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

by Blaze Ward

  There.

  Seismometers localized it to main deck, give or take, right around frame six. In her mind, Suvi called that area Station Two. It had been the first major expansion of the original platform, kinda like upgrading from being a one–room school house to a proper university campus.

  Close enough. That had been the point in time when the locals finally decided they liked her, and trusted her, enough to fund some major renovations with a planet–wide tax.

  To make her an honorary citizen of Ballard.

  It had marked the start of the era known as The Story Road, when Ballard first turned into a regional power. Pity the university hadn’t ever fielded any sports teams worth mentioning.

  So. Sharp shock. Extreme pressure differentials that quickly dissipated. Too bad she didn’t have any spectroscopes in the area still working to confirm, but experience suggested someone had blown a hatch with high explosives.

  That was one way to get closer to her. Not exactly subtle, and subtle had been the assassin’s trademark, so hopefully that meant Moirrey was coming. It also suggested that something had gone horribly wrong with the original path. That suggested the assassin had found them and detoured them.

  And there was nothing she could do at this point without Moirrey.

  Damn you, Henri Baudin.

  She hadn’t been this mad at him in centuries. But she felt his hands around her throat. They might look like those of any old Imperial spy and assassin, but she was trapped here because of Henri. If she survived this, Suvi promised herself she would never be bound like this again.

  Ξ

  He took a breath to calm his nerves and heart rate. There was still time, Sykes reminded himself. Space battles might feel like they were over in a minute, but hours might pass. The admiral would not be close enough to fire on the station yet.

  And he would get a signal first. Hopefully.

  Perhaps, he was a sacrifice. Certainly he was worth more than a mere pawn, but sometimes even the masters must offer a rook or bishop to entice the foe into making a mistake. Certainly, the Sentience was not allowed to castle out of this trap.

  Still, something had caused an earthquake in a place without earth. Somewhere beside him, a good distance around the curvature of the station’s rings. And he wasn’t responsible. That left the Aquitaine fleet.

  The woman and her two assistants. Blowing a hatch apart would probably feel like that, if speed was more important than subtlety.

  So they had found another way around him. He had hoped that they would take the most obvious option in their hurry, letting him slip into them from the side, like a knife on a crowded bus platform.

  The hallmark of a good agent was the ability to react quickly. He had guessed wrong here. And he was too far out of position to get to them before they made it deeper into the core.

  Sykes checked the map in his head. Even this close, there were too many places they could get past him to get to wherever the Sentience wanted them to be. Still, most of them on this side of the exact center of the station should pass through one large workshop area, almost a hangar in scope, designed to let technicians get to all sides of the fusion reactor’s primary cooling interface.

  There should be a number of places he could lurk under cover. The Sentience should still be blind there, if he had cut the right wires when he started, and there were several levels of catwalks he could use.

  Sykes turned and began to jog inward. It probably wasn’t too late to kill them all.

  Chapter XLVII

  Imperial Founding: 172/06/16. Ballard system

  It hadn’t been enough.

  Emmerich watched the rapidly–decaying nova of the former escort frigate Kappel’s corpse fade. Petrograd had tried to save her, but everyone had been caught out of position by the change in targeting priorities and the need for sudden maneuvering, and two missiles had gotten home on the little ship.

  One would have probably crippled her. The second had found some chink in Kappel’s armor. Perhaps a bulkhead not secured for battle. Maybe one of the power reactors had gone unstable at the wrong moment.

  It didn’t matter that much. Kappel was dead.

  On what had been his right flank, before the turn away, Baasch was in better shape. There had been far fewer missiles to engage, and those evenly divided between the frigate and her larger sister, SturmTeufel.

  Still, it had been close. The light cruiser had been hit, but it had been a glancing blow against the shield wall, and not an arrow to the heart or guts. She was a bit lame now, but still fully armed and more than a match for either of the destroyers on that flank. Plus, both vessels were accelerating away from the enemy to the protection of the big vessels.

  On what had been the van two minutes ago, Essert had been knocked around as well, but Amsel had managed to keep the hornets from stinging her to death. Like SturmTeufel, she was going to limp until she could be dry–docked, but she had survived what had appeared to be certain death ninety seconds ago.

  “Captain Baumgärtner,” Emmerich said, careful to keep the weary relief out of his voice. “Have all vessels shift to defensive missile fire, primarily with sub–munition weapons. That will help against their fire when we begin to close. What is the squadron’s status?”

  Hendrik actually looked down at his notes before speaking. Emmerich could see the same pain in his eyes when he looked up. And the mad quest for vengeance building.

  Something else they shared.

  “Amsel and Petrograd are intact and combat–ready, Admiral,” he replied quietly. “Baasch is fully functional, but SturmTeufel and Essert are both damaged and should be rotated out of the direct line of engagement.”

  He paused to take a breath.

  “The turn to port and acceleration have put the enemy warships on our number two facing, shortly to be number three if everyone continues forward on their current trajectories. The fighter squadron that had been on our number six has climbed straight up, relative to our flight path and the orbital ecliptic and they appear to be circling back towards the station. I would expect an attack pass from them with guns at some point as we turn in again, if we do not maneuver around that option.”

  “Flag, sensors,” the man called across the bridge.

  Emmerich was beginning to hate that man. Not for what he was doing, the lieutenant commander handling the sensor array was one of the best at the task or he wouldn’t be here. No, it was the ominous overtones every time he spoke.

  There had been no good news today. Nothing in the man’s tone suggested a change to that.

  “Remaining enemy force has turned inward,” the man continued. “Repeat, enemy force, both Alpha and Charlie groups, have turned inward.”

  Emmerich took a split second to confirm the projection. Petrograd now in the van, with Essert on her wing. Amsel in the center, and Baasch and SturmTeufel protecting the rear flank.

  He was badly out of position, headed the wrong way, and at a significant tactical disadvantage right now.

  “Captain,” he said to Baumgärtner, “bring the squadron to flank speed. We need space to reorganize, but we will not give them time to return to base to rearm the fighters.”

  “Acknowledged, Admiral.”

  At least Amsel and Petrograd were out of primary range from the Aquitaine ships. He was going to exact a terrible vengeance shortly, when he could maneuver to bring his bow to the Aquitaine vessels.

  “Flag, sensors.”

  Emmerich caught himself before he physically cringed at the man’s voice. When this was done, he was going to promote that man and place him on another vessel, a reward to both of them.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” the sensor officer continued, his voice suddenly breaking.

  “Admiral,” he continued after a pause to swallow. “The Charlie force fighter craft have just opened fire on Baasch with…with primary beams. Multiple hits. Baasch is…”

  Silence.

  “Admiral,” he said solemnly. “IFV Baasch has been destroyed.�
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  Emmerich actually felt the blood surging into his eyes as his vision turned red with rage.

  It wasn’t just Keller he was fighting here. This was also Kermode’s doing. This was the mad science technological gambit he had been expecting. If anyone could expect something like that.

  He was going to kill both of those women before he was done.

  Chapter XLVIII

  Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Above Ballard

  No plan survives an encounter with the enemy. First Lord had pounded that into Jessica’s head from the first day of class. Any fool could create a pretty good plan for engaging a known foe. That was science.

  As soon as the other guy moved or fired, your plan went out the window, if your foe was any good.

  Art, as Nils Kasum would often say, was found in the dance that began before the first shot was even fired. Maneuver separated the merely–proficient from the exceptional.

  Jessica watched Emmerich Wachturm, the Red Admiral, like a hawk. She saw the exact moment when he realized that she was going after his escorts and not the capital vessels.

  She had killed one. And wounded the light cruiser. In a normal battle, an invading Imperial force would retire now, flee to Jumpspace, and husband their strength, a tactical loss but not a devastating one. Standard Imperial doctrine.

  This was personal. He had come here to kill her. Suvi was just the excuse for picking the field of battle.

  Jessica had to beat him soundly. Thrash him mercilessly. Possibly kill him, if that could be done, given the mighty king’s relative safety in his terrible castle. Any other solution would just let them come back again when she wasn’t here to protect Suvi.

  To do that, she had to make him angry. Simple as that. Killing his knights and pawns would do the job, even if they were sometimes just nameless spear carriers in the second row.

  “Jouster, this is the flag,” she growled into the comm, letting her emotions play more in her voice as she spoke. The team needed to understand that this was no longer just a battle. It was going to be another Battle of Petron. Perhaps the second half of that battle. It was going to be a tale for a modern Veda, someday. Something worthy of the ancient Hindu battles where entire cultures were upended and destroyed in massive conflagrations.

  To do that, she had to win.

  This time she would keep her head, regardless of the words the goddess of war was whispering in her ear right now. Petron had been vengeance, pure and simple. The Fribourg Empire had almost gotten the better of her. This was, for lack of a better term, a damsel in distress. Emmerich as the villain. Suvi as the princess in the tower.

  Jessica managed to contain herself before she started giggling over the squadron–wide comm at the image of herself as Princess Charming on a white horse. The squadron needed her solemn and in command right now. Especially right now.

  It was about to get serious.

  “This is Jouster,” he replied. Apparently, she had paused longer than she thought.

  Focus, damn it.

  “Jouster,” she continued, “begin your attack run on escort number three. Line up Damocles, Starfall, and Necromancer, take your shots, and then move the wing as fast as possible to the trojan orbital designated Imperial LaGrange point five and stand by. I expect an immediate response.”

  “Acknowledged,” he said. “LaGrangian point five. Stand by.”

  Jessica found herself shocked by the professionalism in the man. More than she realized.

  Where was the obnoxious punk she’d inherited two years ago? Had he actually managed to grow up? Or had they all been deep enough into the fire at Petron to finally forge even people like Jouster into steel?

  Stranger things had happened. Look at her.

  “Bridge, this is the flag,” she continued. “The game is up. Bring the shields and sensors to full power and plug us back into formation.”

  “Roger that,” Denis replied happily.

  Auberon seemed to surge with power. Maybe purpose. Though perhaps Jessica just imagined it.

  “Squadron, this is the flag,” she said. “Come to zero–three–zero, up ten, and prepare to engage escort three and the light cruiser. You will likely only get one shot, people. Make it good.”

  She could hear Nils Kasum’s voice in her head.

  Today’s lesson in fleet maneuvers, young lady, is poking bears with long sticks. Make sure you’re ready for him when he gets angry.

  Ξ

  And now, it was about to get interesting.

  Jouster smiled a reckless, cheerful smile. He wasn’t going to pull the trigger, but it was his squadron that was about to make history, doing something nobody had ever done before. And he wasn’t even going to get court martialed for it. Win win.

  “Flight wing, this is Jouster,” he drawled merrily. “da Vinci, bring your team around and prepare to unleash mayhem. Bitter Kitten and I will conform to your movements. I am sending the next waypoint to all vessels. Program it and stand by.”

  He popped his knuckles around the flight stick without ever losing contact. This wasn’t going to be as fun as running a combat slalom through the freighters of Callumnia, but he was pretty sure things were going to be getting stupid quickly.

  That was okay. He thrived on stupid.

  “And we’re go,” da Vinci called. Senior Flight Centurion Ainsley Barrett was a laconic goof ball most of the time, but every once in a while she got to shine. Flying a barely–armed P–4 Outrider didn’t help. One little popgun and great big sensor pods slung underneath did not lend themselves to melee fighting.

  But then there were times that made up for it.

  Jouster brought his nose around and down as da Vinci started her run. She even lit her overdrive and surged ahead for a just a moment. The M–5’s could keep up, but the bombers and the GunShip lagged. Still, the bad guys had to be looking at the fighters, so they might ignore the hand actually holding the knife.

  At least until it was too late.

  Ξ

  Arott fought to keep his face neutral.

  Galina had been all set for a fencing pass with an opposing battlecruiser and a battleship. Probably a suicidal one, but nobody joined the fleet to grow old and die in bed. And that woman got a little too death–or–glory at times.

  When the Imperials turned away, all of her careful drifting and pirouetting had come to naught. She hadn’t stopped swearing under her breath since.

  Galina, the ice princess, cursing like a dock worker.

  It was only one of the shocking things he had seen so far today.

  He hadn’t really believed the so–called siren would work. Yet it had. It would never work again, most likely, but it had back–footed the Imperials and let Aquitaine get close enough to draw first blood.

  He finally understood the strategy behind killing only the escorts first. That still left the major ships intact but, as Jessica Keller had explained, surprise takes place in the enemy commander’s mind.

  And she had surprised Wachturm. Badly. Actually caused him to flinch. In battle.

  At this level of play, even the most mundane of mistakes could be lethal.

  “Squadron, this is the flag,” Jessica Keller’s voice rang across Stralsund’s bridge. “Come to zero–three–zero, up ten, and prepare to engage escort three and the light cruiser. You will likely only get one shot, people. Make it good.”

  Galina smiled. She even stopped muttering.

  “Navigation,” the ice princess said firmly, once again a consummate professional. “Conform to squadron maneuvers and bring the speed up five percent after we turn. Gunnery, prepare firing solutions for SturmTeufel and lock them in. Have secondary solutions for the escort, but I expect everyone else will kill the frigate. Defense Centurion, load two tubes with defensive missiles and prepare for the next salvo from the Imperials to be at us and Auberon shortly.”

  Acknowledgements rang around the room as people shifted to that higher plane of consciousness called battle.

  Chapter X
LIX

  Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Alexandria Station, Ballard

  “I dinna like it,” Moirrey said quietly.

  She pointed at the room ahead, vast and warm and humid. Her engineer’s senses screamed fusion reactor cooling stacks. Not the core itself. That were gonna be armoured all over the place and ventable back up various hallways that could get them safely away from people if she went boom.

  No, this would be where they transferred the heat from the core to useful things, like making power and heat and water. Modern starships dinna do it that way, but this place were a shrine to the old ways.

  And some damned fool had turned the lights way down, so it were dark and murky in addition to moist and foggy.

  “You watch too many bad adventure movies, boss,” Arlo whispered back.

  “Or you dinna watch enough of ’em.”

  “What am I missing?” the doc leaned close to whisper.

  She kinda forgot her was with them. Apparently, Doc had learned some useful sneakiness along the way. Being raised on a fleet base as a kid probably honed some mighty interesting skills. Certain not something ya normallies runned inta in a librarian.

  “Don’t feel right,” she said, turning to take his measure.

  Calm. Reflective. Not gonna run headlong into a trap. And it sure felt like a trap.

  “Why not?”

  Not challenging. No male ego. Simple question. Scholar seeking data to transform inta informations.

  “Ya nevers turn the lights down, place like this,” she said, matter–of–factly. “Keeps it bright so’s you don’ touch nothing hot. Plus, someone screwed the air system. Too much moisture. Corrodes things and shortens operational lifespans on key system components. Bad juju.”

  She watched him absorb the words like a dry sponge, blinking rapidly.

  Good.

  “So he’s in the chamber somewhere,” the doc said after a beat. “Alternatively, he wants you to believe it to be a trap, long enough to slow you down and prevent us from saving Suvi.”