to a treaty guaranteeing Lincolnshire’s borders.”

  In other words, start it, and you’ll be facing us, Sri. On the other hand, Lincolnshire wouldn’t start anything, for fear of getting smacked hard by Jessica’s friends back here.

  Peace, by accidental default.

  He and Galen nodded.

  “It would be our honor to serve as an escort while the squadron transited to St. Legier,” Galen went all formal and stuff.

  It was his ship. Plus, it would give Pops a chance to see what the final build-out looked like, since he hadn’t been on-site to tweak things.

  Chapter VI

  Date of the Republic August 21, 402 IFV Vanguard, Forward Base Delta

  The door chimed exactly on time. Jessica had already put away her paperwork, leaving only a small handheld on her desk. The rest of her office was spare, as always. The only additions to anything in the last five years had been a series of pictures on the left wall, showing every vessel she had ever commanded, all the way back to Endeavor and coming up to Vanguard. Technically, it and the Star Controller Auberon belonged to Denis, but he had pointedly asked her to wear both patches on her uniform, and it was Denis.

  He didn’t ask much of her, so the few things that came up were important. To both of them.

  The other picture, facing inward on her desk, was her and Torsten, taken during some mixer event, both of them in dress uniforms. Before he went away and left her to hold the line while he tried to save the Empire.

  She took a deep breath and keyed the button to open the hatch.

  Marcelle entered first, carrying a tray with two sippy cups that she places on the desk before stepping to one side.

  “Command Centurion Glenn,” she said unnecessarily as the other woman entered. “CP-406.”

  “Sit,” Jessica ordered lightly as Marcelle withdrew.

  They each grabbed coffee and took a sip to enjoy.

  “With Arad here, your flight wing is even more of an ugly duckling,” Jessica began.

  Glenn nodded, eyes bright with anticipation, it seemed.

  “I had considered routing you home, or as far as an Imperial dry-dock, to swap your three for a trio of the new Fast Strike Bombers, and I may yet do that, so warn your pilots that they may have to grow up and become team commanders at some point.”

  That got a grin. Pilots were pilots, but the new bomber design had a crew of three, not just one lone lunatic against the galaxy.

  “I have a different mission for you instead,” Jessica said, watching the surge of joy appear in those eyes.

  Yes, this woman was still a pirate born, as Bedrov had seen.

  “I am going to send you and Duncan off to a point well in the interior of the Altai sector,” Jessica continued. “The freighter will drop off a couple of cargo packs for you, someplace secret and hidden, so you have food and replacement parts, and then return here.”

  “And CP-406, sir?” Glenn finally spoke.

  “The Pochtovyi Trakt, the so-called postal road that Buran’s vessels use to navigate are, in the end, just a set of beacons,” Jessica said. “Around here, each is a trio of satellites about a light-hour apart, set every two light-years, broadcasting a signal. The Sentient vessels can land from their jump, triangulate, and be gone again in less than two minutes, according to some reports. That allows them to make incredibly high-speed runs between well-mapped places. Records captured when the Duke of Osynth B’Udan fled suggested a round trip between St. Legier and Winterhome of four months, when the best we could do right now is probably eight, if anyone wanted to try.”

  “Okay,” Glenn nodded, still sipping and trying to contain her energy.

  “I want you and CP-406 to pick a spot, Glenn,” Jessica’s voice turned serious. “From there, I want you to run up a line, destroying every transmitter you can detect. If you find a side street, I want you to note it, categorize it, and possibly come back for it. You’ll be gone for several months doing this, which is why you need a forward resupply base, but I want you to cut that bastard’s spine. Leave the brain intact at Winterhome, but cripple the ability of his fleets to move around quickly. And I want you working beyond Severnaya Zemlya, so that the Altai sector suddenly finds itself cut off.”

  “Horatio, at the bridge,” Glenn noted. “In reverse.”

  “Exactly,” Jessica agreed. “Samara can rot on the vine, especially if I’m hammering places on the other side of M’Hanii. They’ll have to bring up forces from everywhere else, or abandon their entire forward defenses and pull back to a more secure system.”

  “Targeting priority after Altai sector is sewn up?” Glenn asked.

  The fire in her eyes now was serious, but also a little crazy. A female version of Alber’ d’Maine, or Kigali, if you will. Assume you’ve isolated an entire sector, and are moving on to the next one.

  “Lena Sector,” Jessica instructed.

  “Not deeper?”

  “No,” the First Centurion commanded. “I have something better planned for them, once I have Buran’s undivided attention.”

  Chapter VII

  Date of the Republic August 30, 402 Imperial Fleet Headquarters, St. Legier

  Yan laughed inside when he considered the meeting about to start around him. Everyone had their tablets, and the two Imperials had brought stacks of printed paper in folders.

  If it wasn’t so damned important, and secret, he would have suggested they do this in a bar somewhere, instead of a tiny meeting space barely big enough for the group. It would h
ave helped the other four relax a little better. He was already loose.

  Facing down Death will do that to you.

  zu Wachturm had grown more serious and grim in the last year, but that was to be expected. He was commanding a war that possibly would determine the fate of the galaxy. Jessica got to have all the fun, blowing shit up while Emmerich was back here, trying to outthink a God.

  Hendrik Baumgärtner was severe and quiet, like a Court’s Executioner. Yan had heard rumors of fools who thought they could just brush Casey Wiegand aside. The smarter ones were fomenting rebellion in their drinking salons, where hopefully nobody would ever take them seriously enough to drop a marine detachment in through the windows.

  Even Ainsley had grown quiet, but she had known Moirrey forever, and the Evil Engineering Gnome looked today like she had been pulled backwards through a knothole in a board.

  Little woman had lost enough weight that her face was almost gaunt. Yan thought he could count her ribs through the green and black tunic she wore today, being in uniform, rather than First Lady In Waiting, down on the planet. There were bags under her eyes, and gray hairs starting to appear, that hadn’t been visible nine months ago.

  Before St. Legier. And everything since.

  Grand Admiral rapped his knuckles on the table. There were no aides taking notes or available to run and fetch. Even everyone else’s marine guards were outside the closed door.

  “Project Butterfly,” zu Wachturm said simply. “I have read the most recent design synopsis, and the new modifications added by Bedrov. And presumably suggested by the so-called Lord of Tiki?”

  “That is correct, Grand Admiral,” Yan said. “Damned thing was alone for three thousand years, so he likes to talk to people. Ainsley and I kept to ourselves on the flight here, for the most part, so we could work on this design. He contributed ideas, but I did the math.”