Winterhome

by Blaze Ward

  For a moment, the admiral had a look like he wanted to punch Yan in the face. That was also to be expected. A Sentient system was responsible for all his pain. Made sense that he wouldn’t trust another one, even after reading Yan’s report on the encounter that could have cost them everything.

  Damn it, man, you should be giving me a medal, not a serious stinkeye.

  But he didn’t say that. Someone would ask why the pirate was being rewarded. What had he done to merit this?

  Better to remain quiet.

  “Lady Moirrey, are you sure it will work?” Wachturm turned to her, way more polite and reserved.

  “No,” the little goof said in her serious, Imperial voice. “I am not. However, there are limits to the testing we can do, if we wish to maintain secrecy. Yan and I have designed the components in such a way that it can be built in four different yards, and then assembled in the field. Only then can we test it effectively.”

  “Your notes…” the big man paused and looked down to confirm something. “Yes. With Bedrov’s updates, you classify the weapon as a Type-6 beam. Is that even possible?”

  “Six point four,” Moirrey corrected him a sepulchral voice. “As Yan is wont to say, it is not a planet-cracker, but I’m not trying to destroy a planet with it. Merely hatch a butterfly. Thus the name.”

  Yan shivered inside. She only ever talked like a scholar when death and destruction on epic scales was the topic. He preferred the goof with an accent so thick you could use it to polish steel.

  At least everyone else shivered, too. Ainsley’s hand found his under the table.

  zu Wachturm blanched.

  Baumgärtner had a smile like Death himself had just walked into the room and sat down for High Tea.

  “I had thought it was so named from the design of the vessel,” Hendrik said carefully.

  “Form followed inspiration,” Yan offered in a weak voice. “Adding a solar array, like butterfly wings, greatly improved my primary power curve. It’s not like the thing could expect to survive combat, so I didn’t need to build that section any more hardy than it is.”

  “Will it work?” Emmerich asked bluntly.

  “Will it work?” Moirrey’s voice turned cold. “Yes. Will it succeed? Time will tell. Bedrov and I will have to be there at the last, tuning and fixing things, so we’ll be able to report back success. If it fails? We’ll probably be dead, and the war will continue without us.”

  “And your crew?” zu Wachturm pressed.

  He started to say more, but Ainsley interrupted.

  “I’ll be in overall command of the vessel,” she said in a voice like steel rimed with morning frost. “We’ll need at least a dozen volunteers with naval engineering backgrounds and security clearances at the highest level you offer.”

  “I note you did not say sailors,” Hendrik’s hard smile matched Ainsley’s. Kindred spirits, as it were.

  “Tifft would make an excellent First Officer,” Yan joined in. “He’s got all the necessary backgrounds. And the trust of the key players.”

  “Should Jessica contribute to the force?” Emmerich’s voice was like the bloody edge of a razor blade.

  Yan wondered if he would ever get warm after this. Maybe a hot shower later, with Ainsley to scrub his back?

  “No,” both Ainsley and Moirrey said in unison, turning to look at each other with smiles like two Norns cutting a life thread.

  Ainsley nodded. Moirrey spoke.

  “This must be an entirely Imperial effort,” Lady Moirrey of Ramsey stated simply. “Not counting Ainsley, who is part of the engineering effort, nor myself and Bedrov. The remainder must be people you pick.”

  “Why?” Wachturm asked in a blunt, hard voice.

  “The Empire must see itself as the victor,” Moirrey said. “Aquitaine has been there in the time of need, and the relationship in the future will be built upon that, but Casey must deliver the killing blow, not Jessica. Tifft, or someone like him, will push the button, when the moment comes.”

  Silence. Pause. Like a fog suddenly arising from the low places to engulf you and light every nerve on fire.

  “Understood,” Imperial Grand Admiral Emmerich zu Wachturm, Duke of Eklionstic nodded. “Agreed.”

  Another pause.

  “And then I will leave you to the building of the thing,” he continued. “Is there any other business we need to consider first?”

  Heads shaken in the negative. Nothing more to say.

  The two admirals left first. Moirrey followed shortly after.

  Yan remained in the chair. Ainsley still held his hand.

  “It will be fine,” she said.

  “It will be insane,” Yan replied.

  “We’ll do it together,” Ainsley leaned her weight on his shoulder and kissed him. “As always.”

  “As always,” he agreed.

  Succeed together, or die together.

  Chapter VIII

  Imperial Founding: 180/09/04. Imperial Palace, Mejico, St. Legier

  The hot season would be fading soon, Casey noted as she stared out the window at the evening sun, slowly turning orange and salmon as it touched the horizon. They had all endured a long, hot summer, the warm seasons just as off balance as the cold one had been.

  Still, every day promised to be a little less than the one before it, as the waves that crashed on the various shores slowly died down with each ripple. It was as true for the planet as it was her soul.

  She hoped.

  A knock at the door, and then Anna-Katherine looked in long enough to confirm that everything looked good, before standing back.

  “Your Majesty, the Chief of Deputies arrives,” the young woman said, just before Torsten entered.

  The room was configured for meetings, with a dining room table covered over with white paper that could be used for notes as well as doodles. A small hutch to one side held some dinnerware, if she had chosen to entertain, but she had always gone elsewhere for such things. Soothing walls in a cream verging over towards honey oak. Thick carpets underfoot, since she preferred bare feet indoors.

  There was one she would entertain here first, before any others. Cook him dinner. Try to find their place.

  Assuming Vo returned.

  Until then, this room worked well enough as an office. The kitchen was just behind her through a door, and her personal suite just beyond that. Knocking two walls out of the middle of this hotel’s second floor had let her get completely decadent with space, after a tiny cabin aboard Auberon, and later Vanguard.

  “Sit, please,” she said, and did, as Torsten entered alone and tendered a proper bow. She turned to the young woman in the doorway. “Anna-Katherine, tea for us, please. Hot and with everything on the side.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” and she was gone.

  She studied the man, carefully noting that he no longer even had a limp when he walked, so successful had Moirrey’s design of a new implant for the man been.

  Torsten had brought a hard-sided case, forty-five centimeters wide, thirty-five tall, and ten thick, done in a matte black paint that only partly disguised the materials. Hull metal. Vo’s favorite pistol would probably just barely dent it.

  Torsten placed the case on the table as he sat, popping two latches and opening the top to access the interior, pulling out a stack of documents. The case closed, he placed it by his foot and looked her square in the face.

  A long moment passed silently.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked in a concerned tone.

  Casey realized that someone like Torsten probably had studied her enough to read the signs so subtle that everyone else would miss them. Only Moirrey would know. And perhaps Vibol.

  “Nothing you can solve,” she finally admitted, listening to the voices and songs in her head go round and round like spring squirrels.

  “I see,” he nodded sagely. “Perhaps September Fourth resonates as a birthday we cannot properly celebrate?”

  Casey felt her eyes grow big for a moment, before sh
e could control her face. Then her eyes slitted down hard.

  “How did you know?” she probed, trying to retain an outward calm that would be a good-enough illusion.

  The serene smile that spread across his face was telling, but Torsten had never been closed with her. Not like Vo. And Torsten Wald was also safe around her, devoted utterly to Jessica. He also saw part of his duty to stand in loco parentis for a young woman who had just lost her entire family.

  She had many uncles now. Not just Em, but also Denis and Torsten. And even dear Hendrik.

  She could face the hard choices, with their help.

  And Jessica.

  “It is my duty to know these things,” Torsten said with a nod, obviously moving away from the meeting he had planned to have with her when he walked in. “In light of circumstances, I found it important to study the man much more closely than I ever had, and still believe I know him better than anyone in the Empire. Only his comrades from the Auberon days would know him better, but I suspect even they were largely kept at the same distance he keeps everyone. Still, it is the man’s birthday.”

  Casey nodded. She could recognize the truth of the thing. Vo kept everyone outside.

  Only she had ever managed to crack that shell, she suspected. Now, she just had to wait and hope that when he rebuilt it, she was on the inside.

  One did not force Vo zu Arlo to do anything he didn’t think was right.

  “Would anyone know?” she asked.

  “I doubt it,” Torsten said. “Aquitaine, as you know, does not put major emphasis on celebrating birthdays, even milestone ones. Plus, he will be with Imperial folks who, while they would celebrate, probably don’t know. And he will not tell them.”

  “Yes,” Casey said. “You understand. There is so much I want to do in this world, and little actually in my grasp. At least today. So perhaps work will give me solace. What documents do I need to sign, Torsten?”

  Chapter IX

  Date of the Republic September 14, 402 Penmerth, Ladaux

  “Good morning, you scamp,” Tadej rose to greet his guest. “It’s not the Marquette Room, up on the station, but hopefully this will do.”

  Tad studied the man as they sat. Yes, it was probably more than acceptable that he and Nils meet in one of their private clubs that men of this social rank joined. The Huntsman was perhaps the most exclusive, with a significant waiting list, little turnover, and requirements that only members could nominate replacements when an opening occurred.

  It was warm in here, and just dim enough inside to suggest the early morning just rising outside. Tad had always believed that good conspiracies should be done in the first light, after awakening, and over coffee and a hearty breakfast.

  Too many fools got too deep into their wine in the evenings and did or said stupid things.

  The Huntsman was also a ghost town this morning, which played to Tad’s needs. He had the kitchen and the staff largely to himself, in spite of the twenty-five-hours-open nature of the place. Wood-paneled walls suggested a hunting lodge, as was proper, even in the middle of Penmerth. Dark green carpet heavy enough to suggest a mossy forest floor.

  Nils Kasum took it all in with a wry smile, as if he could read Tad’s mind. He probably could, after so many decades as friends.

  The man remained silent as the waitress bustled in with coffee, orange juice, and menus. Finally, they were alone.

  “I am retired now. You do remember that, yes?” Nils asked in a low, quiet drawl as he adulterated his coffee, smiling all the while.

  It was the good stuff. Nils had only managed to become a member in retirement, but the staff had immediately added items to the larder for his desires. Considering how much it cost each year, just to belong, that was the least they could do.

  “Indeed you are,” Tad replied with a smile. “And now I can pick your brain on certain topics without an official imprimatur.”

  “Heavens protect innocents and fools,” Nils sighed. “What are you up to now?”

  Tad just smiled. It was important that this come across as a friendly gesture. Nils wouldn’t actively work to sabotage him, but it would strain things, accidentally opening a second front with his oldest friend in the galaxy.

  “I need to talk about Jessica Keller,” Tad said in a more hushed voice, leaning forward enough to put his elbows on the table. “About the time that comes after.”

  “After,” Nils repeated dryly. “After what?”

  “After she destroys Buran and wins the war, Nils,” Tad said.

  “That’s a given?” the former First Lord asked.

  “Without revealing operational reports and secrets you are no longer allowed read except in an emergency? Yes,” Tad replied. “Only her death is likely to save the beast from the wrath of the two women.”

  Nils nodded knowingly. Jessica Keller and Casey Wiegand. The First Centurion and Emperor Karl VIII. Tad let the moment stretch.

  “And afterwards?” Nils asked.

  “Afterwards, things get dicey, according to all the planners I have engaged to read their tea leaves and prognosticate for me.”

  Nils chuckled, deep in his chest, that deep voice emerging from such a narrow torso.

  “That’s because you’re up to no good, Tad,” he smiled. “Jessica won’t become your enemy unless you make her one.”

  “And that’s why you and I are here, having a quiet breakfast away from knaves and spies, Nils,” Tad’s voice grew serious. “It may come to that.”

  Nils grew still, like a gargoyle poised for flight.

  “What have you done?” he asked simply.

  There was no emotion behind the words, which was good. Things were going to get emotional enough shortly. Hopefully, Tad would make it home today without wearing Nils’s coffee. And without a black eye from his best friend punching him in the face.

  But those might be the cost of governing.

  “On the surface?” Tad murmured. Nils nodded. “I have sent Judit Chavarría to St. Legier with Palatine authority as my personal representative.”

  Again, Nils nodded, remaining otherwise still and silent.

  It wasn’t a rabbit, hiding in the grass for a hawk to fly by. Tad was reminded more of a great cat, lurking in a tree for some fool or eland to pass beneath. But that was what made Nils Kasum who he was: possibly the second greatest combat commander in the last century, behind only Jessica Keller.

  “And what did you intend her to do there?” Nils replied quietly.

  And there was the crux of it. Nils knew him well enough to understand that there would be many layers to such a thing. Judit was one of Tad’s closest friends as well, if not for as long.

  She had stood across that wide, wooden desk from him in the Senate chamber for many years, fencing with words and ideas.

  “She is to maintain Fribourg as a firebreak,” Tad stated unequivocally. “And identify those places where a jeweler’s hammer might have the greatest impact at the least cost.”

  “I see,” Nils suddenly leaned back, coffee mug in one hand, but tilted away.

  His eyes grew distant and calculating. Nearly a minute passed.

  “I fear your ego may have gotten ahead of your wisdom, Tad,” Nils finally said. “I understand the need, and the maneuver, but you may have moved too soon.”

  “How so?” Tad countered, not exactly angry with his oldest friend, but piqued by the language. The presumptions.

  Which was probably what Nils intended.

  “You have read Wachturm’s book?” Nils asked.

  Tad nodded. Devoured it might be a more accurate description. Had to go and buy a second copy for his shelf, because the first one was a mass of highlighted passages and markers indicating important pages for future reference. That sort of thing.

  “So Emmerich Wachturm, excuse me zu Wachturm now, probably knows Jessica better than anyone alive, except me,” Nils added. “Robbie Aeliaes might come in a distant third, but he had been her right hand for a decade before, so it would be hard to
isolate the two of them into separate entities at present.”

  “Noted,” Tad replied, striving to keep emotion out of his voice.

  This breakfast meeting had been his idea. And he had specifically not worn his nicest tunic, just in case things got out of hand. He could listen to the man’s wisdom.

  Very few others would dare tell Tad the truth to his face.

  “But his book is out of date,” Nils continued. “He wrote it before First St. Legier. After Second St. Legier, I would expect Jessica to become something of a mother figure to Casey. Doubly so with Torsten Wald in the picture.”

  “Another Imperial,” Tad noted.

  “Another brilliant, scholarly commander,” Nils corrected. “Jessica’s type. I’ve read some of the reports the man produced for Karl VII, back when I was First Lord and midnight pixies would magically deliver things to my desk. With him as the head of Casey’s government, Jessica will be even more closely involved than otherwise.”

  “And my ego?” Tad asked dryly. “Where does that factor into things?”

  He hoped his voice came across as calm and rational.

  “Time was always going to be on our side, Tad,” Nils replied. “Jessica sat in that meeting with you and Casey, up in my beloved Marquette Room, and told you that once the war was done, the thing she wanted more than anything in the world was to retire to Corynthe. That removes her from the board.”

  “That was before Casey became Emperor,” Tad noted. “And before Torsten Wald.”

  “Yes,” Nils agreed. “But Torsten would have no more desire to remain in power than Jessica would want to remain in harness. They will both retire at the earliest opportunity.”

  “My tea readers suggest that date to be nearly a decade in the future,” Tad offered, showing just enough of the top secret data to prick Nils’s conscience.

  “Then you need to fire them and get better fortune tellers,” Nils fired back sharply. “Jessica has no interest in remaining an Imperial Peer, and will leave as soon as she feels that the situation has stabilized. If you upset that apple cart while she’s on scene, she may never leave. And if she finds your fingerprints, then yes, you may have an enemy. You should ask Buran what that’s like, since Karl VII can’t answer you.”