Auberon (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 1)

by Blaze Ward

  The sound as the ground vehicle settled to a halt perked up Bogdan Loncar from his fugue.

  A doorman in a muted uniform sprang into action and had the rear door open almost before the vehicle stopped.

  “Fleet Lord Loncar,” he said with a deep and sincere bow, “allow me to welcome you to the Club this evening.”

  Bogdan glanced briefly at the man as he exited. “Good evening, Johnathon.”

  The doorman, Johnathon, quickly closed the vehicle door and stepped to the imposing wooden door to the Club. He swung the heavy portal open on massive hinges and gestured Loncar to enter.

  Bogdan took a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the dimness as Johnathon closed the vault–like door behind him, cutting off the outside world. The entry smelled vaguely of rich tobacco and warm chocolate, friendly smells trapped in the weave of the lush rug and the tapestried walls.

  He glanced to his right and noted the Guardian of the Inner Chamber, the Concierge, patiently awaiting him.

  “Matthias,” Bogdan nodded.

  The man nodded back. “Fleet Lord Tesar has left a message that he would welcome your company this evening. Last I checked, he was just about to order dinner in the Rockery on the third floor.”

  “Very good, Matthias,” the Fleet Lord replied. “Is Samantha available this evening?”

  “She is, sir,” the man smiled. “I will have her deliver your drinks immediately.”

  “Thank you, Matthias.”

  Bogdan stepped deeper into the dimly–lit hallway and climbed the grand staircase. Starships didn’t have elevators, so a proper club that served current and retired naval officers did not either.

  Tonight, an elevator might have been more pleasant. Bogdan grumbled to himself as he climbed the stairs, his old knees and back complaining. It had not been a good week.

  Upstairs, he passed a variety of men, and a few women, all well dressed, well bred. Proper representatives of the founding Families of the Republic. His class of people.

  The staff was also proper. Polite, cheerful, discrete, knowledgeable. He could leave his worries and cares outside and relax here, safe.

  It was just another reason to stay a day’s sail away from the Capital, Ladaux, and all that political mess. Anameleck Prime was old money, old industry. It had been one of the first worlds of the future Republic to return to space flight after the long darkness when the Homeworld was destroyed, thousands of years ago.

  On the third floor, Bogdan made his way past several doorways and side halls. He entered a large door at the end and looked around. The room was large, but broken into a variety of small nooks and cubbyholes by careful use of short walls, plants, and pillars.

  “Good evening, Lord Loncar,” a young woman purred as she approached, a brandy snifter on a tray in one hand.

  “Good evening, Samantha,” he replied with a polite leer. At his age, he was too old to engage in bedroom gymnastics, but he did appreciate having a beautiful young woman to ogle while doing business. Especially a short brunette with long hair, lush curves, and a ripe bosom. One who understood that the business of Navy men was serious work and that they needed to escape their daily responsibilities occasionally.

  “Lord Tesar is this way, sir,” She said, leading him deeper into the room, to a particularly private corner table.

  “Evening, Bogdan,” boomed a voice as he approached.

  “Bogusław,” he replied, feeling the weight of the day slide off his shoulders as the lovely woman disappeared back into the room.

  Bogusław Tesar was a decade older, and had been retired from the Fleet for longer than that. He had begun to go to seed in the way that a previously–active man will when they stop working so hard. He was thick around the middle, but in a stout way. His hair had finally turned completely white after he had stopped coloring it. The shoulders had developed a slouch.

  He looked like a man getting ready to die of old age.

  “Heard the news,” Tesar said gravely. “Looks like Kasum won this round?”

  “Perhaps,” Bogdan said. “Perhaps not. That little minx got away scot free, but I understand that the First Lord is sending her to the Cahllepp Frontier instead of back to the main front.”

  “Interesting.” Tesar took a deep swig of something caramel–colored with a lot of ice. “Do you suppose she was broken by the experience, after all? Or maybe Kasum has lost his confidence in her? Either way, it removes one of his important pieces from the table.”

  “I believe it is the latter,” Bogdan said, taking a drink of his own. Samantha always knew how to get them made to exact specifications, regardless of the bartender on duty.

  “I do know that a number of Fleet Lords have expressed concern about having her serve under them, after her antics at Iger. Perhaps she has worn out her welcome.”

  Samantha returned at that moment with a menu for him and interrupted their conversation with service and hints of cleavage.

  This was beginning to feel like a victory dinner.

  Ξ

  Bogdan leaned back as Samantha cleared their plates from the table and delivered a fresh round of brandy.

  As she departed, both men took a long moment to appreciate the architecture of her construction. It was a very fine ass.

  “So, Bogdan,” Tesar said in a conspiratorial tone, “what’s next for you? Back to the fleet, or will you finally stand for office?”

  “I plan to return to duty soon, Bogusław,” he growled back. “Kasum has decided to blame me for Iger, but I have too much seniority to be kept shorebound for long. In time, the other Noble Lords will agitate enough and he will be forced to return me to command. If we have to engineer for a new First Lord before that can to happen, I am willing to entertain that notion.”

  “Oh? Who do you think we might contact, if we needed to create such a dramatic change at the top?”

  Bogdan smiled and leaned forward. “Well, first…”

  Chapter V

  Date of the Republic October 1, 392 Kismayo system

  Jessica looked up suddenly as Marcelle touched her knee. Apparently, she’d been lost in her notes and reading for two hours. Docking must be imminent.

  Sure enough, the monitor on the shuttle’s bulkhead showed a sleek gray warship sitting against the black background, like a great whale breeching on a calm sea. It swelled very slowly as she approached. They would be aboard in a few minutes.

  Jessica nodded to Marcelle and began stowing devices and papers in her travel satchel. Everything there was to know about the Strike Carrier RAN Auberon and her crew. Specifically her crew. They had been stuck out here in a quiet corner for a long time.

  She glanced at the prep sheet Marcelle had prepared for her. Thumbnail pictures of the department heads and key officers, so she could remember names and faces them. The two of them had spent long hours memorizing them.

  Jessica was firmly convinced that there was nothing worse than serving under a Command Centurion who took weeks to learn his officer’s names. It was lazy, the mark of someone who was here because he was well–connected and on his way to serve in the Republic Senate or some other political job. At the dawn of civilization, the Romans had reputedly made people like that Tribunes without putting them in direct command.

  Jessica thought the Fleet could learn something useful from the Roman practice. Especially here.

  Auberon’s former Commander hadn’t even waited for her to arrive with her orders to replace him. As soon as he had learned he was being transferred, he had turned over command to his Executive Officer, boarded a shuttle, and disappeared.

  Jessica smiled. Augustine Kwok was a nephew by marriage of Fleet Lord Loncar, so it did save everyone some level of awkwardness for him to not be there to formally turn over command. It was obviously intended to be a snub to her, and was certainly rude, but well within the letter of regulations, if not the spirit.

  And he had been in command out here for a little more than three years. He must have done something especially stupid
back home for that kind of exile.

  How had the crew responded to being under command of one of the scions of the Fifty Families for so long…?

  She was just about to find out.

  Jessica handed Marcelle a stack of old–fashioned linen envelopes, hand–written with names on them and numbered. This crew was due for a surprise shortly. How well they took it would determine just how ugly things were going to get on both side of the frontier.

  She had a war to win.

  Ξ

  Jessica waited inside the shuttle’s crew bay on Auberon’s Flight Deck. Marcelle had already exited with both satchels, leaving her alone in the poorly–lit metal box.

  Jessica took a deep breath, glanced down at the scroll of paper she held in one hand, and finished counting to one hundred.

  She emerged from the hatch and looked out over the cavernous bay.

  Strike Carriers were purpose–built vessels, redesigned up from a heavy cruiser hull. As carriers went, they were considered tiny and cramped. But they still had to be large enough to hold and fly three sections of fighters, nine craft, plus the standard three transport shuttles from the cruiser design. In this case, the design had been made even tighter by removing the three shuttles and replacing them with two larger craft, a gunship and an assault shuttle.

  Still, it was considered a courtesy to a new commanding officer to be met with an empty flight deck. Jessica had heard stories of carriers where the full wing had been launched in order to leave the entirety of the deck available.

  That was extravagance that was normally reserved for Fleet Lords taking command of the big Fleet Carriers, in ceremonies that might last days.

  Jessica suppressed a smile as she emerged into the bright lights of her new Flight Deck. Everything had been shifted back into storage cradles to make space, except for one fighter craft that sat to one side, looking as if it was ready to launch. Most of Auberon’s officers were lined up across from it, facing it, making an aisle for her to walk down, as if on parade.

  So much for the expectation of a cleared deck. The regulations did say clean, but nothing required everything to be packed up and stowed.

  Again, within the letter of the regulations, but extremely irregular and possibly bordering on rude.

  Jessica had been afraid that three years under a commander she knew to be a sanctimonious and pompous windbag might have damaged the crew’s morale.

  She was wrong. This was a crew with spirit.

  She could work with that.

  They might hate her, but they were all volunteers, and exhibited, even according to Kwok’s records, competence that occasionally bordered on excellence.

  Jessica stepped down onto the deck and entered the parade aisle they had made for her, radiating grim seriousness.

  Inside, she fought not to smile. This crew was looking for a fight with her.

  While Jessica was a warrior, she was also a tactician. She began adjusting her plans.

  Jessica came to a stop in front of the man at the far end of the line on her right, pivoted, and took a moment to scan him closely. He had two stripes on his arm for a Senior Centurion, and the look of a quietly competent man.

  The pictures Marcelle had supplied had not done the man justice. He was average height and average build. Average looking, with red/auburn hair that was stronger than she had expected.

  Denis Jež had a record that showed him to be smart but not brilliant. Methodical. Exceptionally competent. He was also, according to the records, a chess player. Jessica could not imagine someone less like her.

  But he also had a record of serving under more senior commanders who had a tendency towards political connections. According to the First Lord, Denis had been assigned to make sure Kwok didn’t do anything embarrassing.

  Jessica assumed he was a babysitter, who was probably quietly distraught that he had not been considered for command. Jessica softened her scowl, watched his own relax. Jež did not have a powerful and important family or patron to advance his career.

  But she didn’t plan on being out here in the boonies forever. She hoped to find a place for him in her greater schemes.

  “Centurion Jež?” she said formally, waiting for him to nod.

  She opened the scroll, took a step back, and projected her voice loud enough to be heard by the back ranks.

  ‘By will of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy and First Lord Nils Kasum, the undersigned, Command Centurion Jessica Keller, is hereby ordered to report aboard the RAN Auberon at the earliest opportunity and take command, subject to the normal rules and regulations. She will exercise excellence and demand the same of her crew, that the whole reflect the greatest acclaim in serving the needs of the Republic and the will of the Senate.

  Signed on the Date of The Republic June 26, 392 by First Lord Nils Kasum and countersigned October 1, 392 by Jessica Keller.’

  Jessica looked up at the crew briefly, watched some of the tension bleed out of Centurion Jež’s face, and pulled a pen from a pocket in her tunic. She quickly signed the document, scrolled it, and handed it to her new First Officer.

  “Centurion,” Jessica said formally, “I relieve you.”

  “I stand relieved,” he replied quietly as he took the document.

  Jessica turned to the other officers before her. This crew tended to be younger than one would expect for a frontier posting, but Kasum had told her that Auberon was the unofficial flagship of the sector, and appeared to be crewed by a higher grade of personnel, competent instead of well–connected.

  She allowed herself to smile at them, watching the faces relax somewhat from the apprehension of the unknown.

  She fixed Jež with a sharp eye. To his credit, the man did not squirm.

  “Jež,” she said, loud enough to be heard several rows back. “In one word, what is the status of Auberon for combat operations?”

  The man blinked once, a poker player suddenly keeping his cards close to the vest. “Ready.”

  “Good enough for now, Centurion Jež,” she replied.

  “Ma’am?” he said, confused enough to break character for the first time. The other officers also began to look less solemn, like perhaps this wasn’t going to be an execution, after all. Or maybe it was.

  “The correct answer is hungry,” she announced loudly. “This is a warship of the Republic of Aquitaine, ladies and gentlemen. We are about to go to war.”

  Jessica didn’t wait for the crew to respond.

  She nodded to Marcelle, who walked up and handed her the stack of envelopes.

  Jessica considered them closely for a second. Hand–written notes, personally addressed to a number of officers. Right now, their hatred of her would probably start. By tomorrow, perhaps, grudging admiration. Eventually, they would achieve excellence.

  Ξ

  Senior Centurion Denis Jež winced to himself as he watched the new commander review the crew, and then winced when he saw that stack of envelopes. Commander Keller was not reacting in a way like any new commander he had ever served under.

  The crew’s behavior, and how they’d set up her arrival ceremony might have been a mistake. It had been a calculated gamble on their part, based on this woman’s reputation.

  He had heard the stories about her. They all had.

  One of the youngest–ever destroyer commanders in Fleet history. The youngest–ever destroyer squadron commander. A commoner, like him, another of the Scholarship Students found by talent scouts and groomed for the Fleet.

  Up close, it was hard to identify what it was about her that left him so unsettled. She was shorter than he expected, but at the same time exuded a size and energy of someone much taller and much bigger. She seemed to fill the hangar bay with her presence.

  And yet, for all that energy, she moved with a spare precision, almost like a training robot. Not a wasted motion. Not a step out of place.

  If one could chain a hurricane, perhaps harness it and unleash it on command, it would have that feeling about it. Like lightnin
g about to strike. Denis sniffed silently for a hint of ozone.

  Some officers were boringly predictable, by–the–book types. They could be endured if needed, driven mad carefully if necessary, if one stayed exactly within regulations. Those rarely came out to this frontier, anyway.

  Other officers, generally the well–born, just wanted to serve out their time in the remote distance from the capital worlds, either hiding from some scandal until things blew over, or punching a safe dance card on their way to important elective office. Command Centurion Kwok, the recently–departed, and not–much–respected commander, fell into that latter category.

  Jež had served with both kinds. This new one, Command Centurion Jessica Keller, frightened him in ways he could not name. And the look she gave him, gave all of them, did not promise sunshine and happiness.

  Whatever moment had come for all of them passed. He watched her flip a switch in her mind. She suddenly seemed to be moving at a higher plane than the rest of them. Swimming in air while they floundered in quicksand.

  It was the beginning of the future, for all of them.

  He watched her turn back to study the Starfighter on the deck behind her. The M–5 Harpoon melee fighters were old, but well maintained. The ones on Auberon were often older than their pilots. Newer ordinance went to the combat frontiers.

  She studied the craft for a few moments. Technically, it could be construed as an insult to a new commander to have it there, although nothing in the regulations forbid it. Pushing the limits was something a crew might do to test a new commander. Especially one with a reputation like Keller’s.

  She turned back and studied the crowd before her, silently for several seconds, until she apparently found the face she wanted, standing in back.

  “Flight Centurion Darya Lagunov,” she smiled at the woman. “Since you seem to have drawn the short straw today, could you join me please?”

  Denis glanced briefly over his shoulder. She knew Lagunov by sight? Had she memorized the whole crew? He knew the two women had never served together. Bitter Kitten had come to Auberon straight out of advanced flight training.