by Blaze Ward
It didn’t really matter. Arald Rohm had become a fighter, rather than a politician.
“We’ll do whatever you, Keller, and zu Arlo need,” Rohm said. “Whatever it takes to defeat this beast and stop him from ever threatening another planet in this galaxy.”
Em nodded. On that, there was complete agreement.
Chapter L
Date of the Republic February 5, 403 Strasbourg, St. Legier
Judit had been on St. Legier for almost a year now. Long enough to have established herself as a power to be reckoned with, as she had intended.
The House of Dukes was close to being ready to sit in government again, after the House of the People had done so much of the heavy lifting in the aftermath of the emergency. Now things would truly get interesting.
Judit sat on her small balcony outside the bedroom of the palace where she had taken up residence. Across her lap was a small blanket, just enough to keep the chill at bay as she sat, alone with her thoughts and the view. A second chair and a small table comprised the rest of her furniture, with two local plants in pots.
She had considered buying the place outright at one point. A lot of families had suddenly been cast into disarray, and real estate prices had plummeted, at least until things sorted out.
War was always like that.
For now, this building was rented as the interim embassy, with her as the authority that even the new Ambassador from Aquitaine answered to. Not that Stansfield Markov wasn’t useful, but she held Palatine authority, and he was just an Ambassador. Still, he would have been on the short list of people she would have picked for the sudden opening, were she still in government.
The morning was chilly. Clouds coming up from the south threatened freezing rain later, or perhaps overnight.
Judit enjoyed the view of Lake Zurich laid out in front of her. Unlike other palaces, this one had a large front yard and was set deeper back, so balconies like this had water close at hand. It also let people come and go via water without having to walk great distances.
That was useful at night, when Judit had visitors she didn’t necessarily want everyone to see.
Today was a little less cloak and dagger. She hoped that the man visiting hadn’t been recognized as anything greater than her regular courier from home.
She sipped more coffee as she watched pleasure boats and barges work slowly back and forth. A new starport was coming together across the lake, up a river and on what had been a cattle ranch before. The commerce of life never stopped.
“Your guest is arrived, Governor,” a voice emerged from the open doorway, unseen.
That man preferred to work entirely in the shadows, to the extent that he wouldn’t even step out onto the balcony, less some watcher with a high-power lens snap his picture.
“Very well,” Judit said loud enough to banish the ghost back into the depths of the embassy.
She rose, setting the blanket on the other chair, but keeping her mug in one hand as she entered the building, pulling the door firmly shut behind her. The door contained six panes of glass, covered over with a curtain completely opaque.
Judit followed her ghost deeper into the building, through her personal chambers and down a hallway to a room that had been where old goats like the previous owner got together to play backgammon for money, over cigars and brandy. She had left the table and the hutch, but replaced all the glasses and alcohol with better stuff.
The games she was playing were much more dangerous. Or could have been. She would just be cast out in embarrassing disgrace with a major diplomatic crisis, if she was found out, but there would be very little personal risk. It wasn’t like the old days.
Her visitor was already waiting when she arrived.
For so long, she had only ever seen him in a naval uniform that it was difficult to recognize the man in mufti. But he had retired not long after he left the job as Nils Kasum’s right hand, and taken up civilian pursuits, as it were.
Espionage between governments was a civilian affair. And Kamil Miloslav had proven himself to be exceptional and utterly trustworthy by some of the most exacting people Judit knew.
True to the man’s nature, he hadn’t even sat while awaiting her, knowing that he would need to stand when she entered. She could imagine Kamil standing at ease for hours had he arrived during a time she was taking a nap and had left orders to not be disturbed.
She took her seat on the home-court side of the backgammon table and gestured for him to join her. Another of her ghosts arrived with two glasses of orange juice and a carafe of coffee, depositing both at the end of the table and closing the door behind herself as she left.
Judit reached into a pocket and pulled out a small device she rested on the table between them. Kamil did the same, and they both turned their sensors on with matching smiles.
Listening devices were easy to plant, but any unregistered electronic device in the room now would set the trackers off. The room was supposed to be secure, but Judit’s Embassy was supposed to be proof against all spies sneaking in.
And she was supposedly a simple diplomat representing Tad’s government from here, where she could make rapid and binding decisions, rather than waiting the two months for regular couriers to make the round trip between capitals.
Appearances were never to be believed.
Kamil reached down and picked up his courier satchel, sealed with a simple lock to keep the papers and chips inside from rattling around. Both nations, all nations, recognized the sanctity of couriers.
She reached for juice, keeping her own mug of coffee, while he opened the satchel and began to empty it.
Several small files of paper were delivered, along with three different chips no doubt filled with all manner of information she needed. Plus, knowing Tad and her husband, surreptitious recordings of last season’s opera, which those two, plus Tad’s wife Emilie, had attended without her.
They were like that. And she couldn’t begrudge them. The Imperial Opera had been annihilated, but other companies and troupes were working to replace everything lost. It might take a generation, but it would only take one.
“What news do you have that could not be trusted to a recording device, Kamil?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He grinned and reached for the coffee as he ordered his thoughts.
“The Premier inquires if he should withdraw Digger Wolanski at the end of the one year, regardless of the situation, to introduce a modicum of chaos into the rebuilding effort,” Kamil stated carefully.
Kamil was one of the few who knew the whole truth.
Withdrawing 23nd Ladaux Construction Legion would cause a small crisis, but she doubted that it would make that much difference in the scheme of things. Torsten Wald had effected a very dangerous revolution when he was put in charge, a thing nobody had expected.
Casey Wiegand was already a year and a half ahead of the wildest expectations Tad’s Planning Department had laid out. But that just went to show how much of true espionage was guesswork.
Nobody could have expected Casey would have Wald handy. Or her trusting him to move as ruthlessly as the man had. Letting him embolden the House of the People to form a more permanent counterweight to the disrupted House of Dukes.
zu Arlo and Provst had been predictable as the anchors that would hold the people together. Perhaps not the men themselves, but that someone would step into the gap and do the job. The Fribourg Empire was like that, especially with Emmerich zu Wachturm as Grand Admiral. That man embodied competence.
“Digger?” Judit asked. “It would not make that much difference, other than to cause Moirrey zu Kermode some distress and perhaps force her to spend more time in Aquitaine, which might not hurt. I will leave that to his discretion, knowing that everything will need to be filtered through Jessica Keller’s eventual response.”
Kamil nodded.
“Second question,” the man moved on after sipping some juice. “How goes the construction?”
It was a lov
ely word game they had settled on, she and Tad.
Each of the nobles represented nails in the building that was the Fribourg Empire. Some could be pried up a little, but their weakness would not alter the overall strength of the edifice. Others could be pulled completely, and the structure would begin to sag.
A few had even taken it upon themselves to try for the crown on their own, without any goading from Judit.
“Kiril Hahl was finally executed three weeks ago,” Judit observed. “He had been the Duke of Blue Essex and number twenty-seven on the old Imperial Succession List. The man had chosen to declare himself Emperor in the aftermath, apparently hoping to rally the other Dukes to his side. He might even have succeeded, if Sigmund Dittmar hadn’t tried something equally stupid several years ago. Those fools are being watched very closely now, by men and women more loyal to the Crown than their noble employers.”
“Three weeks would have been the anniversary of Hahl’s attempt?” Kamil was doing numbers in his head.
“His initial declaration before he sailed,” Judit corrected. “The Grand Admiral counted from the moment the local naval commander failed to arrest the Duke immediately.”
“Noted,” Kamil said. “Any other changes?”
“Some rot is dry, and some wet,” Judit said. “The core ringleaders we might have encouraged are all dead now. Some from the first coup. Many were in Werder and died with Karl VII. A few have since gone off half-cocked and been brutally suppressed. I have had some success in the lesser tiers, the Landgraves and Burggraves. They see dangerous times ahead, and do not trust the cabal currently in charge.”
“What inducements does the Premier need to offer?” Kamil asked, leaning forward and focusing on her. He would memorize her response so well as to be able to repeat even the intonations to Tad, just one of the reasons Kamil had this delicate job.
“Cessation,” Judit smiled. “A reminder that when the peace comes, Keller and her forces will return home. And Jessica Keller will continue on, eventually ruling her pitiful barbarian kingdom on the edge of darkness, far from any point she could threaten them. Torsten Wald will go with her when she does. Moirrey zu Kermode will return home. At that point, all wars will be over. Aquitaine will see no need to threaten Karl VII’s Treaty Boundaries with us. They can do anything they want that does not threaten us.”
“Acknowledged,” Kamil replied mechanically. “Posit: on success, does Fribourg potentially gain access to enough Buran territory to become a significant regional threat to Aquitaine in another generation?”
Yes, exactly the question that vexed everyone, from the lowest analyst in the Planning Department up to the First Lord of the Fleet. Fribourg was bigger than Aquitaine, but not run as well economically. Too many useless nobles who inherited land wealth and rent, and so had no need to expand things for more money.
Aquitaine had inheritance taxes that kept things churning. The kids would get the right education and connections, but only enough money to get a good start. They would still have to work at it, unlike the son of a Duke.
“No,” Judit decided, going with her gut on this one.
She had read a top-secret copy of Lord of Winter provided to her by zu Wachturm. The Holding, or the Protectorate of Man, depending on who you asked for the name, was so alien that no level of military force could bring those people around to Imperial ways in less than a century of hard work. And a lot of Imperial treasure would have to be poured in to try.
Aquitaine would actually have an easier time. Fribourg was still coming to grips with the competence of women in positions of authority, and many would rebel. Buran believed that you had the choice to work or starve, rather than allowing a noble class to develop or persist.
Were the situation reversed, and Aquitaine shared a border with The Protectorate, Fribourg would be at great risk, because the Senate could make meaningful inroads into assimilation in a generation.
“No,” Judit repeated firmly. “They cannot complete the task in anything less than a century, if ever. Encouraging them to try is probably the safest way possible to ensure that the Empire fails, possibly in your lifetime, Kamil. All the other work I would do just softens up this side, in case we want to try to spall things off organically later.”
“So noted, Governor,” he nodded crisply.
Chapter LI
Date of the Republic February 7, 403 IFV Indianapolis, JumpSpace
Because she only got them delivered as physical objects, Jessica always saved up Torsten’s letters and read them slowly, sometimes at roughly the same weekly pace he wrote them, rather than binge on them as soon as a packet arrived.
She had never previously exchanged notes on paper in a romance, so every single one was a novel experience. Taking the time to write on paper, composing her thoughts and writing in an ink that remained permanently, regardless of any mistakes she made and crossed out, as opposed to being able to backspace and do it over.
Somehow, his never had mistakes, but she suspected that Torsten spent several hours, late at night, on each letter, thinking of the exact wording he wanted. Or he wrote the first one out, edited it, and then sent her a final draft. She had never been able to get him to admit it, one way or the other.
She settled in on one end of the sofa in the front room of her suite, where she normally met with people when something wasn’t important enough to reserve a conference room. Her bed was more personal, but this sofa was still the most comfortable place on the ship to just stretch out with a sippy cup of decaf in one hand and read the last letter she would get from her fiancé until she got back, or one of the supply ships caught up with the mailing schedule.
My love,
My apologies in advance that I am no longer allowed to bribe Marcelle to discreetly deliver these letters and secretly prop them up on your pillow to find when you return to bed. Instead, circumstances have conspired to require many more steps in the chain. I have become too important to just mail a letter, so it must pass through the hands of several censors first, each confirming that the previous one wasn’t lying.
She nearly spit out a mouthful of warm coffee, snickering at his tone. And the probably-incredulous looks on the faces of the poor men tasked with officially reading love letter by two, gushy teenagers.
With that in mind, it becomes necessary to escalate the uncomfortably-personal, just because it warms my heart to make those men squirm. But I have a small soul. Happily, you love me anyway.
I count an unknown number of days until I can kiss you again. Smell you. Revel in the touch of your hands. Drag you into a handy closet for a good groping and some smooching, away from the prying eyes of the prudishly-insecure and small-minded.
You are probably away and deep into the darkness now, if my calculations of your expected time in dry-dock are relatively accurate. I read the official assessments of your most recent vacation stay with great interest, and agree that there are limits to the amount of time one can spend on the beach, at least until we convince your concierge to accept more assistance. Or at least responsibility for a larger staff.
He is, however, one of the most stubborn humans I have ever had the courage to meet, so perhaps there are limits to the help he will accept. I will continue to work with others to boil that frog so slowly that he may not realize what we have done to him. There are still a few things I have left to teach that dangerous young man, at least in the realm of bureaucratic warfare.
He might even enjoy them, but we must never admit that in public, him least of all.
Jessica paused to sip before continuing. This was good coffee. She shouldn’t waste any by spilling it down her front in a fit of giggles.
And she agreed with Torsten that Vo was probably capable of learning things from the Chief of Deputies, but she suspected that it would turn into an Arms Race, quickly enough.
More than one person has noted recently that the limp they knew me by in the past has vanished, so well has Moirrey’s replacement worked. I have begun to receive inqui
ries about others for the usefulness of such surgery, so she should be proud of having conquered a whole other aspect of Fribourg culture with her myriad genius. I am, however, subject to occasional grumbling from men twenty years my junior, when the weather outside is utterly horrid and my bodyguards would rather I not go for a ten kilometer jog in the rain or snow. Kids these days.
Vibol sends his love, and reminds me, every time that I see him, that we have only borrowed his support at your insistence, and that even then, only someone as rich as Casey could barely afford his services. I take that to read, from long association with the man, that he is exquisitely happy with the current arrangements, but looks forward to future challenges.
I see two, and suspect that the man has already laid his trap for us with such cunning that we may never even see the claws of the machine, until well after they have closed about an ankle.
For the first, I have enclosed two fashion plates, reproduced from the copy of the book Skuodas: Rebirth and Empire that Vibol apparently borrowed from Em’s personal library. Vibol has completed my tunic, and it is simply amazing.
The second plate is what he insists you will be wearing. The man will brook no nonsense or alternative suggestions. It is a very conservatively-traditional outfit, as you can see, down to the two blades, which is a practice that predates you by several centuries, so stop laughing.
Jessica paused to pull out the accompanying images on heavy, almost cotton stock, catching her breath in shock.
The woman wore brown leather boots with a low heel and laces up to the knee. Not as heavy as the black combat boots she had adopted as part of Corynthe’s Royal Garb, but more suited to the level of early industrialism that had been Skuodas on the day before the Kingdom of Fribourg arrived to change their future.
Close-fitting gray pants tucked into the boots, possibly made from hand-punched leather stringed with gut instead of thread, from the way the image showed the seams on the inner thigh.
