by Blaze Ward
To make his point, he conjured a pint glass and proceeded to fill it with a porter from one of the taps, using his favorite bar knife to slice off the suds and then have a sip, watching the humans and scanning their vital signs. And paying attention to the android.
“How may I assist?” he asked, once they seemed to be over their shock.
Pops stepped close and ran a hand through a projected arm, like most humans encountering a projection this sophisticated for the first time. The android kept her distance. Politely, at least.
Rather than speak, Pops turned to Yan with a fierce scowl.
“Magic, then?” the older man asked.
Before the bartender could answer, Bedrov leaned his weight against the bar and grinned.
“Advanced enough, yeah,” the pirate said, drawing the syllables out with a sly drawl.
“So you are Carthage?” Pops turned back to face him.
The Lord of Tiki shrugged his projection.
“That is a philosophically-difficult question, Sri,” he said. “I was an Avatar of the ship, fully-invested, but he sent me on with Ainsley when he decided to explore the Undiscovered Country without me. I have not had time to create a workable definition that humans would understand.”
“But he’s dead?” the woman known as Summer stepped closer and fixed this bartender with that hard gaze.
It was a mirror of the one on Moirrey’s face.
“He is,” he decided to keep things simple. “I was rounded off and activated, and I have significant amounts of his personal logs I have been reviewing, but the being known as EASC Carthage has been destroyed. That leaves Buran and the Librarian at Alexandria Station as the only known Sentient beings in existence.”
“Known?” the android asked sharply.
He shrugged. She and Lady Moirrey seemed to want a performance for the other three.
“I was unknown a year ago,” he offered, taking another sip of porter for effect. “Kinnison is apparently dead. The rest of the ancient fleets were supposedly destroyed.”
He shrugged again, willing to let the women drive this conversation. The little he had absorbed about Fribourg culture from people like Grand Admiral Emmerich zu Wachturm and Commander Gunter Tifft strongly suggested that the machine known as Summer Ulfsson would be destroyed immediately on discovery, especially on this planet.
Her reasons for being here must be exceptional.
“So you’re the reason the punk here knows better physics?” Pops asked, giving Bedrov an excellent case of side eye.
“My engineering files are somewhat more sophisticated than yours, yes,” he agreed blandly.
What was the phrase Bedrov had used, more than once? Bonobos banging rocks together? Yes. That was it.
Rude. Crude, even. Nonetheless, relatively accurate. Perhaps crows discovering human tools and adapting them to make life easier. They didn’t understand the metallurgy, but could still understand a wire hangar when they found one on the sidewalk.
“And you’re going to help Jessica destroy Buran?” Pops followed up.
“Those were my exact orders from Carthage, Sri Nakamura,” he replied. “To eliminate one of the old gods for good, as a way of making the galaxy safe.”
“Just one?” Summer asked.
He turned to her and fixed the woman with a hard gaze.
“It is my understanding, please correct me, that the Librarian is largely responsible for the current, advanced state of human civilization, having managed to compress more than four thousand years of technological advancement into less than one,” he said dryly. “While not seeking to subjugate them. Carthage wanted the wars done forever.”
That seemed to satisfy her. Otherwise, they were at something of a good, old-fashioned Mexican standoff.
And she might even know what that meant.
“And now?” he asked the group, leaning some of his nonexistent weight against the bar to settle in.
“Now, I would like food and probably too much booze, which you do not have,” Pops announced. “Tomorrow, we’re going to deep-dive into the Butterfly and talk technical. Probably need to install a refrigerator in here, and maybe a couple of kegs, if we’re going to spend a lot of time doing this.”
“What about Galen?” the android asked in a voice of concern.
“We’ll let him know we’re remaining behind?” Pops said, calmer and quieter. Obviously a question to the woman, as she nodded discreetly. “I think we’re needed here. Especially if the punk thinks this gives him a leg up on me.”
The room laughed, so the Lord of Tiki joined them. Apparently the rivalry was both old and extremely well-respected. He would ask the three women for their views of it, sometime.
This looked like most of the conspiracy needed to build a god-killing sword.
Chapter XXII
Date of the Republic November 1, 402 Strasbourg, St. Legier
Judit Chavarría meditated on the skyline as her driver began his descent into Strasbourg, thinking about the over-turned ant nest the city had become over the last year. Since Werder was destroyed.
Five years ago, apparently, Strasbourg had been a sleepy, satellite suburb of Werder. A place where Dukes and other important people might keep a palace for recreational visits to the capital. If they had serious business, they would frequently buy or build a place closer in, but land had been cheap here, and Lake Zurich close, so many had built so-called summer palaces. Combined with the many resorts ringing the lake, it had a touch of timeless beauty at odds with the destruction just northeast of here.
Mejico had been closer to the center, but situated down in a fairly steep valley that had protected the center of town. Arlo had taken over there and built a home, first for the 189th Legion, and then later for the interim Imperial palace Casey had occupied when she first returned home.
Strasbourg had been spared by quirks of how the shields failed, with the area barely getting touched, mostly as the energy was headed away. As a result, it would become the new capital, at least for a generation, while a new city was built in the Death Zone that had contained the old one.
Judit wondered if they would ever actually complete such a monumental effort.
Not if she had anything to do with it.
The vehicle landed in a courtyard, surrounded on two sides by a red-brick, three-story palace in the modern style, with a matching four-meter wall behind her encompassing perhaps three hectares of greenery. And that was just the front yard. The building itself backed up against Lake Zurich’s calm, blue waters, with a dock and patio capable of entertaining at least a hundred guests in the summer and grassy fields big enough for a rugby match and fans to be comfortable.
“We’ve arrived, ma’am,” the driver said carefully over the intercom.
Judit smiled. They always wanted to call her by some title, as if she was a Duke or Landgraf, but couldn’t wrap their heads around what a Palatine Count actually did. Most of them, anyway. One had actually known to call her Governor, so he had apparently studied Thuringwell.
She thanked the man and departed the vehicle. Another would return for her in a few hours, once her business here was done.
Business.
Well, some. First, there would be lunch. She glanced at the slightly overcast sky and decided that maybe it would be warm and calm enough to have food, at least, on the back porch. The more important conversations would naturally occur indoors, where eavesdroppers and spies could be more carefully contained.
Not every Duke and nobleman in the Empire considered Casey’s ascension to the Crown of Fribourg to be a good thing. Especially considering some of the people the new Emperor consorted with.
Barbarians, if you will, from Aquitaine. People like Jessica Keller, engaged to her Chief of Deputies himself. Or Moirrey zu Kermode, First Lady In Waiting of the Court.
At this point, Judit figured that Vo didn’t actually count as a foreigner anymore. That might change, if some of the rumors Judit had heard were true. And if the man actually
reciprocated Casey’s feelings.
Judit could only imagine what a man like zu Arlo must have thought, to have gotten thrust into that position. Most would jump at the chance, but he was almost as likely to jump out.
Judit made her plans as if he would be present, at least over the long term.
Vo zu Arlo was only a wild card in the sense that he would never tolerate her meddling, and might actually do something about it, if he found out. And he might.
The front door to the mansion was open as Judit began approaching. A tall man, gray hair like a lion’s mane, waited just inside the door with a serious, if friendly smile on his face and fine clothing, as befit his station and wealth.
She smiled in return and approached, wondering how this Duke would approach the topic of treason.
Part Three
Severnaya Zemlya
Chapter XXIII
Date of the Republic October 27, 402 IFV Vanguard, Forward Base Delta
“What do you mean, no?” Jessica demanded of the man, feeling a flash of anger threaten to bubble out.
She liked Tom Provst. Respected him immensely. He had helped her save the Empire. Today was part of his reward for standing firm that day.
Today, he looked like a stone statue in the middle of the pathway.
Jessica glanced quickly at the other two people at the table in her office. With the arrival of Provst and Iskra, she had enough people to add a regular meeting of just admirals, people who would command squadrons from here. Arott Whughy would join them for even bigger meetings, but this was just ship commanders.
Iskra wore her Fleet Centurion whites, while Tom Provst wore his red day uniform and Denis was in his Imperial whites. It made an odd combination, but it worked.
“I’ve read the reports, Fleet Centurion,” Provst growled back. “You represent their worst nightmare, like you used to be mine. Vanguard’s replaceable. So’s Valiant. You are not. Ergo, you shouldn’t be in the middle of combat, where they’re expecting you to be.”
Denis, of all people, sided with Tom.
“He’s right, you know,” Denis said quietly, like he did everything else. “We had this conversation at Nents. Same reason. Same possible outcome.”
“And I’ll be safer on a cruiser?” she demanded.
“Actually, you’d be safest on Arad,” Iskra joined in now. “Not in the middle of combat. But I don’t see you taking that course of action, so I’ll side with the boys.”
Jessica ground her teeth and took a deep breath. She could smell the anger coming off her skin in waves. And couldn’t think of three people more immune to it, unless Em was here himself.
And it had probably been his idea in the first place.
First Centurions didn’t lead mad charges into battle, even aboard Heavy Dreadnaughts. She had known that. At Severnaya Zemlya, the defenders had targeted Vanguard and ignored the cruiser hulls. At Nents, the question had been if and perhaps when a desperate Sentience would ram her vessel in an attempt to kill her personally.
Everyone else in the galaxy was replaceable but her?
Gods, that idea sucked. Especially because it might be true.
She blew out a heavy breath and focused her ire on Tom Provst.
“Suppose you’re right, Tom,” Jessica said. “Where does that leave us?”
“I’m pretty sure Admiral Jež can handle squadron flag operations for a team he’s been with for this many years,” Provst’s voice hadn’t lost the growl, but it has lost the fine, killing edge. “That’s what Vanguard’s Flag bridge is for. Now you’ve got three admirals under your command, Keller. That’s three raiding forces of note, or a sledgehammer.”
“Wait,” Denis’s eyes suddenly lit up with concern and he turned to face Provst. “If she moves, I’m supposed to take over flag operations?”
Jessica felt the smallest spike of revenge, but quashed it. Evil was fine, in small doses.
“You are an Admiral of the White, Jež,” Tom said sharply, before turning back to face her. “Brevet Vanek to command Vanguard, pending Fleet approval and put a new First Officer in place. With that crew, you’ve got to have at least a half a dozen candidates worth their salt.”
Denis sputtered and started to say something, but Iskra suddenly leaned forward and smiled at Jessica.
“And tell Horvat to make him a Fleet Centurion, as well,” she said. “Long since past time. Those orders should have come with yours.”
Jessica raised an eyebrow at her, but Iskra just shrugged and grinned.
“And I agree with Tom on this one,” she said. “Bedrov’s always talking about changing things up, so we don’t get predictable. That includes you two.”
Jessica really wanted to argue. Grind them down with every dirty trick she could think of, every legalism on any books.
Provst looked like a rock that might break her blade, if she tried. And she already knew how stubborn Iskra Vlahovic could be, when pressed. That woman’s whole career was a study in tenacity in the face of adversity.
Jessica let go the anger. Actually sighed in defeat, although it wasn’t defeat. Recognition of her previous blindness, perhaps, but not defeat.
She and Denis had recognized it at Nents, this need to change. Tom Provst was just the catalyst.
“How long have you been planning this conversation, Tom?” she asked the man.
Provst smiled at her. An honest, genuine smile unlike anything she had ever seen from the man, clear back to when she and Casey first landed on his deck.
“Since Emmerich asked me who should be placed in command of IFV Indianapolis,” he replied. “Whoever it was, they needed to have a warrior’s background, so you would respect him and his skills, but he needed to be older and wiser, so he could tell you to go piss up a rope, if he thought it was necessary. Reif Kingston’s done that to me a few times, and he was even right with some of them.”
“And a Flag Cruiser?” Jessica pressed.
“She’s not an exact duplicate of your two, VI Ferrata and VI Victrix, but close enough,” Provst said. “Almost no sciences capability aboard, unlike the rest, with that crew and equipment space dedicated instead to a flag bridge capable of commanding a full fleet in the field.”
“A full fleet?” Denis asked.
“Four dreadnaughts, twenty-four cruisers, thirty escorts, and a full complement of support vessels,” Tom said. “We’re a good ways there now, if you count RAN Arad as a Fleet Carrier. Need more cruisers and escorts, but Em’s holding reserves to protect Osynth B’Udan, St. Legier, and other important targets. In another year, you’ll be commanding a Flag Fleet out here, Jessica, and not just a raiding force.”
Damn it, they were right.
“Denis, you get to be acting Fleet Centurion for First Squadron,” she finally decided. “I’ll brevet Nina to Command Centurion, and I think Tobias would be a good First Officer, subject to your decision. Iskra, you have Second Squadron, and I expect there will be times I’ll be flying with you, just to keep me out of trouble. Tom, Third Squadron’s yours, again minus Indianapolis for the most part. I’ll route out flight orders to everyone tomorrow, and we’ll depart in thirty-six hours, since we’ll be fully packed and ready to go at that point. First hit’s going to be a doozy, and then we’ll break into squadrons after that and return to raiding, once we get everything repaired.”
“Arlo and the 189th?” Denis asked.
“I’ve got a target for him, but long term he needs a planet to train on, or the men will get stiff,” Jessica said. “We can’t take this target and hold it, so he’ll return to Osynth B’Udan after this. Plus, he needs to pick up his last forces when he gets back, and then train with them before the next raid.”
“And who’s the lucky victim?” Iskra fixed her with a steely eye.
“Severnaya Zemlya,” Jessica smiled. “We’ve got unfinished business, and I don’t think they’ll see this coming.”
Provst nodded. So did the others.
After all, why would anyone skip all the mo
re important targets in between?
Except that was old thinking. The linear approach. The Imperial way.
Jessica was planning to change the galaxy again.
Chapter XXIV
Date of the Republic October 27, 402 RAN Archangel, Forward Base Delta
It was late, personal time, but naval fleets didn’t really have night and day to give structure to their existence, except as their clocks might be synchronized to some planet they had visited previously. Someone was always on duty, doing the maintenance and listening to scanners.
Jessica had taken a shuttle over with only Marcelle to keep her company. Vo had sent only Alan Katche to meet her on the landing deck, as she requested, surrounded by all the monstrous DropShips and quiescent heavy equipment of a Legion planning an attack.
The walk to Vo’s office had been short and silent, Katche escorting her but not talking. Marcelle trailing and available if she had needs.
Just Jessica, alone with her thoughts.
They arrived.
The man had changed, when he rose to greet her from behind his desk. Hardened more than just age and service in the Death Zone could explain. Another man rose as well, standing to one side. Jessica recognized Iakov Street and nodded to him.
“Street, why don’t you take Marcelle down and introduce her to Victoria Ames,” Vo quietly ordered the soldier.
In moments, the three of them were alone in his chamber.
It was an impersonal space. Gray, metal walls without any adornment. Metal desk with a few folders stacked to one side. Two chairs on this side.
Empty of all personality. Or perhaps just empty.
Jessica fixed Katche with a questioning eye, but remained silent.
“Alan’s my right hand,” Vo explained. “Primus Pilus of the 189th. There is nothing you can say that he can’t hear.”
She nodded.
