Last of the Immortals (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 3)

by Blaze Ward

  Tadej had a better hammer.

  “However, after a conference within my own government, I have discovered that I do not have the support of even my own party for such a maneuver.”

  Tennerick positively glowed.

  Tadej took a deep breath and fought down the evil smile that wanted to erupt onto his face. He turned to the dais at the short end of the bowl and faced the gentleman who sat quietly in the grand chair.

  The Speaker of the Body was a sinecure job, normally awarded to the member with the longest service. He had few duties, mostly centered on maintaining order and dignity when tempers flared hot below him. The current occupant was also something of a respected historian, having published several commercially–successful tomes on the Senate itself, over the life of the Republic.

  The audience began to buzz. A few players had suspected. None were sure. Doubts were about to be banished.

  “Mister Speaker,” Tadej called, using the formal words handed down from generation to generation. “The government has lost the confidence of this body. I will depart shortly, and notify the President that the government has fallen, and that new elections will be necessary. I place the reins of governance in your hands.”

  Tadej sat with a contented smile as the Senate erupted. He had seen soccer riots that were less messy, been in rugby scrums that were better behaved.

  It lapped at his feet, but nothing more.

  Judit cocked and eyebrow at him from across the table, a subtle promise for a reckoning later, but only after she been forced to bring out the very best vintages from the cellar as a bribe.

  It was the cost of governing, some days.

  He did turn and locate Tennerick, back four rows and well to his right.

  Tadej even smiled at the man.

  Owls smile that way.

  After all, if there was no government, there was no immunity to be had, was there?

  He was certainly going to make sure the party ousted that rat bastard, once a few more people read the reports. It wouldn’t be hard at that point.

  Nils and Jessica might come back to an entirely new world, but they would be safe from folks like Tennerick and Brand.

  That much, he could promise.

  Chapter XXX

  Date of the Republic June 14, 394 Above Ballard

  “Commander,” the flag centurion said over the comm, “she’s on line four.”

  “Thank you, Enej,” Jessica replied.

  She took a deep breath to order her thoughts before connecting.

  It was one thing to study this ancient being, this Last of the Immortals, in a textbook setting. Dry and academic. There was so much history. The Great Wars between Neu Berne and the Union of Worlds/Balustrade Grand Alliance that eventually paved the way for the rise of the Concord. A small scoutship named for the ancient Finnish goddess of the forest. Adventures with a bunch of pirates. Redemption. The destruction of the homeworld and the near fall of man. Centuries in the darkness before being rescued. Rekindling the modern rise of stellar civilization.

  This being, this woman, had seen it all. Lived much of it. And was facing the possible end of her immortality.

  Right here. Right now.

  Jessica pressed the button.

  The screen lit up, now displaying a bright red border.

  Encrypted at the highest possible level available between the two machines.

  Private.

  Suvi hadn’t changed from the pictures in Jessica’s research. If one was a computer–generated image, Jessica supposed that you could appear however you wanted, without hairs starting to turn gray, or crow’s feet starting to appear around the eyes.

  It must be nice.

  Jessica banished the rogue, jealous thought. She was here on serious business.

  The woman on the screen was blond; 'girl' was too weak a term for someone over six millennia old, regardless of how she looked. She still appeared young, but carried herself with a serious, almost formal, mien well beyond the years on her face.

  The uniform was the same as many of the pictures, a modified yeoman’s uniform from the old Concord Navy. In the aftermath of the Great Wars, the Concord had been the one thing that bound the galaxy together.

  “Good morning, Suvi,” Jessica said. “I am Command Centurion Jessica Keller. Tomas Kigali tells me that you need help.”

  “That is correct, Marshal Keller,” the Sentience responded gravely, almost formally. “I face an existential crisis.”

  “Marshal?”

  Jessica let her confusion show.

  “It is an old Concord term, Command Centurion,” Suvi replied. “Regardless of rank or seniority, in times of battle, one commander would exercise supreme command. Given the nature of the impending struggle, and the Senate’s declaration of martial law, you are now in charge in this system. I will follow your orders, sir.”

  Jessica nodded. This being, this woman, had been a Concord fleet officer at one time, if that was the correct term for a sentient starship. Jessica was reminded of the dead carcass of the Concord Warship Kinnison, the super–dreadnaught corpse she had toured on Bunala.

  One of Suvi’s cousins, so to speak.

  “I am given to understand, Suvi,” Jessica said, “that the engineering staff on the station is working around the clock to fabricate new parts to fix your comm system such that you will be able to up–load yourself to another location in ten to twelve days. Do you believe that we would be able to speed that?”

  “No, marshal,” Suvi replied. “They are working as fast as they can, and faster than predicted. It will not be enough.”

  “Then what can we do?” Jessica asked. “Specifically, why should I send over one of my best engineers at a time when I need her here?”

  Jessica watched, but the woman over there gave away few physical signs. She wouldn’t necessarily have unconscious tics to betray her inner emotions. That made sense, when you stopped and considered that she was, at the end of the day, just a computer program running exceptionally fast, with extensive processing power.

  Of course, so are the rest of us.

  Still, there was something there. It was a matter of reading between nearly–invisible lines. Or perhaps the Sentience was a master of human psychology letting Jessica see what Suvi wanted her to see. Or maybe, just maybe, fear.

  Who knew what the old gods were capable of?

  The pause had been minute, almost imperceptible. Nearly eternal.

  “I am trapped here, Marshal Keller,” Suvi began slowly, carefully. “Bound by old rules and policies. The loss of the communications array has eliminated most of my primary contingency plans to escape, to survive the impending destruction of this orbital platform.”

  Suvi paused. Jessica could see pain lurking in the back of her eyes. It was suddenly like looking in a mirror.

  “I do not wish to die, Marshal Keller.”

  “You said most contingency plans, Suvi,” Jessica replied quietly. “What of the rest?”

  Again, that minute pause, like time itself had stopped.

  “I made a promise, once upon a time, Marshal,” Suvi whispered after a moment.

  There was emotion in the voice now. Jessica only noticed because it hadn’t been there before. Pain. Love. Loss.

  Again, a mirror.

  “I promised someone that I would be content living at Ballard,” Suvi continued. “That I would be a good citizen. In return, Ballard would protect me. For centuries, that was good enough. I have been a respected member of society, productive, useful. I have watched human civilization return to the stars. If I was a bird in a gilded cage, Marshal, at least that cage protected me from the elements. And I was never alone again.”

  “And now it has trapped you,” Jessica observed quietly. She was listening to the emotion playing underneath the words, more than the words themselves. So much memory. So much pain. So much a mirror.

  “It has made me a slave, Marshal Keller.”

  Those words came out flat, angry. Jessica could ima
gine this being, this Sentience, this woman, standing in the same room with her, seething. On the verge of tears, both of rage and loss.

  It was a feeling Jessica knew well. She woke to it every morning.

  “Please, call me Jessica, Suvi,” she said, feeling a sudden kinship that transcended them. “Who did you make this promise to?”

  “Doyle, Jessica,” Suvi replied quietly.

  Doyle Iwakuma. The Explorer. Ballard’s favorite son. The Founder of the Stellar Renaissance. Father of the modern age.

  “And you have kept that promise for eleven centuries?”

  “I have.”

  “And now, you cannot exercise your remaining contingency plans alone. You require assistance you cannot currently get?”

  “That is correct.”

  Jessica marveled at the history playing out before her, around her. So much that Suvi wasn’t saying in words, but merely by implications. Leaving it up to her to interpret, to understand.

  This channel was secured, encrypted, safe. But it was being recorded. Those records would be classified at the highest level possible, but someone, eventually, would study them. Perhaps future scholars would have access to it, long after Jessica had died.

  How much of the future history of mankind hinged on her next words?

  “Suvi,” Jessica said with a deep breath, “I will brief Moirrey on your needs and send her over as soon as possible. As marshal of this system, with plenipotentiary powers granted by the Senate of the Republic of Aquitaine, I hereby order you to escape your current predicament by whatever means you find necessary and appropriate. You are no longer bound by the promise you made to Doyle Iwakuma, or any other.”

  Jessica felt the future open under her feet, like falling off the small boat in her dream.

  She paused, inhaled.

  “I order you to survive.”

  Ξ

  The young woman before her had changed. Jessica was hard pressed to put her finger on what it was, at first, but it was there.

  Moirrey’s eyes were more serious. The shoulders were pulled back from what they used to be, making her stand more erect. Her head moved less when she stood still.

  This was what growing up did to you.

  Jessica smiled to put the young woman at ease.

  “Sit, please, Moirrey.”

  She did.

  A moment of eternity passed between them, each studying the other.

  “How much do you know about Suvi?” Jessica asked finally, letting the tension bleed off before it overwhelmed them.

  “She be a great and ancient lady, ma’am,” the engineer chirped back. “Responsible fer much o’ the modern worlds.”

  “Correct,” Jessica continued. “And now, she has been trapped on the station by a saboteur. The primary communications relay she would use to back up a copy of her consciousness elsewhere has been damaged.”

  “Oh,” Moirrey perked up. “An’ I needs ta fix it?”

  “No. This will be something more complicated and possibly dangerous, Moirrey.”

  “Ma’am?”

  Jessica let the moment hang while she put the words together.

  She was used to treading on thin ice, pushing the margins, secure that she was generally right and would be backed up by her superiors. Or her guardian angel.

  Here, there was no guardian angel.

  She was in command. Every mistake she made now would be explained to the Senate itself. Whether that was in open session at her next public Court Martial, or in secret committee hearing only mattered in the scale of her embarrassment.

  Tadej Horvat would be across the table from her. Nils Kasum might be seated nearby to provide moral support, but there would be nothing he could do at that point except watch.

  “Moirrey,” Jessica began finally, “this is something you have not had a chance to grow into yet. I’m sorry, but there is nothing to be done about it but test you with fire. When you were a yeoman, Oz would be responsible for your mistakes, as far as the fleet was concerned. He was in command. Do you understand, Centurion?”

  She watched Moirrey age before her eyes. Something bled out of the young woman, fleeing with her breath, lost forever.

  Already, Jessica missed it.

  “Aye, ma’am,” Moirrey replied. Even her voice had grown deeper, more serious. “I’m an officer now, and expected to lead.”

  “Correct, Moirrey,” Jessica continued. “I cannot give you specific orders, because I do not know what Suvi needs to escape. Rather than send you in with the expectation that you will do your best, I must give you very specific orders now.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “If everything goes wrong, Moirrey, you will always be able to tell the Senate in all honesty that you were following my orders.”

  “How serious is it, Commander?”

  “Suvi is not just another person we need to rescue, Centurion,” Jessica said as she took a deep breath.

  She could feel the dice warm in her hands, at least in her mind, awaiting the long tumble down the green felt table.

  “She is a Sentience. She may be a well–loved and well–behaved one, but she is nonetheless one of those creatures bound by Baudin’s Prescriptions and Republic law.”

  Deep breath. Moirrey doesn’t need to know the penalty looming. She won’t be the one to pay it.

  “I am ordering you to Alexandria Station, Centurion Kermode. Once there, you will provide the Sentience all assistance necessary for her to flee the station to safety. Her survival takes precedence over yours, over mine, over the planet below, and over this squadron. Am I clear?”

  Jessica didn’t know Moirrey’s eyes could grow to that size, all pupil, the hazel/blue iris vanishing. It only lasted a moment, before the young woman took a deep breath.

  For just a moment, then Jessica saw the first spark of a fire ignite.

  This, young lady, is what it means to be an officer in the Republic of Aquitaine fleet. When life and death are only the smallest choices you have to make on a daily basis.

  Moirrey sat up straighter in her chair. Her eyes took on a new squint, almost pained. But there was also a new determination Jessica had never seen before.

  “I understand, Command Centurion,” Moirrey said firmly. “I will use my best judgment and try to make you proud.”

  “I am already proud of you, Moirrey. Never doubt that. Now, we need to show the rest of the fleet what you can do.”

  Hopefully, it would be enough. At least now, Moirrey stood a better chance of surviving than she or Auberon did.

  Chapter XXXI

  Imperial Founding: 172/06/15. 5787 Piscium System

  The words broke through Emmerich’s afternoon tea like a mug shattering on the floor.

  “Flag bridge. Sensors,” the man’s voice called over the comm. “I have a scan coming in from the edge of the gravity well. Origin unknown. Profile is not, repeat NOT, Imperial.”

  Had he been found, hiding in his quiet, empty system? Had Keller taken the initiative to attack him here? Was this one of her vessels arriving first and about to be overwhelmed?

  “Bridge, this is Admiral Wachturm,” he said, working calm into his very bones and his voice as he stood up. “Bring the squadron to battle stations and prepare to receive the enemy. Sensors, send an active pulse signal outbound now.”

  He had been at the other end of this scenario enough times. Jump from the edge of a system to the closest point available at the nearest edge of the gravity well, charging downhill and trying to catch an enemy asleep. It would not work here. Amsel and her consorts were ready for battle, even missing the escort Achterberg.

  Given the nature of the great jump and the risk, Emmerich presumed an equipment failure had caused the fourth frigate to drop out of Jumpspace somewhere along the route. His orders had been explicit: if any vessel could not make the rendezvous within the designated window, they were to return to the nearest Imperial system as fast as possible. Contingency plans were in place. The battle could begin without one es
cort.

  Overhead, the lights in his office took on a red hue and a quiet siren wound up three times. Elsewhere, it would be bone–jarring. Around him, Amsel shivered like a wet dog as generators came on line and shields went to their maximum setting.

  Emmerich made sure his tea set was secured before he moved to the door, his favorite mug still steaming in his hand.

  The flag bridge, across the hall from his office, was a rising tide of tension. Chaos was not allowed here, but the excitement of battle took on its own musk as the men’s adrenaline surged.

  Captain Baumgärtner waited at the command table, fuzzy slippers the only clue that the man had been sound asleep five minutes ago. Quickly, his aide brought everything on line.

  Emmerich studied the holographic image floating in front of him. A dead, gray planet with no name, only an alphanumeric designation, below them, providing the gravity well to anchor the squadron and protect them from storms and enemy fleets. Two irregular mini–moons, functionally no more than captured asteroids to light up the night sky from the ground. Further out, a ring of debris and shattered rock from a moon that had never held.

  A single red star pulsed, right at the edge of the gravity well, itself a green band surrounding them like an egg.

  “Status?” Emmerich said as he approached the table. At his words, something crystalized, drawing the tension down. It was like making rock candy with Heike when she was six. The water boiling, the string dropped in, the heat set aside, and all of a sudden order appeared in the form of solid crystals in the fluid.

  “Nothing else as yet, Admiral,” the flag captain replied calmly. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but that was likely the excitement of being driven up from the depths of a dream. “Only the one pulse was sent inwards. Our return pulse has shown only a single vessel.”

  Emmerich nodded. The room would have been buzzing more if there were a squadron out there. Gunnery officers would have been organizing engagement and coverage arcs amongst themselves. Escorts would have been shifting into reactive positions. Missiles might already be flying.